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dev1lm4n · 1 year

Text

all glory

masterlist | kofi (support me here!)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel has been feeling insecure, finding it hard to come to terms that he's indeed aging. tommy suggests a clever solution: a post-apocalyptic glory hole

word count: 4.8k of pure filth

warnings: minors dni (18+), post-outbreak, joel is 56 here hehe hot old men, insecurities, glory hole, fingering, unsafe piv, slight breeding kink, no pregnancy stuff tho cuz im terrified of that, reader calls him sir, pet name (darling)

note: i decided to create a kofi bcs im a broke college student lol. anyways hope yall enjoy this, do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :)

Joel Miller had always been a man of confidence.

Being left as a single father for Sarah at an early age, he’s been through thick and thin, trying his best to make ends meet so that they wouldn’t have to end up in one of those run-down shelters. But never once did he question his ability to attract women.

He’s always had it in him. With a mere glance from his expressive eyes, he can ensnare hearts and leave an everlasting impression on anyone fortunate enough to encounter him. Rugged masculinity and striking refinement; a deathly mix that kept girls swarming after him like bees. After the world descended into chaos, he’s not much different either. Perhaps the bone-deep trauma had left him looking eternally exhausted with sunken eyebags, or that gray filaments started becoming a welcomed addition to his beard, but all in all he’s still charming.

He didn’t have to seek, because people seek for him. Joel had plenty of erotic rendezvous in times where society crumbled and the rule of law eroded, more so now that everyday could be his last and he didn’t have the privilege to take it slow like a true Southern gentleman. He’s done it everywhere. Inside a stuffy closet while hiding from a clicking monstrosity, behind a thin wall while her husband sat cluelessly on the other side, and even taking sexual compensation for his little business. Joel Miller wasn’t a saint. Neither he one for God and he’d like to make it obvious.

Nowadays though, within the tall foreboding walls of Jackson City, that type of attention has faded away. He’s no longer getting those longing stares from across the floor, no longer being begged to corrupt just for some extra wad of cards, no longer being flirted and fawned over like a goddamn stud. Joel didn’t have any problem with it at first. He’s growing old. Instead of those naughty strands of white peeking out of his head, he’s now a complete mix of salt and pepper. Instead of just having a fun smile line, forehead rolls and crows’ feet are now imprinted deep into every crevice. Joel wasn’t the man he used to be.

He’s weathered away, he thought, unsuited for fun and adventure.

Perhaps it had something to do with his daughter as well. Even when Ellie’s not from his actual blood, everyone in town viewed her that way. He’s her father. Thus, everyone seemed to perceive and treat him as merely a father and not as an actual person that has his own needs and wants. Joel loved his daughter. Terribly so in ways he couldn’t decipher. A part of him has made up his mind that this would be how he should spend the rest of his life: in celibacy. Though the retirement of his sexual and romantic life has slowly taken a toll towards his self-esteem. Tommy, who’s always known to be rather slow and imperceptive, was surprisingly the first one to take notice of his gradual change.

“Maria told me you might be here.”

Tommy’s gruff voice brought him out of his trance. Joel looked up, meeting the familiar figure crouch to get into his little workshop. It was his newfound hobby these days, becoming a hermit and isolating himself from the community. He’d craft a wooden figure or two each night while he relived each and every one of his memories. Good and bad. Of death and of birth. Then by the end of the night he’d feel mildly satisfied with a wooden sculpture shaped like memorabilia from the old world. Joel couldn’t admit it outloud, but insecurity had taken over him. It festered deep into his soul that he couldn’t even bear looking at himself in the mirror anymore or present himself to society.

“Yeah, just..” he paused to ponder on a better way to answer. “Just doin’ my own thing.”

“You skippin’ dinner again?” Tommy’s curiosity sounded oddly suspicious, enough that Joel already knew he’s about to say something obnoxious or entirely uncalled for. The older quirked his thick eyebrows in return.

“Made myself my own plate,” Joel cocked his head towards where a lone plate sat. Judging from the crimson stain smeared on top, it must’ve been one of those canned pastas that he picked out.

“Brother..” Tommy started out, visibly nervous of how his brother would take it. “Is there something wrong?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“No, not that I could think of,” Joel hummed. “I ain’t bitten or anythin’, why are ya asking such a dumb question anyway?”

“You’re just different these days,” Tommy reasoned with a small frown. “You barely come out of your house and if you do, you’re huddled up in this place, carving things for hours on end.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with wanting to be alone. Is there?” he challenged.

“No, but you’re.. different. Almost like your mind’s troubled for once.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong, Tommy,” he insisted.

Joel was actively avoiding the accusations. He stood up from where he’s been perched upon for hours on end, bringing his half-carved wooden slab with him to set it on one of the displays he had. He’s grown quite the collection. It’s been going on far longer than he’d expected, the crippling fear of being undesirable and hideous, and it brought up an immense feeling of embarrassment. He couldn’t possibly admit such things to Tommy, could he? Tommy was different from him. His first child was on its way to be birthed, but girls still chatter about his charming smile and strong figure. They’d still gossip and make dirty guesses about his size. How long he endured such activities, the position he enjoyed best, and how sweet he was to his partner.

Tommy couldn’t possibly understand his fear.

“You can’t help me even if I told ya,” he grumbled.

“Put some trust in me, will ya?” Tommy chuckled as he spun around his seat to follow Joel’s every move. “Tell me what’s troublin’ you, big brother.”

“They don’t look at me the same way.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The ladies,” Joel muttered.

His words were barely above a whisper. It almost seemed as if he saw the phenomenon as something humiliating, up to the point where he couldn’t even look Tommy in the eye in fear of having him laugh. He’s never talked about this with anyone else. It didn’t help that he truly didn’t have anyone to talk to in general aside from the few acquaintances his brother introduced him to and well.. Ellie. But none of them seem to be the right person to talk to regarding this.

Regarding his failure in masculinity. His unspoken worries that he didn’t have any of the strong, chiseled jawline or any of the tightly packed abdomen with six separate squares to admire. He’s grown old and weak. Five years ago, he could’ve probably still sweet-talk his way into a woman's heart, but now he couldn’t even look one in the eye without the fear of being put to shame.

“They still do, Joel,” Tommy assured him. He’s telling the truth. Joel knew that Tommy didn’t have it in him to lie, he’d have sounded like a strangled bird or a squeaky dog’s toy if he did. But his mind couldn’t believe it one bit.

“I don’t know, Tommy..” he muttered. “They don’t look at me the same way. They don’t look at me at all even.. and I’m fine with that I 'spose. I ain’t a whorin’ bastard who couldn’t accept that he’s agin’..”

“But they do, Joel.”

“I’m old,” he sucked in the air. “Lately there are these moments where I.. where I’d look a girl in the eye and all I could feel was humiliation.”

“Humiliation?”

“Like they’re lookin’ at me as if I’m some.. some sort of repulsive creature,” he whispered. “I feel like I could hear ‘em gigglin’ with their girlfriends on how shameless I am.”

Tommy was deduced into silence. Time ticked by as he cranked up his brain to figure out the best way to aid his older brother out of his misery. It’s all in his head, Tommy knew that Joel knew that as well, but it’s easier patching up an oozing wound than a troubled mind. He brought his hand together on top of his jeans as he waited for the younger to make another comment, whether of comfort or of a harsh reality.

“I’ll offer you a solution,” Tommy spoke up. “But you gotta promise not to lose your head over it.”

“It ain’t drugs, is it?”

“No, no..” Tommy chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m open to anythin’” Joel dropped his arms to his side as he curiously eyed Tommy.

“Have you ever heard of a glory hole?”

Joel’s expression contorted in such a way that the younger Miller couldn’t possibly read what he’s thinking any longer.

“I ain’t goin’ outside those borders just to go to some sketchy brothel, Tommy. That’d be pathetic.”

“Well, the thing is this whole operation ain’t sketchy,” Tommy reasoned. “The girls were tested and approved by the local doctor before..”

“Local doctor? You tellin’ me this is happenin’ within Jackson?”

“I operate it, Joel,” he sighed, knowing he’s about to be bombarded with a handful of questions. “And before you ask, no this ain’t considered prostitution as there’s no material exchange.”

“You mean..”

“Yes. The girls do it for free. Volunteers. They do it for their own pleasure and I help make their dreams come true.”

Joel looked at his own brother as if he was a mad man. Who wouldn’t? When he’s just told him that they had an actual glory hole installed without most of the public knowing. Or perhaps they knew, they were just not talking about it in front of Joel.

“Ten to twelve. There’s a small house across the sheep field. One girl every Friday night.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Maria knows about this?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

“No, but it’s better off she doesn’t.”

Joel felt his morals set askew for a second. This sounded like a terrible idea, despite the fact that he’s confirmed it himself that it’d be the safest a glory hole could possibly be. He scratched his beard and took it into deep consideration.

