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the-secret-keeper · 1 day ago

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Where MC Tells the Obey Me Brothers About How Horribly They Were Treated in Twisted Wonderland

This was requested by @sweetlicorice I hope you like it! It was taking longer than expected, so I only did the brothers, but I will do the dateables in a part 2, don't worry.

TW: Talk of being Overworked and Burnt Out, Abuse of Power, Very Angry Demons (but not at you), mental breakdowns, missing a pet (he's not dead, don't worry), and nightmares

Reader is referred to as MC by the characters (though I don't think they say it here) and MC is gender neutral, but this is mostly in second person, so for the majority of the story you'll be referred to as 'You' by the narrator.

Characters include: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor

Could be read as romantic or platonic

This will be long, so the stories under the cut

This is organized by character, with a bit of context at the beginning. Enjoy!

First, it was a coffin. You were kidnapped by a horse-drawn hearse, woke up in a coffin, in another world. A world of magic, and wonder, but also one of pain, as you quickly learned. But you met people. You made friends, allies, and you were learning, even if you couldn't use magic.

And then, it was you landing rather harshly in a room that looked like an old-time, very fancy courtroom, surrounding by tall and intimidating looking young men. It was soon explained to you that you were in the Devildom, and were an exchange student, one that would be living with the Seven Deadly Sins for your own protection.

You didn't know what to feel. Gratitude for the much improved living conditions? Fear for living with a bunch of demons and going to school with demons that would likely have no qualms with snapping you in two if you stepped out of line? Sadness for the friends that you don't know how to get back to? Upset for being forced to leave the place you were finally starting to feel like you fit in at and having to leave Grim? It was a whirlwind inside, and for a time, that's where it stayed. Kept inside.

Slowly, the Devildom revealed to have similar problems as Twisted Wonderland, in the fact that it seems everyone in power here, aside from Diavolo and Barbatos, would like you to die.

Most of the brothers tried to kill you. One of them succeeded! Congrats to them you guess, though, no offense to Belphie, you don't think it was particularly hard for a demon to kill a human.

Through all of this, you got closer to those you were staying with, even forgiving Belphegor after everything. It only made sense that eventually, what happened to you, you started to open up to them about your past. About those that you met and bonded with, all that had been put onto you, and all that was different.

Lucifer:

You were in his office, as you did somewhat often. It was quieter in there than it was in most of the house, and no one would bother you if you were with him. Plus, sometimes he would let you take care of some of his paperwork, just the stuff that wasn't too sensitive or important, but it lightened his load a bit.

"Why do you insist upon helping me?" He asked, not looking up from his paper, as you looked at your own.

"I'm used to doing more work, and if it makes your job easier, then I don't mind." You shrugged.

"More work? Do you mean like a job?" He asked, somewhat curious. Your file had listed a lot, but you had, apparently, been missing for a while when you were brought to the Devildom, so he didn't know what you had been doing before coming there.

"Something like that." You vaguely answered, finishing a paper.

"I am always here if you need to talk." He glanced up at you, as you pulled out your homework instead.

"Thank you."

A comfortable silence fell over the you two. The ambiance of the fireplace, paired with the low volume on the record he was playing, along with the light scratching of his pen, was calming. His office was always dimly lit, enough to see easily, but also darker than the average room.

It was a quiet environment that reminded you of the days when you would sit in the office of Crewel, him taking pity on the amount of work shoved on you and attempting to help at least a little. Or the days when you would study with Ace and Deuce in the Heartslabyul Common Room, Riddle sitting nearby doing his own paperwork, and Grim resting lazily along your shoulders. It was comforting, yet sad, at the same time.

"Back, in the place where I was," you started softly after a few moments of silence, "there was more that was required of me."

"In what way?" He asked, and though you couldn't tell, off in your own world, he had stopped doing his paperwork to focus on what you were saying, fully enraptured in wanting to know your backstory.

"The headmaster, at my last school, his name was Dire Crowley. And he was terrible at his job." You laughed bitterly. "I showed up there one day, against my will, and practically started running the place once he thought I could handle it, or when he was certain I wouldn't complain." You glared at your paper, thinking back on all that was unfairly thrown at you.

"Like what?"

"Paperwork, was the majority." You answered without thinking. "But there were.... others."

"Others?" He prompted after a few moments of a now, much tenser, silence.

"Your demon form is scary." You looked at him, making eye contact. "But it is not as scary as facing seven Overblots within the span of a year."

"Overblots?"

"The manifestation of out of control magic and strong negative emotions that result in the transformation of the magic user, and the creation of a sort of monster. The magic user loses control of their entire being, and it's very taxing on the magic user." Your eyes were glazed over as you seemed to recite the information with no emotion in your voice. "I don't blame them, for Overblotting, and losing control, the world is cruel. I do blame Dire Crowley, however, for making me responsible for dealing with them."

"That sounds dangerous, for someone without magic."

"It was." You agreed, still looking towards him.

Not at him, but through him, as if you weren't registering how much you were saying. This made him all the more concerned, as he got up and walked over to you, sitting beside you.

"I was also responsible for whatever Dire Crowley wanted me to do. Feed the fireplaces over winter break, find out why our sports players are getting injured, stop that one student from taking over the student body, house these people for this inter-school competition, and on, and on." You listed, beginning to spiral. "I practically ran that school. Me! A magicless human who had no idea what they were doing or where they were or how to handle what was happening to me. He stuck me in a shack, filled with mildew, and mold, that was covered in dust, infested with ghosts, and falling apart at the seams with a fire-breathing cat. And he didn't even make me a student at first!" You looked at Lucifer, tears pricking your eyes. "I was a janitor! And when another student got myself, Grim, and another student in trouble, he was going to throw me out! Onto the streets with no understanding of the world, how it functions, or anything at all!"

Lucifer nodded, trying to get you to calm down silently, wanting to hear about your past, even though it was painful.

"And he'd threaten me, Lucifer! He'd threaten my housing, my food budget, and I had no means of income! I couldn't pay for myself in any regard, I was completely dependent on him! I was his little puppet. The puppet of the 'oh so gracious Dire Crowley'." You began to sob as emotions started to overcome you, them all spilling out as you finally let yourself feel safe enough to feel these emotions. "I was so scared! About what would happen to me, and my friends. I didn't know what the next day would bring."

He brought you into his chest, hugging you tightly, and allowing your tears to stain his red vest. He let you sob and weep as you finally allowed yourself to process the emotions you'd been keeping inside this whole time. He kept his breathing even, trying to get you to match it subconsciously, and he gently rocked you, trying to calm you down as best he could.

"I miss Grim!" You cried out, into his chest. "I miss him so much that it hurts. I feel so anxious without him around."

He didn't ask who Grim was, but he knew it was someone important. He'd ask you about it when you were calmer, for now, he'd just let you cry to your hearts content. It had been a long time since someone had come to him, and allowed him to see them crying, but he didn't mind it so much when it was you. He took pride in being someone you felt safe enough to cry around.

No more paperwork got done that night, but he didn't care. You were more important at that point in time, and Diavolo would understand, he assured you of this, when you tried to apologize for taking up his time and crying on him. He brought up that Diavolo would be more mad if he hadn't comforted you, which made you laugh. You were so tired from crying that not long after you calmed down, you drifted off in Lucifer's arms, on the couch in his office.

Mammon:

You were hanging out in Mammon's room one night, trying to help him study. Mammon was a lot smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for, the main issue you were having was the effort in which he was putting in. Which was zero. He was much more interested in his video game than his homework, despite the fact that Lucifer had threatened to string him up from the ceiling should he not get a satisfactory grade.

It was almost nice, how familiar this felt. The arguing with him about studying gave you a nostalgic feeling, for when you would study with your First Year friend group, and you would try to pry Ace away from his video games. It was never effective, much like now, but the nostalgia made you keep trying to convince him.

Mammon himself didn't seem to notice the effect this was having on you, too focused on his video game. Not that you cared, better for him to remain oblivious that try to pry your secrets out of you.

You sighed, closing the textbooks that you had brought in, accepting the fate of his grade, and making a mental note to find a spot to at least try to hide him from Lucifer. You watched as he played the game for just a few more minutes before you crawled over, sitting beside him as he played, watching the screen.

"Why're ya so good at homework in the Devildom anyway?" He asked, in the blunt way he normally does.

"Diavolo adjusted my curriculum because I don't know much about the Devildom, so I get assignments that are easier." You admitted, leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "I appreciate it, my last headmaster wasn't nearly so accommodating." You mumbled bitterly, thinking back on that incompetent headmaster.

"Really? How's that?" He asked, only half-paying attention, as he spam-clicked the button on the controller to his video game.

"Eh, don't think too much about it. Crowley was stupid, and though he claims he was gracious, he was really anything but. At least to me."

"What's 'at supposed to mean?" He asked before exclaiming nonsensical, frustrated sounds at his loss in the video game.

"I was basically his Barbatos, but I wasn't paid. Hell," You laughed mirthfully, "what money I was supposed to get was threatened, actually. More than once."

"Really?"

His attention was still diverted, and you noticed this. He was likely only wanting to hear your voice for background noise while he played, but you didn't mind so much. At least now you can say you told someone. Even if he wasn't listening.

"Yeah, Crowley threatened my food and housing budget more than once. And he'd push all his work onto me, even though I really shouldn't have had that much responsibility put on me. After all, I was someone without magic in a magic-teaching school, from another world. I didn't know anything." You shrugged lightly, trying not to move Mammon's arm too much, because your head was still resting on his shoulder. "I can't say I miss that part of it."

"What do ya miss then?" He asked, eyes still glued to the screen.

"My friends. I had a group of friends that were pretty tight-knit. Trauma bonded, more like it." You laughed. "And Grim. I miss Grim."

"Grim?"

"My cat."

"Ya sound like Satan."

"Grim was a special cat. He could use magic, and fly, and talk. You remind me of him sometimes." At that he finally paused the game to look at you.

"I, remind ya of... a cat?" He asked incredulously.

"Yeah." You smiled, laughing lightly. "He was sarcastic, and demanding, and greedy. He called me Henchman, you call me Human." He rolled his eyes. "But underneath your... bravado, is a very nice person, who cares a lot. Grim and I... we only had each other. So it just makes sense that we bonded. I miss him, a lot. He used to sleep in my bed, and he'd always be there with me. I've been having trouble sleeping without him. It just feels like there's something missing." You admitted in a soft and sad tone. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"I'll be yer Grim 'til we can convince Diavolo or Barbatos, or maybe Solomon to get yer cat." He said quietly, rubbing your upper arm. "Ya can sleep in here whenever ya need, ok?" You nodded. "Wanna watch a movie?" You smiled at him, nodding once more, as he turned the TV to one of the bajillion streaming services the family all pay for, because they share, and arguing with you about the best movie to watch.

Leviathan:

Leviathan was out in public with you, having gone to an anime themed event at a cafe in the Devildom. He was so excited, that you just couldn't resist when he asked if you wanted to go with. It was nice to hear him rant and ramble about all the things that he was passionate about.

"There's a cat in the anime that waitress is from! And he's super cool!" Levi started. "He can fly, and talk, and use magic. He's also very stubborn, like a donkey. But he's a favorite in the fandom because of how cute he is."

"I know someone like that." You mumbled without thinking, your mind wandering to your feline friend.

"You do?!" He asked excitedly.

"Yeah." You smiled. "His name was Grim, and he used to live with me, back in the time before."

"Really? Tell me more!"

"He wasn't super smart, or very hard working. He used to call me Henchman, and demand cans of tuna. But when it came down to it, Grim was the one I could rely on the most. But, that might also be because we literally couldn't leave each other." You told him.

"You couldn't?"

"No. I don't have magic, and he did. I'm human, he was a cat. The headmaster of my last school decided to be 'oh so gracious'," you quoted, making air quotes around his catchphrase, "and make the two of us one singular student, allowing us to attend his magic school."

"That seems... dumb. To say the least."

"It was." You deadpanned, before the both of you laughed. "He was a bad headmaster. Towards the end of my stay there, I was practically headmaster, just because of how much work he pushed onto me because he could. But while I was at that school I made friends. And I had Grim. Even if the situation I was in was less than ideal." You smiled as the waitress delivered the food you ordered, with a bundle of silverware.

"Ah. I bet you'd prefer them to an otaku like me."

"Not true!" You defended, pointing your fork at Leviathan. "I like you plenty fine, Levi. You actually remind me a lot of my friend Idia. But," you laughed awkwardly, "at least you leave the house sometimes, and aren't afraid of confrontation. Or, at least, you're not afraid to confront some people. Like your brothers." You set your fork down, stopping your silent threat at Levi, that wasn't actually very threatening to him.

"He was an otaku too?"

"Yes indeed, and a master gamer to boot."

"Better than me?"

"It's hard to say." You shrugged. "The games you guys play are similar, but different. It's not a fair comparison." He seemed placated by this answer. "Your brothers remind me of a lot of my friends from there." You said vaguely.

"Do you miss them?"

"Yeah. They're my friends, of course I miss them. And it's not like I know if and when I'll be able to see them again." You explained gently. "I don't miss the work though. Diavolo was nice and assigned me a tutor and easier assignments until I get the hang of the normal work here. And no one makes me do any extra work, or threatens my food or housing. Well, Lucifer threatens punishments sometimes, but he would never threaten my food or housing, and I won't get punished as long as I do my best and behave." You rambled, smiling at how nice it was here, compared to it was in Twisted Wonderland. "Plus, I have all of you, and Diavolo, and Barbatos, and the other exchange students. I miss my friends from there, and I really wish that I had Grim here with me. But I am happy here." You beamed.

"Maybe if we ask Lucifer, he may know how to get your cat." Leviathan suggested, smiling lightly.

"I would love that. He acts like Mammon, but he feels like an emotional support cat. And, I bet Satan would seriously love having him here too."

"You know, we're all here. If you want to talk."

"I know." You glanced around. "What anime is that cosplay from?" You asked, gesturing at another waitress, changing the subject.

He glanced, and started beaming, immediately launching into a rant about the anime it's from, and the character themself. It was nice that he didn't question the change in subject. You'd tell Levi and the others all about what happened to you, and about what Twisted Wonderland was like. Eventually. Maybe.

Asmodeus:

Saying Asmo was flirty, was an understatement. Possibly the understatement of the century. And while he flirted and charmed nearly every being in existence, he did understand consent, and took every no at face value, stopping when asked. Of course, it's a rejection, so at the beginning you had to explain that no, you're not rejecting him as a person, you like him plenty fine as a person, you just don't always want to be flirted with.

He still did it, but when you asked him to stop he'd make a show of whining about it, but stopping nonetheless. It was annoying, but he did take your 'no' seriously, so in the end it was kind of worth it. Asmo was good for conversation, and he knew all the gossip, so he was nice to hang out with.

You had mentioned a handful of times that he reminded you of someone where you were from where you used to live. But all he ever said in response was that there was no one like him. Which is true, as no one else could truly embody Lust like Asmodeus does.

He was doing a skincare night with you, when you brought it up again.

"You know a lot about skincare already, it's quite impressive." He complimented.

"Yeah, had a friend who took it very seriously." You agreed.

"Is this the same friend that I remind you of?"

"Tis." You smiled, gently rubbing the moisturizer onto his face. "He was an interesting man."

"Interesting man? Interesting how?"

"He was insanely hard working, yet it seemed no one saw that." You started, taking a deep breath. "He was an actor, and social media influencer. And he was talented. Extremely talented. He worked hard to get where he was, but he had the means to get there."

"Anything else I should know about this person?"

"Well, he was good at potions. And like, just as good if not better than Satan and Solomon, good. He had the harshest study routine, but it was worth it. Never failed a potions class if he was tutoring me. He didn't have much time to do so, but I was always grateful when he did." You thought back on the memories fondly, smiling, as you stopped rubbing the moisturizer into his skin, and moving onto the next step. "His methods were.... intense, to say the least." Your smile became strained, remembering the VDC. "But, they got the results he wanted, so I guess he didn't see much issue with it."

"Intense in what way?" Asmo asked, noting your tenseness.

"I was appointed manager for a dance team, an interschool competition thing, you know how competitive people can get." You shook your head lightly. "They all came to live in my dorm because it was mostly empty. But, despite me being manager, he decided I needed to follow the same diet as everyone else. My friends said it was a 'we're all in this together' thing, but I thought he was just being unreasonable. I mean, come on, hexing my food? That's just wasteful. And he didn't even pay me back. I didn't get much money for food in general, because I was the magicless student, and there he went, just wasting what I had." You laughed mirthfully, remembering your anger at the situation, and your frustration.

"Well, in his defense, if he was just looking out for you."

