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cricket-of-the-hill · 4 months ago

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So what's the deal with Fiddleford McGucket? Why's he like that?

Fiddleford as a character is so FUN because he's so complicated and tragic and honestly a little pathetic. On one hand you have this absolutely brilliant scientist with the potential to have been the in universe Steve Jobs who figured out that the universe is a hologram and built an honest to betsy transdimensional portal (with Ford's help, yes, but let's be honest: as mathematically brilliant as Ford was, I think his intelligence laid more in the theoretical side of things, really doubt he could have actually built the portal himself).

On the other hand, we have this man who up and leves his FAMILY to chase after a college friend who calls him one day saying "hey, I'm out in Oregon building a portal to another dimension. Little help?" and he doesn't even think twice before being like "bet" and getting his ass to Oregon. And even if you take in the context clues that things weren't going well with his marriage before he left (as pieced together by the brilliant @divorcedfiddleford in this post), he still had his son and McGucket Computermajigs and he just sets all that aside for this guy, which... 😶

I am gonna write this whole post on the assumption that Fiddleford was in love with Ford, but look, even if that's the case it doesn't make any of his actions less unhinged. Break here, because the post gets kinda long 😶‍🌫️

So here's the thing: in the fandom, it's fun to think that Fidds knew about Bill and they had some sort of taunting rivalry/love triangle thing going on and that's really fun to mess with, but FIDDLEFORD HAD NO IDEA ABOUT BILL. Ford never told him! So even if Fidds leaves California thinking he's gonna have his hot girl summer/queer arthouse romcom where he reconnects with the love of his youth and they spend the summer working in this secluded house in the woods where they can finally live out their romance, what he actually gets is a fucking psychological horror thriller where the guy he loves and is kinda trapped with is either slowly going insane or straight up getting possessed.

Now, all that is 😵‍💫 enough, but it gets worse because instead of doing the normal person thing and getting the hell out of Dodge, Fiddleford stays. He continues to help Ford to build the portal despite how weird the other man is getting, he continues to go cryptid hunting even after the nightmare goblin almost eats him, even if Ford clearly doesn't appreciate the work he does (research assistant? Not even partner? Come on), and never reciprocates the kind of gestures Fidds has towards him (like the infamous double Christmas gift bonanza).

Here's where the duality of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket kicks in: the thing is that he is incredibly brave in some ways and obviously really smart but also kind of a coward and an idiot when it comes to his relationships with others. He'll hit Thee Krampus upside the head with his banjo one day to save his friend and run away to Oregon instead of discussing divorce with this wife the next. He will leave everything he knows to pursue this one guy, but he will never ever ever confess to feeling anything other than friendship towards him. He'll put up with Stanford's creepy as all hell behavior but will never confront him about it even as Ford loses more and more of himself into his project (so no little intervention not even to help this man he's giving so much up for). Like, what was he expecting to get out of all this? If he was never planning to confess to Ford or leave his wife, what was he going to do once the portal was completed? Just keep on bouncing between wherever Ford went next and his family? Did he really think his wife and son wouldn't mind him leaving them behind without so much as a thought?

Operating under the assumption that Fiddleford is a closeted queer guy from rural Deep Down South Hillbilly County Tennessee (said with love, I'm also from the south, but we all know what homophobia looks like here) during the '80s (height of the aids pandemic which would have made everything worse) one can maybe understand why Fiddleford is like that. Why he is so so so afraid and why he ultimately chooses to erase his memories rather than just go back to his family.

So picture this: you are in love with your best friend but you can't tell him 'cause best case scenario he leaves you out to dry and worst case scenario maybe someone finds your boots down by the river and lets your parents know (and we know Ford is sweet and fruity himself and with a thing for outcasts and would never. Fiddleford probably knows that himself, but let me tell you that when you grow up with that fear it goes deep. Because you've most likely seen people who are kind get absolutely bent out of shape when confronted with the mere idea of someone like you existing in their near vicinity). Eventually, you get married and have a son because that is what you were supposed to do all along and even though you love your son and maybe even love your wife everything feels wrong. They expect you to be something you are not, you can never let your guard down, never be yourself, not even in your own home. So then that call comes and it's like a golden thicket: you can leave, give it a rest for a little while, go see your friend, stretch out those inventing muscles.