In the quiet stillness of a winter’s night, the world was wrapped in a soft, white blanket of snow. The moon hung low in the dark sky - a beacon towards those who chose to travel in the deepest hours of nighttime. Joel blew puffs of warm air onto his gloved fingertips, hoping it’d satiate the coolness that made his joints ache and his skin itch. The air was crisp and biting, each breath producing a frosty cloud which quickly amalgamated into the air. He watched as gentle snowflakes, alike to elegant ballet dancers, fell from the heavens up above and twirled and swirled into an intricate pattern. He’s been waiting for way too long.

“So what are ya sayin’? Are you gonna let me take you tomorrow night?” Tommy broke the silence.

Tommy promised to meet him on the edge of the sheep field, where they’d herd livestocks all throughout the warmer times of the year, but he’s yet to see his tall nose and dark hair from any of the cardinal directions. He’s been waiting for too long to keep the same mindset Tommy’s trained him into, that this was simply a beneficial exchange for every party involved and that he shouldn’t feel shameful for something so instinctive. Waiting gave him time to weigh out the cons, how this was naturally an act of debauchery that wounded both his moral values and beliefs. He ain’t a God preacher, but he’s sure to keep some of those Southern manners.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

None of Tommy’s ideas are ever well thought out. Starting from his sudden gravitation towards the military, to his desires to hand over his entire life towards the Fireflies, and now this. He knew his younger brother wasn’t the brightest of men, but creating an entire glory hole to keep the town’s morale up might be the stupidest one he’s heard yet. Especially when Maria’s not aware of it. He feared for the day when the beans spilled out of its jar, but tonight wasn’t that day. During the time in which he contemplated his decisions, Joel didn’t notice the crunching of snow against thick boots. Tommy was here and he looked far too calm for a self-made procucer.

Tommy beckoned him to follow the path his boots had made. Joel sucked in some of that painfully cold air into his lungs, before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started trailing along. There were a few street lamps across the field, a ruddy glow emanating from them as they were adorned with a light dusting of snow. He kept his guards up while he scanned through the whistling field of crop, that traumatized part of him always keeping in check of abrupt movements and unsettling sceneries. After a quiet walk for a good three minutes, they finally arrived. The house fronts looked dark enough, and the windows even darker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs.

There was snow piling up outside as well, dirtier ones whose last deposit had been plowed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and wagons. He scrutinized over the tracks, wondering if this was meant to be used as a makeshift grain tower. If it was, then Tommy must’ve been a great scheming asshole to turn such a place into his own little heaven. Not one soul was around, which confused Joel even more. Wasn’t this supposed to be a public glory hole? Weren’t it supposed to be disgustingly packed with sweating men, adorned with walls covered in left-over spurts of cum and other bodily fluids, and smelled like sex itself?

Joel continued to pursue Tommy even when he’s overly skeptical about this entirely new scene. His boots were scuffed as he was dragging his feet through the front door, a fight against his defense system that’s begging him to flee out the door at the unfamiliarity. The establishment consisted of a long narrow hallway that eventually led up to an imposing door. Wooden, large, and mysterious.

To his surprise, what was beyond that door wasn’t some tacky sex dungeon with rattling chains and leather whips, it was a modest looking box. Square, he’d assume one meter wide and half a meter tall. He took in the wood it was made from. His pointer finger slowly traced the circumference out of habit. Oak, he concluded, making it sturdy and cool even in the warmer weather. What he failed to notice from the get-go was a pair of legs that were stretched open, chained onto the wall from the considerably-sized gap. Joel’s heart dropped to his stomach, he forgot for an entire minute what he was planning to do, and he’s starting to get cold feet.

“Darlin’, I’ve got someone for you,” Tommy cooed.

“You do, Tommy?”

Normally, people acquire hobbies in order to soothe their brief but occasional boredom, though you have discovered a unique way to tackle long hours of the night. This brilliant discovery of yours was birthed from a fated moment. One where you accidentally stumble across the conversation Tommy had with one of his patrol friends. It began a fantasy in your head. One you didn’t believe could come true until you overheard a passionate storytelling session one of the barmaids gave their friend. Only then did you gather enough courage to talk to Tommy about it. Despite his initial disapproval, saying things like you look too good and gentle to be doing such things, you managed to convince him with a week's worth of nagging.

“Mhm, one of my good friends here,” he hummed. “You’ll let him use you like a good fucking girl, won’t you?”

Goosebumps trailed from your backbone down to where your legs spread wide. Your nervousness made you flinch, effectively causing your legs to rattle against the metal restraints.

“Yes, I will, Tommy.”

When did you get so.. obedient?

“Alright then. I’ll see you in um.. twenty?”

“Thirty,” the foreign voice spoke up, masculine with a twinge of accent.

“Thirty it is.”

The entire room went quiet for an entire minute, only then did you finally hear the door slammed back shut. You swallowed back the throbbing fear in your heart, pushing back those persistent thoughts constantly warning you of the dangers. Even if you trusted Tommy with all your life, you didn’t trust the random strangers Tommy’s picked out. How could you trust them when you didn’t know who they were for sure? They could’ve been someone you see on the daily. The friendly guards, the cafeteria guy who’d always beam a sweet smile your way and give out more bread than standard, or even.. Tommy’s hunk of a brother. The same one who wouldn’t even spare you a look when you’re obviously sending heart eyes his way.

“Darlin’ is your name, ain’t that right?”

There was something so.. alluring about his voice. The type that makes your knees buckle inevitably, despite your best efforts to push it apart.

“That’s right,” you squeaked out.

“Darlin’, it’s been a long long time since I’ve done this, so let me indulge in you alright?”

“Okay,” you breathed out unsurely.

Your eyes instinctively followed the direction of the hushed voice, but all you could see from the dim box was a piece of dark fabric that was hung from above the hole. It was to keep your identity a secret so that the patrons across from you could only see you from the belly button down. Though now you felt more inclined than ever to pull on the draping and meet this man’s eyes. Your thoughts soon diminished when you felt a large hand over your inner thighs. Nowhere dangerous, just resting below where your kneecaps sat. You closed your eyes to try and envision the kind of hands touching you.

Were they soft and unsullied like a baby’s bum? Or were they rough and ridged with years of work?

That large hand traveled down South, inching with an irritatingly slow pace down towards where you ached the most. He was a fair man. He treated both of your thighs in the same manner before the two gathered together in a v-shape over your cotton panties. You wondered if you should’ve worn something more enticing, something which suited a person like you - someone willing to spread their legs for a true stranger. But the man on the other side didn’t seem to have a problem. He didn’t seem like he was bothered by the simplicity of your presentation, instead he was keen on pressing his thumb down the center.

They were the latter.

His fingers were textured and it felt too good to be true. At the briefest touch, you followed after his movement, hips reaching further up to chase after his departing touch. You whined. Frustrated that he’s cruel enough to press your sensitive clit and leave you all hot and bothered. He let out a deep chuckle, one that came out from the depth of his stomach as he placed his thumb back where it belonged. Your hole clenched and unclenched at the stimulating sensation. Your cotton panties seemed to be a great aid for your needy clit. It felt similar to grinding over a pillow, just this time, it felt a lot more real and animated.

“How long have you been doin’ this, darlin’?”

“Doin’ what, sir?”

So polite. It’s laughable the fact that you’re so soft spoken. Your lips spilled out a gentle moan as his thumb dug deeper into that sensitive spot.

“Lettin’ strangers fuck you,” he was frank with his words that’s for sure.

“This is my first time.. in the box that is,” your voice cracked almost immediately under pressure. “Been thinking of this for a long long time though.”

The gruff man hummed noncommittally as he continued to please you with his thumb. You used to be shy when it comes to being reactive during intercourse, but with the box, it almost felt like you could finally be your true primal self with your utmost carnal desires. He slowly eased your stained panties to the side once he saw an increasingly growing wetness, knowing that it’s time to move on to his next way of torture. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air immediately, it felt like the air was nipping at the sensitive skin all around. He took his two fingers - his middle and pointer finger being his favorite choice despite the controversy - and slowly dragged it atop the slick canal.

“A pretty girl like you gettin’ all wet from a little touchin’,” he chided. “You haven’t been fucked well or somethin’?”

What a considerate man. He called you pretty when he could barely tell what you look like.

“No, maybe, I-” you were flustered. You’ve never had to exchange proper talk when someone’s touching your dirty, wet cunt. “None of Jackson’s men did good. That’s why I hoped..”

Your voice trailed off into a garble of nonsense when he teased at your entrance, trying to decide whether you’re soaked enough to push a finger in comfortably. You whined, louder this time, as your legs fought against the uncomfortable metal cuffs wrapped around your ankle. He decided to play nice for once and made your dreams come true by inserting that thick finger of his. Fingering has never felt good for you, it always felt like an intrusion rather than a welcomed feeling, but he’s making it feel like heaven on earth.

