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kidney9-9 · 11 months ago

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Mixing Things Up - Yamada Hizashi

Hi hope you enjoy :) thank you! I'll be back pretty soon I hope. Also lmao I have no idea if his quirk would be able to do this but I'm pretending it does. Requests are open

Hizashi x Reader [Smut] Warnings: Smut, face sitting, cursing Word Count: 1.4k

Hizashi answered the call for his radio show, not thinking their question would be something so inappropriate for a live show. “Hello, you’re now on with Present Mic, Yugo. What’s your question for the day?” Hizashi asked, drumming his fingers against his desk.

The person on the other line stumbled over their words, “Uh, hi! So, my girlfriend and I wanted to mix things up a bit by using our quirks – if you know what I mean.”

Hizashi scrunched his nose up in confusion, “No, I don’t follow?”

The person laughed, “Right, right. Anyway, my question to you is have you and your girlfriend ever use a quirk during sex? Doesn’t your voice cause at least some vibrations when used in a controlled way? Why not use it on someone?”

Hizashi’s eyes widened, “Woah! Okay, I’m stopping you right there. This show is live and family friendly.” He quickly looked over to the audio techs, scrambling to cut the phone call now. They quickly did, and Hizashi blew out a sigh of relief.

“Wow, okay folks, time to get this party going with some new music out by a few popular bands.” He quickly moved onto another subject.

By the time the show ended, Hizashi kept thinking about the question that he was asked earlier. Was his quirk able to do that? He thought deeply about it. Technically, it should be able to do something like that. All Hizashi had to do was activate his quirk while he was whispering, and that would send a very mini version of the pressure pushed out. If he did it a few times in a row, then yeah, it would feel like vibrations.

He blew out a sigh, wondering if you’d even like to try that kind of thing. He’d figure he’d ask tonight when he got home. He was up to try it at least.

You were in the shower when he got home. He smiled softly to himself, looking in the fridge and noticing the extra food. He warmed it up in the microwave and sat down to eat it. Once he was done eating, he heard the shower turn off, and he quickly put the plate away and walked towards the bathroom.

“Hey sweetheart.” He called out, waiting for you to get out of the bathroom. You did, with a towel wrapped around your body. You smiled softly at him, happy to see him.

“Hi Hiz, how was work? I listened for a few hours but had to do some work.” You asked, walking towards him. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged, he hugged you back, groaning as some water dripped on him.

“It was great! Mostly…, hey you got me all wet.” He chuckled, pulling away at the feeling of wetness on his clothes.

“Mostly? What happened?” You ignored his joke, pouting at him.

He sighed, feeling a bit weird even bringing it up like this, but for some reason he was stuck on it. “Did you hear about the caller that asked about quirk use during sex?”

Your eyes widened and a surprised laugh came from your lips, “Mm, wow, that must’ve been surprising. I didn’t hear it.”

“Okay! Yeah, just something he said really made me think about something.” He paused and laughed, scratching his head.

“He said my quirk could cause sensations, like vibrations – and well, would you be interested in trying something out?” His words tumbled out and he watched as your smile widened and you nodded to him, causing him to laugh in relief.

“You were acting so nervous, I was worried!” You laughed, “Baby if you wanted to do that, we can. How would you wanna do it?” His eyes widened, realizing you meant right now. Damn, he was down for that too, why not?

“Mm, you know I love when you sit on my face.” He responded and you gave him a suggestive look as you dropped your towel. His eyes dropped down to your body and gulped as he watched some of the water drip down your breasts and down to your stomach, leading towards your hips. He sighed as he watched the water drip down your bare legs, and you walked over to the bedroom, signaling him to follow.

He settled down against the bed and motioned for you to get up on the bed with him. “I’ll tap you twice on your leg if I need to get up.” He spoke and pulled you close to him. He gave you a kiss on the lips, which turned heated as one of his hands drifted to your breasts.

He squeezed and massaged one of them and then started to pinch your nipple. You gasped into the kiss and leaned into him even more, which led him to slipping his tongue into your mouth, curling around your tongue and your mouth.

He groaned into the kiss as you started to grind against him. You wished he was naked, so you could feel more of his bare skin, and you slipped away from the kiss, panting, “Baby, I wanna feel you, take your clothes off.”

“Mm, of course, then I want you to sit on my face, pretty girl.” He murmured back to you, making you shiver in excitement. You pulled back and sat, helping him pull his shirt off. He grinned at you, and you smiled back, loving how attractive he was, with his hair down and smiling.

“You’re so handsome.” You let out, causing Hizashi to laugh and smile even more at you. He kissed your lips slightly, then scooted back to take his pants off. Once he was done, he gestured for you to come over to him.

He laid his head down on one of the pillows and you put one leg on one side of his head and the other on the other side. “You ready?” You asked, gazing down at him. He nodded back to you with a wide grin, excited for you to sit on his face. It was one of his favorite positions after all.

“Fuck yeah, baby.” He responded with a blush forming on his face, as he gazed up to your pussy. You slowly lowered yourself onto his face, and he blew out some air just before you settled down against him, causing you to shiver slightly.

Just as soon as you sat down on his face, he gave a big smooch to your pussy, chuckling when you shuddered again. He started off with smoothing his tongue slowly all up and down your pussy. He groaned at the taste, enjoying the sweetness of it.

“Ohhh, Hiz…” You trailed off, moaning as he started to circle around your clit. He usually focused on your clit, just as you liked and continued to press his tongue against your bud with more and more pressure.

He gripped your legs tightly, pushing you down further causing you to gasp loudly. You pushed your hands into his hair, pulling his face up closer against your pussy.

He grinned before he activated his quirk, to the very smallest set – extremely quiet, not a whisper but loud enough for you both to hear his words as the vibrations rolled straight into your clit, causing you to shake like crazy.

“How do you like it?” He asked, with his quirk activated.

You whimpered loudly, “Fuck, fuck, Hizashi.” Your voice carried out his name, and he shuddered at the sound of it. He loved hearing you moan his name, especially like that. It made him feel so important and lustful for you.

“Hmm, keep moaning for me, baby girl. I love it when you do that.” His voice came out, quirk activated with vibrations rolling out throughout your pussy. Your grip on his hair tightened and you shook against him, about to come undone.

“I’m so close, fuck, please, keep doing that, oh god, please!” You begged him loudly, not caring that your neighbors might hear.

He continued going on the lowest activation of his quirk, muttering dirty things to you, “Go ahead baby, cum for me, I want your juices to cover my face. You taste so sweet, so good, fuck, baby girl, you’re so fucking good.”

That drew you over the edge with the vibrations curling over your clit relentlessly. Your orgasm pushed out of you, cum pouring out of your pussy, spreading over Hizashi’s face. He lapped it all up with his tongue, circling over your clit again, making you shudder once more.

“Baby, holy fuck, that was amazing.” He groaned as you slowly moved yourself off of his face. Your lower body was trembling as you moved away, and you laid next to him, breathing deeply.

“Yeah, it was. Can’t believe we didn’t think about that ourselves.” You chuckled back breathlessly. You pulled close to him and gave him a small peck to his lips.

He grinned happily, “We’re doing that again for sure. I’ve got to thank that caller.”

#yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #smut

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genderqueerdykes · 4 months ago

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i was asked recently to describe what my experience is as a trans man with visible facial hair who dresses very femme and wears makeup whenever i go out. i thought this was a good question, since i don't think i've ever discussed my experience with this. i know public restrooms are a huge source of stress for a lot of trans people, they're stressful for me at times as well, which is why i try to avoid them when possible.

i will say that i am lucky enough to not have a bad experience using public restrooms. it might be because im rather physically intimidating, having a lot of muscle tissue and not being particularly short, it's hard to say. generally, i use the men's room, even if i'm in a dress or skirt. i don't make eye contact or particularly even look in the direction of other people using the restroom, which i find makes it easier.

looking nervous and making eye contact can, for whatever reason, threaten cisgender people and i'm not sure why. public restrooms are stressful for everyone, not just trans folk. i will use the women's bathroom if the men's bathroom is full, or disgusting, but that happens very rarely. i have also had no issues with using the women's restrooms. even when i lived in Missouri which is a red state, I didn't seem to have issues because I walked in and out with confidence and ignored whoever else was in or around the restroom with me

long hair generally isn't an issue from what I've observed because a lot of men nowadays are wearing their hair long. generally speaking, the voice is one of the most gendered part of us and I have no idea why, but it helps to keep any comments or conversation to an absolute minimum- having no conversations or interactions is ideal. if someone says "excuse me" or something to that effect, nod or shrug or respond with body language instead of verbal language.

i would say utilizing the masks we use for covid is one of your best shots at making the experience a lot less stressful. covering up any potential facial hair, a strong jaw, etc. can help a lot with people minding their own business. this is not to say that if you just mind your business and try to avoid other people that they won't react. but i find the process goes smoother whenever you have something that can obscure part of your face (I'd say even putting your hood up if you have one could help in a pinch).

if someone does decide to cause problems: leave the restroom as quickly as possible. pull out your phone and make it look like you are calling for help (or actually call for help). people who start trying to cause problems generally do not want witnesses. do not confront them or attempt to correct them about your gender. this will only make them angrier. do not let them corner you. slip out from beside them if you have to. do not push or touch them unless they have grabbed, pushed or hit you first.

tell staff of the location you are at that someone is being belligerent in the restrooms- if you don't want to mention it's due to transphobia, you don't have to. but if you feel the location is accepting enough, please do, because that can get you help right away. if you live in an area that's not as progressive, just refer to how violent the person is being and skip the gender talk.

i feel like this isn't super informative, but i hope it helps some folks out there. i know how stressful this can be and it can't be avoided all the time. the best we can do is try to do our best to avoid confrontation altogether, and when it happens, get witnesses and support as quickly as you can. i hate that we have to tell each other these things just to use the bathroom in public. it's asinine. but i hope this helps at least one person

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raggedypina · 3 months ago

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Pack your bags and embark on the tour in the-

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you took a group of strangers, put them all on a world tour, with a producer who has no idea what he's doing and has zero dignity?

If you answered a sitcom you are completely right!

Having been fired from her job as an accountant and without any hope of getting a decent job, Pomni is found singing without commitment by Caine, who secures a place in the band for the woman. What she expected to be a successful band actually turns out to be a decadent group full of drama and internal problems.

(They couldn't even decide on the theme of the band's name, common on)

She hopes to get at least the basics to eat now

𝕸𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙:

(Main one's for now)

Questions:

Can i shipp these characters? Yes, have fun. Go wild!

Can i make fanart of this? Absolute yes! Have fun! Just tag me! I wanna see it!

Can I make nsfw art? Yep! Have fun doing so i guess.

Can i ask questions about the au? Please do!

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

Lore corner:

"what kind of music do they sing and who was the singer before Pomni arrived?":

Each member likes a specific style

Ragatha - Pop and indie

Gangle - Foreign and electronic

Kinger - Country and Jazz

Jax - Rock and Blues

Zooble - Heavy Metal and punk

With Jax being the main star, he took the initiative to be the voice of the band, making the theme more towards rock, although they usually sing more funk and folk songs

Kaufmo was the former singer, he left after Jax antagonized, ignored and played several aggressive and embarrassing pranks on him for months in a row. He believes that the clown and Zooble were the main culprits for Ragatha breaking up with him, and while Zooble does not tolerate the antics, Kaufmo was more sensitive.

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

Comics (chronological order):

A part of you to show

Bad first impression

First meeting

New surroundings

Face it now

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

Drawings (chronological order):

Backstage dance

Musical cuddle

Falling apart

Same Night

Same moment

Hound Dog

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

Videos (chronological order):

What once was

Im a pit

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

Fanart

Band Jax!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc fanart #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #the amazing digital band #tadc kinger #tadc art #tadc au #tadc pomni #bands au

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daytaker · 10 months ago

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Hiiii! I’m the anon that asked for the MC’s family request and it was hilarious, 10/10 if you don’t mind May i possibly ask for a part 2 with the dateables? Thanks for reading!

(Part 1: The Brothers)

"Mom, Dad, these are my other four boyfriends and my son."

...is what you almost do say when there's a knock at the door a few weeks later while you're entertaining your parents, your sister, and teenage cousin who's stuck with your folks while your aunt is on a cruise. Your parents stare at you with faces that all but beg you to ignore the damn door. Is it that cult again?

"Open the door! Is it that cult again?" your sister asks with shining eyes. She's been discussing going backpacking across the country ever since she met those seven hot guys who apparently adore you now. Your parents are devastated.

"Cult?" asks your cousin, looking up from his Switch with dead eyes. Your sister starts explaining to him as you go to the door and look through the peephole.

Oh, Christ. Oh, fuck. Oh, son of Gardonus---it's the son of Gardonus.

Opening the door just partway, you see that it's not just Diavolo. No, he brought the whole crew with him. Barbatos, naturally, but also Solomon, Simeon, and even little Luke. Diavolo holds a bouquet of flowers and Luke has a covered platter that almost certainly contains some kind of cake.

"Hiiiii, guys..."

"MC! It's been too long!" laughs Diavolo in his booming voice.

"It's been...a month..." you concede. Why, just...why...do all these handsome men find you so alluring? This is just your cross to bear, apparently. "It isn't a great time though, so---"

"Is that them?" Your cousin is standing behind you, peering out the door.

"No, this is... Who the hell...? MC, don't tell me there are more of them?!" Your sister is clearly astounded, and also quite delighted. "Invite them in! Invite them in!"

So, soon you're standing in the middle of your tiny apartment again, surrounded by friends and family, holding flowers and a cake, and feeling like you'd love it if a chasm in the earth opened up and swallowed you.