As much as the fandom clowns him for it, I honestly don't even think he went out there with the intention of cheating (emotionally or otherwise). BUT I do think he was hoping something would happen. It's just that it all depended on Ford taking that first step because Fidds sure as hell wouldn't. And then Ford didn't because he was too busy doing the sin cos tan with his trigonometry homework, but if he had, we could have had a brokenback mountain situation on our hands, lads. Then Fiddleford could have just gone along with it, and done all sorts of mind parkour to convince himself that that's somehow less bad than "outright" cheating on his wife.

So he gets to the cabin, right? And maybe things are good for a little while, like when they were in college. Fiddleford lets loose a little, Ford is happy with the company, they're friends! And I get the sense that they're the kind of friends that mesh really well, like their energies really match. As much as the fandom paints Fiddleford like a sweet cinnamon roll, that man is also a freak. He's out here building psychotic post divorce revenge pterodactyl robots and drinking abducted cow milk just to see what it's like. He's a bit unhinged! He and Ford are the two people in the world that can be like "I think the universe is a hologram." "Cool! Let's prove it mathematically, bro" and "I want to build a portal to another dimension. Just cause." "Catching a ride to your place with my toolbox as we speak, buddy." (My own personal head cannon is that Fiddleford didn't really become such a shaky jelly until the nightmare goblin got him. Like, he was never as adventurous as Ford, but I think before that particular traumatizing event he was all right for it).

Anyways, things are good for a bit, but the real world is still out there. Fiddleford has to make trips home every now and then, and every time he comes back it seems like something is different. A little off. At first it's nothing big, just a smile a little sharper than usual, a coldness in a look, Ford calling him "Specs" where before he was always a variation of his name. Then it's pointed comments that Fidds chalks up to a lack of sleep (is Ford even sleeping at all? Because he could have sworn for the past three nights he he has appeared in the same place Fidds left him when he went to sleep). Then it's a flash of yellow eyes, a maniacal laugh that Ford never used to make before, spells where he seemingly forgets how to use his body (bumps into things, tries to drink soda with his eyes?). As time goes on it starts to become more and more obvious that something is seriously wrong with this friend. And things back home are just getting worse and worse, Emma May isn't happy about Fiddleford skipping town so often, Tate wont stop asking for him, and look, was Fiddleford even making money while he was with Ford? He gettin' paid? Is Emma May back home trying to bring home the bacon while virtually single parenting? (How was Ford even supporting himself while studying anomalies? I can't imagine there's a lot of grants for that.)

But Fiddleford can't leave his friend and he can't really own up to how much messier things are at home because of this whole thing. So he keeps coming back to Gravity Falls, where he also can't really face up to Ford and either demand a clear answer as to what is going on or try to get him some help (an exorcist, maybe). Because if he does say something and Ford decides that he doesn't want Fiddleford around asking questions he's gonna have to go back home where after the Christmas thing he's honestly not sure he's really wanted anymore, not really sure he deserves it if he still was. So he keeps on doing his thing, telling himself "this is fine 🙂," while he sits in a room on fire with a bill-possessed Ford hanging from the ceiling like a spider and an disapproving Emma May looking in through a window.

I think the portal incident was what finally opened his eyes to the reality of his situation, in an ironic way. He destroyed his relationship with his wife and left his son for nothing. Left his own dreams and aspirations aside just to find out that when push comes to shove his opinion and well-being matter so little to this man he was ready to break the laws of physics for. He can't stay with Ford, and he sure as hell can't go back home, because that would mean having to face that he's done burned down all his bridges. So where do you go from there? Let me tell you, if I had the chance to forget the lowest, most selfish, stupid thing I did for a person who didn't even notice it, I'd do it in a second.

#gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #stanford pines #bill cipher #fiddauthor #fordsquared #fordford #the tragic ballad of fiddleford mcgucket #he just tears me up man 🥲#this sounds kinda critical of Ford but I swear I really do love him too #if I lost the situationship with him to a triangle I would also go crazy and start a cult #ford pines

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pearlessance · 6 months ago

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Feelin' Empty? - Idle Threats [iv]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel reminds you to heed his warnings.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap (32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst, spanking, edging

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Joel waits several minutes before leaving the bathroom. He cleans himself up, tries to collect his thoughts, tries to swallow down the bitter taste you left behind.