“Hoped a stranger would fuck me well enough,” you took awhile to finish that statement.

He let out one of those noises of disapproval, at your skewed moral direction perhaps or at the tone of desperation your voice must’ve let out. You could only suck in a shallow breath when he started making proper, continuous motions with his finger. He pushed upwards to poke the tip of his finger onto that squishy part, playing around to find out where exactly made you react the most. You loved how he’s patient. You’re half-expecting the men to just stuff their cocks in you like you’re some sex doll instead of taking their time, which you don’t mind either. Half the pleasure was from being treated like nothing.

“Dirty gal,” he degraded, which you found both surprising and exciting. “Just wanted her pussy stuffed with any cock she could have, hm?”

Your hips thrusted up at a larger interruption. This time, the man managed to insert two of his thick fingers inside your eased cunt. He twisted it one-hundred-eighty degrees to the left, then back to the right, before he curled it in a come-here motion. The motion had left you dumb. A combination of ah ah ah’s and unfinished pleads for him to keep still. The man never once fully removed his fingers out of you. He’d slowly pull back to only have a single knuckle stuck inside before pushing it all the way in once more. For once, someone didn’t finger you like you’re a pizza dough waiting to be pounded.

“A-ah, sir. I really.. mmh- I really like that,” you moaned out shamelessly. “Feels really good in my.. in my pussy.”

“You like what, darlin’?”

“Like your fingers.. fingers in my ah- ah pussy!” you whined when he deepened his reach by rotating his wrist upwards. “Something- fuck- something’s coming! Please.. Please don’t sto-”

You warned him like a goddamn virgin and there it was, you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the way your pussy squelched around his finger at the new wave of sticky fluids. The noises were filthy and lewd that you were embarrassed for the first time that night. It coated your throbbing cunt and slowly ebbed out of your hole, dribbling down onto the wooden floor boards under. Strings of almost translucent thickness proof of his success. It’s pretty. The way you gaped around his fingers, tightened and relaxed at his fingers that still kept you full.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

He must be experienced, because he was quick to rub your clit precisely as you went through the throes of orgasm. His broad palm never missed where that bundle of nerves were, until you’re dripping all over the place. Only when you’re right towards the end did he land a small smack atop your pussy, keeping pressure where your womb is to maintain the pleasure for as long as you could. It felt like this wasn’t a shit place for once. It felt like this stranger could surely turn the flesh-eating monsters into a field of rainbows and flowers from how good he’s making you feel.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered. “Someone ever told you that?”

It took you a while to notice that his fingers weren’t there to stuff you full. He was busy tasting you. You could imagine him on the other side of the room, rough fingers deep in his mouth, drenched in your arousal. The thought made you squirm, growing wet once more. You shook your head as his hand slid back up. His fingers ran over your clit with one long stroke before they stayed there. His thumb sat right atop the throbbing spot, unmoving.

"Perfect little thing, ain't ya?” he asked, and you nodded, your muscles tense as anticipation ran high. "Gonna fill you up real nice."

As soon as the dull tip of his cock prodded against your entrance, your whole body convulsed. Tears slowly crept into your eyes, frustrated, you might as well cry out a pathetic plea if he kept on stalling. Your palms banged flat against the side of the box. Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears when he purposefully missed your weeping hole. His length slid upwards, the warm tip rubbed against your clit from below before it shied away once more. Your toes curled and he must’ve taken the hint from behind the curtains.

The perfect stranger pushed himself up to where his mushroom-like tip ended, allowing you to adjust to the dimensions of his cock before he eased himself deeper.

You let out a strained moan.

You almost bump the top of your head on the oak boards when he forced his way in. His cock was fully inside you at last. You were ecstatic. Eyes shut close as you bit into your bottom lip, flesh tearing beneath your canines. It was too much all of a sudden. Too good. Too large. Too full. You could hear the loud squelching noise your spongy hole made as he pulled back and stuffed himself back in.

“Fuck,” he groaned silently. “Don’t squeeze around me, darlin’. You're gonna get me in big trouble.”

He chuckled and fuck did it sound so hot.

You felt his fingers gently reach for the width of your hips. His grip was tight and harsh as he guided your every movement with them. He thrusted like a man on a shooting range, with much precision and prowess. You liked this. Liked feeling as if you’re just a doll for people to use and dump their loads in, especially when it's for someone like him. His cock made you writhe and fight against the metal cuffs holding your legs up. Eager to have him speed up to meet your desires yet he was persistent in keeping a stable speed. The sensation was growing. Slowly but surely.

“A-ah.. mmph.. oh God!”

“God ain’t here to save you, darlin’. It’s just this old man right here,” he cooed crudely.

He made sure to keep you full at all times. Never once did his perfectly-sized cock leave your sloppy hole, it just kept on twitching and growing in size with the help of your warm embrace. “You like this, don’t ya?”

“Oh- oh yes. I like it. Love your..,” he stopped your lewd confession by placing his thumb back atop your once neglected clit, drawing lazily with what’s left of your wetness. You could feel him starting to seep. A tinge of his own arousal mixing in with yours. “Cock! Love your c- cock.”

His heavy pants started to intensify in volume, such a lovely melody when combined with your pathetic whimpers. He’s close.

“Gonna cum in you, darlin’” he muttered out breathlessly. “Gonna make sure you’re all fucked out with my cum.”

You couldn’t think straight. Not when you’re on a highway to heaven. Your little hole tightened, so eager to milk him dry.

“Yeah, you’d like that, won’t you?”

“O-oh.. oh yes. Please.. fuck,”

“Please?”

“Please fill me up.”

His tip started oozing out ribbons after ribbons of cum, quickly filling you up relentlessly. Though he hasn’t stopped bottoming himself up into you. His load sloshed around, coated his length a perfect milky shade, and dribbled down your rear deliciously. Did you really just let a complete stranger fill you up to the top? Did you truly just let him pour his seed up your needy hole?

Maybe you did.

And maybe it’s reckless.

But oddly enough, you don’t feel too bad about it.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #tlou fic #tlou #the last of us

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gremlingottoosilly · 11 months

Note

I’m so obsessed with if you need to be mean and while reading the most recent chapter I thought of a scenario: what if König checked the cameras and you were talking to someone, maybe even a guy, he didn’t know? Like you were in the yard and a neighbor came over to hang out or you ordered something and the driver and you talk for a while? I can only imagine how he would react 😭

Oh...well, one of the reasons Konig chose this house is because of the thought that the small village next to it won't bring him and his wifey a lot of troubles - he expected all of the neighbors to be retired old people, not some nasty young males with hots for his darling! Konig is against even talking to a delivery guy, he sees a man on your doorstep and immediately resorts to violence. As much as he can whole being on a mission anyway - he'd pester you with phone calls and messages about the random delivery dude who was hanging out with you a bit too long(literally just a minute longer than a normal conversation would be). It comes from his safety concerns too - he knows how perfect you are, the best woman in the world, and he knows that if his nasty old dog soul has noticed your beauty, it's only a matter of time before others would see it too. Even a friendly married neighbor or a random courier brought you pizza. Konig isn't really into classic porn, but he saw too many scenarios where a handsome man in a house of a lonely wife starts to behave way too friendly. You can expect a very stern conversation and loss of some privileges - Konig isn't above using his money over you, since you're depending on him. He says that he just wants to take care of you, that you don't know how dangerous the world can be! This is why you need a nanny(poor, poor Krueger)

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig

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amuseoffyre · 11 months

Text

Have had a couple of days and a rewatch and some mulling to put together my thoughts:

The good:

the writing - I've talked at length about the use of metaphor, symbolism, allegory and the like to add meat and substance to the narrative

the continuity tied in to S1 and the foreshadowing coming full circle, plus running themes continuing

the music is flawless throughout - both the soundtrack with songs and the original score and the way old motifs are used to add parallels and depth to scenes

the acting across the board has been staggeringly good. Especially for Taika, Rhys and Con. I can see why so many reviews had been raving about it.

the bits of set-up for S3 that have been planted if/when they get it

new characters who are an absolute delight

Family Trauma the TV show - intense to watch but cathartic af

Badass ladies and the soft boys who love them

Auntie.

The bad:

too much story and not enough time to tell it

sacrificing a lot of crew-related stuff - I know this is primarily the Ed and Stede story, but we're told that Olu was always talking about Zheng, but we never even got a single line of it. Buttons' disappearance gets one sus line. We gloss over the probation and why Ed is back in his leathers literally the next day. Again, I know, time constraints, but it does feel weaker for it.

speedrunning so much that it's taken several rewatches to catch everything that's going on - yes, it can work as a narrative device, but not all the time

still not over Zheng falling for Ricky's gift. Do not trust the aristocratic white dude, especially not when you've been blackmailing him. And I know there's some logical sense to her being so used to being able to manipulate desperate people on the fringes with both carrot and stick, but it feels like severe underestimation on her part about how ruthless and cruel and petty Ricky could be. He's not like the pirates - he has the power and privilege and it feels like she ignored that.

whatever that Teal Oranges pivot was so Jim could have a girlfriend, especially since they didn't have time/space to actually develop the Olu/Zheng and Jim/Archie stuff. Archie was barely a scrape of characterisation because of time constraints.