"There were more?" Your mom sounds hurt, like you'd been intentionally hiding things from her. "How many more besides these?!"

"Arguably three, but I don't know them well enough for them to visit," you say, winking reassuringly to the nervous author.

"Oh my god, there's a kid?!" Your sister has noticed Luke now. "Holy shit! Whose is he?"

You point mutely to Simeon, who smiles uncomfortably and waves.

"I'm not a kid!" Luke protests. "I'm--"

"You're a pre-teen. We know, Luke. We know." Solomon laughs dangerously, and Luke doesn't put up any more arguments.

You clear your throat. God, this is even more uncomfortable than the last go-round.

"Um, so. Everyone, I'd like you to meet---"

(Individuals are below the cut!)

Diavolo

Diavolo, who was never good at standing by quietly while other people talked, steps forward before you have a time to do any introductions. He extends a hand to your father, who has been eyeing him resentfully all this time.

"You all must be MC's relatives. What a delightful person you've brought into this world! I am Diavolo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"'Diavolo'?" your cousin mutters, looking at his Switch screen again. "Like from JoJo?"

Dia looks very confused, and as your father hasn't shaken his hand, he smiles awkwardly at you. "Perhaps I'm approaching this the wrong way? Are the customs here very different from...ahem. Where we are from?"

"You mean Italy?" your cousin says.

"Ah-- Yeah. Dia's Italian. People here are a lot less friendly," you tell him.

Your sister asks him how someone like him ended up in a cult.

You remind everyone that you were not in a cult.

"But you met my baby while they were away from home," Mom says accusingly, glaring at Diavolo. "When they were vulnerable and confused."

Diavolo has no idea what to say to that. Your dad is still glaring at him.

Solomon

"This is Solomon. He's---"

"I'm their mentor and closest companion," Solomon says helpfully, taking your hand. "We have a very special relationship."

You really wish that chasm would stop taking its sweet time and open up already.

"Mentor? Special relationship?" Dad finally speaks up, and his arms are crossed over his chest, his expression deadly serious.

"This must be your father," Solomon observes, still smiling. "Sir, it's an honor to finally meet you. I hope I have an opportunity to speak with you privately later. We have a lot to discuss."

Your mom is ready to throw hands with this guy. Your sister is enchanted. Your cousin is cursing under his breath at his Switch.

Solomon wraps an arm around your shoulders and you elbow him in the gut. He smiles through the pain but lets you go.

Simeon

"...Simeon. Simeon, these are my parents. This is my sister, and this is---"

"Is there some sort of attractiveness requirement to join this cult?" your sister asks, beaming at Simeon.

You remind her that there is no cult.

Surprisingly, your parents don't seem nearly as hostile to Simeon. Maybe it's that angelic charm at work. They both shake his hand, which is significantly more than they were willing to do with anyone else.

"Simeon, that's a good, decent name. What do you do for a living?"

"I own and operate a cafe."

Nice one, Simeon. Very smooth. And your parents look even more impressed.

"A business owner, eh? And at such a young age..."

No one points out to them that Simeon has probably been alive longer than humans have existed.

Luke

"...Luke!" He has a completely normal human name! High fives all around!

"And that's his father?" Mom points at Simeon. "He looks awfully young..."

"Oh, Luke's an orphan. Simeon's just his guardian. It's really sad actually. His parents died when their car careened off a cliff."

How did he end up living with a cult though, they want to know. That Simeon guy can't be a very responsible caregiver if he's living on the road.

You explain to your family (again) that they aren't in a cult, that Luke is a totally normal orphan child with a stable and loving home, and yes, Mom, he goes to school. Yes, Mom, he eats vegetables. No, Mom, you don't need to call DCFS.

"He's so cute," your sister coos.

"I am not!" Luke yaps.

"And he's shaking and everything! You know what he reminds me of?"

You rub your temples.

"A Chihuahua."

Barbatos

"This is, uh... This is..."

Barbatos smiles at you and offers not an iota of assistance. He finds this entire thing pretty funny.

"This is Barb... Barbados..."

"What, like the island?" your sister asks.

Yes.... Just like the island....

And yeah, he talks. Sometimes he talks a lot. I don't know why he isn't talking. Barbs, say something.

"It is an honor to finally meet your family, MC. What a charming collection of people."

"I like your hair," your cousin says, actually looking up for once. "And those are pretty sick beads."

You agree that Barbatos's human clothes are pretty sick.

Did you say human clothes? That was weird of you.

Your mother asks why everyone in the cult paints their nails besides Simeon and Luke. You tell her that there is no cult, but, uh, it's just a fashion thing. They just like it. Don't be judgmental.

Your cousin agrees. Don't be judgmental, Auntie. He paints his nails black. So, like, what, is he in a cult now?

You remind everyone that there is not and never was a cult.

Your cousin tries to give Barbatos his Tiktok and tumblr accounts, and Barbatos smiles very graciously but refuses on the grounds that he does not have a Tiktok or tumblr.

After you manage to get the group out of your apartment, shoving Solomon out as he farewells you as his adorable apprentice, you slam the door shut and lock it.

Your parents smile at each other, agreeing that you could do much worse than that nice Simeon boy. Your sister insists that she is going to backpack across the country with at least ten or eleven hot men, even if they do have a kid with them, and nobody is going to stop her. And your cousin has put down his Switch and is now designing a vampire OC that looks suspiciously like Barbatos.

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inbarfink · 1 year ago

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So when I wrote down that Big Undertale Meta Post about how Sans probably doesn’t remember RESETs at all and why that’s cool - I got a lot of responses to the tune of ‘that’s probably canon but I’m still gonna enjoy Sans Remember fics because of the angst’. And, well... first I want to emphasize that those are very good and correct responses! Like ‘I acknowledge might or might not be in the text but I am also gonna explore alternative ideas Because I Enjoy Them’ is a Good Damn Position to have! Transformative Fandom is Transformative on purpose! Engage with the text and it’s various analyses but don’t let it chain your creativity or fun!

It’s just that… all of the people saying that they prefer Sans Remembering ‘for the Angst’ make me think that maybe folks are kinda ignoring the incredible angst potential of Sans NOT remembering.

My original post focused on how cool it is that Sans manages to be so on-top-of-things even though he doesn’t remember anything - but let’s not ignore the fact that this situation is also grim as shit.

Through some mysterious super-science or whatever, Sans has managed to discover that his timeline is being RESET and altered constantly (before the Player came along, Flowey had already managed to basically 100% the entire Underground) and he has no memory of what's going on and what exactly is being altered.

He knows he might’ve gone through the same day over and over and over again thousand times but he’s simply not aware of it. It’s all the helplessness and lack of forward momentum of a classic timeloop and none of the benefits of memorizing occurrences or acquiring extra information. That’s exactly the thing that drove him into his depressive spiral.

That line always strikes me. It’s like… Sans suspects that without the meddling of capricious immortal time gods, he’d be a much happier and motivated person. But he doesn’t know for sure, because he can’t remember how he was in some distant ‘original timeline’. He is essentially fighting to avenge a version of himself that might not even be real.

Like, yes, it is very impressive and badass how well Sans trained himself to notice every tiny little hint that might indicate that a RESET happened - but it’s impressive because the deck is stacked so heavily against him. And it is very impressive and badass how Sans managed to turn his weaknesses into strengths during his Boss Battle - but it’s impressive because these are usually huge weaknesses. Trying to work to solve a timeloop that you can only infer is going on through context clues is quite a hopeless and desperate mission!

Another bit in the Sans fight that I often think about is his unique reaction if you kill him and then RESET to Fight him again.

With how skilled he is at reading expressions, Sans probably knows what that ‘weird expression’ means, he knows the Player killed him once before and is here to try again. And yet he still goes along with the same attack plan he has, the one he knows killed him in that previous timeline. Why? Because he doesn’t know where the flaw in his plan was exactly, he can’t even begin to guess. So he has no choice but to go along with the plan he knows did kill him, because that’s the only thing he has.

You know, the thing about Sans, is that he always plays his cards very close to his chest. It’s very hard to tell what exactly he’s thinking. That’s probably why so many people do believe he remembers RESET. If any non-Flowey character remembered RESETs, only Sans would be remotely able to hide it so well. But for me? It makes me wonder how much of his Troll who Knows Too Much persona is a bit of an act as well.

You know, Sans’ deduction requires some keen observational skills - does he ever second-guess his conclusions? Living on constant high-alert that something has been reversed or that someone knows something they shouldn’t requires fostering a lot of paranoia, and that can’t be healthy for him. Is he ever overcome with doubt on whatever something was really an indication of a timeline RESET or not? How does he feel when he realizes something horrible happened on a previous timeline (for example, his brother dying) but he doesn’t know about the context to feel sure that he can stop it from happening again?

I also think about it in terms of his relationship to Papyrus in general. Sans tends to hide so many things from Papyrus, especially in timelines where the Player is particularly kill-happy...

In part it’s about his perception that Papyrus’ kindness and pacifism is born from naïveté and thus the only way to preserve it is to hide the cruelty and harshness of the world from him (Undyne also does that). But also, with the paranoia and helplessness Sans lives in every day - is it any wonder that he might believe that ignorance is bliss?

I do truly think it’s beautiful how fandom can experiment with cool non-canon ideas! There are probably so many great emotional angsty ideas tied up to Sans remembering RESETs! I just feel it’ll be a shame if people ignore just how dire and depressing Sans’ canon situation also is!

#undertale #ut #utdr #sans #sans undertale #sans ut #undertale analysis

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poppy-metal · 4 months ago

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selfish, rotten girl you'd always been and let this caring, fragile, scared little girl you were startin’ to become go - like petals in the wind.

oh and you ATE with that. the hurt/comfort??? i’m literally in awe of your writing and your ability to take the scraps of my ideas and turn it into something beautiful.

i imagine reader feeling so conflicted after the storm because oh my god he was so kind and loving to her but she feels sick because she’s thinking of his girlfriend who has been nothing but kind but also the extremely buried cynical part of her (that thinks no one can love her ever bc she’s sososo awful and rotten) thinks that maybe it’s a ploy. that art was just being loving to her to get her back into his bed, but that thought is easily squashed because it’s art. he has a heart of gold that makes you want to be better than what you thought you could be.

so you do what you have been doing, avoiding him as much as you can. the peach tea being the only moment of connection between you two—the passing brush of fingertips and you ignore the ache that settles in your chest when you feel his warmth. you choke back sobs every night knowing that you’ve ruined that poor boy. and you do what you do best: hate yourself, belittle yourself, break yourself down because you don’t deserve good things or good people. you don’t deserve art donaldson.

it’s the last sunday service you’ll attend before you return home. the plane ticket is booked for friday; your grandma asked if you wanted to stay for longer, and a few weeks earlier, you would’ve said yes. but you need to cleanse this town of you. you need to cleanse art of you. your grandma’s been telling you about that engagement ring he’s been carrying around all month and how he’s thinking of proposing next weekend during the end of summer festivities. “such a shame you can’t stay till then,” she says.

“my parents have found it in them to forgive me,” you respond, “and they found someone who’s willing to marry me.”

ah yes, the big overcast over your summer was the engagement you would find yourself come summer’s end. while your summer was rearing animals, cooking breakfast for the ranch hands, and watching over some of the town’s children while their mamas picked peaches from your grandma’s trees, your parents had been busy schmoozing up and down the east coast, remedying your reputation and finding some brad, chad, or richard the second to marry you off to finally cleanse their hands of you.

you grandma tsked. “you could’ve found love here, dont understand the big fuss over finding you a husband in connecticut. we’ve got some fine honest men here.”

yes you do. in this moment of weakness you steal at art and envision what life would be like with him. would he hold you in the mornings? care for you while sick? play with the children you would bear for him and show them the ropes of ranch life just like he’d done for you many months before. warmth settles in your stomach but quickly curdles when lucy turns around and sends you a wave. you nod in response and focus your attention to the front; the pastor is just beginning his sermon.

atonement. that was the lesson of pastor zweig’s sermon. you rolled the word around in your head as you fried up bacon for the farmhands monday morning. it’s become a ritual. you making breakfast for the 10 folks who help make your grandma’s life just a little bit easier, and while you grumbled the first week, you became a little infamous amongst the town’s women of being the best cook in town: feedin’ their husbands bellies better than they can. at least, that’s what your grandma jokes.

when you place the final plate of buttermilk pancakes down next to the homemade blueberry sauce and the farmhands cheered, you beamed with pride. perhaps you did have the ability to create, to nourish, to be good. art sat at the head of the table, and you caught the little smile on his face, the chuckle that passed his lips at his friends’ antics.

"i will say, your cookin' can make an honest man out of me," patrick jokes. art stills in his seat as you refill his cup. he steals a look at you, but you seem unfazed. no, you seem tired. sick even. but it's quickly replaced with a coy smile that you flash his best friend's way.

"now we all know here nothing can make you an honest man," you joke, "no matter how much your daddy prays and prays." the farmhands break out into a roar.

"and what would you do if i got down on one knee right now? i swear, if it means i get your cookin' for the rest of my life, i'll make you my wife right now, and even give you a few kids too," he says with a wink. you and the farmhands are laughing, but art is gripping his fork.

who does patrick think he is? you're his.

"well it won't do you any good, patrick," you respond breezily, "my parents finally did good on their promise and it looks like i'm getting married by the end of the year." the room falls silent. you let an awkward laugh slip out, "now now, this ain't no funeral. don't people usually congratulate the blushing bride."

art's seeing red. you're getting married?

"well is he nice?" someone asks. art doesn't care if that man won a fucking nobel peace prize; you are his. and he can't believe you. waltzing into his life, ruining him, rendering his emotional state in shambles, only to waltz right out into the arms of someone else? but shouldn't he be relieved? the engagement ring in his pocket burns hot.