"I would have no problems if that were the case, Azzy." You slightly chastised, but it was playful, and held no real bite. "I took your diet in stride, didn't I?" He nodded in acknowledgement. "I would've been fine with it, if that were the case. But he never paid me back for the food that he hexed, or replaced it. I didn't have much, so no one being able to eat those foods, it was wasteful. I mean, it's not like I got much money, if any, from the school for dorm food, like every other dorm."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I was the magicless student. The errand person. The pushover. The unpaid therapist or headmaster. Depends on the day." You sighed. "The headmaster didn't want to have to rewrite the budget to factor in an extra dorm, when it only had two students in it, that really only amounted to one student."

"Wait, I thought you've mentioned before that you had a roommate."

"I lived with a fire-breathing, flying, talking cat named Grim, who could use magic, and several ghosts. I say technically one student, because the ghosts were faculty members, technically, but Grim had magic, and I didn't, but I was human and Grim was a cat. So, when I popped out of the woodwork, with no magic, no identification, no way to go home, and no clue about how this world worked, the headmaster was 'oh so gracious'," you mocked, "and put us both in a run down dorm, enrolled as a single student."

"Run down?"

"I mean Run Down. It was called Ramshackle, by other students, and it certainly lived up to it's name. The heater didn't work, I had to curl up with Grimm under every blanket I could find in that house. It was caked in mold and mildew, and dust, until Crowley cleaned it for the VDC. I injured myself more than once." You pointed to a scar on your forearm, where you'd hurt yourself in an attempt to fix up your dorm. "I am, honestly, very grateful, for the opportunity to stay here, in much better conditions. I do miss my friends, and I miss Grim." You admitted.

"Is that why you named that stuffed animal Grim? I thought you were just taking after Mammon in your greed."

"I miss Grim." You stated simply. "He was always with me. We were inseparable. We fought, we bickered, but at the end of the day, I knew if there was one thing, one being, I could rely on consistently, it was Grim. He was my ride-or-die. I named my stuffed animal after him, because I have a hard time sleeping without him. Even just, relaxing, can be hard. I miss him, and I don't know if he's ok. I genuinely, worry about him. And I miss him so much, that it's hard to fully put into words."

"I'm sorry." He offered, and you just smiled at him.

There was not much more Asmodeus could say. He couldn't provide you the comfort that you craved, as he was not your cat, nor could he get you your cat. So, he extended his sympathies, and access to his bed whenever you would like. For cuddles, or for more, he was always down for whatever.

He only hoped that his efforts to be there, and open for you, helped to heal you a little bit in the long run.

Satan:

Satan was nice to be around. He was curious, and he liked to know things and ask questions, so he did tend to pry into your past. But he was always good for book recommendations, and was always happy to discuss any book you wanted.

You found comfort in his fondness for cats, finding a kindred spirit in that regard. You didn't tell him about Grim, not wanting to get his hopes up about maybe meeting your beloved companion. He did notice your love of cats though, and had gotten you a giant cat plushie, as a gift.

You had named it Grim, and it lived on your bed. It was much quieter, and honestly, a bit boring compared to the real thing, but it was good for cuddling in the night when you couldn't sleep because you missed your furry friend. You were grateful that Satan had brought you just a bit of comfort in those moments, even if he didn't know it.

"I had a cat." You started one day when he started reading off cat facts enthusiastically after you had expressed the slightest bit of interest. "He was a rather interesting thing."

"Really? What was he like?" Satan liked to hear you talk about your past in general, but he was especially excited to hear about your cat.

"His name was Grim. And he was big, like 2 feet tall. He had a very distinct look about him. Grey fur, with a white chest," Satan nodded, listening intently, "bright, big, blue eyes. So round they almost looked scary sometimes. His ears, they had blue fire coming out of them, and his tail was shaped like a pitchfork. And he could use magic! He could breathe fire, and fly, effortlessly. He could talk too. Used to talk my ear off." You smiled fondly, happy to be able to talk about your favorite creature. "He'd call me Henchman, or Hench Human. He was a trouble maker. Mammon reminds me of him that way."

"Oh." Satan almost groaned.

"But much like Mammon, at the end of the day, push comes to shove, you can rely on him. That was one of the few things I knew for certain back then. Grim was the only one I could fully rely on. I had other friends, but Grim and I, we were inseparable. He was my best friend. He used to sleep in my bed with me, every night. I'm so used to it, it's honestly.... kind of hard to sleep without him." You admitted, laughing tiredly. "I miss Grim."

"Were you allowed pets, or familiars, at your last school?"

"No. No, I don't think we were." You answered after a moment of thought. "But Grim was a special case. He and I crashed the entrance ceremony. I wasn't supposed to be there, and got yoinked out of another world, but he was just straight up trespassing because he wanted so badly to go to that school, and become a great mage." You laughed at the memory. "He committed arson, I helped calm him down, and the rest is history. We weren't students, originally. We were janitors. The Headmaster only let us stay because I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I proved that Grim could be helpful."

"I thought you said you were a student?"

"I was. Half. I was half of a student." You smiled, taking a tired, yet fond, sigh. "I didn't have magic. But Grim did. So, Crowley determined that we would each be half of a student. He got us both into so much trouble, but he always helped me get out of it. I could always rely on Grim. Except in schoolwork," you admitted, laughing a little, "I was alone in that portion."

A million questions ran through his head, and you could tell the gears were turning. It was almost amusing, seeing him trying to decide on what topic to pick. Should he keep going about your cat? Pry about your headmaster? Ask about your clearly troubled past at this school?

He was quiet, but it wasn't tense, or awkward, just comfortable silence, as you patiently awaited his next question. You knew Satan would choose his words carefully, so as to not make you uncomfortable, so you had no fears. You really didn't want him to ask about Grim's homework habits though. Satan prioritized intelligence, and knowledge. You wanted him to have a good impression of Grim, since you thought the two would get along, despite Grim being similar to his older brother, Mammon.

It took him a few moments, you, peacefully sipping your favorite hot drink, as you waited patiently, reading your book, before he finally picked a topic.

"Was your headmaster, truly that bad?" He asked softly.

"His favorite trick to get me to do what he wanted, when I didn't want to, was to threaten me. My food budget, my housing budget, or even my security at the school. I had others I could rely on, should this happen. The other Housewardens tended to take pity on me when I would show up, practically begging for food, because Crowley wouldn't allow me to have any. They were good people. But I always made sure Grim had stuff to eat. I never let him suffer. He actually learned to share through this. But, a diet of tuna sandwiches, just isn't that good for your health. It was better than nothing though." You shrugged, not looking up from your book. You looked up, to see him looking at you, sadness painting his eyes. "I'm doing better now, Satan." You smiled.

"I don't want to pry, but I do have more questions." You took a deep breath.

"Can I answer them later?" You asked, to which he nodded.

"Take your time."

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you look through your books, to see if there's a spell, or an incantation, or a potion, or a ritual, that will help me get Grim? I'm worried about him, and, as you can see," you gestured to your eyebags, which Asmo had tried to hide using makeup, but it was late, so they were started to peek through, "being without him takes a toll. He's like my emotional support cat, you know? My sassy, lazy, loud, annoying, emotional support cat, that I love. And I miss."

"I'll see what I can do." He nodded. "No promises, but I'll look into it."

"That's all I ask." You smiled tiredly.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub had eaten the majority of the fridge again, and it was your turn to make dinner. You sighed, as he looked at you guiltily. It was getting too close to when you absolutely needed to start cooking so you could serve dinner on time, so you couldn't go shopping for more. You just shook your head, and got to work taking everything out of the fridge and pantry, just to see what was left.

"I'm sorry." Beel offered. "I'll help you cook."

"I've done more with less." You said, not registering his offer, and looking over the ingredients that were left, as you had caught him before he could eat everything. "I just need some time."

"I didn't leave you much. I could go to the store, and get some more." He offered.

"Beel," You looked at him, smiling in amusement. "How much of what you get me would you eat on the way home?" He looked down guiltily once more. "I'm not mad," you assured, "really, I'm not. And I appreciate your offer of help. But I've got this." You smiled once more, before turning back to the ingredients, and picking up a few.

With what little you had, you'd started to make a large delicious meal. Beelzebub watched, in what could only be described as awe, as you stretched what you had into enough to feed the brothers, and something that tasted good. He still felt guilty about eating the majority of what you could've used to make dinner, but he was grateful you weren't mad, and he was curious as to how you knew how to make so little go so far.

After you served the brothers, you kept a little for yourself, and Beelzebub noticed. He noticed that you didn't take much, and when he tried to comment on it, you just winked at him, smiling. After dinner, he was designated for clean up, and you went into the kitchen to keep him company, as he had while you were cooking.

"How did you do that? There wasn't much left, but that was a good meal."

"My last school.... I didn't have much." You started vaguely. "My food budget was small, and often taken away, so I would take what little I was able to beg or barter for from the shop keeper, or the other Housewardens, or my friends, and I'd make it stretch. It helped that they often had some leftovers, especially Scarabia, with their feasts every week. And Jamil was a fabulous cook." You complimented, your mouth watering at the thought of his delicious and carefully prepared food. "But I digress. What I'd do is, I'd prepare meals in advance, as many as I could. I had to. Starvation sounded rather unpleasant, to me."

"It was that bad?"

"Not if I planned correctly." You smiled.

Beelzebub related to the feeling of hunger, and starvation. He was often brushed aside as always hungry because he's the Avatar of Gluttony. But the pain was always there, and it was hard to describe the pain aside from, hungry. You were always patient with him, even if he got grumpy because of his hunger, and now he was starting to see why.

If you understood the feeling of being hungry all the time, and starving to a painful point, it makes sense that you'd not get mad at him. It makes sense to him, that you'd be patient with him. He had always appreciated your patience and kindness, but he had never questioned it. Now he was starting to think he should've.

"Was it just you?"

"No. I had a cat with me. His name was Grim, and he was a lot like Mammon." You described cheerfully. "He mostly ate cans of tuna, which I could get for cheap at the school shop, they weren't super popular, and students tended to leave them at the shop after realizing they were the cheapest option of food I had." You laughed awkwardly. "It was a school of ruffians, and bullies, and people who hated me. But they had the decency to not want me to starve to death."

"You were hated?"

"By some. I wasn't popular, but I had my fair share of friends, don't worry." You assured. "I had the first years friend group, and the Housewardens, and the vice-housewardens and honorary vicehousewardens. Even a lot of the teachers liked me. And even if they didn't, I still had Grim. He was my best friend."

"Was?"

"He's still there, so he still is. We're just not together right now. It's like... it's like a part of me is missing, because he's my best friend." You tried. "And he's still there, but I can't see him, and I can't talk to him. I miss him, a lot. I think you'd like him." You smiled. "He used to sleep on my bed, every night. And he'd complain, and whine, and get both of us into trouble, but he was loyal to a fault, and he was always there when I needed him."

"Was your old headmaster that bad?"

"Oh yeah." You nodded enthusiastically. "He went on vacation so often, and it was more like I was the headmaster towards the end of my time there. What with the amount of paperwork and such I was handling in his stead. On top of schoolwork! And he put me in an old decrepit house, with a fire breathing cat. Granted, I asked for the cat to remain with me, but still. I'm sure he could've found somewhere else to put me."

"That sounds awful."

"It could be. But hey, think of it this way, now I'm prepared if you do this again." You teased. He nodded. "Don't feel too bad, Beel. You didn't even know I existed, you couldn't have done anything."

"I wish you would've told us."

"It's not easy to talk about." You admitted. "It's not like... I had the best experience with a lot of people there. I mean, Overblots, burnout, hunger, on top of basically being an unpaid therapist, an unpaid headmaster, and a full-time student? I was busy, and not every experience is a pleasant one. But it's a part of my life, and I wouldn't change it for anything. Because it was my experience." You explained. He nodded in understanding. "I think you'd like the people I met before. So many good cooks. And Lilia, who is on par with Solomon." You shuddered. "But there was also so many athletics clubs. I bet you'd really like Spelldrive." You smiled.

"Spelldrive?"

"Yeah!"

As you launched into an in-depth explanation of the sport, at least as you understood it, he simply watched. He was glad you'd opened up to him, and to hear that you weren't always alone. He would probably ask Satan if he could find anything about getting your cat for you. But for now, he was just happy to see you being comfortable enough to talk about your past.

Belphegor:

Belphegor liked to visit your dreams whenever you'd let him. They were always so interesting. They almost matched you, in that regard. As you were so strange in his eyes. He was very lucky, able to explore your good dreams. Dreams that told of friends, and adventure. Light hardship, sure, but mostly wonder. And happiness. Along with a cat that seemed to pop up in every dream. He didn't know that he only saw this because he didn't always tune into your dreams. Not every dream is a happy one.

It was one day, when you happened to be taking a nap in his general vicinity, that he drifted off, and entered your dream. He prepared himself for the bright light of the outside of Night Raven College, and for the happy smiling faces, or the sound of laughter, as he usually saw when he joined your in your dreams. What he wasn't expecting, was the fire. The screaming, the fear. He was prepared to watch on happily as you got to see your friends, the people you consider family, in your dreams, but instead, he only saw your terror.

He couldn't look away as you looked on in terror as eight towering figures, covering in black ink, with massive ink monsters behind them cornered you. He recognized some of these faces, they were those of your friends. They were friends, friends who would drive you to work harder, and do better, but would always be there to help in any way they could, if they could, when you asked.

But there was one face he was shocked to see, moreso than the friends. It was your cat. Your cat that had been changed into a hulking, massive beast, and it looked more wild than he had ever seen. It wasn't talking anymore, none of those smart ass comments he'd overhear, it was growling at you, roaring at you. It had never done that before.

Belphegor, unable to stand by as you feared for your life, even in a dream, quickly made his way to in front of you, his back to you.

"You need to wake up."

You heard him, but his voice was muddled in your panic, it sounded like he was under water. You looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Wake! UP!" He commanded.

You shot up, gasping for air, as you woke up. Belphegor followed not long after, making his way over, and sitting beside you, as you began to calm down from such a panic-inducing dream. He sat beside you until your breathing was under control, and you weren't shaking as much anymore.

You leaned onto him, your head resting on his shoulder, and feeling embarrassed. It wasn't often that you had these nightmares, but they were always intense and unpleasant when you did. You didn't think he knew, he'd never visited those dreams. It's not as though you were actively hiding it, you'd told him that you'd had nightmares before, but you were ashamed that he had seen them firsthand.

You both just sat in silence for several moments, before he spoke first.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, softly.

"They don't know about the nightmares. I mean, my closer friends do, but those who the nightmares are about, don't. They don't need that."

"Why are they in your nightmares? And why did they look like that?"

"They lost control of their emotions, and their magic overwhelmed them. They weren't in control, when they looked like that. That was their anger, and sadness, their pain, that was in control of them, with their magic creating the ink monsters behind them." You explained, quietly. "I don't blame them, no one can be expected to hold it together for so long, but that doesn't make it any less unpleasant."

"And your cat?"

"I don't know why I have nightmares about him like that." You admitted. "I think it's because I miss him, and I'm scared of what will happen to him without me there."

"How long have you had these nightmares?"

"They started after the first Overblot, that's what they're called," you explained simply, "but they only got worse as more Overblots happened."

"Was there no one you could go to?" You shook your head.

"I couldn't go to Crowley, he was useless," you laughed humorlessly, "the teachers were nice, but they couldn't do anything. I told my friends, and they tried their best, but nothing ever really helped. Grim used to sleep on my bed with me, and that would chase the nightmares away pretty well, but," you trailed off.

"You don't have him with you now, so the nightmares are back with a vengeance?" You nodded, smiling a little at his wording. He wrapped an arm around you. "Do you miss him?"

"I do."

He knew you did, he knew that was a redundant question. But he wanted to hear it from you, as a sort of confirmation. He felt bad that you missed your cat, and he wished he could do something about it, but he knew he couldn't. So you two just sat in silence, comforted by the warmth of the room, and the calm atmosphere around the two of you.

He had always wondered why, or even how, you'd taken his actions in stride. How you'd forgiven him so easily. He knew now, that it was just in your nature after having gone through so much at your last school. He decided in that moment that he'd make an effort to be the person to hold a grudge on your behalf, to let people know that you may have forgiven them, but he certainly hasn't, and he hasn't forgotten what they've done to you. He didn't voice this, but he knew that you knew how he felt.

But for now, you two just sat there, comfortable, and warm. He wanted to apologize, and say he'd do everything in his power to get you your cat, but he didn't want to say that without a guarantee that he could do it. So there you sat, close, and comfortable.

"I'll chase your nightmares away." He offered, just barely a whisper, yet because of your proximity, you heard it.

"Thanks Belphie." You smiled tiredly, happy to hear that he would protect your dreams.

You drifted off not long after, Belphie following close behind. But he kept his word, and your nightmares didn't plague you after that, whenever Belphie could help it.

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flowerywoso · 3 days ago

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the babysitter || irene paredes x reader

Summary: You've had a thing for Irene ever since you started babysitting for her. When she comes home after a night out with the team, you realize that your feelings might not be as one-sided as you thought they were. Pairing: Irene Paredes x Reader Words: 3,992 Warnings: 🔞, smut with plot Notes: I haven't written anything in quite awhile (I honestly wasn't planning on writing ever again but here we are), so this might be a little rough! Please don't hesitate to let me know (politely, please!) if you notice any horrible grammatical errors or notes to myself that I somehow forgot to take out. Do not post my works on Ao3. And I am horrible at titles.