The ... Forbs Boding

Izzy - it falls under the typical archetype of Loss of a Role Model especially given all Ed's dad issues, which I thought we were beyond, but then it also fits with the running motif of the show of change, death and rebirth. We've had confirmation of the existence of a place between life and death plus a character who was beaten to death coming back from it and a seawitch turning up at the grave. I can see why it was done as it has been foreshadowed since "the only retirement we get is death" but after all his growth in S2, having Ricky be the one to get the jump on him is... hm. I feel like they had him and Ricky talking and Ricky causing his death for a reason. Feels like there's set-up for S3 planted and ready. My Forbs, they are A-Boding. ffs, they Obi-Wanned him right after he did a speech about "our spirit will last beyond your whole fucking empire". Strike me down and I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine vibes.

The way trauma is/isn't being dealt with - I feel like there's stuff there that is set up for S3 as well, because we've seen how Stede is still bottling all his stuff and hasn't dealt with any of it, while Ed has done some processing and started to make peace with himself over it. Stede still has his mental lockbox and while he tries to pretend it isn't there, it still informs so many of his decisions.

All the Star Wars vibes - I've always been convinced this was the Empire Strikes Back season and now, they have all the pieces in play for the Return of the Jedi arc: Stede and Ed are together and recovering but will have a role to play, Izzy is in carbonite with a seawitch control panel, their allies are out there getting pieces in place, and the Imperial figurehead villain who showed up in S2 is still out there and convinced he holds all the power. And I just realised that this means that if they use Hornigold, he's the equivalent of Boba Fett - Bounty Hunter for the Empire XD

On the whole, I am content with it and am already having thoughts about the potential for S3, but I find it incredibly frustrating knowing how much more it could have been with the budget/time they wanted and didn't get.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers

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ghuleh-recs · 2 months

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It was our beloved Bee's (@da-rulah) birthday yesterday! To celebrate I've made us all a mixtape of some of her greatest hits... which ended up being almost everything she's written. Whoops. The only reason I left anything out was to save some for next year! Bee is such a kind, lovely, generous, TALENTED soul and I'm so very lucky to have befriended her. So go forth and read some top tier papa (and Mary!) smut. Leave Bee some comments while you're at it—as a lil' bday gift. ♡

recs under the cut.

Rituale Septem - Terzo (and everyone else) x Reader - 74k

Your faith is shaking; 16 years at the Ministry, and what did you have to show for it? You'd never even heard the Dark One's voice like your Siblings… But what could you do? Well, you could ask the advice of the one person chosen to guide his flock through adversity; Papa Emeritus III. And he has an idea that might work…

Rubenesque - Secondo x Plus Size!Reader - 7.8k

Retirement had its perks. For Secondo, one of those was being able to spend much more time on the things he enjoyed. And there were only two things he truly enjoyed these days; art, and you. Although if you asked him, he’d insist that they were one and the same. So how would he react when he learns that your peers are mocking your sinfully gorgeous body, and you're struggling to love yourself?

A Personal Ritual - Copia x Reader - 2.1k

"With an expert flick of his wrist, it unfolded, a glinting silver blade unsheathing itself from the brilliant red of the marbled handle. When he leaned forward, he stretched his neck with a lean to one side, lining the blade up against his skin and in one quick, clean motion he’d swiped a stripe up to the sharp edge of his jawline. The blade was wiped off on a cloth draped over the sink, then brought to do the same thing again next to the already created strip of clean, smooth skin. You'd never seen him do this before, but you were enraptured – privileged, even… It was you and you alone that had the honour bestowed upon them to watch the man you loved in his most humble and domestic of moments, to see the parts of him that nobody else in the world got to see just because they were usually saved for him, and him alone. While you’d spent many an intimate night in his bed, sharing your bodies and souls in every way a lover can, these were the moments that felt truly intimate."

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x Reader - 72k (WIP)

Mary knew the entire town hated him; the metalhead with the freaky make up and fake blood dripping down his face. He was the local menace, the town vandal, the cliché trouble maker. He played up to that image, enjoyed the havoc and the chaos, revelled in it. He loved pissing people off. And so, what better revenge to get on his beloved town, than to fuck around with the Mayor's daughter…

In Cold Blood - Terzo x Reader - 19.4k

Solitude had always appealed. Perhaps that’s why you took on this project… The thought of transforming a dilapidated old Victorian farmhouse into a sanctuary of your own, to live in peace and the romanticisms of a gothic home you fell in love with. After the structural integrity of the house is replenished, you fill your days with DIY and decorating, bringing to life a house that had been frozen in time and left to rot for decades. You could enjoy the solitude of the land already, a few miles outside of a town plagued by disappearances and a fear of the dark. But you couldn’t escape the news of more missing people, nor the strange occurrences happening around your new home. Were you imagining things? Or was there indeed a shadow haunting your sanctuary?

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x Reader - 22k

As a sister of sin, it was your duty to confess at least once a month, to have your sins praised by a higher up member of the clergy. But you only ever chose Thursday nights, when you knew he was on duty. And tonight, you were working up the courage to confess your darkest sin - the dreams you had been having…

Learn the Ropes - Secondo x Reader - 2.4k

Secondo likes to be in charge. He likes to be in control. But you'd always wondered what he might do if one day, you decided to flip the script, and take charge for him…

Copia gets Bullied - Copia x Reader - 2.2k

"I know this trope for Cardinal Copia is over done but I would love, love your take on it. I would like a sister of sin who Copia have had a crush on, come and comfort him after witnessing him getting bullied and embarrassed. But the poor Cardinal is an emotional crying wreck that the sister decide the only way to comfort him is by being sexual with him for the first time🙈"

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

#happy belated bee-day :)#yes every post i make is a belated bday post don't @ me #there will be more #*side eyes delullu*#fic rec!!#my fic recs #birthday mixtape #reader insert #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #copia x reader #terzo x reader #secondo x reader

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bloomingdog · 1 year

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𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

data: your basic florist au, bit of angst, identity reveal, all that stuff. 4k words, no use of Y/N.

You know him, you know what the looks like at the very least. Once a week—the day never stays the same—him and a group of other instrument-carrying people go into the small venue in front of your shop at nine in the evening, an hour after closing the shop, when you’re about to head home. One early morning, out of curiosity, you checked the schedules adhered and covering the roller shutter in a poor attempt to find who this mysterious guy was. You found no useful information in that regard, you did foind, however, that the club opened at ten and most concerts held there started at least half an hour later. With that new gathered intel your best guess was that they came early to get everything set or a rather quick sound-check.

The venue is on one of the corners that limit the four way pedestrian crossing, the two corners on either side both hold pubs, and diagonally there’s you. “For the Roses” is a name given by its old owner, a sweet lady—and Joni Mitchell fan—you had worked for since you were seventeen, and four years later she had decided it was time to retire. For the last five months it’s been just you, it was easier to take care of it when you were two people working, that much is true, but having to close the shop has given you staring privileges. Years ago, when you first started working here the placement of the shop seemed rather odd, between clubs, pubs and the many other forms of amusement, this, however, was a strategical position. A big part of the clientele consisted of repenting boyfriends and enamoured halves of a first date, and they kept the business afloat.

You recognise him the moment he walks in.

“Hello! How may I help you?” The clock ticks away the last minutes before closing as you try to put on your cheeriest voice.

“Hi, sorry about comin’ in so late. My mate’s playing a gig, I just want some flowers to throw on stage, whole dramatics and all.” His voice is smooth with only the slightest rasp to it. He’s a fun last client.

“Do you want the classic roses then?”

“Nah don’t bother, give me the leftovers.” There are one or two extra cuttings and a bouquet that never got picked up you wouldn’t mind getting rid of.

You excuse yourself to pick out the best leftover flowers you could in an attempt to make a half-decent bouquet. He’s oggling your shop, he’s particularly eye-catching inside your light coloured, slightly old-fashioned establishment. He likes it there, it’s cosy, the floors are filled with different types of flower arrengements and the walls display an amalgamation of different decorations gathered throughout the years, his inspection is only interrupted by your coming back behind the counter.

“Here, I tried to make it as cohesive as I could.”

“It’s alright, love, it’s gonna get thrown anyway.” Oh, that pet name went straight to your chest.

“It felt unprofessional not to give you at least a small sample of my usual, better, quality.” He gave a side smile as a response.

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house, no worries, I wouldn’t make you pay for only scraps.”

“That’s quite nice, take this as a tip, then.” He slid a twenty pound note on the counter, right before turning around a saying his goodbyes with a single wave of his hands.