"i don't know, haven't met him yet."

"i'm going to go check on the horses," art gruffly says. he leaves behind a whole plate untouched. the farmhands pay him no mind; the youngest taking his plate for himself. patrick smirks into his eggs, well aren’t things getting interesting.

tl:dr art is experiencing emotional constipation! reader is accepting her fate! patrick is,,,meddling? but there’s only 4 days left until reader leaves and allegedly 5 days left until art proposes 🤔 much to simmer, much to cook

originally envisioned patrick as the rich old money new englander who’s equally fucked up and is who reader is engaged then married to and time skip! grandma passes away and leaves behind the ranch to reader and ofc the newly married couple moves there to build a new life away from prying eyes of their families and art is confronted with the fact that you are not his and you have moved on,,,but have you moved on? but there’s smth much more salacious to me (!) about black sheep pastor’s kid!patrick who’s only a ranch hand bc art got him the job as a promise to the pastor to help get patrick on the right track just like he’s been doing since they were kids. patrick who’s aware of the tension between you and art and wants it to bubble over—bc wouldn’t it be fun to corrupt the person in his life whose main job was to make him good? but now both ideas are equally hot and Important to me 🙂‍↕️

also horny thots re: ranch hand!art exist but tbh,,,i’m in my angst, hurt/comfort, plot/character development bag—more to come~

- 🤠

AURRRRR NOT THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE BACK HOME !!

I need them to get into a big fight - like I need art to shout at her with veins popping in his neck yelling at her asking her why the hell she got into his head and twisted him all up in knots when she's just gonna go and fuck off at the end of the summer - get hitched to another man. the jealousy hot in his veins, the possessiveness he suddenly feels foreign to him because he's never felt this way before. not for his sweetheart - never got jealous when patrick flirted with her or anything like that. you're making him feel all these bad things - these sinful things - and you aren't even gonna stick around to take accountability for the damage you've done to him??

need that passionate, knocking the cowboy hat off his head kind of kiss with his hands gripping your cheeks - need that kind of dick that feels equal parts making love as it does fucking - he's touching you in more intimate ways than he ever has before - he's branding you, in a way - marking his territory. making you remember him the way he knows he'll never be able to fuckin' forget you. making you watch how his cock slides in and out - making you tell him how good he's gotten at fuckin', the bull you've trained -

aurrrr ranchhand!art drama save me SAVE ME

#ask #🤠 anon #ranchhand!art

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baronessvonglitter · 2 months ago

Text

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 18 🍒

"I Wanted It To Be You"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 7,467

Summary: Moving on from Joel, your life takes many unexpected courses: college, marriage.. yet you keep wondering What If..?

(Warnings contain spoilers, so please check beneath the cut if you're curious)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (the difference is 17 years, and there are a few time skips throughout this chapter), starts in late 2003 and ends in 2023, Angst Angst Angst, brief mention of jailtime, breakup, parental issues, heavy on the mom guilt, underage drinking, dry humping, anonymous drunk sex (never ever do this, folks), vomit, reader going through a slutty era after getting her heart broken (just like Joel in Chapter 14), allusions to smut, time skips (labeled), panic attack, mention of drugs and alcohol, rough sex, creampie, surprise pregnancy, infidelity, lil bit of a makeout sesh with Tommy, semi-public sex, pussy pronouns, light degradation, Ellie is Joel's daughter, mention of cyberstalking (not as serious as it sounds), mention of reader having a therapist, Joel and Tess are married. If I left anything out, please LMK!

Author's Note: this took forever to write because the more I edited the more I wanted to add. And I know this chapter has quite a few time skips, I just wanted to highlight the important parts as much as I could. ALSO: I apologize for the unrealistically speedy law process at the beginning. I have no idea how that situation would pan out, but it would almost definitely drag out for months if not years.

So much angst here, but now the reader is all grown up! I wanted to add the convo with Sarah but this chapter was already getting so long, and I think it'll fit better in the next installment anyway.

Series Masterlist

"I would've said yes."

You've lost count of how many voicemails you leave Joel, who's been ignoring your calls, but this is the only time you say it, that you admit your love could have gone a different way if you'd just gotten back to that hotel room together.

You replay that night over and over in your head, but with different endings. In a perfect world, your father would never have even been there in the first place. In a separate, less perfect world, you would not have called out to him, just ignored him the way he ignored you. Then you'd have some peace of mind, and you'd belong with the man you love.

Each time you call Joel, you expect to hear his gruff voice on the other end of the line. And soon enough the ringing stops and goes straight to voicemail, where you leave him the words of your bleeding, broken heart:

"I would've said yes."

You haven't taken the ring out of its box, worried you'll jinx whatever luck you have left. Joel is supposed to kneel, take your hand in his, and place the ring on your finger. You've never envisioned what getting engaged would look like, but it definitely bears some semblance to tradition.

When Chris refused to press charges, the law stepped in and did it for him. Thirty days in the Bexar County Jail is what they sentenced Joel. That was why you couldn't reach him, why you felt like you were hitting a brick wall. It's a relief when you're finally able to speak to him.

"I'm so sorry," you cry to him over the phone, his voice like a warm and soothing balm. You imagine yourself curling into his embrace, allowing his arms to enfold you, make you small and safe, hidden from the dangers and ugliness of the world.

"You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," he grunts.

"I love you." You sound pitiful over the phone but you don't care. "Joel, let me come see you and we can work it out. Please."

He sighs. "I got somethin' I need to tell you. Might change your mind how ya feel about me."

"What?" you ask quickly, your young mind scrambling to imagine what he could say, as if to fortify your already shattered heart. Your stomach sinks, nausea threatening to make the bile rise in your throat. "Joel, what is it?"

He's quiet for awhile and when he speaks it's monotone. "I've been seein' someone else."

It sounds like he's speaking a foreign language. You shake your head, looking at your wall calendar. It's only December. You last saw him in late September. The biblical manger scene on the church calendar your mom put on the fridge is an evil harbinger of time now lost.

"Who?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Doesn't matter," he says gruffly, sounding uncomfortable.

"Tell me who," you insist.

With a deep sigh he relents. "Hailey."

Again, it's like hearing a foreign language. "Hailey? The girl I worked with? The one who went to Sarah's party? That Hailey?"

"Yeah."

"How.. how did this happen?"

"Ran into her at a bar my first night out of jail. I was lonely and she was.. she was there for me."

"What do you mean? Did you-" you take a moment to breathe, try not to let your emotions take over.

"I slept with her. That's all it is between us, just fuckin'."

It's like a punch in the gut. No, worse. It's a blade plunging into your heart over and over.

In a blur of upset and disappointment, you utter the words of anyone who's ever had a broken heart: "How could you do this to me?"

There's no answer for it from his side. His refusal to go into detail feels like he's hiding his fling with Hailey on purpose, withholding part of his new life to you, but you never stop to think he might be saving you from the pain he knows is due.

You cry after hanging up on him. You cry more than you did when he left you in San Antonio. You cry until you can no longer see because your eyes are puffy, nearly tiny slits that still somehow shed tears when you think of Joel with your ex-friend.

Once the sadness has been cried out, there remains only rage, simmering and profound. With small, practiced movements, you take the engagement ring in its box and mail it to Joel's address. No note, and no explanation needed.

"You're not yourself," your mom mentions one night when you push your plate away, your dinner barely touched.

"Not hungry," you mumble.

She sighs in exasperation. "I don't know what to do with you. You won't talk to me." She pushes her own plate away and downs the rest of her cheap wine. "You come home from God-knows-where, with a damn bruise on your face."

You touch your cheek where your father had accidentally knocked you backwards, wishing it was the only physical pain you endured from that night.

"..you don't bother with the chores anymore, you lock yourself away in your room, probably not even studying. Do you even attend classes anymore? Do you even care about your future?" she continues.

"No," you say quite simply.

"No??"

You shake your head and shrug, as if answering something as easy as 'do you want to watch a movie later?'

"I don't. Give. A shit."

Anita scoffs, refilling her glass. "Great. That's just great. Maybe I'll drink this entire bottle and give myself alcohol poisoning. Then I wouldn't have to deal with your shitty attitude anymore."

The scrape of your chair as you push away from the table is as loud as nails on a chalkboard. "You want me to talk? I'll talk." You lean forward, relishing this moment where your mom looks scared as shit.

"I said I was in College Station, but I lied. I was fucking Joel every weekend I was away. We met up in hotel rooms and fucked each other's brains out. And the best part of it all was that he loved me," your voice breaks but you're wickedly delighted by the look of shock and disgust on your mother's face.

You're on a tirade now that can't be stopped. "Two months ago I found Dad in San Antonio. I did," you nod, a psychotic kind of laughter breaking from you when she gawks. "And do you know what? He's forgotten all about us. He has a new family, new kids, new young wife. And he doesn't give a shit about you or me. He never really has, has he?" You realize you're standing, towering over her as you spit out all the venom she's ever poured into you right back at her.

"Now.. how does it feel to have the truth shoved in your face? To be deprived of the fantasy world you wanted so badly to live in, cushioned by your idiotic pretenses? Because I'll bet you could've gone your whole life not knowing, staying innocent. Well, Mother Dearest, fuck you."

Without a word you pack your things, your body moving way ahead of your brain, stuffing every necessary item into a couple of bags before you leave her house, with the intention to never return again.

Summer 2004 Louisiana

Staying with friends in a shitty apartment, you finish the rest of the semester before transferring to another school. Three schools in one year probably isn't a very good look on your transcript, but it's the first choice you make that is truly your own. Working two jobs over the summer you finally have the money you need to survive as you begin a new chapter in Louisiana.

You do everything in your power to get over Joel. The first step was deleting his number from your phone, even though you've already memorized it by heart. To be safe, you also delete Tommy's number, and Sarah's. It feels final, and a small part of you wishes they could get a notification informing them you no longer consider them important enough to keep, even as data.

It still stings when you think of Joel with Hailey. She's older, more experienced, and can probably do whatever he wants without being asked. After you've deleted the Millers from your contact list, you hover over Hailey's name, pressing it and, in a moment of antagonism, send her a text. I thought you were my friend, Turns out you're just a fucking slut Then you delete and block her number.

Dating other guys doesn't come very easy. It's as if they can smell the heartbreak on you, sense your loneliness and unease, the untempered anger simmering below the surface of your smile. You're a walking red flag and you know it, but that doesn't stop you.

You grind on a guy at a club after he buys you a few appletinis. Never mind that he's twenty five and trying to get you drunk so you'll fuck him. With your twenty-dollar Charlotte Russe dress hiked up as you drag your sopping panties over his clothed hardness, he sucks the apple flavor off your tongue, one hand gripping your hips while the other slips inside your underwear to rub your clit and you come for the first time in months. So loud, in fact, that you're caught and promptly kicked out of the club. When your partner (you never remember his name) asks to continue at his place, you decline, already walking to the next bar.

Once the high wears off, you are consumed with guilt as you think of Joel. What would he say if he found out? Would he even care? Maybe he's fucking Hailey right now.

And it hits you that it's already been a year since you first slept with him.

You pause in the middle of the street, coming back to earth when a car honks at you, cursing at you to hurry up and fucking move dumb bitch!

Walking on, you can't get the memory of the feel of Joel out of your head: the way his tongue licked into your mouth, fingers traveling down to play between your folds, telling you he needed you nice and wet before he fucked you, those thick fingers slipping in and playing you like a well tuned instrument, his lips gliding over your throat, resting just above your pulse point, then finding their way down the slope of your breasts, taking each nipple between his lips, his beard rasping against your skin.

You try to force the thought away, but it returns manifold. His mouth, the stiffened warmth of his tongue lapping at your cunt, drinking up every fucking drop and telling you you taste so sweet. He doesn't stop until you come more than once, finally fitting himself inside you, teasing you with the first few inches. Sure you can handle the rest, babygirl? before sliding in in one smooth thrust, joining you body and soul, moving against you just how you need.

You cover your face with your hands and wander into an alley, overcome with despair at the loss of your love, the loss of what innocence you thought you had. Both of those things given to someone who only saw fit to fuck you as he wished and discard when he couldn't handle the reality of your personal life.

"Are you okay?" a voice asks, approaching softly from behind. You turn and see a man, another college student like yourself, dressed in jeans and a striped button down. His features blur together until all you hear is his soft Southern accent and all you smell is his Curve cologne. The next thing you know you're kissing him, begging him to touch you, fuck you, and then he's spinning you to face the wall, dress hiked up, panties pulled down. Your arms support you against the wall as he pushes into you from behind and all you think about is him fucking the pain away, pumping into you hard and fast. He's nowhere near as big as Joel, but you've been so touch starved that the sounds coming out of your mouth are shameless.

Without warning you vomit, splashing your shoes and the wall in front of you with appletini puke, and the guy pulls out immediately, getting away from you as fast as he can, tucking himself back into his jeans.

You rest your forehead against the cool brick wall, spitting out the sour taste in your mouth as tears weep freely from your eyes.

September 2004

At the start of sophomore year you're the only one who doesn't have family come down to help move in, to visit with and take silly, memorable photos with. Nobody comes to your dorm and helps you decorate and put your belongings away. By the time your assigned roommate comes with her parents and little brother you're already set up, fresh sheets on your twin bed, your side already claimed.

You're reading when she comes in, a young girl, freshman, with hope in her eyes, excited to meet you, looking forward to her new life away from Montana or Missouri or wherever she says she's from. You're barely listening.