You peek your head into the room once more, carefully easing the door open and, just as quickly, shut, once you determine that the toddler is definitely still asleep. It’s a habit you adopted after your friends began to have their own children, and one you’ve maintained for the kids you babysit. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as you can, you plop back down on the sofa, settling into the corner and taking a sip of your sparkling water, grabbing your novel and flipping it back open as you wait for the boy’s mother to return home.

It’s not that much later, only long enough for you to finish a single chapter of your book, before you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, announcing Irene’s return from the Barcelona squad’s night out. You don’t get up from the couch, merely setting your novel aside and uncrossing your legs, letting one dangle off the cushions.

She enters the room quietly, the low heels she’d left the apartment in abandoned on the mat by the front door so they don’t click on the wood floors, and when you look up you can see the flush on her face. You're not sure if it's the result of the chilly evening air or of her night out, but either way it's enough to make you swallow around a lump in your throat. The top and pants she'd left the house in are just as enticing now as they were several hours ago, and you wonder as she walks further into the apartment how you manage to stay sane around her.

“Hola,” she says quietly, setting her purse down in the center of the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the sofa, sighing in relief as she relaxes into the cushions after a long night out. Your heart, as it so often does in the presence of the older woman, skips a beat as she comes nearer to you.

“How was everything?”

“All good,” you reply, beginning to recount your evening with Mateo. As always, the toddler had been easy, listening to you as well as one could expect a two-year-old to, and had fallen asleep on the sofa halfway through an episode of Bluey, only stirring briefly when you carried him to bed.

“He ate most of his dinner,” you relay with a smile, shaking your head at the memory of how the toddler had wrinkled his nose at the "yucky green" you'd provided for him, far more enthusiastic about the special treat that was the chicken nuggets unearthed from the freezer. “We had a bit of a struggle with the veggies, but other than that he was a perfect angel, like always.”

Your words bring a smile to the older woman’s face, and you can’t help but stop in your tracks for a moment, transfixed by the way her lips perk upwards, faint lines around her eyes becoming visible. You’ve seen her take an extra minute in the bathroom more than once after you arrive in the evenings, trying to conceal the bags beneath her eyes or the smile lines beginning to form at the corners, but you think that each and every part of her face is a work of art.

You had no idea, when you first started babysitting for her, just how quickly your feelings for the older woman would grow. In the stolen moments at the beginning and end of the nights, before one of you walks out the door, you've learned more and more about Irene Paredes the person, not just the footballer, and something about her kept drawing you further and further in. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but you knew that you wanted her.

“Did you have a good night?”

Irene shrugs, shaking her head with a fond smile as she tells you about the Barcelona squad’s night out. She had mostly stayed on the sidelines alongside the other older players, keeping an eye on the girls closer to your own age as they enjoyed themselves, but Pina and Cata had managed to coax her and Alexia into having a drink and dance before she had excused herself.

The thought of Irene on the dance floor makes your heart pound, imagination beginning to run wild.

You’ve never been to Manuela’s, but from the way you’ve heard Irene describe it, there's absolutely no shortage of beautiful women. You know from the bits of information she’s given you that the Barcelona girls normally stick with one another, even while they’re out, but you’ve never been able to help yourself from wondering if any of the beautiful girls who frequent the club have tempted her enough that she’s taken one of them to her bed.

It's that thought, the unpleasant idea of her tangled between the sheets with a nameless, faceless girl from the club that makes your chest hurt. Before you fully notice what you're doing, you open your mouth and begin to speak, some jumbled mixture of thoughts spilling from between your traitorous lips.

"I mean if... If you ever wanted to stay out later... If someone..."

You trail off, clamping your lips shut as you realize just how inappropriate what you're implying is. You cringe, cursing yourself as you watch for her reaction, wait for her to get up off the couch and hand you your bags, let you know that now might be a good time for you to go home.

But she doesn't. Instead, all the older woman does is fix you with a questioning gaze, seemingly losing herself in thought for a moment.

She’s seated closer to you than she normally would be, than she ever has been before, and for a moment you wonder if she can hear your heart as it pounds in your chest, speeding up as she enters your space. You aren’t sure if it’s your imagination, the way her eyes seem to have fixed on you, tracing the details of your flushing face, eyes following your bottom lip as you nervously run your teeth over it.

“No,” she says at last. “None of the girls there have ever been who I wanted.”

Something about the word there catches your attention as it leaves her mouth, and you're certain that you must be losing your mind. Because there's no way, no way in the world that she wants you the way you want her.

The older woman reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve stopped breathing. Her hand pauses by your left cheek, which you're absolutely certain is flushing redder than the cap on her cherry flavored chapstick.

And suddenly, before you can even fully process the fact that her soft but strong hands are cupping your scarlet cheeks, the older woman is leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours.

You must have imagined this moment a thousand times, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined it would actually come true. The older woman’s mouth is soft but insistent against your own, exploring your lips with hers, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had is a distant memory as you move with her, kissing her back.

Kissing Irene is even better than you imagined it would be - and you could fill a planner with the amount of times you’ve imagined this exact scenario. Her mouth is gentle, but there’s an edge to her kiss that contains a promise, the knowledge that she’s capable of being anything but.

When your lips finally part, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, you let out a little gasp, pupils blown wide as Irene stares into your eyes, both of you trying to process what has just happened. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, Irene seems just as shocked as you are. But, behind her wide eyes is the same feeling you know she can easily spot in your own.

Desire.

“I… Fuck.”

You’re the one who leans forward this time, lips pressing against the older woman’s, the faint flavor of alcohol on her lips mixed with a hint of cherry from the chapstick you’ve seen her spread across her mouth more than once. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, and you can feel it going straight between your legs.

This kiss is deeper than the first, your arms wrapping around her strong shoulders to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against your own. You part momentarily, gasping for air and only managing a brief breath before she’s kissing you again, every movement raising the stakes. You whine as her lips meet yours once more, hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. The older woman uses her own lips to pry yours open, her claiming tongue slipping into your mouth and beginning to explore further.

You let her take control of the kiss without protest, the arousal between your thighs intensifying exponentially with every second her body spends this close to your own.

“Fuck,” she gasps, breaking away from your lips only long enough to grunt in your ear. “Fuck, I want you so badly.”

All you can do is nod, shaking your head up and down in agreement, because you don’t think you’ve ever wanted another person this badly in your entire life.

“Irene,” you whine, pressing impossibly closer to her. “Please.”

“Can I touch you?”

You’re nodding again before the question has even fully left her lips, and the older woman’s pupils go dark with how eager she is for you. She kisses you again, her football player’s strength showing as she pushes you backward onto the sofa, hands working their way up under your shirt. She doesn’t bother with the clasp of your bra, instead slipping her hands beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. Separating her lips from yours with a low groan, Irene immediately begins tracing a path over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a further wave of shivers up and down your spine. You moan quietly, remembering that you two aren’t alone in the apartment, but tilt your head anyway, granting her better access to your throat.

Advantage is rapidly taken, the Barcelona player letting a hint of teeth scrape across the delicate flesh of your throat as she rolls one of your nipples between her fingers, moaning quietly at the way you arch, pressing your chest further into her touch.

Your nipples aren’t normally this sensitive, but something about the way Irene rolls and tugs at them makes the two buds feel as if they’re direct links to your most sensitive spot. Her touch is magical, and all you want is more.

As if the older woman can read your mind, the hand not busy exploring your chest slides further down, slipping under your black leggings and making you gasp, bringing a hand up to muffle your own sounds as long fingers begin to rub at your pussy over your panties.

There’s far too much fabric between the two of you, and every thread feels like a cage. You need it off, need the last bits of separation between your heat and her touch gone, now.

“Off,” Irene commands and, needing the barrier gone just as badly as you do, she doesn’t wait for you to obey before she’s hooking her own fingers in the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down over your legs. Your panties are removed in the same motion, both pieces of fabric coming to rest at your ankles. You try to kick them fully off, but only manage to completely free one leg before the older woman is pushing her way between your thighs, eagerly beginning to explore your bare pussy.

Her experience is clear from the first touch of her slender fingers against your naked heat, and you can’t help but press closer, spreading your legs further to give her better access. The older woman draws in a sharp breath as she circles your clit gently with one finger, exploring, watching for your reactions, the others gathering the rapidly accumulating wetness at your entrance. Irene's touch is electric, and the older woman finds herself becoming rapidly obsessed with the way your clit seems to plead for her touch.

With two of her fingers, Irene traces the outline of your pussy, hyper aware of just how wet you are, how your hole is begging silently for her fingers inside as she continues to rub your clit.

You let your eyes fall shut, eagerly anticipating just how good it will feel when the fingers you can sense lingering just shy of your entrance finally slide home, burying themselves inside your welcoming cunt. You’re practically pulsing with it, with how badly you need her inside, need to know just how she’ll fill you, what previously unknown spots inside the tips of her long fingers will be able to brush.

“Where do you want my fingers, bebita?”

You whine, shifting your hips in an attempt to get even closer to her, to get her to slide her fingers into your throbbing heat. The digits, wet from your own slick, only withdraw further away from your needy hole, and you nearly sob with how badly you need the older woman, need her touch.

Obvious as it may be, this nonverbal expression of how desperate you are for her to take you isn’t enough to satisfy the older woman, and she rubs your inner thigh soothingly.

“Use your words, baby,” she coaxes. “Tell me where you need my fingers.”

The idea of using your words seems borderline impossible at the moment, your brain simply too overwhelmed with the reality of just how close her fingers are to slipping inside, but you can tell that you won’t get what you need until you do.

“My pussy,” you manage to whine, trying to stay as quiet as possible while pulsing with the need for her. “Please, Irene, I need your fingers in my cunt.”

Your words, base and simple as they are, are enough to get you what you need, and when Irene finally slides her fingers home, you can’t conceal the moan that tears its way free from your throat. You’re wet enough that the stretch of going from zero to two fingers inside your cunt brings nothing but pleasure, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud when you feel the ridges of her fingers settle against your walls, the older woman pausing for a moment to let you adjust to the feeling of her digits inside.

Irene has to swallow a wrecked noise of her own as she finally slides her fingers inside your soaking pussy, the sensation of your silky walls against her skin sending her brain into overdrive. The sound of your voice, desperation tinging your whispers as you plead for her to move, to fuck you, is absolute music to her ears, and she doesn’t hesitate to comply with the enticing request.

Her pace is slow at first as she starts to move, the older woman eagerly exploring every curve and contour of your cunt, leaking around her fingers. It’s so warm and inviting, and the older woman has no idea how she’s lasted this long without knowing what feel like inside.

Once she’s sure you’ve fully adjusted to the stretch of her digits inside of you, Irene speeds up her thrusts, curling her fingers in search of the most sensitive spots hidden inside your pretty cunt.

It’s clear when she finds what she’s looking for, because your cunt clenches down around her fingers and you squeeze your pretty eyes shut as pleasure rocks your body.

“Oh,” she says, voice a whisper that tickles your ear and makes you shudder happily. “Is that where you need me?”

You nod desperately, the entirety of your reality reduced to the sensation of her fingers against the sensitive tissue inside you, stroking it insistently as her thumb comes to brush against your swollen clit. As she fucks you with her fingers, the older woman tests out different motions on your bud with her thumb, searching for the pattern and pace to take what’s left of your breath away.

You can’t help but let out a cry as she presses a little harder, circling your needy clit at just the right angle. Irene quickly presses her lips to yours again, reminding you that you’re not alone in the apartment.

“Shh,” the older woman says, swallowing your noises with her own tongue, collecting each one. “You’ve still gotta be quiet for me, bebita.”

You nod in understanding, kissing her back desperately, bringing a hand up to tangle in her hair. You can be quiet, no matter how good it feels, you can be quiet, just so long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing between your legs. Irene chuckles against your lips, redoubling her efforts between your legs. Her talented fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, each time hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, lips right beside your ear. “That’s it, take it for me. Take it, just like that.”

You toss your head back, more than willing to comply. Every cell of your body feels like it’s on fire, and you want nothing more than for the burning to consume you completely.

Your orgasm arrives without warning, Irene’s thumb on your swollen clit combined with her talented fingers inside your cunt sending you crashing over the edge with a fury you haven’t felt in a long time. You have to bite down on your lip to keep in your sounds as your it overwhelms you, nails digging into Irene’s bare shoulders. You can feel the older woman’s smile as she kisses your neck, fingers still moving gently inside you, working you through your climax, helping you ride it for as long as you can.

You shudder, aftershocks still shaking your body as you begin to come down from your peak. She slides her fingers out and you bite down on your kiss-swollen lip to keep yourself from whining at the loss. It takes another minute before you're able to gather yourself, fully opening your eyes and taking in the sight of the gorgeous older woman above you.

Irene presses another kiss to your lips, this one gentle, and you can feel the smile on her face as you give a final shudder, sitting up and leaning into her.

"How was that, bebita?"

"Fucking perfect," you reply, unable to conceal a grin of your own as you note how flushed her face still is. Knowing that touching you has her seemingly almost as worked up as you are sends a thrill through your body and you reach for the button of her jeans, aiming to return the favor, only for the same pair of hands that had just brought you to such an incredible orgasm to push yours down, Irene’s lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby,” she says, and you feel your heart sink with sudden disappointment.

“Are you sure?”

Irene wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, clearly oblivious to the way your shoulders sink.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

You blush, wanting to protest that getting to touch her would be just about the furthest thing away from a worry- dream or fantasy come to life would be a more accurate description- but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes you, the whiplash of going from the high of your orgasm to the valley of being denied an opportunity to make Irene feel as good as she’s just made you feel making your throat close up.

“O-Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay. I just…”

You trail off, not sure what to say to that. It feels like, without meaning to or realizing what she’s done, the Barcelona defender has just tossed a bucket of ice water over you.

“I… I guess I should head home then,” you say quietly, trying not to let her hear the hurt in your voice, reaching down and pulling your leggings back up over your calves and thighs until they rest around your middle. Your panties aren’t quite soaked, for the pure fact that they had been around your ankles soon after her lips first met yours, but they’re still wet enough that putting them back on isn’t exactly comfortable.

And more than that, you don’t want to leave. Your body is still purring with the aftermath of your orgasm, the last thing you want to do right now is leave her apartment and walk the few blocks home to your own. The route between your apartment and Irene’s is one you know well, lit with plenty of streetlamps and well-frequented on a Saturday night, so any anxiety you might feel can be connected purely to leaving her after what’s just happened, without being certain where you stand.

Irene opens her mouth and you pause with your hand on the knob, waiting, hoping that she’ll say something, offer her bed to share for the night.

“Let me know when you get home safe,” she says quietly, and you can’t help the way your chest clenches with a strange sort of pain. You hadn’t really expected her to offer for you to stay, not with the amount of eyes that could be watching someone like her at any given moment, but you still can’t help but wish she had.

You nod in response to her question, clutching your bag close to your side as you shut the door behind yourself, beginning the short walk home.

...

“Fuck.”

The second the door shuts behind you, the defender wishes she could throw it open again and call you back in.

She had wanted to, especially after watching you come apart under her touch, seeing how pretty you looked as your orgasm overwhelmed you. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but you had beaten her to it, reaching for the door handle and exiling yourself before she could even offer, and she hadn’t offered any protests.

Peeking in the door, ensuring that Mateo is still safe and sound in his bed, the Barcelona player tiptoes quietly down the hall, two doors down, and pushes her own door open and shut behind her.

As she pulls off her top, letting it fall to the floor, quickly followed by her pants and bra, Irene curses herself, pulling back the covers and slipping into the too-big bed on her own. It feels cold compared to the contrast of your warm body against her own, and her chest pangs with the regret of not asking you to stay the night.

Back in your own apartment, you slide beneath your own covers, mind racing at a million miles an hour.

No matter how your chest might ache at the fact that you’re here, alone in your own bed, the memory of the older woman’s lips on yours, of her talented fingers bringing you to orgasm right there on the sofa, of muffling your moans in her shoulder, still sends a familiar jolt of electricity between your thighs. With a soft whine, you reach for your the bedside drawer where you keep your vibrator, turning it up before pressing it against your still-swollen clit.

Blocks away, Irene is doing the same, quietly gasping out a much-needed orgasm with your name on her lips, the memory of your mouth on hers and your silken flesh beneath her fingertips sending her over the edge.

As the older woman drifts off into an uneasy slumber, the space beside her conspicuously empty, she knows that, now she's had you once, she won't ever be able to get enough.

#woso x reader #woso x y/n #woso imagine #woso fanfics #irene paredes x reader #barca femini x reader #woso smut

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iiotic · 20 hours ago

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─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 ‎ viktor sfw alphabet

𖦹 ‎quick disclaimer: generally fluff, platonic/romantic mix, gn reader mentioned, kisses, not proff read

english is not my first language, so i apologize for any grammar mistakes.

masterlist | nav.