Spinning the sign at the glass door so it reads “Closed” you turn to sweeping the floor and leaving your workplace as neat as possible, you hum along to the song playing from your phone on the counter. The 20 dollars he gave you felt a bit too much, not that you’re going to complain, not with the cost of everything, a flower shop isn’t a luxurious job to have, so it’s much appreciated.

Drawing the curtain-like metal you spot a group of people walking into the club, one of them must be his friend.

A mere day later, he’s back, making the dainty bells above the door chime.

“Hello! Got another show you need to throw flowers at?” You quip and he chuckles.

“Nah. Only wanted to get actual flowers to have a good reason to ask you out.” He’s confident, maybe overly so, and Hobie is well aware of that, it’s not often that his confidence fails him, though. You look surprised before laughing, it’s ridiculous.

“And what were you thinking of getting?”

“I was hoping you could recommend me something.”

“Roses are usually the go-to flower, although I much prefer freesias.”

“Sick, I’d like a single freesia, please.” He says it in an overly polite manner, the whole situation is laughable.

“That’ll be two pounds.” You say as you hand him the flower.

“Here you go.” You mutter a thank you for an answer. “My band’s playing tonight, at ten, just on the other street, you could come and we could get a drink after.”

No way you’re attending a club on a Wednesday night, with a stranger nonetheless.

“Sure.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you. My name’s Hobie by the way.”

And it sounds like proper fun, really.

You’ve managed to avoid the biggest wave of people going home during rush hour and, thankfully, your ride home is as pleasant as the tube allows it to be and yet, you’re restless. His invite plays around in your mind. He’s handsome, that’s for sure, and it would satiate your curiosity on the other side it would also make you tired for work the next day, you’re too old for that, you think and softly laugh at your own joke. The walk home gives you time to ponder on wasted opportunities and the best years of your life, your flat instead greets you with the promise of a reheated dinner and an eight-hour-long sleep which for a moment makes you think about ditching him.

The commute back feels longer than it usually does. You ate in a rush and got ready far too fast after your flatmate complained about needing to use the bathroom. Your phone marks 10:05PM, fashionably late. You’re thankful the show hasn’t started by the time you sit by the bar, ordering a beer. You still haven’t decided if it’s brave or cocky to ask someone out to your own show.

The whirring of a guitar being plugged signals the beginning of the show.

“Hello, we’re The Spider-Slayers! One two three!” Is your only warning before they start playing. They’re quite good, you have to admit, Hobie, as you’ve recently learned he’s named, exudes power and confidence while on stage, he’s rather skilled. It’s enjoyable, half of the audience is too plastered—it's only ten in the evening—to pay attention to the actual music and are merely glad to have a loud noise playing for them, but they’re well-liked, no doubt an established part of the community. It passes faster than you had anticipated, not even an hour later he’s walking your way while another band prepares to play.

He’s sweaty as he sits down and orders a rum and coke, he looks at you questioning if you also want one. “Make it two.” He indicates the bartender. “Did you like it?”

He’s tall but not intimidating in the slightest, the metal in his face a contrast to all of his warm side smiles.

“Yes!” You’re quick to answer. “It was really nice, you guys are good.” He fully smiles at the compliment, he’s got a pretty smile.

“Thanks. I forgot to ask your name earlier, sorry about that.”

“No worries, it’s Y/N.”

“Pretty.” It’s flirty.

“Did your mate like the flowers?” You ask as the man behind the bar hands you your drinks.

“Totally, made a mess on stage and everything. She was grateful, seriously, funny and praising in equal parts, the bouquet was beautiful too, such a shame it ended like that.” You laugh at that. “How’s it working at a flower shop?”

“Good, actually, better than one good expect, I’d say it’s one of the better retail jobs out there.”

“Seems hard.”

“It is at the beginning, you should’ve seen some of my first arrangements, they were bloody awful, I’m still wondering how we didn’t get any complaints.” It’s Hobie’s turn to laugh.

“You’ve made some improvement then, your shop’s beautiful.” You beam and thank him, you’re proud of the way it’s looking these days. “How’d you end up working there? Do you need a degree to be a florist?”

“Not really, no. I’ve taken a couple courses but for the most part I was trained by my old boss.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Strange place to set up a flower shop, innit? I see you closing all the time and wonder who in their right mind would think of opening it at a nightlife epicenter.” Good to know you’re not the only observer.

“You’d think so! We get a lot of our clientele thanks to that, not all flower shops open until eight either way. Flowers make both great apologies and gifts, you can only imagine the kind of people who walk in there.”

“What, like me?”

“No way, I’d put you in the normal bunch.” He quirks an eyebrow, an invitation to tell him more about yourself. And that you do. You talk for the two hours that the club remains open, he’s fun, you’re both chatty, you’ve got a multitude of things in common, he tells you about his bandmates, you exchange numbers, he’s a cat person by the way.

“You want me to walk you home?” The underground closed an hour ago, it wasn’t that big of a trek to your place, you could say yes if not for the stranger—acquaintance—danger middle school talks flashing in your memory. The bus, though taking longer than the tube, was still an option.

“It’s fine, really. I’d rather take the bus.”

“Got it, I can wait with you if you’d like.” Yeah, yeah, you’d like that. The two of you walk close to each other to the nearest stop. The pavement is damp, it gives you another reason to be glad that you wore your trusty old, slightly dirty, converse instead of a more sophisticated option.

“Thank you for inviting me, I had a nice time, you’re fun.”

“So are you, love.” How could an overused term like that have such a big effect on you when he says it remains a mystery.

You sit in a comfortable silence until the right bus gets there and as you bid your goodbyes you’re unable to contain the big smile you give him, blame it on the drinks. You send him a quick text noticing him that you got home safe and sound before falling into deep sleep.

Your phone rings and vibrates from the bedside table, it always goes off at the same time and yet today it manages to scare you awake. The trip to the bathroom and coffee making is accompanied by a string of curses: music, bad choices, the opening hours of your business and pretty boys all fall victim to your vulgarities. The lack of proper sleep makes your day go by twice as slowly, nodding off and almost missing your stop and doomscrolling during work hours to pass the time, even turning to reading an article from The Daily Bugle, it’s laughable, it’s says something something Spider-Man, something juvenile delinquent something menace for the city.

The chime of little bells half an hour before closing wakes you up better than your alarm had done earlier in the day. Looking up from your phone you spot the same bright eyes and confident stroll that kept you company last night.

“You need to stop coming in right before closing.” You scold him. You’re confident he’s aware that it’s an invitation for him to keep showing up.

“My bad. Do you like food?”

“I-What?” Indeed, what? “I like food, yes.”

“Peng. You want to grab dinner?” And he also needs to stop proposing last-minute plans.

“Where?”

“What do you fancy?”

“Thai?”

“Sure.”

“I close in half an hour, you can stay here if you want.” Not that you’re expecting any more costumers.

He asks if he can help with anything and you hand him the broom and dustpan that hangs in the back of the shop, he laughs and takes it as payment for having you get out earlier. The floors aren’t dirty per se, it’s mostly leaves and bits of cutting that have fallen. He sweeps while you get everything ready for tomorrow and put away what’s been used today. Half an hour later you hang your work apron and close the shutters.

There’s a nice restaurant a couple blocks away you’ve got food to-go from before. You order a spicy noodle soup, khanom jeen nam ngiaw, and he settles for stir-fry noodles. It’s good, warm and comforting, you take a bite from his plate and he follows suit with a spoonful of your broth. The conversation picked up while cleaning and it has yet to die down, he tells you about his hobbies—you can't help to make fun of him by saying Hobie's hobbies—and you share your love for museums with him, ‘We should visit one.’ he says to which you agree in excitement.

You don’t let go of his hand until your bedroom door is closed and you softly push him into bed. Taking only a short break to take off both of your shoes you don’t waist time in straddling him, his hands on your hips as you return to kissing. Soft moans mark the tempo for your exploring hands and you stare at his bare abdomen with much less shame than you think you should have. His hands are slightly calloused and scarred, it doesn’t matter with how skilled they are. It feels like you’re drowning in him, you hope he feels half as good as he’s making you feel, if his breathless mutters of ‘fuck’ and ‘good girl’ are any indicator you can pat yourself on the back after it’s over.

The dinner is paid for, the night chilly compared to the warmth inside the restaurant. He offers to walk you home again, this time you agree because you’re no longer strangers, right? You make it half of the way before puts his hand on your lower back, you don’t make an effort to move it, it’s comfortable.

You make it three quarters of the way until you start kissing, your back against the wall of a mildly busy street, you feel like a horny teenager. You climb up the stairs to your flat two-steps at a time, your hand holding his and praying that your flatmate has confined herself to her room so you don’t have to introduce one to the other, not right now at least.

The morning after your alarm not only scares you awake but it also makes him sit up in bed with a jolt.