And when he emerges back into the front of the bar, it isn’t Kelly’s smiling face that grabs his attention. It’s you, of course it’s fucking you, because you’ve picked up your things from the bar and moved instead to a booth.

You’re not alone, either. Abel sits at your side, grinning down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Joel doesn’t know Abel well. He knows he works in the armory, that he keeps stock of all the weapons and ammunition that pass through Jackson. He doesn’t know about the knife wedged in Joel’s boot right now, though.

He pushes the thought from his mind. His jaw clenches, and he takes in a slow breath, and then he’s forcing himself to return to the bar. Tara’s refilled his glass, and Joel has never been more thankful.

“I was starting to worry,” Kelly says as Joel sits on the barstool at her side. “You feeling okay?”

Other than the fact that he just had a religious experience with a girl half his age only to find her nearly sitting in the lap of another man moments later? Yeah. Fine. “Peachy,” he answers, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Abel’s older than you by several years. Younger than Joel, but far from age-appropriate. He’s gotta be in his mid forties, but Joel can’t deny that he’s handsome. Tall and built and rugged, with a thick black beard he keeps trimmed up like some sort of pretty boy. Beneath the cream colored cowboy hat he wears, Joel can see matching dark curls poking out of the sides. And he’s got those bright blue eyes, too, which are currently swallowing you up with no remorse.

Joel grinds his teeth. Takes another sip of whiskey. He hears Kelly say something. A question, maybe, but he doesn’t hear it. “What was that?”

“I was just asking if you two have history.”

It takes him a little off guard. Is he so obvious? He must be, though. Because Kelly’s sunshiny smile falls as she looks over at you, and Joel begins to feel a little bad for her. Because this date is going nowhere, and he thinks she knows it, but she’s still trying. “Not really,” he answers. “We were on patrol together a couple of times.”

She nods slowly, mulling his answer over like there’s a secret hidden between his words. Joel supposes there is. “Did something happen?”

Christ. Was she this nosy with everyone in Jackson, or just with Joel? He doesn’t want to answer. So he doesn’t. Finishes off his whiskey and nods to Tara for another.

This is too much. And Joel suddenly realizes the solution to all of his problems right now; Kelly, Abel, you—is just to simply get the fuck out of here.

But he can’t leave you alone like this. It’s not safe. He knows exactly what sort of thoughts are running through Abel’s mind right now, knows exactly what he’s thinking when he licks his lips and smirks down at you. Joel can hear him faintly, saying, “You’ve got such a pretty smile, darlin’.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kelly suddenly says. She laughs but there’s no joy in it, no amusement at all. She rises to her feet with a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna go, Joel.”

It’s only with her words he remembers why he came here, remembers that he was supposed to try on this date with Kelly to distract himself from you and has, catastrophically, failed. He thinks about asking her to sit back down, but then realizes he can pay closer attention to you without her chattering in his ear, so Joel apologizes instead. “Kelly, look, I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m…cut out for this kinda thing.”

She nods slowly, looks over to you one last time. “I get it,” she says, reminding him of your conversation in the bathroom.

I get it, but I don’t understand. It hurts just as bad in his memory. Cuts just as deep.

When he looks up at her, a storm cloud has replaced all that carefree sunshine on her face and rainwater lines her lashes. His eyes soften, and Joel wishes he would’ve ended this the moment he stepped through the door to save everyone a little bit of pain. “Kelly…”

She shakes her head, clearing any remaining sadness away. “Really, Joel, it’s fine. I’m not blind, alright? You can’t hide something like that.”

His brows furrow. “Like what?”

Kelly gathers her jacket with one hand and waves the other between you and him. “That,” she says as if it’s obvious, like the magnetic energy pulling him to you is some physical, tangible thing. “Whatever it is, it’s not exactly subtle. And, Joel, that girl’s trouble but she doesn’t deserve any more hurt. Neither of you do. So, whatever it is, just make sure it’s real.” She turns to leave, but at the door she turns her head back to him, watery eyes making their grand return. And then she says, “Nothing’s promised anymore. Take the good where you can get it.”