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Viktor isn't the most affectionate person that you'd meet. in fact he would be quite distant before getting to know you first, thinking that you don't deserve his time. However once he really gets to know you and start trusting you will he show his affection and appreciation through small acts of service.

B - Best friend (What are they like as a friend? How would the friendship start?)

Viktor is an amazing force to have on your team, however that might sound like. He's smart, loyal and trustworthy. I think that the friendship would develop a lot quicker if either A. you knew him since he was a child and still lived in zaun or B. you'd capture his attention and not the other way around.

as i said the friendship would start with Viktor being a little distant at first, but then he will start to appreciate you company and trust you a lot more. show him that you're trustworthy and really like him and he will warm up to you.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

In the beginning of the relationship Viktor was strictly against cuddles, it made him feel weak. However once you show him how good it feels, with him trusting you 100% he will change his opinion on cuddling. Viktor is slightly bony so hugging him wouldn't be the most comfortable thing, and yet it feels so warm and loving everytime you cuddle, you just can't complain!

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I think that he'd like to settle down, if it comes to s1 Viktor, however there might be a little controversy. Viktor spends time at his lab 24/7 so he wouldn't be at home with you all the time. The times he is at home he is way too tired, exhausted even to help you cook and clean.

However if there would be a situation where either you or Jayce convince him to take a weekly break, with you, at home. so that he could relax and do domestic things with you, he would 100% try to help you with chores. (if his leg wouldn't hurt so much this day)

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I don't think that Viktor would ever want to break up with their partner, he will fall in love with one person so hard that he'd want to live with them his entire life. would be truly heartbroken if you'd break up with him.

F - Fiancé (How to they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

he would want to get married but wouldn't like to rush things, you know? he'd need to know all about you, whether it would be your weird quirks or just the specific shade of your favourite colour. about 4/6 years i think before he could propose, then the wedding in a year or three.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they? Both physically and emotionally?)

he always touches you as if you were a porcelain doll that would break under his fingers if he squeezed too hard. with you? he's the most gentle person in the entire piltover.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it and what is it like?)

Viktor hugs are warm, gentle and loving. they always make you feel heard and the way he holds you speak volumes, the unspoken words that could come out of his mouth don't need to be spoken anymore. despite that hugs with Viktor aren't often, yet he likes hugging you.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

you'd probably have to say it first, he'd say it back to you. it really depends when you will start saying it, trust me he will say it back every single time.

J - Jealous (How jealous do they get? What are they like when they're jealous?)

Viktor doesn't like the feeling of jealousy, he doesn't want to feel this way. Viktor is very insecure about himself, his leg, his disease and there you were talking to another men who's bigger than him, that you could easily replace him with, it makes his blood boil.

yet, he trusts you. he trusts you to not do something stupid. he will stay quiet, occasionally glaring at the person but not trying to make himself known.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

he loves being kissed on his forehead and nose. something about them is so romantic, yet domestic that makes him melt every time. he loves to kiss you anywhere really, he doesn't have a preference.

when it comes to kissing Viktor on the mouth, making out with him the kisses would be slow, slightly sloppy yet romantic enough for the both of you.

L - Little Ones (How are they around children?)

he's neutral about kids, he wouldn't like to have any children himself yet for some reasons kids always seem to like him

M - Mornings (How are morning spent with them?)

the rare mornings where you wake up not to an cold empty side of the bed, but with your beloved Viktor are truly an moments worth remembering. If there's no rush, mornings are slow, cuddling in the bed with the sun trying to get it in the room with the curtains closed, a few kisses shared here and there. domestic things.

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

he sleeps a little stiff, cuddle him!! he's a little bony but its not usual for you to sleep together.

O - Openess (When will they start revealing things about themselves? Do they reveal things slowly over time or all at once?)

Viktor as i said before not once, not twice will be closed and distant at first yet once he starts trusting you more he might reveal a few of his traumas of his childhood, but you'd have to be deep into the relationship for that to happen. the moment would have to be right, almost fragile if you know what i mean.

P - Patience (How easily are they angered?)

he is not angered easily, quite the opposite actually. Viktor will be really patient with you and he'd like to recieve the same treatment from you in return. however if you'll insult his intelligence, work or make him feel bad because of his disability or diseases he will be mad. furious.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail or do they forget the minor things?)

when this man is in true love he will remember every single detail that you mention, even accidentally. i don't like when people say that he will forget about important events for you two because he is a workaholic, i dont think he would. he will know what your favourite subject was in middle school, your favourite shade of your favourite color (the very specific one), your favourite flower, what zodiac sign you are, whats your favourite type of cake, what's your favourite ice cream flavour, the food that makes you gag when you see it, your least favourite season. you name it and he will know it.

R - Remember (What's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

probably the moment he realized he loves you or your first kiss. i don't want to dwell on it, but i might make a one shot or a drabble based on it.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i hate when people say that he would need to be protected because he can't do shit himself, if you agree with this might as well block me. maybe he is disabled but he is totally capable of standing up for himself. when it comes to you? he will be protective, you're one of the few good things that happened in his life.

T - Try (How much effort do they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts and everyday tasks?)

listen, this man is tired so he won't put much efford into everyday tasks or such. But! he puts a lot of efford into the gifts or dates he organises for you two, might be so nervous that he forgets to give you the gift but praise him and give him his own kind of present and he will be over the moon if you know what i mean.

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he is a workaholic, overworking himself. sometimes forgets to do basic tasks like eating, drinking etc.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he doesn't care about how he looks, i mean he cares but not to the point of trying to dye his hair or something. dresses neatly, sometimes his hair is a little out of place but that's okay!!

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

if it would be really early into the relationship than absolutely not, but other than that. yes, yes he would.

X - Xtra (A random head cannon for them)

specific, hates jam.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like in a partner, or in general?)

someone who wouldn't support his dreams and ideas. someone sho would show absolutely 0 interest in his rambling. someone generally who is always negative and does not see anything good about anything.

Z - Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of theirs?)

snores, but like really quietly. wakes up late at night because of his nightmares sometimes.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor alphabet #sfw alphabet #x reader #arcane x reader #s1 viktor x reader

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sulumuns-dootah · 1 day ago

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Okok, I don’t know if your taking reqs…but I read your ‘avoiding them because of a dare’ and got the idea…what if it wasn’t because of a dare, but because you were threatened into avoiding them by a decently strong demon, stronger than us at least

WHB kings' reaction to MC avoiding them due to being threatened by a different demon

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Ooh, your mind! This is some juicy idea right there :D

The demon threatening MC is in all instances the same: a Hades demon with the ability to lie and be invisible (and won't heistate to use either to make sure MC doesn't just run to the kings)

Warning: Things get kinda dark

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan noticed you haven't been around much

And whenever you happened to be in his viscinity, you looked panicked and tried to get away as soon as possible

Did he do something?

Emergency meeting! Nobles assemble!

Everyone is helpless and has no answers

Then Amy bursts into the room:

"Ayo, I think this might have something to do with this weirdo from Hades that's been hanging around here pretty much since this all started?"

And everyone including Satan lights up like !!!

So the next time you're somewhere alone Amy's gang pulls up and Amy tries to get some answers

But you're too affraid your stalker is somewhere nearby and won't hesiatte to do something to you within the blink of an eye if you tell

So Amy's guys leave

And ofc, once they're out of there, he appears

Just as he's about to say something, Satan appears out of nowhere and... uh... let's the demon know the full power of Satan's wrath

༺☆༻

This time it's actually Bimet who notices your absence

He doesn't even bother to tell Mammon, because he'd think it's another one of those bets

But this time it feels kinda sketchy to Bimet

So he looks up your Tartaros bank statement to see where you've been spending you money

...

Why are you buying self-defense items and books on how to fight demons stronger than you?

Okay, now that has to alarm even Mammon

Bimet storms into Mammon's office without a care in the world and reveals all his findings

Somewhere around that time you start noticing meeting the same demons over and over again and it's almost like they're all just observing you

Nah... It has to be your paranoia getting to you so yous hake it off

Until your demon stalker catches yoiu off guard by pulling you into some back alley between shops

You don't even have the chance to scream and the moves from your book are useless too

At this point you're already accepting that his is the way you die...

But then the three demons you've been seeing everywhere flood after you and the next thing you know, your stalker's on the ground and one of them is making sure you're okay

༺☆༻

This situation kinda poses a question: if two demons are invisible, do they see each other or not? i would imagine that either invisibility is a different layer of reality and they would then see each other... or it's not that and they wouldn't see each other

Anyways...

Leviathan would know from the beginning since Foras is looking after you most of the time

If your stalker is smart enough to somehow figure out the times you're alone, he might actually pull it off

If it weren't for Foras immediatelly noticing the change of your demeanor since the last time he was around

He will ask you what is going on, but if you don't tell him, he'll have to tell Leviathan

So you tell him and eventually, with a bit of a help from Glasyalabolas, you come up with a plan

The next time he comes to threaten you, you say a special phrase, which will summon all the nobles to your side and they'll deal with him

Unfortunatelly that plan failed succesfully in experience

Your stalker did come up to you in another absence of Foras, but Leviathan himself just happened to be around and heard everything he said

Yeah, that guy is now a permanent ceiling decoration in the Hades castle

༺☆༻

Talking about near-constant supervision

Your stalker's plan would've worked out if it weren't for one small, buzzing, tiny problem

Even on the go, Beel wants to know where you are, what you're doing and so on

To you it's already normal so you don't even notice the constant buzzing sound following your around

The stupid demon doesn't even have the chance to finish his threat to you before a familiar chuckle signifies danger

It shouldn't be so satisfying to see the fear in your assiliant's eyes, but here we are

With a sliver of hope, he turns around to run away, but Beel's having none of it

Beel catches him under the neck and hugs him close to himself while looking at you mischievously

"Soo~ Y/N! What do you think I should do about your friend over here?"

༺☆༻

Similarly like with the dare, Belphie would notice your absence but won't think much of it

So when he casually asks Beleth what you're up to and what's gotten you busy and only sees blank stares of realisation on all of his nobles' faces, the hunt is on

You're just somewhere out in nature, already given up all hope and trying to get reclaimed by nature when a black void swallows you up without any prior notice

It feels like you're floating and getting crushed by the nothing around you

But then as you looka round, you see Belphie who looks way too awake

Oh shit

You're gonna die

!!!

Okay, you don't die, but Belphie questions you in more of a bad cop way

After you hastily explain your situation, ending with tears in your eyes, Belphie just smirks and walks over to you

As he hugs you, the void around you starts to dissipate and you start feeling something soft underneath you

Well... To be fair, your stalker would be really dumb to try doing something to you while you're in the very same bed with the king of Sloth himself

༺☆༻

Ignoring the fact that this is literally the canon :D

Let's just say that you've been around Asmodeus long enough to get infected with is energy

Staying away from him at that point becomes agonisingly painful

The heat is always there and it seems like nobody except for him is able to lessen it even if for a few hours

So sorry, random Hades demon, not gonan happen

From that point on you decide to stay in Abaddon because which sane demon from outside Hell would voluntarily go to Abaddon?

And if you happen to venture out, you always make sure to be with another demon

If you tell about your predicament some other fellow Abbadonians, they'll pose many interesting questions and scenarios:

Would he recognise if it was some other demon disguised as you?

and

If he did cause you pain and you seemed to enjoy it, would he be disgusted or encouraged by it?

༺☆༻

Avoiding Lucifer wasn't so hard since he barely leaves his ward of the hospital

But still, even going to the hospital was a potential risk of meeting him

So just make sure you don't need a doctor and you're good, simple...

Well it would be, if the crazed demon didn't leave you every so often with a warning in a form of you waking up in the morning with few cuts and they only keep getting worse

To the point that you have no other choice but to go to Paradise Lost and ask one of the nobles to stitch your wounds together

Buer, bless him, did eventually agree to keep your visit a secret

So everything went well, right? Nope

A certain baby dragon was so excited that you visited the hospital after so long that he jingled to Lucifer's room the instant he heard your voice

So while you're anxiusly waiting to be discharged, your heart sinks the moment Lucifer walks into the infirmary

He... seems calm and collected?

Luci just reads you file and casually looks over your treated wound, running his finger over the bandages

"I see you've been well, Y/N. Haven't seen you here lately. Try to keep them as clean and sterile as possible, okay?"

Somehow you make your way out of the hospital kinda... disappointed...? No scene or anything?

(This is getting to long so I'll just summarise)

After you're out of the hospital, the demon attacks you but the second he lays his hand on you, he's frozen i place and Lucifer appears out of nowhere

Turns out that Luci drew a protective sigil on your bandages to alert him when your attacker tries to do something again

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb satan #whb mammon #whb leviathan #whb beelzebub #whb belphegor #whb asmodeus #whb lucifer

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scoobydoodean · 2 days ago

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Dean and Cas are very similar in that they both deal with significant self-worth issues, were treated as weapons for a lot of their lives and were raised like soldiers, and had their worth routinely tied to their ability to kill and defend their families. But their responses to making a mistake are so... very very different most of the time?

Cas fucks up and immediately begins looking for ways to prove himself again and get anyone he's let down to see that he cares about them and he can fix it. His belief that he can make things right is incredibly persistent and can even feel a little overbearing on occasion? Dean fucks up and despairs. He sees his mistakes as a death sentence—as something that completely condemns him. He makes a mistake and believes he can never atone and has no way of making it better. In the worst case, he thinks the best favor he could do the world around him is dying to rid the world of the stain of him. He's too accepting of being doomed by consequences. I think this makes Cas a really important foil for Dean and also probably lends to Dean's attraction to him.

Cas is the guy who tilts his head and says "You don't think you deserve to be saved?" Not just because he thinks Dean is a good person to the very core but because Cas believes you can fix anything, and as much as I think this difference creates conflict between the two of them on occasion, I also think that's an important and inspiring trait in a friend for someone with Dean's hangups.

#this post inspired by yesterdays thoughts about poor little meow meows

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joelmillerisapunk · 3 days ago

Text

Howdy Honey II. Beautiful Mess

Series Masterlist * Masterlist * Wordcount 6.6K

Summary: Joel grapples with his frustration and fear after you push him away

Warnings: the fluff before the smut! Some angst and mentions of loss

Notes: Thank you for the long wait for this chapter. Getting back into it with these two has been so much fun! I am very excited for the next chapter heheh. I can foresee three more chapters, which I will hopefully have out at a decent pace. Ty @evolnoomym for reading this over ♏️🌙

You

The first rays of morning light filter through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. The ranch outside is waking up, the sounds of hooves and rustling hay mingling with the birds' early songs, but inside, there is a stillness. The air is cool, soft, and peaceful before the day fully begins. You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

The potted plant in the corner catches your eye as its leaves flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. The subtle movement is a welcome distraction, drawing your focus away from the twinges of pain in your side, from the dull ache that’s become your constant companion. It's not the worst pain you’ve felt in your life, but right now, in the stillness of the room, it feels like the only thing that matters. You wish you were in your own bed, in the comfort of your familiar space. You can almost picture it—your room upstairs, the soft quilts, the shelves filled with books you've collected over the years. But the reality of your situation makes that impossible. The mere thought of climbing the stairs sends another sharp wave of pain through your body, reminding you that independence is a luxury right now, not a reality. You’ve always been fiercely independent—too proud, maybe, to admit when you need help. The idea of relying on Joel, especially now, when every moment around him seems to stir something inside you, feels almost too much to bear. When you were healthy, those stairs were nothing. You could run up them without thinking twice, bounding up two steps at a time. Now, the idea of even attempting it is enough to make your chest tighten, a reminder that things have changed. You can’t ignore it.

Joel has offered more than once to carry you up to your room, insisting that you’d be more comfortable in your own bed. But each time, you've turned him down. It’s not because you don’t trust him. You know he’s kind, that he genuinely wants to help, but the thought of him lifting you, of feeling his strong arms around you... it stirs something in you—something complicated. It's not just physical pain you need to recover from. There’s a tangle of emotions you can't unravel yet, especially not with Joel so close. Instead, you remain on the couch in the living room, finding comfort in its familiar layout. The space is small, but it feels like everything you need is within reach. The kitchen is just a few steps away, and the thought of being able to grab something to eat or drink without too much effort is a small but significant source of relief. You don't have to ask anyone for help every time you need something. The books and movies you've scattered around the room are close enough that you can slip into another world with little more than a turn of your hand. There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

But perhaps the most comforting part of this setup is Joel—always nearby. You know he’s there, moving around the ranch just out of sight, yet still within earshot. You can hear the faint sounds of him tending to the animals, the creak of the barn doors, the rustle of hay and boots on the dirt. It's not quite company, but it's enough. If something were to go wrong—if the pain in your side flared up again or you needed assistance in a way you couldn’t manage—Joel would be there in an instant. The thought of him close by, ready to step in, is both a comfort and a quiet reminder of how much you rely on him these days. You tell yourself that you don’t need him, but there's an undeniable warmth that settles in your chest knowing he’s just a room away. Still, the idea of needing help from him, especially in such a vulnerable state, stirs something deeper in you. Something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly, a feeling that you can’t quite define. It’s easier this way—on the couch, within your little bubble of semi-independence, where your emotions can stay tucked away, just like the soft blanket Joel brought you.