Who you do notice is her dad: mid-forties, slight beer belly, wearing a polo shirt and cargo pants with brand new New Balance shoes. You make eye contact immediately before he shifts his gaze away. His daughter, your new roommate Jessica, starts to unpack, asking you questions about the classes, what student groups to join. You offer what advice you can, stretching out on your bed in your tank top and running shorts. Her dad's eyes roam over your curves when his wife and kids aren't looking, and you unabashedly flirt back, making sure your shorts ride up, pulling down your tank just a little to expose more cleavage.

Once they leave for a quick tour around the campus you're back to your reading.

Jessica's dad comes back. Alone.

"I think I forgot my wallet in here," he says, giving a forced look of timidity as he checks his pockets.

"You didn't," you smirk, putting your book down and sitting up. "But you can stay if you want.."

He doesn't make an excuse about his family and you wouldn't care if they walked in anyway. Once the door is locked his hands are on your body, grabbing your ass while your hand goes down his pants. You tell him exactly what will make you come, and he does it so willingly it almost touches your heart.

Later as he's leaving and you're trying to get his cum off your bedsheets, he's asking you not to say anything to his daughter, as if you'd proudly exclaim that you fucked him, having barely remembered his name.

You're learning that a lot of men are the same at their very core.

You're a fantasy for the older ones, a college coed with daddy issues and an IUD. Having already been with an older man, you know just what they like, and when you give it you live for the way their eyes light up, and a little of their youth comes back to them for a moment.

It's almost pitiful how easy you figure out the opposite sex. Once you know what they want it's easy to become that, to dress how they want, to feign interest in the things they like, even to keep your thoughts to yourself. You learn to live inside your head, which until now has been the hardest thing to do.

But it's necessary when you're holding onto the headboard of some frat guy's bed while fake moaning as he's holding your hips, going as fast as he can because that's what they do in porn. Each and every guy has a Scarface poster above the bed, or Playboy centerfolds taped to the walls, neon lava lamps on the nightstand along with CDs by Kanye West, Franz Ferdinand, or Velvet Revolver. Your thoughts are elsewhere as you give halfhearted head.

You learn to feel nothing, not even pleasure, because they certainly can't tell that you fake every sigh and gasp.

But the older men, the professors, TA's, even men you meet off campus at the bars in town.. they are what interest you. It's not common for you to find yourself bent over a desk during your professor's office hours, or with your panties around your ankles when a one-on-one study session turns to something else.

You fuck men who remind you of Joel because you can't fuck Joel. It's his hands on you instead of theirs, his breath hot on your ear.. but no one else can fill the part of you that Joel hollowed out for himself when he made you his on a hot Texas summer night.

Though you think about him every day, soon enough, you start to wonder whether he was ever even real, or just someone you made up.

March 2006

Spring Break finds you at a beach house on the coast. The friends you came with are nowhere to be found, and you're pretty sure your drink is laced with something. The music is so loud that you hurry out into the night, seeking solace before the roaring waters of the gulf, black water topped with silver waves. Their rushing sound is soothing, yet you sink to your knees because your world is too heavy.

"I'm dying," you whisper to yourself, crying. Your chest feels tight. It's so hard to breathe, and it feels like your heart will explode.

Only one person on the entire planet comes to mind, and after all this time you still remember his number. You dial it, fingers savoring the press of each button on your phone. How many times have you called Joel and hung up before he could answer? There have been a couple of times when you dialed him while having sex, not sure if he ever picked up, hoping that he heard you moving on and moving away from him. That'll show him.

But you can't even breathe to talk to him. And what if he doesn't answer? What if he's changed his number?

You leave all his numbers entered on the screen but you don't hit the call button. Not yet. You have to think of something to say. Tell him you love him before your body rejects the air it's trying so desperately to claim into your lungs.

"Hey, are you all right?" a gentle voice asks behind you, and a hand is on your shoulder.

You flashback to that night in the alley, the guy who took advantage of you, but this time it doesn't go that way.

A man with soulful eyes and a kind smile kneels next to you, his hand remaining on your shoulder. "I think you're having a panic attack. Can I help you with that?" His voice is as kind and gentle as he looks, and you nod.

"Can you breathe for me? Like this." He inhales deeply and slowly, and when you try it it feels so foreign but you manage it.

"There you go," he says quietly. "Now breathe out.."

Soon he has your breathing back to normal, and you don't have to force your body to do what it naturally does.

"Tell me five things you can see," he continues.

A shaky breath in. Hey, at least it's a breath. "Um.. the water.. the sand.. the moon.. you.."

That's when you get your first good look at him, beyond the smile that works its warmth into your heart, and the eyes that search yours, exuding humanity that you haven't experienced in a long time. He's really cute. You can't deny that your heart skips a couple of beats.

"One more thing?" he says, his voice soft.

You snap back to reality. "Uh.. a ship.. out there in the distance?"

He glances behind him at the water, seeing the great big liner, possibly a cruise ship, on the inky horizon, and takes a seat next to you. "How are you feeling now?" he asks.

"Good.. I think. Better." You nod. "Thank you."

"May I?" he lifts your hand from your lap and turns the palm up, his fingers poised above your pulse point. You nod again.

He presses his touch to your wrist, and you watch his eyes calculating, his lips silently moving while counting. Despite everything you've been through the past two years, this is the most intimate thing you've felt.

"Your pulse is normal." He gently places your hand back on your lap. "Do you want to go back to the party or do you want to stay out here a little longer? If you want to go back," he adds, "I'll be with you, make sure you're okay."

You opt to stay on the beach, embracing the quiet for a little longer. This is the first time a man has had you alone and hasn't tried to fuck you. It's nice, for once.

Towards the end of the night he leads you back to the party house, guiding you through the throng of people there, the air rife with alcohol and the pungent aroma of weed. You're holding his hand, you realize as you walk together. He's your lifeline in this very moment. You grab your jacket and purse from one of the bedrooms, passing by couples making out, some slipping into rooms to do much more than kissing. To think you could have easily ended up there with a random guy makes your skin crawl.

"What was your name again?" you shout to him over the music.

"Justin!"

"Dustin?"

"Justin!"

You both laugh. You tell him your name and of course he mishears you.

He drives you to the small motel room you're sharing with your friends who are inevitably crashing at the beach house, too drugged or drunk or fucked to return for the night.

Justin smiles at you as the engine idles. "Is it okay if I ask you out?"

You exchange numbers, your heart thrumming with a pleasant nervousness. You haven't had a boyfriend since..

..not since Joel.

Don't think about him.

"You can reach out to me if you ever just feel like talking," he says. "I'm here."

So you do, and after a week of texting and a couple of late night calls and getting to know each other, you go for a date for the first time in three years.

Justin picks you up in a Honda Civic, and as you get comfy in the passenger seat you breathe in the scent of the black ice air freshener and his spearmint gum. The radio blasts Smashing Pumpkins at a level you know is too much but it only adds to the excitement of the evening.

He's a year older than you, native to Louisiana, and on leave from the Army.

Living just a half hour from your campus, you start to spend much of your time together. Movie dates, dinner dates, and dates where you just drive around, talking about nothing and everything.

You only sleep with him three months into your relationship, desiring to take things slow for once, to know him better than you have ever known anyone.

It's nice. It's like what you see in the movies, two people wrapped up in each other, soft, no words needed. For once your head isn't forced down into the pillow, or your pussy spit on. For once it's just normal, and normal feels so good.

June 2008 New Orleans, LA

Bourbon Street is alive, electric, no matter that it's a Sunday night. People will drift into work tomorrow still drunk on Zombies and Hurricanes. The entire street reeks of piss, but people either don't care or have been here long enough that it no longer harasses their senses. But more often than not, people are having too much of a good time to care.

You're behind the bar at little hole-in-the-wall place, slinging daiquiris and kamikaze shots when you hear a familiar voice and a tap on your shoulder. "Hey there, Cherry."

You turn and your eyes go wide. "Tommy!" You reach over the bar to hug him, nearly spilling a beer on him in the process. "It's been ages! How are you?

He looks older, more mature, even though it's only been five years since you last saw him: he's letting his facial hair grow, but his eyes still sparkle with mirth and kindness. "It's good to see you, girl." He's no longer with Sofia, their romance having ended a few years before, on friendly terms or so your cousin claimed. You always blamed yourself for the demise of their relationship, believing that your breakup with Joel cast a shadow over her own connection with Tommy.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

"We're good, just here in town, expanding the business."

"We?" Your hands start to shake, and you put away the bottle of gin you have your grasp on. Your heart starts to pound before the next words even leave his mouth.

"Yeah, me and Joel are lettin' off a little steam, wanted to toss back a few before we go back to the hotel."

You feel his eyes on you before you're even aware that he's here. Looking up, at a small table near the entrance, is Joel Miller. Your heart stops, and you don't know how it is you're still alive. He looks you up and down, appraising every feature and detail about you, and you wonder if you've changed in five years or not. You wonder if he still loves or hates you.

"...and we thought this was that bar where girls dance and pour tequila down guys' throats, but this is just as good 'cause you're here."

Tommy manages to snap you out of your trance. "Oh.. you mean Coyote Ugly.."

"Yeah, they opened one in Austin a couple years back but this one ain't never wanna go nowhere," he motions back with his head to Joel.

You return your gaze to the older brother but he's no longer looking at you, his glance dotting along the crowd, following a younger woman as she saunters up to him, smiling, flirting. Your stomach turns and you force a smile at Tommy.

"Whatever you want is on me."

Tommy's smile and laughter is infectious. "You sure about that, Cherry?"

"I'm sure," you say, pouring out a shot for yourself. "You know, nobody's called me that in a long time."

"What's that?" he catches a bright sparkle on your left hand, and quickly takes it within his own. "Cherry, you didn't tell me you were engaged!"

Joel must have one ear straining to listen because Tommy's outburst got his attention right away and he swivels his head to look at you.

"Yeah.. he's a nice guy." That's how you describe Justin to everyone: he's a nice guy. He'd proposed last year after your one year dating anniversary. "He's in the Army, they're shipping him out a week after our wedding. And I'm going with him."

"He's a good guy if he's an Army man," Tommy approves, just as Joel approaches, the woman he was talking to now gone. "So? Are we invited to the weddin'?"

You can't tell if he's teasing or not, and Joel's poker face gives zero indication as well. "I already sent out save-the-dates, but if you'd like to come I won't object. The more the merrier." For the first time you see Joel up close and your heart stutters, an irregular beat that you'd gotten used to in the aftermath of your disastrous breakup.

He's still so fucking handsome: the dark brown of his hair fading to what you can already see as gray, with gray patches in his beard. There are more lines around his eyes. There's still that jolt of electricity when your gazes meet.

"You happy?" he asks, his countenance giving nothing away of his true feelings, so it's difficult to gage whether he's legitimately asking, or simply being nice.

"I'm happy." But it sounds forced, like taking the pliers to your own mouth to fix your own abscess.

Joel only nods as you pour a couple whiskeys for them. "To Cherry getting married!" Tommy beams his salute and the three of you down the shots quickly.

It's sometime after your shift, and you're in the parking lot with Tommy, his arms around you as he presses you to the side of his truck. Or maybe it's Joel's truck. You don't know and you don't care, all you want is to feel something again. The nearness of Joel all night has rewired your brain, and as Tommy deepens the kiss, you're disappointed that it's not Joel's taste, not Joel's scent that surrounds you. Luckily he's not a bad kisser, and his hands roam everywhere you want them to be.

Better the wrong Miller than no Miller at all, your whiskey-soaked brain tells you.

"Always thought you were pretty," he whispers, hands palming your breasts over your shirt. "But you were Joel's from the moment he set eyes on ya, told me so himself. Leave that one alone, she ain't for you.'"

"He didn't want me enough.." your voice cracks as tears spill effortlessly down your cheeks.

"Don't cry," he says gently. "I don't got any tissues with me." He uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. "Still want me to give you a ride home?"

You nod, telling him you need to make a quick trip to the ladies' room to fix your makeup, and in the narrow hallway where the restrooms are hidden from the rest of the bar, you run into Joel.

"Sorry," you mumble, trying to get around him, but he puts his large hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"You gonna take my brother home and fuck him? Then marry some Army jackass?" he says as in disbelief.

You put your guard up, tougher now than you were five years ago. "What I do is my business. By the way, how's Hailey?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb." You push past him and start for the women's room to fix your makeup when Joel stops you again.

"You ain't gonna fuck my brother tonight, or any other night, babygirl," he utters.

There's a fire lit under you now. "Oh? What are you, the Morality Police? Fuck off."

"Fuck me," he says. "You know you want to. You're probably wet from Tommy, and I appreciate his gettin' ya ready for me, but I notice the subtler signs: your eyes are glistenin', you've been lickin' your lips every time you look at me, and you probably haven't noticed, but your nipples are pokin' right through your shirt. I bet they're just beggin' for attention, huh?"

He says all this while just standing in front of you, not crowding you like any other guy would. And you realize he's not even trying to rile you up. He's giving you a choice.

"What makes you think I want you? I have a good man who loves me. He's all I need."

"Needs and wants are different, babygirl. Once you're married you're stuck with him til' death. Hope you realize that."

"I'm aware." But it's already hit you: you'll be with Nice Justin for the rest of your life. You'll be a Nice Wife and maintain a Nice Home for the inevitable Nice Kids you'll have. You hate Joel for putting this thought in your head.

"He fuck you like I did?" he asks in an intimate tone.

You shake your head, already pulling him into the restroom with you. "Joel, no one's ever fucked me like you did."

Your body delights in the quick, sweet reunion with him. It's as if time has never separated you, as if both your hearts are whole again. His mouth greedily devours your kisses. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, the latter a bad habit. You're shoved into one of the stalls, fumbling with the lock while Joel's hands find their way across your body, one under your shirt, palming your breast, the other going into your jeans, expertly finding your soaked panties, crooking his fingers into your cunt.