Joel tosses his whiskey back in one gulp. He presses his fingers into his temple, trying to alleviate the ache, grateful for the soft hum the alcohol has created in his bones. He hears the ring of your sweet laughter and his eyes follow the sound.

He watches through hooded eyes as Abel pulls you to the other end of the bar where there’s a small, open space near the jukebox. He takes your hand in his, the very hand that you licked clean moments ago, and raises it above your head. Abel’s spinning you in a circle, and there’s a carefree smile on your face, and it makes Joel feel hollow. Like the part inside of him that you’ve carved out for yourself has been vacated, demolished. It makes him feel empty.

You look happy. And that’s the part that kills him.

Joel wants that for you. Wants you to be happy and safe and satisfied and loved. And it can’t be him that gives those things to you, can it? It would put a target on your back for cruelty, and Joel has to protect you from that. You say you don’t care what the people of Jackson have to say about you, but he does. Joel knows himself. Knows that if he ever overheard someone talking bad about you and it was his fault? There would be more than just an argument with his little brother as punishment.

There would be blood, and loss, and death. And Joel doesn’t want that. He only wants you—sweet and soft and innocent and bratty and perfect. He doesn’t want to taint you with bloodstained hands, doesn’t want to tarnish you any further than he already has.

But then you glance over at him from around Abel’s shoulder as he sways you to the soft blues song that plays. He’s got one hand wrapped in yours and the other on your back, a respectful distance above your ass. Far more respectful than Joel has ever been to you.

And there’s that look in your eyes again, the one that makes him feel warm, comforted, safe. It grows and grows the longer you stare at him until it’s engulfed every cell in his body, thawing him from the inside out. And when you look away as Abel whispers something in your ear, that warmth in his chest remains. Muted, but ever-present.

Joel is a selfish man. He’s come to terms with it. He knows from experience that if it ever came between choosing the few and choosing the many, he’d let the world burn if it meant keeping his people safe. The ones he loves, the ones he’s chosen. He’s not ignorant to the fact that you have, inescapably, found your way into that category of people he’d sacrifice the world for.

But he doesn’t want to be selfish with you. He doesn’t want to, even though he already has been. Because the selfish thing he’s doing now will hurt you later on, just as Tommy said. No matter what, even if things go perfectly to plan, someone will suffer for what the two of you have done. And Joel really, really doesn’t want it to be you.

If there was a way to guarantee that he would be the only one left bleeding at the end of this calamity, Joel would be snatching you out of Abel’s hands and taking you home before the song was over. He’d damn himself without a second thought, without a single regret because Kelly is right; nothing is promised anymore. And Joel wants to hold onto that warmth for as long as he can, wants to hold onto you for as long as he can.

Even if it’s selfish. Even if it’s sinful. Even if it hurts.

But he doesn’t want to make a scene, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Which leaves him stuck, sitting at the bar, sipping whiskey to fill the void you left behind, watching Abel play all his tricks to attempt to woo you. Joel even watches some of them work.

Abel’s funny. Or at least, you find him so. Joel knows because every couple of minutes you’re giggling or snorting or grinning with a shake of your head. He queues up music on the jukebox and the two of you dance to Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad by Def Leppard and Joel thinks about chewing on glass.

You’re glancing over to the bar every few minutes, but Abel is completely unaware of Joel’s hard stare. He understands, though, how easy it is to succumb to your witchery. How being in your presence makes everything else—people, problems, morals—fade into the background. Joel wonders if he gets that same lovesick look on his face that Abel currently wears.

It’s painful to watch. Every second of it makes Joel feel like he’s splintering apart. But he forces himself to stay put—to keep a close eye on you. To keep you safe. Because he can see the thoughts as they flit through Abel’s head, can see him appreciating the curve of your neck, the softness of your lips, the arch of your nose. Joel can relate because he’s been there—enthralled, captivated, hypnotized. And he knows Abel will do anything to take you home with him, to make you his. But that’s not going to happen because Joel will never allow it.

So he watches the two of you dance until the sun sets below the horizon. He watches Abel push your hair behind your ear, watches your cheeks turn crimson when he compliments you, watches him pluck his cowboy hat from his head and place it onto yours. And it makes him sick—makes his knuckles go white, makes him grind his teeth, makes him sweat.