“Sorry.” Sleep is still evident in your voice.

“S’okay.” He replies before giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, you don’t think either of you wants to deal with each other’s morning breath, it’s a tad early for that.

You offer him breakfast. Your flatmate has left for work but she won’t forgive you if you don’t tell her of last night’s events. At least it won’t make this morning awkward, or more awkward than it already is, it happens with first breakfasts: sleepy, a mess, cranky from waking up, it’s not anyone’s best look.

You take the underground while he chooses to walk home, it’s not crazy far away from yours, apparently. In the meantime, the work day is spent looking up frantically every time the bells over your door chime, hoping that it will be him at some point. He does come over, at ten past eight, and he has to knock on the door to catch your attention. Your strange arrangement goes on for the better part of the next two months, he comes over when you’re about to close, you eat together multiple times per week, he’s quite a skilled at making exactly seven different dishes, he invites you to his shows and you’ve met his bandmates, you’ve had every cliché date imaginable: the park, the cinema, the natural history museum, markets, the full deal. You don’t call them dates though, you’re not a couple even with all the kissing and sleeping together—literally and figuratively—he’s told you he doesn’t like labels, but he’s being exclusive with you so you’re okay with it.

He shows up with little cuts and bruises, you attributed to being clumsy at first but it’s become more common lately, he excuses it as a protest that went south, a moshpit or just a friendly scuffle with his mates. It doesn’t ease your nerves. But you're soon to forget all about it once you’re outside, walking hand in hand and sharing headphones, he’s incorporated bits and pieces of your music to his playlist and he makes sure to show you the songs he thinks you’ll like first than anything.

Your phone lights up with a text notification from Hobie, he’s coming over soon. It shouldn’t be, but it reads as ominous, he doesn’t usually tell you in advance and would rather showing up unannounced.

“Hey pet.” He greets, it’s his latest nickname for you, you’ve always thought it ridiculous but he’s making you grow fond of it.

“Hi Bee” An animal-related nickname you gave him after he tried calling you ‘duck’ that has stuck. “You want to do something or should we head home?”

“Home’s fine, I’m tired.” It’s fair, he’s always running around doing things, you’re okay with a night in.

He sweeps the floor, it’s his assigned task, you feel bad but he says he doesn’t mind and likes helping you. The ride back to your place is quieter than usual, he seems pensive. You’re about to open the door to your building when you notice him stuck a meter away.

“Are you okay?” Your heart is picking up speed.

“Listen, love.” Oh no. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come up.” You’re on the second and final step of the stairway while he’s at ground level, he looks smaller than he’s ever been. “I’ve had a lot of fun, really, but I don’t think I can go on with our thing, you know? I’m not good at commitment anyway.” Your lack of a response get’s him speaking again. “I’m truly sorry, I just don’t wanna go on with this and end up hurtin’ you.”

“Okay.” Is the only thing your brain is able to formulate.

“Okay.” He replies. “I’ll be leaving now.” He says as he kisses your temple, turning around and giving you a single wave of the hand for a goodbye.

You feel the tears beginning to fill up your eyes, your vision blurry, at least you were able to hold them until he left, it’s already embarrassing as it is. You don’t bother re-heating dinner that night, choosing to go straight to bed and waking up with puffy eyes in the morning. For the first time in a while you’re sure you won’t have any visits at work, it’s terrible. You feel stupid. He told you enough about himself to know that the two of you weren’t in for a long-term relationship and still you held onto some sort of hope of being an exception.

That was two weeks ago. You’ve seen him two times since, while leaving for home. He waves your way and you wave back, out of politeness more than anything. Two weeks of radio silence that break your established routine and fill you with a sense of expectation during the last hours of work.

It’s nine-twenty on a Sunday, it’s usual for you to stay until late at the end of your work week, Hobie knew that and would make sure to keep you company and take you home those days. The early November weather has made it so it’s already been dark for hours, the city is rather calm, you don’t suppose there’s much to do on a cold November night. A series of knocks on the door alerts you of the presence of someone outside, it startles you as you hold the broom you were using against your chest.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight outside the door. Spider-Man was doubling down and leaning against the glass of your shopfront, electric guitar strapped across him and hanging in his back, clad in his usual metal decorations while his suit had been torn. You let him in a hurry, it’s not ideal to have an idol of the working class dead on your welcome mat. He limps to the back of the shop, in your current state of panic you don’t stop to wonder how he knows the way so well, until he’s sitting on the floor and leaning against one of the walls, guitar forgotten besides him. You follow him and crouch at his side just in time for him to take off his mask.

“Fuck off.”

“Hi pet.”

You were so excited to be done with work and head home to watch a film, lucky for you, your ex-situationship still has a habit of coming in right before you leave.

“Bloody hell Hobie.”

“Please don’t be shocked right now, we can talk about it tomorrow.” He can’t be serious. “I’m knackered.” I wonder why, you think. He looks like proper shit.

“Hobie you’re bleeding.” You’re trying your best to be helpful and not panic.

“It’s fine love, it’ll heal in no time, I kinda have superpowers.” You’re choosing to ignore that and get up to retrieve your first aid kit, it’s far too basic to be useful right now, only equipped to help with cuts and minor injuries.

You can feel his eyes on you and your whole body is shaking as you kneel by his side. You try your best to keep your hands steady while pouring rubbing alcohol into a cotton pad.

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine.”

“Let me clean it, please, so it doesn’t get infected.” He lets you, wincing at the alcohol making contact with his open injuries. He knows you're doing it more for yourself than him. “Sorry.” He shakes his head as a way of saying ‘no worries’.

You reach for his face with your bare hand once you’ve considered him clean enough, you cradle his cheek and can’t hold your tears from spilling.

“This is why I cut thing off with you, you know? Don’t wan’ you getting hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.” He pleads.

“What about you getting hurt? Does that not matter?” He laughs and winces right after.

“You’re a sweet thing. I don’t have a choice but you do.”

“And what if my choice is to stand by your side?”

“You can’t.”

“Yes I do!” You’re reaching tour breaking point and can’t help but raise your voice. “I didn’t know I loved you as much as I do until these last weeks without you. It’s been torture.”

“It’s been torture for me too.” His words soften you, and it’s only then you realize what you said, you don’t dare acknowledge them, maybe he didn’t notice or the head trauma will make him forget it.

You’re crying now and it feels awful because you should be the one comforting him, he’s hurt not you. He holds you as you shake and places a kiss to your head.

“Can we sleep here?” He asks once you’ve calmed down. The tile floor is anything but comfortable and still you nod yes.

You fix a make-shift bed consisting of your bunched up jumper and apron for pillows and your big coat, that barely covers his upper body, for a blanket. Not that it matters, you chose to turn the radiator up and it’s hard to get cold while curled up to a human heater. You’re careful while laying with him, both out of fear of hurting him and prudence of this hurting you even more. He doesn’t care and brings you closer, your head on his chest and his hand drawing shapes on your back over your clothes, you can’t help but worry about the state of his back in the morning.

You find sleep easier than you have since your “break-up”, his rhythmic breathing lulls you and his caresses calm you down. You’re in the before-falling-asleep-limbo when you hear his voice, he says “I love you too” like a confession secret, you’re not sure if you were even supposed to hear it. It’s too late for you to react, his words mix with the beginning of your dreams into a spiralling nonsense.

🕷 i really enjoyed writing this! i was thinking of maybe doing a part 2? tell me your thoughts if you dont mind too! i haven't written anything that isnt academic in years and i feel rusty

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie brown fanfic #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown drabble #hobie brown blurb #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #spider punk x y/n #florist au #atsv x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown angst #hobie brown x fem!reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you #spiderpunk x y/n

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kindheart525 · 22 days

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I’ve drawn all the Dottieverse Smiling Friends individually, so now have a lineup! They’re all on very different paths in life but they’re all content and aging gracefully as they deserve, and still friends even if they don’t always see each other nearly as often as they used to. Here’s a little info about where each of them ended up!

Pim Pimling - The new Boss of Smiling Friends after Mr. Boss got too old and decrepit to do his job (which nobody believed was possible) and passed the title to him. His work is his passion and he does it well even though his style isn’t the same as his boss before him. Outside of his job (where he works with Kip), he’s busy as a grandfather to Ell’s rowdy horde of kids and desperately praying he’ll never have to bail Nee and Dur out of prison again. He’s not under any less stress than when his kids were young, but it’s worth it for the smiles he helps create.

Charlie Dompler - Stayed working at Smiling Friends for a good long while. It wasn’t that he had any deep allegiance to the company, but it was a decent enough job with people he knew and liked. He would rather stick around than quit to look for something better only to end up in some shitty dead-end job. Along with helping more clients, he helped Pim train the younger hires, but eventually stepped down to let the next generation take over. Now he mostly chills while making money on side gigs, and splurges on the occasional irresponsible midlife crisis purchase, but he tries not to do it too much because he knows Zoey doesn’t like it.