Your back is pressed against his broad chest, his cock already hard inside his jeans, rubbing furiously against your lower back until he bends you forward to press against your ass, finally pulling your jeans and panties down in one go.

Too much time has passed for you to be gentle or even careful. He presses you to the stall door, nothing but heat and raw need between you. Words not needed, your only communication grunts and whispered curses that echo against the tiles of the cramped space.

"You ain't takin' no slow and gentle with me, sugar. i ain't got the patience for that right now." He nudges against you and it's a wonder you don't burn up with all the fire that inflames you. After so long it's a labor of love to fit him again, but as his fingers add pressure to your clit you get wetter, opening for him as easily as you did years ago.

"There she is," he says. "Been waitin' for me, been needin' a real man to fill ya up, ain't ya, babygirl?" he huffs in your ear, breath warm against your skin. "Answer me, baby."

"Yes.." your voice comes out in a hiss, your brain only thinking about his cock, the way it stuffs you, the only thing that completes you.

"That's what I thought. These lil' college boys don't know what to do with such a tight, pretty pussy. And neither does your fiance." He hikes one of your legs up, tucking your knee under his arm, keeping you nice and open, watching himself slide in and out of your weeping slit, slamming himself against you as he sinks his thumb into your puckered asshole, eliciting an all-but muffled gasp from you. "I know you called me just so I could listen to them fuckin' ya.. I know you never came with them, not once. This pussy is mine, has been from the very start."

You're no longer a virginal high school grad, and he takes what he wants from you, giving you what he knows you need.

The door opens but he doesn't stop, just quiets his own noises and clamps his hand over your mouth to squelch your sounds. The stall door jiggles and you put your hand over it until the person grumbles and walks away, muttering about having to piss. When they're gone Joel pumps into you relentlessly, chasing his pleasure and yours. He knows by now what will make you come, which combination of touches and kisses make your knees weak and your clit stand at attention.

"Fucking come for me, you little slut," he whispers, his tone almost loving if you didn't know better, and when you let go the pleasure is almost painful. Years of need and pent-up longing are released as your cunt squeezes around his rigid cock, milking him, smiling when you feel the warm spurt of his come as he presses deep at your cervix.

"That's my girl," he says proudly, your come spilling out already, lining his dick with a mix of both of you. "She's wrecked, split wide open like she's meant to be.. gonna send you back to your man drippin' with my come, used up like a good lil' whore."

His words add a sweet sting to the pleasure that has yet to ebb, resounding through your veins like thunder that takes its time in rolling away from the storm. Whore.. well, he's not wrong.

When your heavy breathing has subsided, you feel him start to slip out of you and you put your hand back on his thigh, a silent gesture to hold off.

"Missed you.. needed you," you mutter, tears of joy and relief and heartache brim in your eyes, until you allow the pleasure of the moment to take over without thought or feeling.

"I know.." he says softly, slipping out of you, careful as you're still sensitive.

That could have been the end. You could have gone your separate ways, but you're drawn to each other, and that doesn't go away easily. When you emerge from the rear entrance of the bar, Tommy looks up, and you can tell he expected that you'd end up with Joel instead. He simply nods as you pass him, walking with Joel to the tiny apartment you share with Justin, who's out of town visiting family. And as you and Joel spend the rest of the night locked in each other's embrace, you realize you don't care if he walks in on you, kicks you out, breaks off the engagement. You're with Joel and nothing else matters.

By dawn you wake up to find that he's gone, leaving only the scent of him on the pillow next to you. No note, no explanation, no goodbye. And once again you're sure you only dreamed up Joel Miller, used him as a mental escape for the life you were tying yourself down to.

It's very atypical for you to forgo a period, even at your most stressed, you can count on seeing that bright red stain on the toilet paper around the middle of every month. And when, by mid-July, you haven't even spotted, the first thing you do is take a pregnancy test.

All the men before have been careful, or you've been fortunate enough not to have a scare. But when you finally force yourself to look at the the little blue plus sign developing on the test strip, you realize this is no scare.

You're pregnant with Joel's baby.

The wedding takes place as expected, and your heart sinks when you walk down the aisle, seeing the joy on Justin's face. You've told him the baby is his, and he doesn't doubt it for a moment, that's how much he loves you. But for a fleeting moment you want so bad for it to be Joel at the altar instead.

The ceremony goes by in a blur, as everyone warned you it would. Group pictures are taken, the videographer is capturing the moments that photos alone can't encapsulate.

"Over here, honey!" photographer gets your attention. You barely hear him as you watch a figure walking out, one of the last guests to leave the church. From behind he looks like Joel, but you can't quite tell, and when your eyes fully focus, he's gone, and your own vision can't be trusted.

Tommy gave his regrets that he couldn't attend, and Joel simply never RSVP'd. But in your heart you know it was him, you know he had to come and see for himself that you're moving on, growing up and growing away from him. The only tether you have to him is the baby growing in your belly.

"Front and center, Mrs. Williams," Justin smirks, giving your cheek a soft kiss. "One more picture then we're onto the reception."

March 2009

Your daughter is born in the springtime, a loud and howling child from the moment she leaves you. The only time she's quiet is when she's in your arms.

"We need to decide on a name," Justin says, a little miffed that his daughter cries when he holds her despite his best efforts to soothe her.

"I told you, I like Ophelia," you say, gathering her into your arms to feed her.

"It's such a prissy name. And I can already tell she's not gonna be prissy."

"Then what do you suggest?" you ask tiredly. He doesn't seem to understand you've gone through labor for twenty four hours, only thinking of himself.

"Eleanor, after my mother."

You groan. "I always hated that name."

"Please, babe. It'll make her so happy to have her granddaughter as her namesake."

"Fine. Fine. But her middle name is Ophelia."

"Deal." Justin smiles as he fills out the paperwork.

"Eleanor.." you tell your baby. "But I'm going to call you Ellie."

Your mother once told you that when you become a parent, your life is not your own anymore. She said it as a kind of warning, a prophecy yet to be fulfilled when you were just a pre-teen, rolling your eyes at her warning you away from all kinds of danger.

You never expected she'd be right. Every waking moment holds more weight than ever before. Ellie is completely dependent on you, even as she grows and becomes more independent. It's you she looks to for validation when she does something right, and you she looks to when she knows she's in trouble.

She's smart as a whip, quick with a comeback and well versed in anything she can get her hands on. She excels in sports too-- individually, at first. As she gets older you notice a little bit of a mean streak in her. While she craves friends and wants to be part of a team, she has trouble making connections sometimes.

You have to wonder if part of that comes from Joel, his stubbornness and his lone wolf tendencies. Has he unknowingly passed down the most insecure parts of himself to his daughter? Sorry, his secondborn daughter?

Now there's literal proof of Joel Miller as a person, in human form, and she's trudging upstairs with her field hockey equipment and slamming her bedroom door.

Between the years of 2004 and 2008 you could almost convince yourself that he didn't exist, that he was a figment of your runaway imagination, born of a father complex and attachment issues. You work on yourself in therapy, feeling small as you divulge the innermost secrets of your heart and the intrusive thoughts, even going so far as to reveal that you've looked for Joel on social media, now that everyone has a profile.

Born of an intrusive thought, you type his name into the search bar on Facebook. Getting quite a few findings of those with the same name, you narrow the search. Joel Miller, Austin Texas His company logo comes up as its own page, and you notice it's changed, probably Tommy's idea as Joel never liked change.

Searching further you find his picture. There it is: Joel Miller, Boston Massachusetts

Huh?

You click on his profile while your heart thumps strongly within your ribcage. You wish you could let it out, set it free.

There he is, looking older than the last time you saw him, the grey more prominent in his hair, looking serious in his selfie. Even though it's just a selfie, a random moment in time, you can't help blushing, as if he's looking at you through the screen, appraising your own measure of aging. You wonder what you were doing that exact moment he took the picture.

But your hunger for knowledge needs to be fed, and scrolling down you swear you misread it at first.

Relationship status: Married

There's a roaring in your ears as your mouse hovers over the name next to those words: Tess Servopoulos

From there you check out her profile, see that she's from Detroit, five years younger than Joel. While his profile pic is only of himself, hers shows them together, on a hiking trail somewhere, Joel's arms around her from behind.

You slam the laptop shut, your blood buzzing in your veins. You feel distractingly alive, the heartache spreading through every muscle and nerve ending. Your past is brought to full fucking focus.

Against your better judgment you open the screen again and search through Tess's photos, specifically the ones of Joel. Most of the comments are from a couple of guys named Bill and Frank, who after some digging you come to find are married, and friends with Joel and Tess. You hit the jackpot when you find a video she uploaded, a fifteen-second clip of Joel holding a baby. Your heart stops when you realize the baby isn't his but Sarah's, and he's now a grandfather.

It feels like you're spying on them. You know so much about them by now, and the one glaring omission is children. They don't seem to have any.

Going back to Joel's profile, you hover the mouse dangerously over the Add Friend button. When you click it, it's the strongest rush you've felt in ages.

Weeks later, he hasn't accepted it. The sparkle of your anticipation is dulled, and with a heavy heart you click to cancel the request.

A couple years down the road you get a notification from Facebook Messenger while you're watching Narcos.

Message Request. Sarah Miller Hey! It's been forever! How are you?

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

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#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #pedro boys #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu

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orobaxis · 2 years ago

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I loved your Ominis fic so much! It felt like I was there with him 🤭 for prompts I couldn’t decide between “You need to know that I have grown to care for you. Deeply." and "I can't fathom the idea of my life without you in it." It could be angsty or not I don’t mind 😊

“deeply”

ominis gaunt x f!reader (hogwarts legacy)

ominis starts to avoid you.

word count: 2849

warning: some pureblood purity nonsense, f!reader may be muggleborn or a half-blood

beware of spoilers in the comments/tags/reblogs!

“what's wrong with you and ominis?”

you frown, eyes not leaving your plate as you give anne a shrug. you don’t know, really, what’s going on between you and ominis. he just suddenly became so distant to you.

at first, you thought it was just you. you thought you were going a bit paranoid, or that you were overthinking it. because ominis always sits with you, that was his place, that was where people expected to find him in the great hall. wherever y/n was, ominis wasn’t far behind.

it started when he raced anne to sit beside sebastian for lunch. you don’t think they noticed, and anne was just all too happy to sit beside you and chat, but you did. he was supposed to sit beside you, so why didn’t he? you chalked it up to him wanting to talk (argue) with seb, and thought nothing of it.

next was when you arrived to the library shortly after your potions class. you always go to the library after potions to try to work on your homework, you had a dedicated nook and ominis would join you and you would both nag the twins to start their homework (and not copy yours). but one day, he just…wasn’t there. you were beginning to get worried, then, wondering if he wasn’t feeling well, or if you did something to upset him. so that night, you try to catch him in the common room.

he didn’t show up. you four would usually sit by the large windows overlooking the lake, waiting for the giant squid to greet you while pranking other students. but when sebastian told you that “he said he wanted to rest”, your heart formed a little crack in it. and every day he started to avoid you, the crack just grew a little bit bigger.

“i think…he’s avoiding me,” you tell anne. despite being close to ominis, you and anne share a sisterly bond that was forged early in your lives and stronger than the very foundations of magic. there are things you simply cannot talk to seb or ominis about (for one, your…budding feelings towards the latter), and it’s always anne who you turn to in times like these. “he hasn’t talked to me for days now.”

anne scrunches her face in displeasure. “that isn’t like ominis at all, he’s not ignoring me, and certainly not my brother,” she turns to you warily, “do you think it was something you did? something you said?”

“i’m trying to remember, but i’m certain i haven’t said or done anything that could have upset ominis,” the tone of your voice is sadder now, disparaging, “that i know of.”

anne, ever the optimist, reaches for your hand and squeezes it, “well, whatever it is, i’m sure ominis will come around. he can’t stay away forever, you know?”

feeling somewhat comforted, you give her a terse smile. do you know that?

it might be best to stay away. ignoring the thumping of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach, ominis flicks his wand, and the howler is engulfed in flames before it can disintegrate. he is thankful for the privacy of the undercroft at this moment, although he knows that any one of his friends can pop in, the message in the howler was not something he wanted them to hear.

son,

we have heard rumours about you associating with some…unsavoury folk—

is that really what they think of her? of y/n? because she wasn’t born from a prominent pureblood family, because she associates herself with muggleborn professor garlick, because she loves all things that grow and not fascinated in the dark arts?

does his family really think less of her because of her birth?

ominis made a hard and rash decision, and it has been going well. however, he’s certain that you are starting to get suspicious by now. you are a smart witch, you know that he’s been avoiding you. but ominis thinks there is no other option. in order to keep you away from his family’s sharp and piercing gaze, it is better to distant himself from you. it is for your own safety. he cannot have them sink their infected claws into the only comfort he has away from home. no matter how hard it is, ominis has to keep away.

which is becoming hard, seeing your history together. having barely separated, you have all the same classes together. herbology, for one, is your favourite class, and you had paired with him to care for a pot of chinese chomping cabbage. this is going to be a lot harder than he thought, seeing as you had rooted yourself deep into his routine, his life, and his heart.

feeling emboldened by your conversation with anne, you are hopeful that ominis will finally break his silence in herbology. you are partners, and you have to discuss how to properly care for this rather…biting…flora.

your anxious smile drops a bit when ominis says nothing when you greet him, only standing away from the potting station, seemingly indifferent.