You glance over at the cover of one of his daughter’s western novels, the title catching your eye. There's something about it that piques your curiosity, stirring questions you hadn’t meant to ask. Who is she, this daughter of his? Was she older? And then, the question that sits uncomfortably in your mind: Is Joel married—or was he? You’ve never seen a wedding band on his finger, never heard him speak about a wife. The mystery about him lingers, unresolved. You know you should be resting, but your mind refuses to settle. You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket as you try to distract yourself. Your eyes drift back to the book on the table—a well-worn copy of Lonesome Dove, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared. Something about the worn edges calls to you. It's a link to the world you grew up in, a reminder of the ranch life, of the toughness and independence that runs through your veins. You never could quite leave the ranch, even when you tried. You reach for the book, your fingers brushing against the paper's texture, the act of holding it feeling almost like coming home. You open the cover to the first page, the familiar scent of ink and aged paper filling your senses. As you dive into the world of Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call, the stories of cowboys and cattle drives pull you in. You’re captivated by Gus and Woodrow—two men bound by their pasts but so different in their approach to life.

As you read, you find yourself identifying with Lorena Wood, Gus's girlfriend. Her fight for her place in the world, her refusal to let others define her, resonates with you deeply. The scene where she insists on joining the cattle drive despite the objections of the men speaks to something inside you. The words, “I ain’t afraid of a little hard work,” echo in your mind, a mantra of defiance that you wish you could adopt fully. You can’t be weak. You won’t be.

"Dreamin’ is free, Lorena," Gus says to her, his voice a mix of wisdom and weariness. "It don’t cost nothin' extra to dream good dreams."

The words settle over you, and for a moment, you close your eyes. You think of Joel—his gruffness, his strength, the way he moves through the ranch with a quiet intensity. He’s always there, a steady presence in your life. You can’t help but wonder what kind of man he was before, what dreams he once had, what kind of life he led. Your thoughts drift, pulled back into the story before you can get too lost in them. The sun climbs higher in the sky, its light streaming through the windows, warm now, settling into the room. You glance at the book beside you and set it aside with a small sense of pride. You've made it through several chapters without letting your mind wander too much.

Your side aches more now from sitting too long, and you know it’s time to try standing. It’s been too long since you felt any sense of control over your own body. You push the blanket back, and slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the couch. The room tilts slightly as you plant your feet on the floor, and you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the sharp twinge in your side. You hate this. Hate feeling weak. Hate needing help. But you can’t let that stop you. You refuse to let it define you. You're determined to regain some independence, to show Joel that you're not just some fragile thing that needs constant watching over.

You push yourself up, wincing as another wave of pain stabs through your ribs. The movement is slow, deliberate. Each step feels like an accomplishment, even as the pain pulses beneath the surface. You make it to the kitchen, though you're panting by the time you reach the counter. You grip it for support, feeling the cool edge beneath your fingertips. The simple act of pouring yourself a glass of water feels like a triumph.

Then you hear the creak of the front door. You don’t have to look to know it’s Joel. The sound of his boots on the floor, the low murmur of his voice as he moves about the ranch—it's all so familiar now. You hear him pause, then step into the kitchen. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, gripping the counter like it’s your lifeline.

"Well, look at you," he says, a note of surprise and admiration in his voice. "You're up and about."

You offer him a small, self-conscious smile, glad he’s not rushing to fuss over you. "I thought it was time," you say softly, setting the glass of water down with careful movements. "I can't just lie on the couch all day."

Joel chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with that same intensity that sends a warm flutter through your chest. He steps closer, cautious. "Reckon not," he agrees, voice low. His eyes linger on you, and you can't tell if it's concern or something else. "But don’t go pushin’ yourself too hard now."

"I’m fine," you insist, a little too quickly. "But you look like you’ve been at it all morning. Would you like something to drink?" You try to sound casual, but the offer feels like an excuse to keep him there, a way to ease the tension building between you.

"S’alright, I can get it," he says, but his voice is strained, tired. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a visible sign of the work he's been doing.

Before he can protest, you start toward the fridge. "Shut up," you say with a teasing smile. "I got it. Iced tea, right?"

He chuckles softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That’d be perfect, darlin’."

The fridge door opens with a soft creak, and you pour the tea, the cool liquid filling the glass with a satisfying sound. The simple act requires more focus than it should, but you take your time, savoring the moment of normalcy. You hand him the glass, your fingers brushing his ever so briefly. The touch is light, fleeting, but it sends an unexpected jolt through you, a spark that neither of you can ignore. For a moment, you both stand there, neither of you speaking, as if waiting for something to break the silence. His gaze flickers to the floor, then back to you, and he clears his throat, taking a small step back.

"Thanks," he says, his voice steady but low, and his eyes meet yours briefly before he raises the glass in a small salute. He drinks deeply, closing his eyes as the cool tea washes over him.

"You're welcome," you reply, your voice quieter than usual. You busy yourself with straightening up the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly as you try to ground yourself in the mundane. But even in the simple act of tidying, you can feel his gaze on you, the weight of it making you feel exposed in a way you can't quite understand.

"You’ve found some use for the blanket and books, I see," Joel says, his voice soft, but you catch the hint of something more in it, something like pride.

"They've been a good distraction," you answer, a little more casually than you feel. "I'm curious about your daughter’s books. She’s got good taste."

At the mention of his daughter, Joel’s face softens, a wistful look crossing his features. "She always did love a good story," he says, his voice quiet, distant. "Used to read to her every night when she was little. We'd get lost in all sorts of adventures together.”

The conversation takes a quiet but significant turn, pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. You sense it the moment Joel’s expression softens at your question, his guarded demeanor cracking just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability through. It feels fragile, like holding a bird in your hands, its rapid heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers. You tread carefully, hoping not to press too hard but unwilling to let the moment pass unacknowledged. "What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

He hesitates for just a breath before answering, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sarah," he says, his voice tinged with warmth and something deeper—something bittersweet. "Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

The weight of that single word, was, hangs in the air between you like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of meaning outward. It cuts through the small warmth his smile brought, replacing it with a heaviness that settles deep in your chest. Your heart clenches, the realization landing like a blow. You try to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists. "Was?" you venture cautiously, the single syllable feeling heavier than it should.

Joel’s expression shifts immediately—his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if bracing for an impact. You see the pain flash through him, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control. For a moment, you think he won’t answer, that he’ll shut you out completely. But then he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and steady, though it trembles at the edges. "Sarah passed away a few years back." The words are spoken simply, but their weight is unmistakable, each syllable heavy with grief he’s learned to carry in silence.

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thinner. You struggle to find something to say, some way to acknowledge the enormity of what he’s shared without reducing it to a hollow platitude. "Joel, I’m so sorry," you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in your words is palpable, your own troubles momentarily forgotten in the face of his loss.

Joel nods, his gaze distant, focused on something you can’t see. He doesn’t brush off your condolences or wave them away as you might have expected. Instead, he accepts them with a quiet grace that’s heartbreaking in its simplicity. "S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

His words linger in the air, stark and unvarnished, and you feel the ache in them like a bruise pressed too hard. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no anger—just a quiet resignation, a weariness that feels like it’s etched into his very being. You wonder how often he’s spoken these words, if at all, or if he’s kept them locked away until now. Your gaze drifts to his hands—strong, calloused, and steady even now, despite the weight he carries. You reach out before you can think better of it, your fingers brushing against his forearm in a gesture that feels both small and monumental. "I can’t imagine," you say softly, your words feeling inadequate but heartfelt. "I’m sorry you had to go through that."

Joel looks down at your hand, his gaze lingering there for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath catch—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition, and something else you can’t quite name. "Thank you," he says simply, his voice rough but sincere. He shifts slightly, covering your hand with his own. The warmth of his touch is startling, grounding, and you’re acutely aware of how solid he feels, how present. "For listening," he continues, his voice softening. "I don’t... I don’t talk about Sarah much. It’s hard, you know?" His eyes hold yours, and you see the weight of the years he’s carried this pain, the quiet strength it’s taken to keep moving forward.

You nod, unable to look away. "I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. "Just... holding onto her memory like that. Letting her still be a part of you."

His brow furrows slightly, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words. "Don’t feel strong most days," he admits after a pause, his voice so low you almost miss it. "Just feel tired."

The honesty in his words makes your chest tighten, and you press your hand against his arm just a little more firmly, as if to anchor him. "Maybe that’s what strength is," you offer, your voice soft but unwavering. "Getting up every day, even when it feels impossible. Carrying her with you, even when it hurts."

Joel doesn’t respond immediately, but you see something shift in his expression—something almost imperceptible but deeply significant. He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. "Maybe," he murmurs, the word more of a concession than a conviction.For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You let it linger, sensing that Joel needs this space, this moment of quiet connection. When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly, the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

—-------

As you prepare to settle onto the couch for the night, the creak of the wooden floor under Joel’s boots pulls your attention. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s beside you, scooping you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his hands against you and the solid strength of his hold leave you momentarily breathless.

"What are you doing?" you protest weakly, though your body betrays you by instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders for balance.

He doesn’t stop moving, his tone gruff but resolute. "Takin’ you to your room. You’ll be more comfortable there, and it’s about time you used it again." You start to protest again, murmuring something about being too heavy, but he only huffs. "You think this is the first time I’ve carried someone? You’re fine. Quit fussin’."

Before you know it, he’s carrying you up the stairs, each step steady and sure despite the burden you’re sure you must be. The faint scent of leather and woodsmoke clings to him, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. When he reaches the top, the hallway stretches ahead, dimly lit and quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

Your bedroom door creaks as he nudges it open with his foot. The room feels foreign, almost untouched since your injuries—a time capsule of your life before everything fell apart. Joel sets you down on the bed with a gentleness that belies his rough exterior, his hands lingering briefly to ensure you’re steady before he pulls away.

"There," he says, adjusting the covers around you with meticulous care that makes your chest ache. "Now you get some rest. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You watch him turn, the broad slope of his shoulders framed by the faint hallway light. A sudden unease wells up in your chest, irrational and overwhelming. The thought of being alone in this room, in this moment, feels unbearable. The words leave your lips before you can stop them.

"Joel, wait."

He stops in the doorway, his silhouette pausing against the light. "What is it, darlin’?" His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket as you force yourself to speak. "Could you... stay? Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep."

For a moment, he’s quiet, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the shadows. He looks at you like he’s weighing something heavy, something he’s not sure he can carry. But then he nods, his voice softer when he speaks. "Yeah. I can do that."

He grabs a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it close to the bed and settling into it with a quiet sigh. The room feels smaller now, his presence filling the space in a way that should be comforting, and yet... you feel the weight of it pressing against you.

Joel sits silently, his hands resting on his knees, the flickering light from the bedside lamp casting deep shadows across his face. His gaze flicks toward you occasionally, careful and guarded, as if afraid to linger too long. You watch him through half-closed eyes, noting the subtle lines etched into his features—lines of exhaustion, loss, and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restraint that makes your chest tighten.

"Joel," you say softly, the quiet sound of his name pulling his gaze to yours. He raises an eyebrow, waiting, but the words you wanted to say catch in your throat. What could you even say? Thank him for his kindness? For caring when you’d tried so hard to convince yourself you didn’t need it. Instead, you settle on something you instantly regret. "You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be fine."

His expression shifts, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, but when he does, his voice is quieter, almost unreadable. "If that’s what you want."

You open your mouth to correct yourself, to say something that might soften the blow, but the words don’t come. Joel stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to change your mind. You don’t.

"Goodnight, then," he says, his tone even, though there’s a weight behind the words that you can’t ignore. Joel stands, the chair groaning slightly as he pushes it back. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your chest tighten. The air between you feels heavier, laced with something unspoken, something you’re not ready to name. And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind.

"Stay. Please stay."

But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally. The warmth of his presence lingers faintly, like the scent of his leather and woodsmoke, but it isn’t enough to fill the void. The ache in your ribs pales in comparison to the one in your chest. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, what was this feeling that had taken root inside you? It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something else, something harder to define. You’d always prided yourself on not needing anyone, but Joel had a way of making that wall crumble, brick by brick. It was confusing. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Or maybe... maybe you were just afraid to hope again. But the way he’d left, the quiet disappointment in his eyes—it made you feel small, stupid even. What were you so afraid of? You hated yourself for pushing him away when all he’d ever done was try to be there for you. But it was too late now. The door was closed, and so, it seemed, was he.

The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. You hadn’t noticed Joel still standing there, silent as a shadow. He lingers by the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed, torn between staying and leaving.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You turn your head slightly, startled. You thought he'd left. His gaze meets yours for a moment, but the weight of it is too much to hold. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Joel lets out a low scoff, shaking his head. “Fine,” he repeats bitterly. “That your favorite word or somethin’?” His boots barely make a sound as he crosses the room, sitting back down on the chair beside your bed. His presence is overwhelming, filling the small space like a storm cloud about to break. You feel the heat of him, as you try to keep your breathing steady. “I know what you're doin',” he says quietly, his tone softer now. “Pushin' me away. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put. His words are gentle, but they cut deep, peeling back the layers you worked so hard to hide behind. You struggle for words, your breath uneven. "I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"

"You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."

His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he's fighting against his own limits, his patience fraying. You want to reach for him, to let yourself lean into him, but the weight of your own walls is too heavy. You want to let go, but something inside you holds you back, paralyzes you with fear. Fear of what letting him in might mean. Your throat tightens as you try to form the words, but nothing comes. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t push you—he waits. The tension hangs thick in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. But the longer he waits, the more it seems like he’s losing the battle inside himself.

You finally meet his eyes again, but it’s like something’s shifted. There’s still care there, but it’s mixed with frustration, something raw and real. He stands, his movements slow but resolute. "You can’t keep doing this," he says, his voice low but intense. "I can’t keep doing this. You want me to stay, and then... then you push me away.”

His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he moves it back, the sound harsh in the heavy silence. His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it.

He moves toward the door, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and you want to scream—to tell him to stay, to tell him you’re not fine, but the words are lodged in your throat, like you’re choking on your own fear.

You sit up in bed, your breath shallow, but you don’t call out. You don’t stop him.

Joel pauses at the doorway, his back to you. For a long moment, it seems like he might turn around, like he might say something else, something to bridge the gap between you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his shoulders stiff, his head slightly bowed as though he’s already made his peace with walking away.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "You need anything, you holler. I’ll hear ya."

And then the door clicks softly shut behind him.

You sit there, staring at the empty space where he was, the weight of his words still pressing down on you. Your fingers curl around the blanket, but it offers no comfort. Your mind races, a mess of emotions, regret, and frustration. You want to call him back, but it feels like it’s too late.

The room is silent once more, and the emptiness is suffocating. You close your eyes, your chest aching, and for the first time in a long while, you realize how alone you truly are..

Joel

The soft glow of the kitchen light spills across the empty room as Joel leans against the counter, nursing a cup of coffee he doesn’t really want or need at this hour. He stares into the dark liquid, his thoughts elsewhere, running over the events of the evening like a song stuck on repeat.

He shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’d made it clear you didn’t want him there, and he respected that. Hell, he’d been in your shoes before—pushing people away because it felt safer. He couldn’t blame you for it. But that didn’t make the sting of it any easier to shake.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d seen the hesitation in your eyes, the conflict. He’d wanted to tell you it was okay, that he’d wait as long as you needed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he could wait. Every moment he spent with you, every quiet exchange and fleeting touch—it all felt like it was building toward something he wasn’t sure either of you were ready for. "Should’ve known better," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of the fridge. But even as he says it, he knows he’d do it all over again—because for you, he would wait.

The coffee in Joel’s mug has gone cold by the time he finally pushes himself off the counter and trudges to the living room. He sits heavily on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the darkened television screen. Sleep isn’t coming—not after the way the evening ended.

He rubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the frustration welling in his chest. It wasn’t your fault, not really. Joel knows that better than anyone. But the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d pulled back, it felt like a door slamming shut in his face. Like he was stupid for even hoping.

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself. He knows better than to get too close, to expect anything. It’s not fair to you, not when you’ve got enough to deal with. And yet, here he is, hoping like a damn fool.

The faint creak of the floor above reminds him you’re still there, probably lying awake just like he is. Joel shakes his head, dragging a heavy quilt over himself as he stretches out on the couch. Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll keep his distance. Let you come to him if you want.

But the hollow ache in his chest says that might never happen.