Zoey Dompler - Living a pretty simple life with Charlie (well, as simple as things can get in this wacky world) now that their daughter is off living life and love. She’s been working from home since Dottie was born which has given her a lot of flexibility to go on whatever adventures she feels like. Weekly dinners with Dottie, visiting her family in Vermont, keeping in touch with Marge (who spoils her with First Lady bestie perks she could only dream of), and convincing Charlie to go on trips with her. Most of her adventures are local day trips to nearby beaches and zoos and museums and such, but that’s just the way she likes it.

Allan Red - Left Smiling Friends after some time to pursue bigger and better career opportunities and to secure a better 401k. Since he built Mr. Boss’s rocket boots he clearly has the intelligence and skill for some advanced technology job, so he took his engineering degree and odd Smiling Friends experiences and got just that. Since he chose not to have a spouse or kids, all he has to focus on is his career and his cats, and he gets to live a very comfortable retirement with lots of money all to himself. Even though he hasn’t worked for Smiling Friends in a while, he still gets invited to events with his old coworkers from time to time and has fun catching up with them.

Glep - Now President of the United States! His raw genius and bad boy edge got him elected and now he spends his days busy with all the presidential stuff, like giving speeches, attending meetings, and resolving international conflicts. He’s invincible to all the naysayers who want him impeached or worse, focused instead on shaping the country to his vision. Even though his kids are all grown up, they all want a piece of his presidential privilege, so he’s finding himself having to play the role of father again as well even when they cause him trouble in his job. Once again it seems impossible to have enough time for everything he’s doing, but he gets it done anyway.

Marge Simpson - The most iconic First Lady this century, Marge is serving cunt while her husband serves the country, as the young Senators would say. She’s supporting Glep and fulfilling all the traditional duties of her position but she’s doing it in style, setting all sorts of fashion trends just by going about her day. Of course she’s used to the attention as she was always a looker, but she’s glad her allure hasn’t dimmed from her supermodel days even as she’s allowing herself to age naturally and gracefully. A lot has changed for her and Glep as the whole country demands their attention and approval, but the most important thing in their lives will always be each other.

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allur1ngs · 9 months

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could you give more information on hyo? we all know bada + bebe because they’re of course real but since hyo is an oc, we don’t know a lot about her. like her hair color/style, height and age, hobbies and personal things like that <3

okay, here's an official deep dive on Hyo!!

this is her official face claim, kim hieora's appearance in bad and crazy!! (i actually haven't seen the show...lmfao)

full name: kim hyo

she's 5'8, making her slightly shorter than bada and lusher, has dark brown (black in low lighting) hair, fair skin, and is 25/26 years old (i haven't decided yet hehe).

style: she loves a super laid-back and casual style when she's not wearing her normal suit, which is basically almost never...

hobbies: ...she doesn't really have time for any... but if on the off chance she takes a day off (literally once in a blue moon) she enjoys reading!! she's an avid reader and loves history!! she did very well in her studies, but history was always hyo's strong suit!!

likes: she LOVESSSS chocolate. that might be her only weakness. she likes sweets in general but not to the extent that she likes chocolate. she also likes cold showers and cold weather.

dislikes: disappointing bada. i feel like i've beat this point into the ground but it's such an important part of hyo's character!!

i'm going to go into a small rant so you've been warned but...

i'm not sure if anyone picked up on it from AWOOL, but hyo is the daughter of chung-hee, bada's bodyguard when bada was younger. hyo always looked up to her father because he was so dedicated to his work and she thought that the idea of protecting another person is such a noble cause/job to choose in life. so when she grew up she idolized her father greatly, and the few times she met bada while she was young, she also grew to idolize her too. bada has always been strong and independent, even before the death of her mother, so when hyo got to see how she took charge in her life without being arrogant and using the influence of her parents, hyo was like "yeah, i want to be just like her."

adding onto that, the lees basically kept hyo's family afloat. they paid her father an incredible sum of money for his work, and before that hyo grew up very poor, so she was basically taken out of poverty by the lee family.

(let's also not forget that chung-hee and mr. lee were also best friends since like childhood, so naturally hyo appreciated him a lot)

so after her father retired, bada--still recovering from the lingering affects of her mother's death and having no trust in almost anyone, somehow managed to trust hyo (because she was chung-hee's daughter)--who was now much older, to become a part of bebe.

hyo wasn't bada's bodyguard although she wanted to be--lusher got that privilege--but the second you stepped into bada's life she was assigned to protect you, and after that hyo felt like that was her calling. to protect the person most precious to bada like ji-ah (the man who killed bada's mother) didn't do. because of all that, she greatly respects you and thinks of you as a little sister she has to protect with her life.

okay rant over🤗

other things hyo dislikes includes, traitors--i'm sure you can guess why--snobby rich people, which in her line of work are literally everywhere so..., and people who disrespect those who have given them so much. in bloody knuckles, you'll see a bit of hyo's frustration with reader come out when she realizes that she lied to bada. she does, to an extent, understand and sympathize with reader's reasoning, but she sort of grows cold with her after that.

and before anyone starts to get any ideas, because i'm sure they will...hyo would never NEVER date reader or bada!! she thinks of reader as a little sister (not to mention bada is in LOVE LOVE with her and hyo would never betray bada like that), and bada is hyo's boss and someone she idolizes, she would never be in a relationship with either of them in the canon. and even out of canon bada is NOT hyo's type at all

okay that's all i can think of for now so let me know if you'd like to know more :D 🩷

#౨ৎ melody's mafia au #౨ৎ melody's newsletter

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harunayuuka2060 · 2 years

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Riddle: Are you sure you'll be fine talking to my mother?

MC, cheery: Don't worry, Riddle! I'm generally good with people!

Riddle: Then why do you always find yourself in trouble?

MC: I said I'm generally good with people, not absolutely.

Riddle: Fair enough.

Riddle's mother, already judging their existence:

Riddle's mother: It seems like my son hasn't learned his lesson yet.

MC, smiles: No, ma'am. Anyway, I have a lot of things to say but I will just summarize them.

MC: Have you heard about how mothers ask themselves as to why their children never visit them when they get old?

Riddle's mother: Yes. I've heard of that. Their children are ungrateful.

MC: Haha, that's just like 9%, but I'm not really sure with the statistics. However, if you're curious.

MC: Most children will never get back to their parents who had controlled their lives since their early age.

MC: And I do get it that mothers like you only want the best for your children.

Riddle's mother, frowns: Get straight to the point.

MC: What I'm trying to say here is...

MC: If you don't want to end up alone in the future, you better fix your shit up.

MC: I'm sure now that you're getting old and retired, your only goal in life is to see Riddle get married and have children.

MC: And guess what? There's a 99.999999% possibility that you won't get invited to his wedding and you might even lose the privilege of seeing your future grandchildren.

MC: Perhaps, you might even say the same thing like, "Why my son never comes here anymore?" That'll be really pathetic.

Riddle's mother: ...

MC, smiles: That's all.

Riddle: I've sensed a drastic change from my mother.

MC: Hm?

Riddle: She said to me that it's time for me to spread my wings?

MC, laughs from the inside: Oh. That's weird. Maybe she ate something. Don't think too much about it.

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst riddle

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ghostboymichael · 3 months

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"it's about the policies" well that's the problem. after watching the debate i still have no idea what the fuck any of biden's policies are because he utterly failed to communicate them.

that's understandable, it was a bad performance on his part. nobody is denying that. however, it is one night, and reading up on his policies, the things he has done for americans, and even listening again to the debate while trying to ignore the tapered off sentences and stuttering, can help to realise he actually has made quite a bit of positive impact. i personally did not have any trouble understanding him, for the most part. however, i am used to speaking with people who have speech impediments, and am also quite good at listening to and comprehending auditory information in general.

anyway, the very next day he was speaking at rallies and was much more forceful, much more vigorous, and much more clear. sometimes it's just a crapshoot --- people have bad days. i do public speaking and performing, and sometimes i am able to speak clearly and concisely, other days i feel like i can't even get a word in without stumbling. the thing to remember is that he is a human being, not a robot, and when dealing with so much pressure and scrutiny, it can be difficult to put on your best face.

it's important to remember that debates are not what being a president is all about. it's also the stuff that goes on in the background. but that's less entertaining than watching a public shitshow, and it doesn't get nearly as much media time. however, it happens to be the more important stuff.

and, for the record: i spend many hours every week in a retirement home, most of it on the second floor, which is reserved for clients with severe dementia. none of them would be even slightly capable of speaking the way biden did. many people are so out of touch with what dementia actually is that they sincerely believe biden exhibits it. no. what he is exhibiting are normal human reactions to pressure --- stupid mistakes, fumbling, and stuttering are all normal. and, remember, stutters are often worsened with stress. it was a shitty performance, yeah. but it was shitty for normal reasons.