“so…i thought we should start trimming our cabbage and feed it some carrots,” you suggest slowly, trying to gauge any reaction. “and maybe water it before we leave. what do you say, ominis?”

the smile is replaced by a frown when you see him looking away from you, something he hasn’t done since you two started being friends. he is attentive like that, whenever you talk to him, he would turn to your general direction, making sure you know that he was listening to you. now, you aren’t so sure that he’s not let your words pass through one ear and out the other.

ominis only shrugs, “do whatever you think is right,” and turns away from your completely.

disheartened, you turn to the potting station, trying to ignore the tightening of your throat and the sharp sting of tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. you silently tend to your plant for the rest of the class.

“why are you ignoring y/n?”

sebastian finds him sulking close to the defense against the dark arts classroom. this is also one of your favourite hauntings, enjoying the tea the biscuits when you have a free period.

ominis sighs, knowing that he cannot really avoid the question forever. he also knows how persistent sebastian can be, and it would be no use to hide it from him. despite this, he tries to play dumb at first, “what makes you say that?”

“well, for one, you haven’t been sitting next to her or talking to her for a couple of days now. and in herbology, you’d think someone made her watch a niffler getting tortured with how sad she looked.” sebastian’s tone is accusatory.

the gaunt boy frowns as he imagines how much his actions hurt you, only giving you one sentence answers whenever you ask questions in class and avoiding you as much as he can. he hates that he’s the reason you were so down in herbology earlier.

“and anne has been pestering me to ask you,” sebastian adds, “which means you better tell me now before she comes here and beats it out of you.”

ominis scoffs, “like she’d eve—”

“ominis, the only reason she hasn’t hexed you is because she’s busy comforting y/n right now. as soon as she’s done, you best believe we’ll both be on the receiving end of a mean stinging hex.”

well, ominis couldn’t argue with that.

“it’s my parents,” he tells sebastian, “they owled me, wrote to me that i shouldn’t be associating with ‘unsavoury folk’ and those who are ‘lesser’. that i am slytherin’s heir and should not be seen with someone who has muggle parentage and friends with muggleborns.”

sebastian blanches at that. “how dare they!”

“you might think that’s that, but it’s also a threat. they are telling me to stop now, or else they will find her.”

“and this…this is why you’re staying away?”

ominis nods, “i don’t want my family to even think of her. to look at her or touch her. i cannot have them taint her.”

he waits as sebastian goes silent, trying to process what he just said. he is not hoping for a solution, nor comfort.

“but…you’re hurting her. and yourself.”

ominis says nothing. he doesn’t need to. what more can he say?

you want to believe that you’re getting used to the silence. but you really can’t. it’s so different without ominis’ presence, without his (overly) doting nature, or his commentary whenever seb does anything stupid. while you still wonder what it is you did to make him ice you out, you also start to muster the courage to talk to him alone and ask him about it.

relaying this to anne, you two try to find the right “opportunity” to catch ominis off guard so that you can confront him. he seemingly catches on to it though, now sticking beside sebastian at any cost. sebastian is also a bit subdued, and that is something you should ask about in a while as well.

it’s so strange to find ominis across the table from you in the great hall, face turned away from you like he is deliberately letting you know he doesn’t want to acknowledge your presence. anne has been helpful, sitting beside you and initiating conversation, but it’s not the same.

it’s not the same without him.

so when the owls started arriving and delivering packages, you consider it a welcome surprise to receive one.

“oh, a package!” anne exclaims excitedly, “who is it from?”

you turn over the package, the smile on your face replaced by a frown, “i don’t know. it’s unmarked.”

at that, ominis can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing, and he sits up straighter. “don’t open it.”

you look up to ominis, surprised that he not only was listening to you (and ignoring you on purpose), but that he talked to you. even if it was just to tell you not to open a package.

sebastian purses his lips and nods, “he’s right, y/n. it could be some prank from someone.”

or something related to the dark arts that is meant to curse you, he and ominis think.

ominis has a gnawing feeling of anxiety, wondering if it was his family who sent you this mysterious package. do they really think he wouldn’t know about it? why would they send something potentially dangerous in such a conspicuous way?

“alright,” you acquiesce, now thinking that it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. it would be terrible if the package turned out to be a prank, wondering if it would explode when you open it or splash you with something pungent. “i’ll open it outside.”

“i will open it,” ominis states, and it sounds final. you stare at him, contemplating on whether this would be the right time to ask him, if he has decided he’s had enough of ignoring you and you can go back to the way it was. the finality in his words seem to suggest that he does not tryst whatever is in that package. his arms extend across the table to you, “i’ll keep it in the undercroft for now.”

blinking in surprise, you raise your eyebrow, “you want to hide it there?”

he nods tersely, “just to make sure it doesn’t explode on you. after classes we will go to the beach and open it.”

resigned, you hand the package over to him, taking the moment to bask in the feeling of his fingers brushing against your own. as quickly as it happened, ominis’ hands are gone, and he stands up, wand blinking red in front of him. he doesn’t say anything as he leaves for the undercroft.

sebastian says nothing when he hears your sigh of defeat.

the four of you find yourselves at the beach after class, eyeing the suspicious package tucked under ominis’ arm.

“i didn’t find any traces of dark arts in the package,” he says, “but we can never be too careful. i will place it on the ground and i need you all to back away as far as you can.”

“will you be safe?” you blurt out, your worry for him trumping the other confusing feelings you have bubbling up your chest, “if this is some kind of…dark arts artifact…i think it would be best if we get a teacher involved.”

ominis thought about that, of course. “if it’s dark arts, then i might be able to find a way to control it. and then you can go and fetch professor hecat.”

still wary, you voice your assent, grabbing anne’s hand for support.

you watch ominis take a deep breath, sebastian standing not too far from him, ready to catch him if anything happens as well as to guard you and anne.

ominis waves his hand in a flourish, and you all held your breaths as the packaging tears open to find…

a book.

thick, and well-used, it looks like…an ordinary textbook.

you shuffle towards ominis curiously, ignoring sebastian’s calls, and peeked to see what it is.

“oh, it’s a book,” you comment. you get close enough to read the title, even as ominis extends his arm to stop you from getting any closer. “it’s the herbology book i’ve been looking for!”

“what book?” ominis asks, still distrustful.

“i asked deek the house elf to help me find a book on herbology that professor garlick mentioned. he said he knew where that missing book may have been hidden. he must have sent it to me when he found it.”

you cautiously move away from ominis hold, reaching for the book. “see? it’s harmless. deek probably just didn’t put his name on it.”

“so, it’s not evil?” sebastian asks.

you raise the book and wave it, smiling, “nope!”

“merlin’s beard! that gave me quite the fright,” anne exclaims, hands on her chest, “this was all just a big misunderstanding!”

you smile, before subtly turning your gaze to ominis. he is quiet, once again icing you out. he nods stiffly before raising his wand, proceeding to walk away.

“ominis, wait!” you call out.

you see him hesitate, stopping his tracks for a moment. he clears his throat, “i’m glad you’re safe.”

he finds out by the large windows in the common room, one of your favourite spots.

you were learning your forehead against the window, listening to the sound of water behind the thick glass.

“the giant squid isn’t here,” ominis remarks, “i couldn’t hear it.”

he cannot see the sad smile on your face. “thank you for letting me know, i think it’s better knowing that instead of waiting for nothing.”

oh.

he doesn’t like the sound of your voice when it’s sad.

before he can process it, he is standing in front of you, hands clenched at his sides. “i’m sorry y/n. i know i hurt you…but…”

your voice is small and muffled against the window, “i don’t know what i did for you to push me away like this.”

“my family has threatened to hurt you if i don’t stay away,” he blurts out, and you sit up in surprise.

“what?” you are shocked, to say the least.

“that’s why i was so worried about the package. i was afraid that they had sent you a cursed object because you…because you associate yourself with me.

but y/n, you need to know that i have grown to care for you. deeply,” ominis doesn’t want to admit how much he’s shaking, how it is obvious from the way he sounds that his shaky voice is about to crack and his throat tight as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay, “you are the last thing i want my family to touch. i couldn’t let them hurt you. not you.”

you exhale, tears now flowing down your cheeks. you stand in front of him and grasp his hands, which are cold, clammy, and shaking.

“oh ominis,” you squeeze his hands, slowly making your way closer until your forehead rests against his. feelings that you thought are yours to keep, buried deep and untouched in your heart, are starting to rise. “i cannot fathom the idea of my life without you in it. i don’t care what your family thinks. i will be fine as long as i’m with you. with seb and anne. with our family.”

ominis starts to break, exhaling as he feels your skin touch his, your smell invading his senses and your warmth soothing his tormented soul. “i cannot lose you, y/n. not to them.”

smiling through your tears, you raise your arms to pull him into a hug. “you won’t lose me, ominis. i promise you.”

there may be a lot of work to be done, more talks to be had, with regards to your feelings and his, on how to navigate these feelings and desires while also making sure that his family never touches you, but for now, ominis basks in your presence and in the love you have for him. and for now, that is enough.

aaaahhh sped write this minutes before a class presentation. i hope it’s fine. thank you for your patience with my writing styles/formatting as i try to find the best style/layout to write. thank you for the overwhelming love!!!

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts legacy imagine #sebastian sallow #anne sallow

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bokettochild · 2 months ago

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Um... yeah. I have no idea where most of this came from but I hope you enjoy it? Happy belated birthday. Sky and Legend.

Everyone knew Sky as the sleepy, sweet quiet one; while Legend was sarcastic, angry, and wore a perpetually stormy expression. No one seemed to be included to dispute this characterization.

But that was all lies. Lies, and masks and walls built of memories.

Legend's sass and snark were a front. It was a way to shield the softest heart Sky had ever had the pleasure of meeting. It had been hinted at with the ‘bunny incident’, where Twilight's artifact apparently showed some magical form reminiscent of true nature. He saw it when the Veteran hero interacted with children, with animals, with the goodwives and humble folk of his era.

He saw it when Legend’s walls would dramatically fall around one other hero, their Traveler.

“Here...” Legend shoved a handful of items into Hyrule’s arms. Hyrule scrambled to hold the bottles of potion in skinny arms.

“You don't need to give me so many potions. I have two...”

“Yeah, neither of which you've touched even though your magic is nearly gone. I have more. Drink one.” Hyrule obeyed, and in handing the empty bottle back, Legend slipped something into his palm and walked off, promptly picking a verbal fight with Warriors to be occupied and making returning the gift difficult.

Night watch, the task was officially staying awake and alert for danger while the others tried to rest exhausted bodies... but it was unofficially intervening when memories of the past turned dreams into nightmares. With nine of them all having the scars on young minds from their quests, it was rare that the entire party slept through the night.

Tonight's afflicted was Four, who had shot up from a dead sleep, and stumbled from camp. Sky had been about to get up from his post to check on the Smithy when he heard the sound of retching coming from the direction of Four’s retreat. Oh, it was that bad.

Honestly, just go help. Some part of him scolded. But while he was scolding himself for being squeamish, Legend tapped his arm, and without speaking stepped out of the camp circle towards the sound.

Once he'd seen it in action, Sky saw it more and more often. Legend frequently left his own sleep to comfort other heroes. Most often it was silent, subtle and often not even the watch-stander was aware of the change before a quiet murmur or hint of a melody soothed troubled dreams.

“I don't know what his problem is, but you shouldn't let him push you around like that.” Twilight bit out early in their travels after hearing Legend’s acrid commentary about something or other, Sky didn't even remember now.

“It's harmless...” Sky had responded at the time. It was nowhere near as bad as...others had been. No one who was as soft and gentle-hearted as the Veteran could ever truly be a bully.

They had made lightheaded jabs at Time’s bitterness and cynicism. Time was frank, and open about his opinions. He was old enough to have given up a ‘mask of acceptability’ with most others. Sky envied that freedom. The chain thought Sky sweet, happy, and an airhead. He tried to live up to those expectations. Don't let them see the hurricane of rage that flooded so easily into him. Don't let them know that caring about... about most people was an active choice. Don't let them see the dark well of despair he constantly clawed his way out of to face the next day. If Legend hid his soft heart behind a wall of indifference, Sky hid his black pit of a heart behind an ignorant one.

The one positive trait the Chosen Hero (and he still winced internally at thinking of himself like that) did have was a protective streak. He'd fight Demise again if it meant keeping his successors safe and happy. The called ‘knights’ in any other era were cowardly, pompous, bullies who neither deserved the title nor claim to the history it should have represented. This was particularly obvious in two eras. Warriors’s era and the Veteran's. Warriors dealt with attempts on his life near constantly in his own era. Legend's era was simultaneously more open in their dislike of him and more subtle in their actions. The chain had been set loose in a market square to buy supplies and keep busy. As the local hero, Legend had broken off from the group to visit with those he knew. Sky was pawing through a merchant's stall, marveling at the bright colors of embroidery thread, when a couple children ran screaming to their mother (the merchant Sky had just started to begin bargaining with).

“Mama! Mama!”

“The knights are here in the market...”

“And you know how to stay out from underfoot, Dears...” Her smile was slightly strained as she surreptitiously glanced in Sky’s direction. Right... he was wearing chain mail and carrying a sword...he looked just like them.

“But Mama...”

“They cornered Link at Goodie Rosey's shop!” The shrill protest of the older of the children had Sky’s blood running suddenly cold.

He dropped the thread and charged in the direction the kids had come from.

Legend was not hard to spot. One of the so-called knights had him by an arm. Another was holding him by fistfuls of his tunic. There was blood running from the Veteran’s nose, and Sky saw red.

“Unhand him!” He had enough presence to call before drawing his sword. The gang of idiots in armor looked startled.

“Knight’s business, be on your way.” The one in charge rebuffed him. He leveled the point of his blade at the knight’s chest.

“I said, unhand him.”