—

The next morning the shutting of the door pulls Joel from a restless sleep. He stretches, his back protesting the hours spent on the couch, and grumbles as he sits up. The smell of coffee drifts through the house, but it’s faint—like someone turned the pot off before it finished brewing. Joel frowns. He knows you’re still stiff from your injuries, and the thought of you moving around too much sets him on edge. He stands, rubbing a hand over his face, and heads toward the kitchen.

The sight of the empty space only deepens his unease. The coffee pot is half-full, a mug sitting beside it untouched. He glances out the window, his gut twisting when he spots you trudging toward the barn, determination in every step.

“What the hell are you doin’ now?” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket as he steps outside.

The morning air bites at his skin, but Joel barely notices as he closes the distance to the barn. By the time he reaches the open doors, you’re already climbing onto the tractor, one hand on the seat and the other gripping the wheel.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice echoes sharply in the quiet.

You freeze, your head whipping around to face him. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though there’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes.

Joel’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your brow furrows, and you straighten your shoulders, your stubbornness flaring to life. “I’m trying to help. You’ve been doing everything, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His tone is sharper than he intends, but the sight of you on the tractor—the very image of Sarah in her last moments—sends a cold wave of fear crashing over him.

You bristle at his words, swinging your legs over the side of the tractor to face him fully. “Excuse me? I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle this.”

“No, you can’t,” he snaps, his voice louder now. “You don’t even know how to work that damn thing, and you’re in no shape to be tryin’!”

Your eyes narrow, hurt flashing across your face before you mask it with anger. “I’m just trying to pull my weight, Joel. I’m not some burden you have to carry! And yes I can fucking drive the tractor.”

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. Joel’s breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep the memories at bay. Sarah’s laughter, the hum of the tractor’s engine, the sickening sound of it tipping over—it’s all there, clawing at the edges of his mind.

But he doesn’t tell you. He can’t.

Instead, he swallows hard and steps back, his jaw tightening. “Just… don’t do this,” he says, his voice quieter but no less firm.

You stare at him, confusion and hurt written all over your face. “Why are you acting like this?” you ask, your tone softer now, but Joel shakes his head.

Joel’s chest tightens, and the fight in his voice only deepens. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, but you’re not about to let him brush this off.

“Why the hell not?” You step off the tractor, your foot hitting the ground with a thud, your breath a sharp inhale from the pain and ragged in the cold air. “You’re acting like I’m a damn liability—like I can’t handle myself. You think I want to sit around doing nothing while you work yourself to the bone?”

Joel shakes his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “That ain’t it, and you know it. You think I want to be overprotective? You think I don’t see you fightin’ through every goddamn thing just to prove you’re not weak? I get it, alright? But this—this isn’t the way to do it.”

“You don’t get it,” you snap back, your voice growing more desperate. “I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need you to hold my hand or protect me like I’m some fragile thing you have to save. I’m fine. I can do this.”

“You’re not fine!” Joel’s voice cracks, his patience running thin, and the raw emotion behind it makes you pause, your anger faltering for just a second. He steps closer to you, his face inches away. “You’re not fine, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you hurt yourself just because you’re too damn proud to accept help.”

Your ribs ache as you take a step back, your hands trembling at your sides. His words, his proximity—they feel like they’re suffocating you, pulling you into a place you don’t want to go. But you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t need help,” you mutter, though the words come out unconvincing, jagged.

Joel’s gaze softens, and for a brief moment, it’s like you’re both standing in some kind of fragile truce. But it doesn’t last. The distance between you, emotional and physical, feels too heavy to bear, and Joel moves in again. His voice is quieter now, but there’s a deep, aching sincerity in it. “I don’t want you to need help. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening with something you don’t know how to name. It’s the space between your stubbornness and his care, the tension of wanting to push him away but knowing deep down that you can’t. You want to break, to let go, but you won’t—can’t—show him how much you’re falling apart.

You both stand there in the cold, the world around you feeling distant, like it’s no longer real. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say something that takes both of you by surprise. “Why do you care so damn much?” Your voice cracks as you finally let the wall down, the question raw and vulnerable.

Joel’s eyes darken, his breath catching at the depth of the question. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a long silence that stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken. Then, his lips curl slightly, the ghost of a sad smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment, your anger falters, replaced with something deeper, something you can’t hide anymore.

Before you realize what’s happening, you’re the one reaching for him, your good hand finding his shirt, pulling him toward you. He hesitates for a second—his body tense, unsure—but then he moves, just like you knew he would. The kiss is sudden, urgent, and the world tilts with it. Your ribs protest, but you don’t care. His hands cradle your face, his lips pressing against yours, rough but soft, like he’s trying to steady himself just as much as you are.

Your heart races in your chest, the ache in your ribs fading as the heat of him seeps into your skin. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything else stops. The fight, the stubbornness, the fear—it all disappears in the space between your mouths. It’s like he’s holding you together, like you’re finally letting him do the one thing he’s been begging you for - to let him in.

When you break away, it’s slow, your breath ragged, but neither of you moves far. You’re still close—too close—and yet, somehow, it feels right. Joel’s forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your skin. He doesn’t speak at first, just keeps you there, close enough to feel the weight of his every breath. Finally, he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You’re not alone, you know that?”

You nod, the words too hard to say, but the truth of them sits heavy between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe it.

Taglist @akah565 @anoverwhelmingdin @brittmb115 @hannah9921 @maried01

@mermaidgirl30 @red-red-rogue @wintersquirrel

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction

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ancientwastedlores · 2 days ago

Text

Don't Be Kind To It (Homelander x Reader)

The overwhelming amount of love Homelander Only Breaks His Favorite Toys got really hit me in the feels. Some of you asked for a part II, and much like Homelander, I aim to please (and love the praise).

[tags: @helreyy @discowizard88 @slasherho]

This one is lightly inspired by Hozier's "It Will Come Back," and we get a glimpse into Homelander's perspective as well.

Hope you enjoy it! <3

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

Don't Be Kind To It

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it

You're a smart cookie. And you know Homelander better than he knows himself. You expect him to stalk you, watch you from rooftops, send you gifts that have an agenda, and force Vought's Crime Analytics department to keep an eye on you.

So, you wait. You listen for the telltale whoosh of air, the crackle of energy that signals his arrival. Every gust of wind sends your heart hammering; every creak of the floorboards makes your blood run cold. You scan the skyline for a flash of red and blue, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

At first, you think he’s just toying with you, letting you stew in paranoia. You brace for him to materialize at the most inconvenient moment, smug and victorious. Yet days turn into weeks, and his absence becomes undeniable. You tell yourself he’s good at what he does—too good—but the truth begins to sink in: it’s not just you. Nobody has seen him.

No staged rescues. No public appearances. Not even a leaked video of him losing his temper. Ashley let slip that his tracking chip went dead 3 days ago. Vought is scrambling to spin the story - a secret overseas mission? A long-deserved vacation?

But the inner circle is panicking. The people who know him best—the ones who know what he’s capable of—are terrified.

Where the fuck is Homelander?

But... another thought creeps in, invasive and unwelcome, like a splinter under your skin.

Isn't he going to fight for me?

The selfishness of it makes you recoil, but it’s there, undeniable and raw. After everything, after all the suffocating control and emotional whiplash, you almost wanted him to stay obsessed with you. To prove that you still mattered to him. To prove that you had power over the most powerful man alive.

The realization is a gut punch. Maybe you’re not as different from him as you thought. Maybe his possessiveness, his need for control, rubbed off on you more than you care to admit. Maybe you’ve become just as twisted as him, longing for attention—even the toxic kind—because it’s better than silence.

And now, silence is all there is.

It wraps around you like a noose, tightening with every passing day. His absence presses on your chest, cutting off your circulation, making it hard to breathe. You tell yourself it’s relief—that this is what you wanted—but the emptiness feels like punishment. You try to convince yourself he’s sulking, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to make you regret leaving him.

But the longer it stretches on, the more it begins to feel permanent.

You could care less what this means for Vought. All the company seems to care about is who will lead the Seven now. Should they try to replace Homelander or lean into the “team-first” narrative Ashley has been pushing? PR scrambles to keep the media from asking too many questions, trotting out The Deep and Black Noir to cover for him.

But the public isn’t buying it.

Those who love him are afraid he is hurt. Those who hate him post conspiracy theories about Homelander going rogue - which feels way more accurate.

Either way, if Homelander doesn’t want to be found, no one can find him.

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

Your days stretch out unfathomably long. You expected to feel free, to savor the clean air and the wide-open spaces of a world without him. Instead, his absence is louder than his presence ever was.

When he was there, he consumed everything: every thought, every moment, every inch of your life. You hated it, resented it, but at least you understood it. His attention, no matter how suffocating, meant you mattered.

But now there’s nothing.

The silence echoes like a scream, reverberating through every corner of your mind. Every sleepless night, every anxious thought loops back to him. Where is he? What is he doing? Is he coming back?

You start to wonder if this is how he wanted it—to leave you drowning in uncertainty, gasping for closure you’ll never get. Maybe this is his ultimate revenge.

Or maybe…

Maybe he’s broken in ways even you can’t fix.

You almost wish for his cruelty, for the familiar push-and-pull of his twisted affection. Because this? This void where he once loomed so large?

It feels like dying.

No. You have to seek him out. You can't quite tell if it's for his sake or yours... you can figure that out later.

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Monster's Lament

The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through cracked blinds. Dust floats in the air, settling over the relics of a forgotten time—old Vought propaganda posters peeling from the walls, a long-dead television covered in grime. It’s quiet here, too quiet, save for the clock that's miraculously still ticking.

Homelander sits slumped in a battered chair, his suit grimy, his cape discarded on the floor in a crumpled heap. His head is in his hands, his golden locks disheveled, the picture of a god brought low.

“You warned her,” a voice says, syrupy sweet.

Homelander doesn’t look up, doesn’t need to—he knows where it’s coming from.

The mirror.

He lifts his gaze reluctantly, and there it is: his own reflection staring back at him, but not quite right. The eyes burn brighter, the teeth are sharper, the smile is crueler. It leans forward as if trying to crawl out of the glass.

"You warned her," it sings again. "But did she listeeeen." "Not now, okay?" Homelander pleads.

The face in the mirror laughs. "Jesus fucking Christ, this is so pathetic. What are you waiting for, for her to come find you? For her to need you?" "She does need me." “Oh, sure. Because you gave her everything. The flying, the fancy dinners, the cape-flipping bullshit. But what did she give you?” It leans closer, its grin widening. “Pity. That’s what. You wanted love, and all you ever got was pity.”

“That’s not true,” Homelander growls, but his voice wavers.

“Isn’t it?” The reflection tilts its head, almost playfully. “She stayed because she felt sorry for you. The broken little boy in the big man’s body. She didn’t love you, not really. She loved the idea of fixing you. And when she couldn’t—”

“Shut up!” Homelander’s voice cracks as he lurches to his feet, his hands trembling.

The reflection’s grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. “What’s the matter, Johnny? Don’t like the truth?”

He stands frozen, a deer in headlights. He never learned to deal with complex emotions, and even after all this time, it wraps around him like a boa constrictor, cutting off his air supply and rooting him to the ground.

And the reflection starts to sing. “Don’t feed me, honey. Don’t be kind to me.”

The lyrics echo around Homelander, twisting like a blade.

"Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul Honey, make this easy Leave it to the land, this is what it knows."

"STOP IT" Homelander cries.

"Don't let me in with no intention to keep me Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me Honey, don't feed me, I will come back"

"You're supposed to be on MY side." Homelander says. "I am. This is what that looks like," It replies.

Homelander's stares ahead, his fists clenched, his jaw tights, his eyes ready to burn holes into the mirror. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

Homelander closes his eyes, but her face is there, burned into his eyelids. The way she looked at him—like he was more than the sum of his power, more than the monster everyone else saw. He hates her for it. He loves her for it.

“Why did you leave?” he whispers to himself.

The reflection’s smile vanishes. For a moment, it almost looks… pitying.

“Because you allowed it,” it says simply.

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

"She fed you ONCE. And you kept going to her like a stray fucking dog. You took her mercy and her love and you became weak. Nobody wants weakness, Johnny." It leans forward, smiling, canines gleaming, "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Homelander looks at the ground. Shame and desperation wash over him, and he blinks tears back.

"You're going to claim her. And you'll make sure she never, ever leaves again. Right?"

Homelander doesn't look up from the floor.

It gets irritated. "Right?"

Silence.

It rolls its eyes. "Do you want ME to do it?"

Homelander looks up, hope obvious in his bright blue eyes.

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You don’t intend to start looking for him. It just… happens.

It begins with small, idle habits—clicking on articles about Vought’s latest scandals, scrolling through old news coverage, and watching grainy footage of staged rescues from years past. Your eyes search for him automatically, for that familiar streak of red and blue cutting through the chaos.

Then it escalates.

You start wandering the city at night, tracing the paths he once flew you along. You visit the rooftops where he used to land with a flourish, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. You linger outside the exclusive restaurants where he once paraded you like a trophy, his smile razor-sharp as he soaked in the envy of the other diners.

But it’s not just the glamorous places.

You walk down seedy alleys and explore dark corners—the forgotten places he claimed as private retreats. The places where he could let his guard down, where the mask of America’s golden boy slipped.

It feels grotesque, this act of seeking him out. Like you’re willingly feeding the monster you swore you’d escape. You hate yourself for it, for the way your heart leaps at the thought of seeing him again, even if it’s just to tell him to his face that you’re done.

But you can’t stop.

You start putting yourself in danger—not consciously, but recklessly enough that it’s obvious even to you. Walking alone through neighborhoods that turn predatory after dark. Taking late-night trains without any plan or destination. Part of you hopes he’ll swoop in, cape flaring, to save you in one of his dramatic displays of power.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, one night, it’s Black Noir who finds you.

The alley is suffocatingly narrow, the air heavy with the mingling stench of rotting garbage and damp asphalt. The dim, flickering streetlight overhead barely illuminates the passage as two men circle you like predators. Their laughter is low and ugly, their shadows long and distorted against the brick walls.

You freeze, your breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob, as one of them lunges toward you. You pray even now that he'll swoop in from somewhere.

And then he’s there.

Black Noir steps from the shadows like death itself. His arrival is so silent, so abrupt, that the men don’t even notice him until it’s too late. A gloved hand clamps down on one man’s shoulder, spinning him around with an almost casual effort. Noir doesn’t waste time. The blow is swift, brutal—a single strike to the man’s temple that sends him crumpling to the ground.

The second man barely has time to react, stumbling backward with a terrified curse. Noir closes the distance in an instant, his movements fluid and precise. A sharp crack echoes through the alley as the man’s arm is wrenched at an unnatural angle. He screams, but Noir silences him with a swift knee to the ribs. He falls, gasping and broken, as Noir turns to you.

The black Kevlar of his suit gleams faintly in the dim light, the contours of his armor making him seem more shadow than man. His helmet hides his face entirely, the opaque visor reflecting your terrified expression back at you. He stands perfectly still, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his presence both menacing and oddly comforting.

You crumble to the ground, your legs giving out beneath you as adrenaline and fear collide in your veins. Relief washes over you, but it’s tainted by something darker—frustration, disappointment, an aching sense of abandonment.

Noir kneels on the ground to make sure you're okay.

“Why—why isn’t he here?” you sob, your voice breaking. The words spill out of you, raw and unfiltered, as you pound your fists weakly against Noir’s chest.

He doesn’t move.

“Why won’t he come for me?” you cry, your hands trembling against the hard, unyielding surface of his armor. “He’s supposed to be here. He’s always here.”

Noir doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t. He simply stands there, a silent sentinel as your emotions spill over in a torrent of tears and ragged gasps. His helmet tilts ever so slightly, as if he’s observing you, but he offers no comfort, no words of reassurance.

You clutch at him like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline, your fingers curling around the slick fabric of his suit. The tears come harder now, soaking into the Kevlar as you press your face against him.

“I hate him,” you whisper through clenched teeth, though the bitterness in your voice is softened by the despair in your heart. “I hate him for leaving.”

Noir stands up, lifting you with him, and lets you go once he's sure you're standing straight. His silence is maddening. Why isn't he angry that you're being ungrateful? Why isn't he at least talking about Homelander disappearing? ANYTHING?

You finally step back, your hands trembling as you wipe at your tear-streaked face. Your gaze meets Noir’s visor, and for a moment, you imagine you see something there—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the blank, inscrutable void of his masked expression.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, though the words feel hollow. What you really want to say is, Why wasn’t it him?

Noir doesn’t react. He simply steps back, his movements as quiet and calculated as ever, before melting into the shadows.

You’re alone again, the weight of Homelander's absence pressing down on you like a physical force.

But... a thought creeps in. If Black Noir came, then Homelander must know, too. They all have access to the same intel. He knows where you are and what you’re doing, and still—still—he hasn’t come for you.

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GUYS, I think this is going to be a three-parter. Bear with me. The next chapter will be the last. Let me know what you guys think and if you want to be tagged to the third one!