people who jump on biden for misremembering the year of his son's death, for example, clearly don't understand loss. my father lost his brother many years ago, and i asked him what year he died, and he couldn't remember. just like biden, he remembered the day instantly. but the year disappeared. nobody would call this a sign of dementia in my father, but when biden does it, he's on death's door.

this is because people are constantly looking for another reason to accuse biden of being incompetent. there is little to no basis for this belief --- much of it is thanks to the pervasive campaign against him. yeah, he's old. we get it. the dude's ancient. but you need to remember that he's still the only thing standing against another trump presidency. and if you think that would be better, please remember:

there is a culture of listening not to the words people say, but how they say them. it's natural, it's instinctive --- often it's a defense mechanism. but you need to work against it. you need to force yourself to listen to the meaning, not how the tone is making you feel.

biden may not be a great guy. he may not even be a good guy. but right now he's the only chance to get america back on track, not even through his presidency, but through the people around him and the avoidance of trump. trump is the biggest threat against america right now. you cannot let him into office.

and here's your daily reminder: voting based on ONE issue (palestinian genocide) rather than looking at the bigger picture is a sign of extreme privilege. it proves that you don't care about palestinians at all. why? because letting trump into office is throwing women, queer people, trans people, AND palestinians under the bus. because trump hates all of those people. and he has enacted policies against all of them during his presidency, and he's confirmed that he will again if re-elected.

you gotta remember that the fight for bodily autonomy in america, for example, is a fight for bodily autonomy everywhere. whether we like it or not, the rest of the world does look to america, and last time i checked, palestinians are humans, and they have bodies, and those bodies are affected by the american struggle for bodily autonomy.

and as a final note, here's my favourite post on this issue. it explains it clearly, concisely, and probably better than i have.

i hope this helps. if you're an american voter, please vote for biden. it sucks, but there really is no better option right now. but hopefully, in the next four years, there will be.

and because i know people in the comments are gonna hit me with the "american dems" bullshit as usual: i'm literally not american. try again

#us politics #asks #american politics #debate #2024 presidential debate #2024 presidential election #2024 presidential race #2024 presidential campaign #joe biden #donald trump #vote blue #vote biden #vote democrat

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rowaelinsdaughter · 11 months

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𝖄𝖊𝖘, 𝖘𝖎𝖗 (𝕽𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

First fic of my masterlist and im IN LOVE with gow this has turn out!!! Hope you enjoy this one and the others. WARNINGS: SUGGESTIVE, PRAISE? KINK, TEACHER X STUDENT, and i dont know more.

Orynth University. One of the best in all of Erilea, known for its brilliant teachers, its library with all the knowledge in the world... Its ancient architecture amazed anyone. Its long hallways were decorated with old paintings, chandeliers hung from the ceiling in most classes, and shelf after shelf occupied the walls of the different classrooms. Everything about that University was magical.

You came from a small town belonging to Perranth where libraries were scarce and there was only one school and one institute. But you wanted more. You needed to get out of that small town, you felt like it was getting too small for you. So, you endured 2 years working in a bar to save enough money to be able to get out of there. In the end, you had enough money to rent a small apartment and pay the tuition that would take you to the UO.

After a year of waiting you were finally going to take Ancient Language. Before you came, you found a single book in the library that was about the Old Language, and you instantly fell in love. You couldn't find much on the internet, but when you found out that in 2 year it was taught as a subject, you fell in love instantly.

The first weeks for you were exciting and a little disappointing at the same time, because the teacher didn't have much idea about the subject and only read what was in the book. In the afternoons, you went to the library and researched and studied what was going to be in the next class, only then did you manage to be the best in the class. One day, you were waiting for the teacher, who never arrived. Apparently your now former teacher had decided to retire early, leaving you without a teacher... Or so you thought.

It had been a week since your old teacher decided it was time to leave. Since there was no teacher, most people decided to leave and then return to another class, except for you and a few others.

Your classmates were preparing to leave again when, without warning, without knocking on the door to see if they could enter, the door opened revealing the most beautiful person you had ever seen. People stopped talking, paying attention to the person who had entered. Whispers about who he was began to be heard throughout the class.

Her short silver hair shines under the light of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. His arms tense under hsi white shirt and his rolled-up sleeves reveal a tattoo that surely takes up his entire arm. And his face seemed sculpted by the gods themselves. You follow him with your eyes until he reaches the teacher's table. Young, but not your age. You estimate that he may be between 25 and 28 years old. Maybe 4 years older than you.

His green eyes scan the entire class until they stop on you. Your eyes meet for what seems like an eternity, until he gives you a small lopsided smile and then turns his gaze back to the class.

“Hello everyone, I'm Rowan Whitethorn and I'm going to be your Ancient Language teacher throughout the course and the following years.” His deep, sensual and masculine voice remains engraved in the depths of your being. “If you think that I am going to be like your old teacher, you are very wrong. You have come to study and that is what you are going to do. I don't want cheap excuses as to why you were absent, I don't care if the cat died. One lack of attendance is one point less in the evaluation, two absences mean the privilege of taking the exam is taken away, and three absences mean expulsion from my class. “I want justified and rational causes.”

The authority of his voice makes thoughts that until then had never crossed your mind about a teacher cloud your mind. Rowan was going to be your downfall.

__________________________________________________

Not only was he handsome, he was also the smartest teacher you had ever had in your entire life. His voice when he spoke in the Old Language was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard and your notebook was immediately filled with notes. Your companions were leaving one by one, there were a few meters left to reach the door when a voice sounded behind you.

“Miss Y/n, can you wait a moment?”

You stand up and, taking a deep breath, you turn around and head towards the teacher's table where Rowan is standing leaning on the table with his arms crossed, making his biceps tense. Keeping a safe distance, you say: “Yes, professor?”

A low laugh leaves his lips. "Don't worry, you don't need to call me professor or sir, Rowan is enough."

“So, what do you need, Rowan?”

“I have seen your grades, also your exams and your assignments, let me tell you that you are well above the average for your class. Congratulations."

Hearing that “Congratulations” come from him makes something inside you activate and you could only think about what it would be like to hear him say “good girl”.

"Thank you. The truth is that I have always been interested in the Ancient Language, so I always try to investigate and study more”

“Well, I'm glad to see that there is someone in this class who is so interested in the subject. Keep it up, Y/n.”

With a slight nod of your head and a small goodbye, you left the class and the university. Once in your apartment, you decided to take a cold shower.

________________________________________________

After that day you tried even harder in hsi classes, getting A's in everything, always keeping everything up to date, and there were even days when you and Rowan spoke in the Old Language so that your classmates wouldn't find out.

You were putting your books in your backpack when you hear Rowan say. “Y/n, I would like to talk to you in my office for a moment.” You nod and follow him to his office.

When you enter, the first thing you notice is the bookshelf that takes up the entire left wall. Right in front is his desk and next to it, a large window that illuminates the entire office. It's perfect, neither too big nor too small. You hear the door close and then the latch. You swallow, trying to calm the nerves that have begun to grow inside you.

Rowan walks over to his desk to put down the books and then sit down at the desk. You see how he picks up a piece of paper from a pile and you realize that it is your last assignment, which you spent almost a month doing and perfecting. He hadn't given them yet, so you assumed you were the first.

“A perfect job” he turns the pages “More than perfect I would say, in fact, right now you would be at the level of the ancient scholars” He hands you your work “Congratulations.”

You look at the note. The maximum. Without being able to avoid it, a smile lights up your face. “Thank you very much Rowan.”

“There is nothing to be grateful for, Y/n. You are a very good student and you have a bright future ahead of you, this is thanks to your efforts.”

A blush grows on your cheeks. "Thanks, I do what I can."

Rowan moves away from his desk and approaches you. The scent of his cologne clouds your thoughts and your blush grows deeper when he lifts your chin with one hand so you can look into his eyes. You notice the lust in his eyes. “I know you do what you can, tell me Y/N, have you been trying harder just to have my approval?”

You open your eyes wide. You try to move away from him but the hand on your chin tightens a little more and his other hand grabs your waist, preventing you from moving away. You hear the sound of your backpack falling, but you don't pay attention to it, because all you can think about is the man in front of you.

“Nothing about that Y/n, now that I have you here, I'm not going to let you go… I want you to answer me.”

Rowan moves closer to your lips.

"What?"

“Are you my good girl?”

Without being able to avoid it, you run your hands along his arms, noticing his muscles under his shirt, until you reach his neck. You caress the base of his neck, marveling at the softness of his hair.

“Yes, sir”

An almost animalistic growl leaves his lips before he slams his lips onto yours.

Tags; @danikamariewrites @throneofsapphics @shadowdaddies

#fanfic #sarah j maas #sjm books #throne of glass #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #rowan x you #rowan x reader #rowan fanfic #throne of glass suggestive #suggestive #teacher x student #hot teacher

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