“Sky... it’s not...” Legend tried, but then the knights dropped Legend in favor of drawing their swords and laughing at the prospect of a fight.

“We’ll deal with you later...” one of them sneered as they shoved Legend to the ground.

Even four against one, they were poor fighters. The smell of ozone filled his nostrils and thunder rolled overhead.

“The hate for the gods that has boiled in my veins…You will taste all of it in the bite of my blade...” The memory of the Demon King’s taunt echoed in his ears with a second peal of thunder.

He heard Legend frantically trying to reason with him as a flash of light split the sky above his head.

“Sky, stop. They’re not worth it. Please.”

Two of the knights were on the ground. He held a sword to a third’s throat.

“You don’t deserve the title you pretend to bear” He growled. To think these vile excuses of Hylians called themselves knights. “You’ll leave my descendant alone.”

The knight in front of him was stammering and crying half-hearted excuses.

“Do you have something to say, Scum?” The knight’s blubbering fell silent. A set of arms slid around him from behind and locked around his chest. Arms encased in a black, shiny material.

“Not today, Godslayer.” Wild pulled him backwards, making him drop his sword. The ridiculous dangling...things on the helmet the Champion wore drew his attention and diverted him just long enough from the knight he’d been about to put the Master Sword through. Thunder rolled once more above them. “Breathe, Legend’s ok...” He saw Twilight shepherding the Veteran away as Warriors carefully stepped up beside them.

“At ease, Knight of Skyloft.” He was trying, By Hylia he was trying. But the terror in Legend’s face when the knights held him captive made that hard.

“You’ll feel bad if you actually kill ‘im.” The Champion reasoned once again. He’d feel bad, but not for the reason Wild was thinking. He’d feel bad mostly at shattering his brother’s illusions that he was a good person. He took a breath, and stuffed the raging tide of anger down. He looked down at the arms still locked around his torso, which squeaked as he rocked to move backwards.

“Wild, what in the Sacred Realm are you wearing?”

Darling~

When I say you hit the nail on the head for every point I adore, you did it, you did it so well. I was squealing and kicking my feet, absolutely giggling up a storm and gazing at my computer like I'd been sent the most delectably sweet love-letter, but it was far better than one of those could ever aspire to be!

Thank you ever so much for this birthday fic!

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu sky #gift fics

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archangeldyke-all · 9 months ago

Note

Weird AU idea I had randomly:

What if reader and Sevika were like..co-stars on an adult romcom or romantic drama as the two leads? They spend a lot of time together on set and some of their scenes get a little heated (they ofc have a dedicated intimacy coordinator to help). And things just...lead to another off set.

What if Reader is the intimacy coordinator responsible for helping Sevika and her co-stars feel comfortable and they just....hit it off, off-set or after shooting ends. Everyone ofc remains professional on the job, but ya know...not unheard of for folks to start dating after working together 😏

LOVEEE

men and minors dni

seeing people in various states of nakedness is literally your job.

it's vital that you remain professional and responsible while you're working-- both on and off set. you need to be an advocate for healthy boundaries and responsible film-making, there's no space for you to be flustered or uncomfortable or god forbid, turned on.

and usually you're incredibly good at it.

whether it's men or women, whether you find them attractive or not-- you keep your cool and keep it responsible no matter what.

but this is sevika.

sevika, whose interviews you watch before bed-- just to hear the lovely timbre of her voice.

sevika, who has been your celebrity crush for years.

sevika, who's filming her first ever intimate scene, and has no idea how it works.

you find out who you're going to be working with a week before, and you spend the entire week in denial, confident that if you ignore it, you won't freak out about it.

but then you meet her.

she's even more attractive in real life, sleepy from the early morning call-time, hair a little messy and eyes a little droopy, make up free and cuddled up in a white robe. it's like seeing an angel.

the second you introduce yourself to her, closing the door to her trailer behind her, sevika drops her white robe and puts her hands on her hips. when you turn back around, you get an eyeful of a completely naked, completely unbothered sevika. you nearly pass out.

"uh." you say eloquently. sevika blinks at you.

"you're the intimacy coordinator right?" she asks. you gulp, ripping your eyes away from her body to stare at the ceiling.

"y-yes. you don't have to... i mean, you can put your robe back on." you say. "it's just-- we're just talking today." you choke out.

sevika snorts, laughing at herself as she pulls her robe back on. you try to catch your breath as she casually pulls the belt tight and flops onto the couch behind her.

so, it's a rocky start.

and no, you don't jerk off to the image of a naked sevika that's been burned into your frontal lobe when you get home.

that would be completely unprofessional.

(okay, yes you do. three times.)

sevika's charming and funny and down to earth in a way a lot of the celebrities you work with never are. she's got the prettiest smile you've ever seen, and she asks you about your life and listens to your answers, and your crush only gets worse and worse as the days tick by.

you and sevika spend several lunches going over her own personal boundaries.

she's filming a scene with a man, which makes her cringe and stick her tongue out as she says it. (you have to keep yourself from squealing at the confirmation of her very publicly debated lesbianism.) she's not totally uncomfortable with it-- it's her job-- but she 'would like to keep it pg-13' where she can.

she's comfortable with nudity-- she obviously knows how good she looks-- but you explain to her that in scenes beyond the full frontal, she'll be wearing some coverings just to keep everyone comfortable.

she's fascinated by your job, constantly lobbing you with questions.

'what other movies have you worked on?'

'do pornos have intimacy coordinators?'

and then, inevitably, 'who's the hottest celebrity you've ever seen naked?'

this makes you choke on your spit. sevika raises an eyebrow at you as you hack up a lung, and when you finally catch your breath she grins. "me?" she guesses. you just huff and flip her off.

it's amazing watching her act-- she's insanely talented. she's funny too, just naturally, off the top of her head, always spitting out improvised lines that make you and the entire crew laugh. she's also a huge fucking flirt.

she's respectful of all the boundaries you outlined for her on set. always covered unless she's filming, talking frequently with her co-star about the script, triple checking before they film that they both agree with the direction they're taking their sex scenes. but that doesn't stop her from trying to get a rise out of you.

she claims she has no idea how to work the nipple pasties-- insists you do it for her. you've done it for plenty of clients-- sometimes the adhesives or angles can be tricky-- but you know she's just doing it to get you to touch her tits. it's in the way she smirks each time she asks, the way her eyes sparkle as she watches you nervously, shakily press the tape to her flesh, trying to avoid touching her skin at all costs.

she's insisted on taking all her lunches with you once she finds out that you tend to eat alone in your car. she'll tag along with you in the passenger side of your car, teasing you and fiddling with your radio and ducking in her seat when you pass by herds of paparazzi, as you drive the two of you to taco bell. she always pays-- 'i'm the superstar, you're driving a camry-- no offense.'

and she's always touching you.

never inappropriately, never without your permission-- but she's always got her hands on you in some way.

playing with a strand of your hair as you check in with her between takes. wrapping an arm around your shoulders when the two of you walk to your car. fiddling with your fingers in the back of a bus as the two of you and a few crew members ride to a local bar for drinks. each time, you stutter and stumble over your words, biting your cheek and awkwardly avoiding her eyes as she grins at you. she knows what she's doing. she loves it.

you assume you're just a pillow fluffer of sorts for her. just someone for her to flirt with between scenes-- a place for her to put all the residual emotions that filming a rom-com requires. it's happened before-- occasionally clients will need a bit of intimacy outside of the shoot to keep their romantic mood going all day-- and you're happy to receive a few flirty compliments and lingering glances in order to keep your clients happy.

when filming wraps, you assume that you'll never see sevika again.

you say goodbye to her with a hug in her trailer, wishing her luck in her career and hoping that maybe you'll have the pleasure to work with her again in the future. when you pull away, sevika's looking at you with a furrow in her brow.

"what?" you ask.

sevika bites her lip, and for the first time since you've met, she looks... shy.

"nevermind. 's stupid." she says.

you scoff. "sevika, i custom dye thongs to match various skin tones for a living-- i'm used to stupid." you say. she huffs.

"do you... i mean-- how familiar are you with the dating policies on set?"

"uh... not super? i can put you in contact with debbie from HR if you--"

"no nevermind. it's dumb."

you laugh. "having a crush on someone isn't dumb. you should go for it! filming's wrapped, so i doubt there's any hoops you'd need to jump through."

sevika bites her cheek. "i don't know if she'd be into me." she whispers, still not looking at you. you bark a laugh, and sevika's eyes dart up to look at you.

"don't be ridiculous." you say. "you're a fucking a-list actress, i know you know how hot you are, she'd be a fucking idiot not to be!"

"but it's... it's kinda been her job for the past few months to flirt with me."

"what?" you ask.

sevika's co-star is a man-- and he should be the only person flirting with sevika on set.

"i dunno. she's gotta touch me and talk to me and make me comfortable all day-- i don't know if she'd be doing that if it wasn't her job."

"sevika, who's been touching you? nobody's supposed to touch you." you say, anger bubbling up in your stomach.

it's your job to protect her from this happening, and you're starting to panic as you think about all the ways you might've failed her.

sevika huffs a laugh, and you blink at her. "it's not funny, sev, it's serious-- your boundaries--"

"it's you." she says. you blink. "i... it's okay if you... i mean it's basically your job to, like, take care of me, so it's cool if you don't--"

"me?!" you ask, cutting her off. sevika shrugs. "a-are you fucking with me?" you ask. sevika blinks.

"no?" she guesses.

"so this isn't some kind of prank ran put you up to because i told them you've been my celebrity crush since your first movie?" you ask. sevika's worried expression melts, a smug, self-satisfied smile taking its place.

"no." she says again. you sigh.

"o-oh." you say.

"so..." sevika starts. "i know you're all about boundaries and consent and stuff-- do i have to ask before i kiss you or...?" she trails off. you giggle, a little giddy as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"yeah. you have to wear that thong and the pasties to bed with me too." you tease. sevika laughs.

"damn, that's horrible. i'm not gonna be able to do any of the things i wanted to--"

you cut her off with a kiss.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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crissiebaby · 3 months ago

Text

Crissie's Messy Origin Story [REWRITE]

Heyyo! This updated version of my first CrissieBaby short story is a part of The Crissie Anthology Collection! Hardcover and eBook copies are available now on Kickstarter!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/crissiebaby/the-crissie-anthology-collection

DISCLAIMER: This updated story contains humiliation, diaper usage, a super cute protagonist, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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Sitting down at her desk, Crissie's lip quivered as her butt sank into the fluffy, soft, and slightly squishy diaper taped to her hips. The temptation to mush her hand into the base of her plush pamper was strong but she couldn’t give in yet. Not when her head was filled with so many creative and exciting story ideas that she couldn’t wait to get them out to make room for more! Sadly, those ideas were rarely accompanied by the motivation required to actually put words to paper. Gawking apathetically at her blank Word document for the better part of an hour, that temptation slowly became harder to ignore.

Unable to wiggle out from under the heavy writer’s block she was under, Crissie turned to the internet for some reprieve of the erotic variety. Unbeknownst to anyone else was her massive fetish for all things ABDL. She couldn’t explain what about this specific kink drew her to this fetish, but she had long since stopped caring. Different strokes for different folks, she liked to say.

Tabbing over to Xwitter, Crissie swiped through her lewd feed and smiled crudely at the artistic and horny expertise on display. “I wish I could make stuff like this,” she thought, lamenting that her art skills had never progressed beyond stick figures. However, that excuse fell flat when it came to writing, something that she was more than capable of creating if she wanted to. And yet, she always decided against it, as if it somehow made her fetish any less present in her daily life. A stilted sigh escaped her lips as she continued scrolling, attempting to cast aside her idle thoughts in favor of some libidinous recreation.

However, before Crissie could find the perfect art piece or messing video to kick off her nightly masturbation session, she happened upon a Xweet unlike any other she had ever seen. The post was from an account she’d recently followed. It said:

Have you ever wished you could write like a real Adult Baby?! Your new Master is here to help. DM me to get started 💕

Crissie was certainly skeptical as she examined the poster’s account, having followed multiple RP accounts in the past with mixed results. Beyond this one Xweet, the account had primarily been used for reblogging, giving her little to go off of. Returning to the post, she shrugged, figuring at best, she would find a new play partner, and at worst, she would waste a few minutes of her time messaging some bot. “Heyyo Master,” she typed, playing along with the original post.

Moments later, a set of three dots appeared beneath Crissie’s message. She waited for a response, only to raise a confused eyebrow as her computer screen instantly went blank. “Ah, frick,” she said, preparing to shuffle out of her cozy computer chair to reset her tower.

FLASH!

“GAH!” cried Crissie blinded by light emitted from the computer screen in front of her. She gasped, unable to pull her eyes away from the enchanting display. Within seconds, her chocolatey, brown irises changed color to a vibrant shade of magenta. Then, with no explanation, everything went black. She squinted her eyes, trying to adjust to her surroundings. Part of her wondered if she passed out somehow and hadn’t realized it yet, though she immediately dismissed this idea thanks to the familiar sounds and smells that her diaper emitted.

Given no chance to recover, a second, spectacular barrage of color swarmed Crissie’s vision. Only this time, it wasn’t the light of a computer screen but the luminous world around her that forced her to rub her strained eyes. To her surprise, the room she found herself in the center was much different than the shabby studio apartment she was used to. Gone were her bed, TV, and the vast majority of her Earthly possessions, finding a crib, changing table, and more diapers than she could begin to count in their place. And all of it was sized just for her.

RUFFLE!