Thank you for all the love 😭😭

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fic #the boys #homelander fanfiction #song inspired #i love to suffer #it will come back

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b0njourbeach · 2 days ago

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NRC LGBTQIA+ HCs

Those are only my thoughts and you can agree with them but you don't have to. We are all different and have our own visions. I'm quite willing to discuss or explain my visions - If you're being polite enough, I've got no time for drama. I will use He/Him for everyone - no matter what I have as a HC - because of the canon and it might be confusing for others (I, for one, often have to take a "Wait, why she?"-moment until I realize it's a HC.)

Riddle Rosehearts

He waits for the "right woman" that would "please his mothers wish". After meeting the students in NRC, especially Cater, he is curious and questioning his previous thought about being Cis/Het. Might find interest in all pronouns. I could also see him having to be more feminine because his mother wanted a girl (which could imply him having trouble with gender as a whole).

Ace Trappola

I think it's canon that he's not too fond of romantic love, so I do believe he'd be most comfortable seeing himslf as aromantic. As for the rest: He's your average cis male teenager who makes too many dick jokes for his lack of experience (but would consider himself as allosexual). Will throw hands and sees it as an insult if you call him a girl tho.

Deuce Spade

Like Mother, like son - Both Spades are bisexual in my eyes. Deuce used to be homophobic in his delinquent times but changed for the better (and realized that he disliked the idea of gay people because they "always look so happy"). Had multiple "What if"s regarding his gender (Including asking Mama Spade to treat him like her daughter for a bit, so Deuce could get a feeling for it) but it felt too weird, so he still identifies himself with his assigned gender (male) at birth - But doesn't mind it if people use they/them for him. Would be your average nervous Teenager when it comes to showing affection in any way and will blush brightly at the topic of naughty stuff.

Trey Clover

Didn't give it much thought ("If I like a person, I like them" type of mindset but had no particular romantic feelings before) before entering NRC - Where he had his first guy crush which rocked his world a little. Constantly questioning "Am I gay, bi or pan?", but his first and only crush doesn't really help and is actually the reason for his questioning in the first place. Hasn't come out at all and doesn't plan on it because he grew up that the genders of people in a relationship doesn't matter and his parents would support him as long as he's happy. "I was born as a guy, so I'm a guy, I guess. I don't really care if you use she/her for me. It'll be just a bit confusing for me at first" type of guy. After one of the night talks with Cater, he got curious about poly-relationships.

Cater Diamond

Many thoughts on his guy, many possibilities but this one story I have planned made me like the idea of trans-male Cater a lot (Mainly He/Him but doesn't mind They/Them). Funnily enough, I can also see Cater as genderfluid slaying person - That's what I mean when I say there's a lot of potential. Has too many trust and commitment issues to think of any type of relationship but he's still a bisexual king. If I had to describe a bisexual, it would be him. Wouldn't say no to a potential poly-relationship but is also intimidated by the idea because of his mental issues. Sees a lot of benefits in poly-relationships. I wouldn't be surprised if he had hooked up with someone before. Despite it all, he flirts as if his life depends on it (Which is, at least in jp, somewhat canon).

Leona Kingscholar

"I'm a guy" ahh male (in an unbothered way, not the toxic way. He's surprised if someone asks for his pronouns but respects the person just a tiny bit more for caring enough to ask in the first place). While I do believe it is hard for him to actually love someone to begin with, I'm convinced of Omniromantic and -sexual Leona.

Ruggie Bucchi

"My gender is whatever gets the job done." Based on irl hyenas, it isn't impossible for Ruggie to not be AMAB (The genitalia of a female hyena are very similar to those of a male. It led on multiple occasions to zoos attempting to breed two male hyenas). So if a job requires him to dress in drag and dance the hoola, Ruggie will do so. In theory bisexual but is too busy for actual relationships. Would absolutely come up with the wildest neopronuns to piss off Karens though.

Jack Howl

He definitely questioned himself as a young pup, especially after meeting Vil because he thought he might have a crush on him but he was proven wrong later on. Definitely one of the few straight guys in NRC. The more genderqueer people he meets, the more worried he gets about peoples pronouns because he used to be the type to look at a person and guess based on whatever vibes they give off. Now he doesn't know which pronouns to use, so he often uses they/them unless told otherwise (Has a non-verbal pact with Deuce to let each other know what kind of pronouns people have - if the other person knows).

Azul Ashengrotto

I'm making this based on irl male octopi and their nature of dying after having sex for the first and only time: So with that in mind, I do believe that Azul wouldn't want to be sexually active at all (That and his insecuities aboout his body would probably stop him too). I definitely picture him as a helpless romantic once he does fall for a person, though (demiromantic maybe?). Definitely ne for the males, both his gender and his potential partner. He has absolutely questioned his gender and maybe even secretly owns a floor-length dress he wears in his room when his mind wanders off to question potential genders again.

Jade Leech

I will never not talk about AroAce Jade. I could write an essay about AroAce Jade but I won't. Just yes. Could potentially be bi-gender though. Likes to mess with people "You think I'm a guy? Is this not a little too narrow minded? ... What? Oh no, I'm not a woman."

Floyd Leech

Raging homosexual. His type? "If he can rock my bottom, I'm vibing", but his potential boyfriend needs to be able to keep up with his nature. Only his boyfriend sees a rare soft and sweet side from time to time, trust. (I've seen people have the HC of Floyd being a She/Her lesbian and I personally can only see it if we're talking about genderbend Floyd but I'm not here to comment on other people's HCs. I just wanted to mention my sight on genderbend Floyd too). Is a He/Him guy but wore dresses and skirts before but only very wide ones or the type that have a deep cut in it - For free legs (It's canon that he doesn't like tight clothes, so I'm working this into the HC.)

Kalim Al-Asim

"I'm a guy but I can be your big sister too, if you want to haha!" Would absolutely dress feminine if he feels like it. Likes to dance in very fancy and wide dresses and skirts because they look pretty when you do a twirl. Also very pansexual, just wants to love.

Jamil Viper

Is used to dress up feminine because Najma makes him wear her clothes sometimes, so she can see if it looks any good. Much like Ruggie, doesn't care about gender as long as it gets the job done and has been often enough addressed as a girl (Especially if the person saw Jamil only from behind) to stop caring about pronouns. Has many reasons not to want to be in a relationship but swings both ways in theory.

Vil Schoenheit

Gender? "Yes." Did you expect anything less than all genders for THE Vil Schoenheit? Come on now. Extremely demisexual and -romantic. Clothes have no gender (his canon statement, Book 5), so he has worn all types of clothes with confidence and comfort.

Rook Hunt

Lithromantic (Basically: Attraction exists until the target of your affection likes you back). Gender doesn't matter for a partner or Rook, but "it/its" pronouns are extremely interesting to the Hunter.

Epel Felmier

Homophobic, both internal and external. "I'm a man!" but in the toxic way. I see trans-male Epel HCs (and justify his dislike of "girly" things with that) a lot and I really like them as well but the idea of this toxic cis-het white guy Epel is much more entertaining to me - Let this guy be annoying for the sake of being annoying, not everything needs an emotional reason :> He's a little fruit tho even if he denies it (I mean, he's in Pomefiore for a reason /hj).

Idia Shroud

"I don't do love, I don't do sex, I don't do gender. Do not perceive me." Tbh I dont have any particular HCs for Idia, I just go with whatever I see in media, if it works out with my interpretation of Idia ofc. I don't believe that Idia would be quick to love though (especially after Eliza).

Ortho Shroud

Again, I don't have many HCs on my own but I've seen both trans-male and trans-female Ortho HCs and I like 'em both.

Malleus Draconia

Knows he needs to bring up an heir eventually but hasn't found the right person yet. Isn't exactly sure about his own sexuality but is certain he'll know once he finds "the right person". Is a little confused by "new" genders, so he just settles with the classic He/Him for himself - Tries his best to respect Neopronouns and trans folk. Will ask a lot of questions if you come out to him as anything that is not your assigned gender - Both out of curiosity and because he doesn't want to mess up. Has been raised to be supportive through Lilia.

Lilia Vanrouge

Man, Woman, prefer not to say, Other, Croissant - It's all Lilias. You're a Non-Binary person? Lilia absorbs whatever your assigned gender at birth was. You're trans? Lilia will trade your assigned gender with whatever you identify as. It's also pretty much canon that he's bisexual, so there's that - I'm pretty sure he hesitates about relationships due to his previous experiences with Meleanor and Raverne. Has definitely made out with Baul when they were younger.

Silver

When you ask Silver what he likes, he'll tell you about his sword (the object, not a naughty reference to his genitalia). If you'll correct yourself and mean as in a person, he'll tell you that he doesn't care what the gender of his opponent in a battle is - He just hopes they'll good enough to help him learn how to improve his skills. In short: His duties and interests matter to Silver much more than something like love or sexual intercourse. (Same applies if you ask about his own gender: "I'm.. a guy? But I don't see where this matters right now.")

Sebek Zigvolt

Used to be a raging homophobe until Lilia sat him down and had a looong talk with him. "I'm not queer", proceeds to explain how overrated the concept of love is and how his duties should never be interrupted by something as trivial as romantic relationships (He doesn't get that this mindset has a lot of AroAce weight in it - which means he's queer). He's overall a little confused, but he's got the spirit. Will correct people very loudly if they misgender his friends or close ones. Will also regularly ask Lilia in the morning what kind of pronoun-day is (Lilia has considered to wear different colored bracelets, so Sebek doesn't have to ask every morning.)

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oodlyenough · 3 days ago

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more arcane s2 thoughts in no particular order. this is pretty negative. woops

Cait, Vi, Caitvi

despite being what initially got me watching to begin with caitvi just never ended up being my primary interest with this show, so going into s2 it wasn't like I had very well formulated expectations or hopes. I think if I had I would maybe feel disappointed? They had some nice moments, they got the kiss and the sex scene, they're clearly endgame, etc, and that's nice, but it also felt like their relationship was so ... never really the star of the show or focus of the story to the extent I expected it to be. Did they even get a big fight-together battle-couple moment in the last ep, I don't think so? I didn't find the resolution to their Act 1 breakup especially good, I think Caitlyn owed Vi an apology and Vi deserved to be angry for longer than ten seconds.

I generally feel across both seasons that Vi's pain and trauma is rarely given as much weight as other characters', I was pretty underwhelmed by Caitlyn's dictator arc after being extremely interested in it at the end of act 1...

I dunno. I hope their stans liked it and are satisfied getting to see them kiss and have sex and be together and I wouldn't downplay the significance of The Couple in Arcane being a lesbian couple. But I wasn't personally very compelled or moved by it.

Jinx

Like the above I'm not a Jinx academic by any means but I think if I were I would be frustrated by how cyclical her arc was in season 2. And no, having Silco show up to be like "it's a cycle" doesn't really justify the narrative interludes. Isha is a hard sell of a character for me because I don't ... generally want little kid characters around ... and I found Jinx (basically) looking straight into the camera to say "gee you are just like me, Powder, when I was a little kid, which reminds me of being Powder, is this how Silco felt, is this how Vi felt" to be hamfisted. But some of the scenes with the two of 'em and Sevika were cute ... only for Isha to die and Jinx to be depressed, again, and then come through the other side, again, and then "die", again. Like if we wanted to deal with depressed Jinx we started off s2 that way...

I've seen other posts by Jinx fans that articulate much better the ways in which she goes from the driving plot force in s1 and main autonomous actor to just kind of being wafted around by plot in season 2 so I won't repeat them. But I think they are right. I also question the way her mental illness was portrayed -- or rather wasn't... -- in season 2. Powder in the AU showing no sign of illness (despite baby Powder in the main timeline already having some of that going on, pre-Vander death)... I mean, sure, she's got a support system etc in that world, and one can argue we don't spend enough time with AU Powder to necessarily see it, but combined with the Isha stuff it just kind of felt like a weird message.

Sevika

I love Sevika, one of my faves from s1. I was so excited she seemed to get a bigger role in act 1 and then in the first ep of act 2. And then she never spoke again. What the hell man... like damn... really?????!? Not a WORD in act 3? I'm sure this was some of the stuff they trimmed to get that finale down to 50 minutes but god that sucks, so much, in ways a wordless shot of her in the council chamber can't really resolve. Which leads me to

Piltover-Zaun

I have to admit I don't think the class politics in s1 are as good as they were reported to be, so I didn't have high hopes, but MAN is Piltover going "hey we need cannon fodder <3 thanks" not... a reasonable resolution... especially after an indeterminate time of Piltover being EVEN MORE oppressive with Caitlyn enforcing martial law. It was sooooooooo ridiculous. Also, lol @ the show acting like hextech is solely responsible for the suffering of the undercity. If only Vi, Jayce and Viktor weren't around we'd have a equitable utopia. Sure Jan.

Sky

One of the most offensively written female characters I've seen in recent media. A spectacular, zero-effort failure from the writers. What a horrible decision to write this poor girl, a Black woman no less, and give her absolutely no characterization outside of an unrequited crush on a gay white man. In season 1 I could forgive most of it because a show like Arcane needs redshirts and it's just unfortunate they made this particular redshirt a young Black woman. There are so many other complex and developed women in the show, I thought, they can afford to have some minor ones who aren't.

But oh my god season 2. The ghost hallucination which they never even clarify as being "really" Sky or just being the Hexcore or just being his own imagination of guilt because neither the show nor Viktor give enough of a fuck to explain fhglakhdglh. Even posthumously she barely has any dialogue except to reference off-screen conversations with Viktor we never see them have and then die again. "No you won't" ?????? It is ridiculous that they wrote this.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #lmao... don't think i'll tag any of the characters

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offtorivendell · 3 days ago

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Elain, Gwyn and a possible January birthday...

I can't believe it's the end of the Year of our Cauldron 2024 and this argument has resurfaced, but here we go I guess.

Thank you @shitwillnotbegiven for working though this with me!

Firstly, I really want people to know that none of this even matters; the interview in which Steph asked SJM if Azriel's person could have her birthday happened after ACOSF was sent* to be published. So whatever couple was built up was already set in the text. It's a complete non issue. Secondly, SJM has fudged up the numbers before; I am pretty sure that someone did the maths and, according to canon, Eris would have only been around 8yo when he left Mor at Autumn's border! These things happen, and SJM has said she's not a numbers person (no shame).

* Correction: ACOSF was not yet published, but it would have been at the printers and/or being shipped out. Thank you @valentiinexo.

Thirdly, assuming SJM honours the promise to begin with, even if the birthday request predated ACOSF being sent to the printers, it's still a non issue because both Elain and Gwyn could have been born in January. I don't know why people are saying Elain was born over the summer, besides wanting to reassure themselves that she won't end up with Az.

But let's have a look.

Elain

Nesta said that Elain was "barely thirteen" at the ball when the heiress bullied her for whatever reason.

“She wouldn’t have gone into much detail about it,” Elain said. “Nesta was only fourteen at the last ball we went to before—well, before we were poor …” Elain shook her head. “Another young heiress was at the ball, and she positively hated me. She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …” “She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips. Elain blushed. “Perhaps.” It was definitely that. Even though Elain would have been barely thirteen at the time. “Well, Nesta saw how she treated me, her casual cruelties and snubs, and bided her time. Waited until that ball, when a handsome duke from the continent was there to find a bride. His family had run out of money, which was why he’d deigned to come over at all—to nab a rich bride to refill their estate’s coffers. Nesta knew the heiress had her sights set on him. The girl had bragged about it to all of us in the powder room at every ball for weeks leading up to it. - ACOSF, chapter 44

Nesta herself was only "fourteen," born in the spring.

Cassian held her gaze as he stalked for her, then reached out an arm— And plucked the cerulean-and-cream scarf Elain had given her for her birthday this spring off the hook on the wall. He gripped it in his fist, dangling it like a strangled snake as he brushed past her. - ACOSF, chapter 1

As the map and seasons of Prythian both coincide with the map and seasons of the UK and Ireland/the northern hemisphere in general (besides the four seasonal courts), and it should be safe to assume that the ball happened during the social season, then we can extrapolate from most online sources, which suggest that would have begun when British parliament returned after closing for the winter.

Per Wikipedia:

The Season coincided with the sitting of parliament; it began some time after Christmas and ran until midsummer, roughly late June. Some sources say it began at Parliament's Easter session break. The social season played a role in the political life of the country: the members of the two Houses of Parliament were almost all participants in the season, as all Peers sitting in the House of Lords were by definition nobility, and many if not most Members of the House of Commons were gentry. But the Season also provided an opportunity for the children of marriageable age of the nobility and gentry to be launched into society.

Feyre confirmed as much in ACOTAR, because she arrived back in the human lands after the "socialite season" had ended and it was getting into summer. Elain was even wearing summer appropriate attire and was flushed - maybe from the heat as much as her excitement?