All of a sudden, Crissie’s attention was dragged downward as her boring gray pajamas exploded into a pink satin babydoll dress with puffy sleeves and a skirt that came nowhere remotely close to covering up her diaper. Beneath her new dress was a diaper far bulkier than the one she’d changed herself into. This diaper felt like it was almost twice as thick and by far the softest she had ever worn. It was like her butt was perched on a cloud. She couldn’t stop it from forcing her legs apart, causing her to waddle childishly with every step. Speaking of steps, her feet were now clad in a pair of bright blue bed heels, reducing her mobility even more.

Despite not knowing where she was, how she got here, or who had dressed her up in such adorable attire, Crissie could barely contain her excitement. From the frilly dress to the bulbous diapers, this was everything she’d ever hoped to experience. Her excitement was short-lived, however, as she quickly noticed that her new and unexplained nursery was missing something very important. Namely, a door. All around her were pastel-painted walls with furniture to match, but not a single door in sight.

DING!

Right as Crissie was about to start panicking, a message alert drew her attention toward the pink, sticker-covered desktop set-up that had taken the place of her previous rig. The message read: “Hello, CrissieBaby. I’m sure your childish mind is very confused with all the changes I’ve made…”

Scoffing at the condescending tone the message was starting with, Crissie rolled her eyes and continued reading, “...Well, there’s no need to think about things like that anymore. Any thoughts that you still have in that silly head of yours should be dedicated to writing. Hop to it! The less time you spend writing, the faster your mind will regress. So, it looks like you’d better get started.”

Crissie couldn’t believe the words she was reading. This had to be a dream, or maybe some sort of elaborate joke. Backing away from the computer, she was beyond overwhelmed by her mind-bending new reality. It was terrifying to contemplate the idea of never returning to her old life. At the same time, it was hard to admit this wasn’t exactly the worst-case scenario for her. She’d always wanted more time to write, and now she technically had it. She’d always wanted to wear diapers full-time and now she could. Moreover, she’d always needed something to motivate her, and permanent regression certainly was a scary concept for a writer with too many stories left to tell. Maybe this wasn’t something she was supposed to question.

GRUUUUUUMBLE!

Without warning, Crissie’s internal debate was abruptly halted by the strongest urge to eject her bowels that she had ever experienced. Doubling over, she clutched her tummy tight as another message popped up on the computer, “Oh, I almost forgot to mention. I took away your potty training, so now you’ll never have to worry about bathroom breaks. Enjoy your new life, CrissieBaby.”

SPLOOOOORRCH!

Crissie’s face went pale as she found herself no longer able to hold the massive mess that had welled up inside of her. Her once slightly yellowed diaper now bulged with a distinct shade of brown as she unloaded her guts into the hungry diaper. Wave after wave of sticky, semi-soft poop hit her nappy so hard that she fell backward onto the ground, squishing the newly filled contents of her expanded diaper.

It was at this point that Crissie began to urinate...or maybe she was already urinating? She couldn’t even tell anymore. All she knew was that the diaper continued to swell as a swirl of embarrassment, frustration, and undeniable horniness descended upon her. She had never filled a diaper this much before, and it weighed her down like an anchor. And the smell! It was ripe and unmistakable.

There was little argument to be had at this point. Crissie was officially the baby that she always wanted to be, for better or worse. She looked down at her well-used padding with contented glee as she gave her plump padding a lustful shove. Every fiber of her being was telling her to drop everything and hump her doughy diaper right then and there. However, she resisted, yanking her hands away much like she had earlier that evening. She had far more pressing matters to deal with, after all.

With all the strength she could muster, Crissie lifted herself from her mushy throne and waddled over to the computer, planting herself down in the seat with a mighty SQUELCH! The mess beneath her wasted no time spreading itself up and around to the front of her diaper, only serving to increase her unending horniness.

Settling into her squishy seat, Crissie sighed contently as she looked toward the blank Word document. The white void that once filled her with dread now left her feeling reinvigorated by countless possibilities. She smiled warmly, knowing lack of motivation would never be a problem for her again.

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💕 Story By CrissieBaby 💕 💙 Edited By AllySmolShork 💙 💚 Edited By AliceKChan 💚 SubscribeStar: subscribestar.adult/crissiebaby pixivFANBOX: crissiebaby.fanbox.cc All CB Links: linktr.ee/crissiebaby

Special Thanks to Our CrissBaby Diaper Company Investors: BlushyBen DD JFN Nike Pansy Jason Sissikins PrincessKittenLizzi Rosie Princess SissyDina Strawberry Sweetsamantharebecca Tony & One Anonymous Investor

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apomaro-mellow · 2 months ago

Text

Runaway Royalty 4

Part 3

Since the hunt was on, the camp stopped sooner than they had planned, setting up so that they could hunker down and figure out just where to find the lost royals. Eddie was pacing around while the older members knocked around a few ideas. That if all three had truly been kidnapped, it might be by someone with designs on them. But there was also the idea that they simply ran away from their duties.

“If they ran, I bet they went west”, Gareth said. “They’d have enough coin to charter a boat and head off the continent.”

“You think they’d actually go that far?”, Harold questioned. “They’d get tired before reaching the coast.”

Steve was about to take offense to that when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be one of the lost princes. So he kept his mouth shut. The less he said the better.

“Why are we even bothering with them?!”, Eddie threw his hands up. “Did it ever occur to you lot that once we have them, we’d have to transport them back to their castles? Is that what you want? To play escort to a bunch of pampered pups?”

“We can handle some uppity folk, right Jeff?”, Gareth turned the question to him.

“Oh, yeah, sure”, Jeff rolled his eyes. “They can’t be any worse than our Bandit Prince. You can give them the royal treatment.”

Eddie scoffed, arms crossed as he started to pace again, more furious this time. “I don’t want anything to do with them. Have you heard what they say about Prince Stephen? Spoiled rotten to the core. No thank you.”

Steve stood up straight at that. “I’m sure Prince Edwin is no prize either. If the rumors about him are to be believed.”

Robin kicked his leg. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Let’s get our ears to the ground”, Greenley said. “Someone has to know something about them.”

There was a bit more talk, names thrown around - contacts, Steve surmised when someone told him to go to the river to fetch some water. He frowned.

“Why do I-ow!” He glared at Robin when she kicked him again. The problem was she wasn’t subtle at all. And his ankle was beginning to suffer from it.

“You got away not helping with camp last time”, Gareth said. “Everyone here has tasks to do. And yours right now is to get water.”

Steve frowned. But he remembered Eddie’s words about spoiled Prince Stephen. Someone had to get water for them. And he wasn’t doing anything else. So while he knew nothing about fetching water from a river, he was given a couple buckets and sent off. He got a good distance away from the camp when he heard someone approaching from behind. When he turned, he saw Eddie. The other man barely got out a ‘hey-’ before Steve turned his nose up and walked on, the river not too far ahead.

He could hear Eddie behind him, calling out and trying to catch up. Steve ignored him and stopped at the river’s edge. It ambled along calmly for now. It could probably turn to a raging current after rain.

“Hey, did you hear me calling you? What’s your problem?”, Eddie asked once he got to Steve’s side.

Steve’s head whipped to him. “My problem is-” His mouth hung open and then he snapped it shut. Because how ridiculous would it be for him to be offended on Prince Stephen’s behalf? So he had to switch gears as Eddie looked at him questioningly.

“I’m not looking forward to playing host to Prince Edwin is all”, he said as he approached the river to start filling the buckets.

“Oh. Are you not a fan of His Highness?”, Eddie asked.

“I haven’t really heard anything good about him.” Steve knelt down and let the current fill the first bucket. “I heard he’s always talking over others despite never having anything interesting to say. That he’s notoriously dim-witted too.”

“Well that’s something he and Prince Stephen would have in common”, Eddie said. “If the rumor mill is to be believed, he’s often slow on the uptake.”

Steve slammed the bucket down on the ground, sloshing some of the water and making it spill over the top. He knew that’s what people thought of him. And he knew that he wasn’t as academic as his brilliant sister. But it was still a sore spot that people equated that to being completely brainless.

“Well then he and Prince Edwin would be a perfect match, wouldn’t they?”

Eddie was scowling now. “I don’t wanna have to deal with them any more than you do. But the pack has spoken.”

“Why did you follow me out here?”, Steve asked, exasperated.

“Because I know you and your sister aren’t common travelers”, Eddie said, noticing the way Steve tensed up. “I don’t know what you’re running from, but it’s obvious you come from money. And I thought you might appreciate some help.”

“I’m fully capable of putting water in a bucket”, Steve said, going ahead and doing so with the second bucket. Then he stood up, grabbing both by their handles and lifted, hoping the alpha couldn’t see the way his arms shook.

“More hands make for a lighter load”, Eddie said, taking one of the buckets from him. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re incapable.” This close, he could tell how Steve’s scent went from something sour to something light. It was something buttery and sweet.

“Do you think there’s a true chance of finding them?”, Steve asked.

Knowing his determined crew, they’d make a dogged attempt. There was a good chance they found at least two of the nobles. But Eddie wasn’t about to say something so specific that would get Steve asking about the third.

“I think the royal guard will find their lost wards first. What are they good for otherwise?”

They walked back to the camp and Eddie handed one of the buckets off to someone whose name Steve hadn’t learned yet. He also took Steve’s and Steve felt a bit miffed that the other man carried both off with ease. The sounds of laughter caught his attention and it was none other than his sister in the middle of it.

“Didn’t know your sister was such a fan of Princess Robin”, Harold said through tears of laughter.

Robin beamed while Steve glared.

“I just think the kingdom is in good hands with her”, Robin said.

“Is it just because she’s your namesake?”, Eddie asked.

“Now how would that work? She and I are like the same age”, Robin said, squeaking when Steve pinched her side.

“Yes, she’s your name sake”, Steve said through gritted teeth. “Because you were born a few months after her.”

“Does that mean you were named for the princess’ brother then?”, Jeff asked.

“No, Steve here was named for our mother’s previous lover”, Robin joked.

This time when Steve pinched her, he did it openly. His ears burned at the laughs at his expense but it was better than anyone catching on. He hadn’t thought about coming up with a fake identity. His nickname would have been enough of a cover. It became a little less inconspicuous when he was traveling with his sister who hadn’t gone with an alias at all. They really should have spent more time thinking of fake names for themselves.

“Excuse me while I speak with my sister in private”, he said before grabbing her by the arm.

Once they were a good distance from everyone, she pulled her arm away from him and glared. “What’s going on with you?”

“We need to keep a low profile. And you’re chatting yourself up with these people?”, he hissed.

“They’re the ones who brought up Princess Robin. And I’m not going to lie about myself.”

“When you run away from home it’s kind of a package deal”, Steve said.

Robin crossed her arms and cocked her hips. “So I can’t like a royal because people will suspect I’m her? Don’t be silly, Steve.”

“Someone’s going to start making connections if you keep singing your own praises.”

“And you badmouthing Prince Edwin is any different? Keep doing that and people are going to start wondering why you’re so biased against him. Almost like a scorned lover.”

“I can’t be a scorned lover when we were never lovers.”

“Look, they’re not gonna put their greenest members on such a grand scheme”, Robin said, her posture relaxing. “We’ll probably be given chores around the camp. And they can’t find us out there if we’re always here.”

Steve’s tensed up posture began to relax as well and he let out a sigh. “You might be right…”

“Might be? I’m as bright as Princess Robin. And as we all know, her intellect rivals the greatest minds in history.”

“You’re also as insufferable as the princess, whose own brother has described her like a buzzing gnat”, Steve said, turning to walk back to camp.

“And how would you know what the prince thinks, hm? Suspicious~”, Robin teased as they came upon the others. “What’d we miss?”

Eddie held out a cup of sticks. “We’re all drawing straws to see who gets to go into town with Rick to meet up with his contact.”

“They don’t like big groups”, Rick said, his long hair graying on both his head and his beard. “So I can only take two with me.”

They all drew without looking and most opened their hands without much fuss. But there were stakes involved for three of them. So when Steve caught a glimpse of color on Robin’s, he knocked into her, causing her to drop her stick.

“Sorry, clumsy me”, he said, pretending to drop his as well. He picked them both up, switching in the process.

Most didn’t pay attention but Robin could tell what he did. Her face pinched and he stared at her hard, hoping she didn’t say anything.

“Looks like it’s me”, Steve said, announcing his draw.

“And me”, Eddie added, showing his own.

“Well get ready young buck”, Rick said to Eddie, then looked Steve up and down. “And doe. The next town is a few miles away. We need to get there before sundown.”

Steve nodded and this time Robin pulled him off to the side. “Why did you do that?”, she whispered harshly.

“Because between the two of us, I’ll draw less attention.” Robin had changed neither her appearance nor her name. And they were sure to draw up posters searching for them soon.

“I can’t let you go alone with two alphas!” Robin’s eyes held a very real fear for him and Steve remembered that he had wanted to go alone. He didn’t know how he could have been so cruel as to leave her without a word.

“I’ll be fine. You’ve seen Eddie, he moves like a fish out of water. And Rick looks like a gentle shove would knock him out.”

“Still”, Robin took her dagger from her side and handed it to Steve. “Should they or anyone else have any ideas.”

Steve took it and within the hour, he, Eddie, and Rick were all making the trek to the nearby village. Rick did most of the talking, telling him about his contact. Said he was a real piece of work but also knew more about anything than anyone he’d ever known. Steve didn’t absorb most of it. He reminded himself that Robin was safer in the camp than she was roaming about town. Prince Edwin’s disappearance also weighed on him.

Not that he cared for a man who hadn’t even kept up regular missives with his betrothed. But what had happened to him. He and Robin had run away, but was it possible that the prince had been taken? If so, by whom? He knew it didn’t concern him anymore. Still, if there was someone out to get the royals, that was all the more reason for him and his sister to keep their heads down until they settled somewhere safe.

Part 5

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #platonic stobin #omegaverse #a/b/o

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