Summer—in the weeks that I’d been painting and dining with Tamlin and wandering the court lands at his side, summer had come. Did my family still truly believe me to be visiting some long-lost aunt? What were they doing with themselves? - ACOTAR, chapter 25

I glanced sidelong at her. My sister was beaming, content—prettier than I’d ever seen her, even in her simple muslin gardening dress. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her large, floppy hat. “I think—I think I’d like to see the continent,” I said. And it was true, I realized. There was so much of the world that I hadn’t seen, hadn’t ever thought about visiting. Hadn’t ever been able to dream of visiting. “I’m surprised you’re so eager to go next spring,” I said. “Isn’t that right in the middle of the season?” The socialite season, which had ended a few weeks ago, apparently, full of parties and balls and luncheons and gossip, gossip, gossip. Elain had told me all about it at dinner the night before, hardly noticing that it was an effort for me to get down my food. - ACOTAR, chapter 29

The following afternoon, bleary-eyed and quiet, we all gathered at the lunch table. I thanked my sister and father for the party, and dodged my father’s inquiries regarding whether any of his friends’ sons had caught my eye. The summer heat had arrived, and I propped my chin on a fist as I fanned myself. I’d slept fitfully in the heat last night. It was never too hot or too cold at Tamlin’s estate. - ACOTAR, chapter 31

Spring is "right in the middle of" Prythian's social season. Winter > spring (tulip season) > summer. Feyre gives us this information.

All of this is to say that it is absolutely possible for Elain to be born in January and be "barely thirteen" years of age in the late winter/early spring of the same year "weeks" later, when Nesta got revenge for her at the ball. And Nesta, who was "only fourteen" at the time, could have been nearing her fifteenth birthday. "Two under two" is a common saying for a reason, and I suspect the "only" was not to suggest that Nesta had recently turned fourteen (though two in one year is definitely possible), but that she was too young for marriage in her father's/family's opinion, and the entire situation was ludicrous.

Perhaps the wooden rose was actually a birthday gift for Elain from Papa Archeron?

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.” - ACOSF, chapter 55

Gwyn

If Gwyn and Catrin were conceived on Calanmai, which is the first of May, and faerie pregnancies last ten months - this is of course assuming that their half-nymph mother would have expected the same duration of her pregnancy as a high fae like Feyre - then yes, a pregnancy with a due date of May plus ten months (it's impossible to count from her last missed period as we know at least the high fae only have two cycles a year, so the conception date will have to do) could end with a set of twins born in January.

Gwyn went on, “My mother was unwanted by either of their people. She could not dwell in the rivers of the Spring Court, but was too untamed to endure the confinement of the forest house of Autumn. So she was given in her childhood to the temple at Sangravah, where she was raised. She partook in the Great Rite when she was of age, and I, we—my sister and I, I mean—were the result of that sacred union with a male stranger. She never found out who he was, for the magic chose him that night, and no one ever showed up to ask about twin girls. We were raised in the temple as well. I never left its grounds until … until I came here.” - ACOSF, chapter 29

Around half of twin pregnancies make it to term, and 90% are born after 32 weeks (per google), so even with the extrapolation between human data and the barely existent faerie pregnancy "lore" I think that a January birthdate for Gwyn and Catrin is not a risky guess. I also think it's much more exciting to refer to pregnancy "lore" than data, so can we all get that going? 😂

So yeah, there you have it. Both Elain and Gwyn could have been born in January. Though again, it was a request made after ACOSF was finished. This argument doesn't "benefit" either side, and to suggest that it eliminates either Elain or Gwyn is disingenuous. Why does it keep popping up?

#acotar #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #rant #tw pregnancy #january birthday

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shantechni · 1 day ago

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Natsume's Fear of Thunder

I'm gonna be honest, this can hardly be considered an analysis. It's more of a "sporadic and unnecessarily deep observation" of how Natsume's astraphobia has been presented in the series over the years, both in the anime and in the manga. So, please for the love of God take all of this with a grain of salt.

Yes, I'm using the term "phobia" very loosely, but I'm not about to get into that rn. Natsume has an irrational fear and strong dislike of thunder, that's an undeniable truth.

Before I dive in, I'd like to briefly explain why, of all the little bits of information Midorikawa has given us about Natsume, this one is the one to ceaselessly bump around in my brain like a DVD logo. This series is not in the horror genre (it's serialized in LaLa DX after all), but it does get suspenseful, and pretty disturbing depending on whatever topic it touches or the types of situations the characters may find themselves in. I don't fault anyone, particularly Natsume, for growing up with valid fears and preconceived misconceptions about most youkai; they can sound scary, they can look scary, and they can do some scary stuff if they really feel up to it.

That's why I'm so fascinated to see Natsume develop and still harbor an irrational fear for something like the everyday phenomena of storms. He's landed himself in all sorts of trouble and has come face to face with many beings, both natural and supernatural, who didn't have his best interests in mind, and yet the clap of thunder somehow keeps its spot on the list of things that has him scared stiff.

Aight, spoilers for both the anime and the manga beyond here, you've been warned👏🏽

Our first introduction to Natsume's fear is near the beginning of chapter 42, when he and Tanuma accidentally stumble across Taki's home while seeking shelter from a sudden shower. He questions how Nyanko-sensei ended up at her home as well and the youkai, much to Natsume's visible dismay, cheekily explains:

That doesn't end up happening since the rain remained light until its swift end, and the mention of Natsume's fear is glossed over rather quickly to save him the embarrassment, but it's an interesting mention made by Midorikawa nonetheless since it adds another layer to whatever image the audience has of Natsume and the series itself. Nyanko-sensei, having been around this kid long enough to know a lot of his vulnerabilities and insecurities (even the ones his dreams unwittingly reveal to the youkai), has seen and grown accustomed to a side of him that the audience had yet to be formally introduced to for once.

Right about now, you may be wondering how the anime adapted this scene. It didn't💀.

While the start of the episode (S3 EP5) is a one-to-one recreation of the chapter with virtually the same dialogue and scenery, any mention of Nyanko-sensei following Natsume to pick on him when it thunders is nonexistent and entirely skipped over so the gang can go straight to cleaning out the storeroom.

Most fans who have read the manga will tell you how notorious the anime is for excluding some of the characters' lines or scenes that take place in the manga, or just straight up rearranging or changing up those same factors. Sometimes those alterations work wonders, and other times they leave more to be desired, mainly if you know what happened in the manga counterpart of the episode. This such example is one of the times that'll leave people scratching their heads and wondering what warranted getting rid of a scene so insignificant that it'd have no effect on the plot of the episode whether or not it stayed. The only answer I can think of for that is the directors likely wanting a smoother progression of events to make for a viewing experience better tailored for an anime episode rather than a manga chapter.

Or, they genuinely didn't have enough space in the episode to squeeze in that little bit, which I highly doubt, but what would I know, I don't work for them. At the end of the day, we didn't get to see that scene in the episode.

After some more anime switcheroo shenanigans go on behind the scenes, along with an original episode pulling a retcon during a lightning storm, we receive our next moment in a surprising scene from the anime team in S3 EP10 (adaptation of chapter 28). Though the scene itself is short and not exactly an example of Natsume's astraphobia, I feel it should still be included because of its relation.

The chapter originally starts with Natsume and Nyanko-sensei searching for a tree that was struck by lightning during a storm the night before. However, the anime makes an addition of their own by rewinding time to that very night and showing Nyanko-sensei excitedly watching the storm take place while Natsume is tied up with his homework.

Nyanko-sensei goes on to tease him by suggesting that he doesn't want to watch the storm because he's scared, but Natsume dodges the youkai's mocking and begins to tell him to close the curtain before a crack of lightning cuts him off and illuminates his room.

Not only does Natsume not simply deny Nyanko-sensei's claim of him being scared, but his reaction to the thunder is seemingly more sudden than Nyanko-sensei's. Both of these points could subsequently lead the audience to interpret this entire sequence as the anime's first acknowledgement of his phobia, and it'd make for a very intriguing choice on the anime team's behalf after taking their ommitance of the previous scene into consideration. It could be a stretch though ngl, I tend to stretch like crazy, it makes sense to close a curtain when a pet is being noisy—

Finally moving on from S3, we eventually reach the most overt instance of Natsume's astraphobia, and potential origin or exacerbation of it, in the S4 finale (adaptation of chapter 46). This three episode arc is a largely intimate and heart wrenching one as it focuses on Natsume's journey to revisit his childhood home before it gets renovated by its new owners, a task he initially denied himself the permission of doing before realizing Touko and Shigeru would never deny him something so personal. Of course, he wouldn't be Natsume if he didn't attract a youkai along the way, and he's being pursued by one that seeks to feed on the tragic memories he formed while staying with the Aoi family, who was strongly implied to be the first family (if not, one of the first families) he was taken in by after his father's passing.

One of those memories shown to the audience is a younger Natsume relaxing in a shrine while memorizing where his childhood home is located, all in the hopes of gaining more discernible memories of his father and no longer being a burden to Miyoko and her parents.

Unfortunately, he falls asleep at the shrine and consequently loses track of time before having his slumber disturbed by a violent boom of thunder. He's so frightened by the ordeal that he can't even bring himself to rush back to the Aoi family's place, and his exhaustion puts him back to sleep until he's eventually found by some of the neighbors who went out searching for him.

The anime, with the natural strengths it has over the manga, goes the extra mile by not only keeping this portion relatively untouched, but further setting up the scenery and depicting just how rapidly the area goes from peaceful to turbulent. The character animation and voice acting make for a splendid combination and do a wonderful job of capturing this image of a helpless childhood version of Natsume.

What comes soon after this scene is a depressing sequence of events on its own, even more so when we can see he's still reeling from the storm and believing he caused the Aois to get into trouble by not getting back before dark. The adults obviously don't fault Natsume for getting stuck in the storm, but he doesn't see it that way in his shocked state.

The way Miyoko reacts by throwing her frustrations onto him doesn't help either.

And so, after aimlessly running off in his last unsuccessful attempt to find his childhood home, the memory fades away with a somber note as his present self recalls the moment he finally stopped calling for his long gone father.

Now, one could argue that Natsume had his fear of thunder prior to his time with the Aois since we don't have much reference material to work with when concerning his short period of time with his father, and they could be right for all I know. It's common for children to be startled by loud noises and bright flashes since they just aren't quite accustomed to those loud noises and bright flashes being customary for weather disturbances. Natsume, who we know grew up to be pretty sensitive to the things that go on around him, may have been one of those children who felt apprehension anytime a bad storm rolled in, and his father may have been the one to quell his fears back then. So, if we go with the conclusion that his fear didn't originate here, then this scene likely could've aggravated it. But I'm personally leaning a bit more towards the concept of this being the cause of it (partly due to how appealing that conclusion is to the obsessive part of my brain).

His initial reaction to the thunder is seemingly one of surprise rather than fear, and his behavior suggests that he's more concerned with making it back down the mountain before the thunder halts his progress. Although he's seen trying to talk himself down and fails to do so with how relentless the thunderstorm is proving to be, he doesn't need to have preexisting fears or anxieties over thunder to resort to calming himself down.

The dialogue differences strike me as something to consider too, but they're likely irrelevant.

Setting aside everything I just ranted about in the above paragraph, I should specify that I'm not simply pointing to the storm scene as the singular root cause for his future woes. Many psychological problems often aren't so black and white that someone can definitively point to one person or thing as the sole reason for the existence of their psychological problems. And phobias obviously don't always develop as a result of going through or observing a traumatic event; people can grow to fear or strongly dislike something merely by its association with an unpleasant memory or stressful situation. I know I'm starting to stretch hard rn, and this part of the post is getting awfully wordy, just hear me out—

Going back to that aforementioned short period of time with his dad, it's plain to see just how innocent of a time that was for Natsume. He was playful and affectionate with his dad like many children growing up in a healthy environment would be at that age. He doesn't even appear to have an awareness of youkai (if so, only slight enough for it to not become a problem for him just yet). We're shown later on that he would commonly draw around the house too, as evidenced by the nearly two decade old pieces of artwork his father never removed from the kitchen area and closet.

Natsume even proceeds to make a comment about this childhood version of himself likely being the mischievous type for him to run around drawing on surfaces without a care in the world.

He undeniably had his own troubles at that stage of his life though, with one of those troubles being his mom and the empty spot left behind by her passing away. Apart from his heartwarming portrait of a family with both parents, he's also shown lamenting to Miyoko after the death of his dad about not being able to remember his mom. We've seen with those two examples that her absence indeed left an impact on him early on in his life, but he doesn't stay too broken up over her considering how little he got to bond with her, and he doesn't openly despair about the loss of his dad until his growing sense of loneliness and longing becomes too much for him to smooth over.

The point I'm trying (and admittedly struggling) to make here is that after moving in with Miyoko and her parents, the worries on Natsume's plate increased tenfold and weighed him down far more than he was willing to accept at first. Suddenly, this kid had little to smile about in life, taking a glance at his only picture of his parents causes grief and envy to flare up in his chest, he's afraid of being a burden to those who took him under his wing, he's eating less than Miyoko because he's concerned with coming off as too greedy, he feels responsible for Miyoko getting picked on because of his relation to her, he's still learning the way back to the Aoi family's home, and now he's surrounded by all of these weird creatures that apparently no one else can see.

Suddenly, he's no longer that carefree toddler we saw sitting on his dad's lap as the two of them watched over his late mom's garden.

I feel moderately certain about Natsume's experience with the storm, coupled with this pivotal and devastating shift in his life, being the plausible cause for him developing his irrational fear of thunder as a child.

After this arc, we aren't greeted with another scene featuring or centered on his astraphobia until chapter 85 (which doesn't appear to be adapted in S7 judging from the PV😭), and it focuses on Natsume, Tanuma and Taki viewing a limited exhibition at an old inn that has a deep history with youkai. Not too long after the owner engages in conversation with Taki, Natsume and Tanuma briefly comment on how peaceful the inn is making the both of them feel, and a sudden lightning strike cuts through the tranquility of the inn.

It catches everyone off guard and, unsurprisingly, has Natsume frozen in place as Tanuma asks him and Taki if they're alright.

Much like Nyanko-sensei's first time mentioning Natsume's fear, the moment doesn't last long as the gang soon realizes they'll have to spend the night at the inn while they wait for the sudden storm to pass.

By this point in the manga though, Midorikawa has evidently decided to make Natsume's astraphobia a recurring element of the sorts. She could've easily left his astraphobia as another facet of his that we get to see once or twice and never again since it's not serviceable to the story as a whole, but she's started using his phobia as an additional means of displaying his discomfort in any given situation. Having a thunderstorm suddenly appear during a moment of serenity, immediately after Natsume tells Tanuma the place is making him feel strangely good, was a brilliant move of jarring him. And it works especially well here as a sign of the looming threat that'll find its way into the inn over night and slowly creep upon the group the longer they remain there.

Midorikawa pulls this same stunt again to slightly greater effect in chapter 117, where Natsume, Tanuma and Nyanko-sensei happen upon the Kisaragi Manor and find themselves taking part in a ritual for summoning youkai.

It starts with the trio meeting up in the evening to view the bamboo lanterns, but a woman claiming to be in search of a mansion requests their help to find it before it gets too dark, as well as to avoid getting caught in a downpour should the drizzle grow heavier. While Tanuma shows interest in the ritual, and the people they meet are treating them somewhat cordially, Natsume is disconcerted by the arrangement they've found themselves in. He's surrounded by five women he's never met in his life, is once again in an unfamiliar place that feels weird in Nyanko-sensei's own words, and is thrown for a loop by everyone's enthusiasm with the idea of meeting youkai rather than being put off by them.

The group isn't even a minute into their summoning ritual when a huge boom of thunder shakes the room and causes a power outage, sending them into a brief stint of darkness until Hitomi relights the candle.

While waiting for the candle though, Natsume answers Tanuma's question by for once admitting that he's bothered by thunder, leading to Nyanko-sensei characteristically picking on his phobia by calling him a chicken.

Again, the moment is subtle and restricted to one corner of the page, but it sticks the landing. Instead of using the lightning or thunder as a sign of things to come as she's done before, Midorikawa uses them here as an integrant of an already somewhat concerning scene slowly veering towards being disturbing. In addition to selling just how uncomfortable of a situation this is for Natsume, it also depicts how far along he is in his friendship with Tanuma to be honest about an irrational fear we know he'd rather not speak of.

Alas, chapter 117 was our last time seeing thunder scare Natsume, at least until the next time Midorikawa chooses to use his fear to her advantage, unless the anime miraculously surprises us with its own original take as we've seen it isn't afraid to do. What we've been given so far though is plentiful in comparison to many other plot points or quirks that get reused or called back to far less than this one. I won't throw a tantrum if his never gets referenced to or utilized again (which I doubt will happen knowing Midorikawa's writing), but I eagerly anticipate seeing it again should it reappear.

It's captivating to watch this minor detail frequently make it's way back into the story somehow, to the point that it eventually cemented itself as a miniscule yet effective way of shedding different shades of light on the many complexities of Natsume.

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