But Joel has never, ever, been as angry as he is when you lay your head against Abel’s chest and he presses a kiss into your hair. Because holding your hand and touching your spine over your jean jacket with the other is one thing—but kissing you? No.

Fuck. No.

It sends him into a blind rage. Joel realizes it’s been simmering since the moment he left the bathroom, that watching the two of you become real cozy in front of the jukebox only served to stoke the flames of fury beneath his skin.

He’s going to kill him.

Joel grabs a half empty beer bottle by the neck and smashes it against the bar top.

The commotion grabs all the attention in the room, including yours, but Joel doesn’t notice. He only sees Abel and his hands on you and his lips against your head and the smiles he’s stealing from you, smiles that should belong to Joel.

His ears are ringing. Fuck the people of Jackson and the bullshit they’ll have to say. Fuck watching you when he should be holding you. Fuck your age difference and the notion that it’s wrong and fuck the wrath of God. But more than anything, fuck Abel.

He doesn’t take more than two steps before someone pushes him back. A solid force standing between Joel and his vengeance. He shoves and shoves but it doesn’t move, and he thinks about raising the glass bottle in his hand to whatever stands in his fucking way—until Tommy’s voice cuts through the red fog in his mind.

“Joel,” he says. “ Joel. Joel, take a walk. Talk a fucking walk. Right now.”

His brother stands in front of him, one hand wrapped around Joel’s wrist, the other shoving his chest, pushing Joel backward.

On the other side of Tommy, Abel stands with his shoulders squared and his fists clenched at his sides. He’s pulled you behind him protectively, completely oblivious that Joel is no threat when it comes to you.

In fact, Joel realizes that maybe you’re the true threat in the room. Making him feel these things, tempting him toward sin. The true forbidden fruit, the snake in the grass. And it’s only now Joel realizes it’s far too late for him.

Tommy pushes him out of the bar. The winter air stings Joel’s face, his hands—ice cold compared to the boiling temperatures within. “Go home, Joel,” his brother says, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t be stupid.” There’s something in his eyes. A warning, maybe. Joel listens, leaving you alone in the bar with Abel and Tommy and Tara and whoever the fuck else.

Because Joel is lucid enough to know Abel won’t hurt you. He’s also lucid enough to know that if he did, there would be nothing strong enough to keep Joel from ripping him apart.

So, he appeases his brother.

He walks the streets of Jackson but he doesn’t go home. He can’t go home, not now. He’d only lie in his bed and convince himself to come find you. And Joel’s tired, so fucking tired of beating himself up for this.

It’s too late. Too fucking late. He’s already sunk his teeth in deep, already cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow, already given into his lust, his gluttony, already listened to the hissing from your forked tongue and let himself believe it. The poison will set in later down the line, he knows. But later isn’t now and forbidden or not, Joel Miller is starving and you’re fucking delicious.

There’s a big willow tree on the side of the street opposite your house. Joel stands beneath the weeping branches, comparing the sway of the limbs to his grip on his sanity. He leans against the wide trunk and waits.

And waits.

He sees you less than twenty minutes later. You’ve got your jacket pulled tight across your chest and your steps are hurried as you skip up the stairs and try to fight off the midnight chill. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel thinks you look like some sort of angel. His desire for you is incessant; a gnawing against his psyche, a want that’s both unholy and divine.

Joel watches you fumble with the key, wondering if you intentionally forgot to lock your front door that night. It wouldn’t surprise him anymore—you bratty, venomous little thing.

He waits until you disappear inside before he pushes away from the tree and crosses the street. Joel’s careful as he steps up the creaky stairs. And, much to his relief and satisfaction, the door has been, once again, left unlocked.

It’s dark on the other side, nothing to illuminate the space but the soft glow of the lamp in your bedroom. He follows it like a moth to a flame, but Joel stops when he notices his coat hanging over the back of the couch.

He only just now remembers he left it at the bar in his haze of fury, and can’t tell if it makes him feel tender or irritated, seeing the dark brown canvas hanging there so casually, looking far from out of place. On the one hand, he loves that you thought of him, loves that you saw it, and felt entitled to claim it as yours for the time being. Even though you danced with another man all night, even though he knows Abel likely begged to walk you home, it was a piece of Joel that you decided to take. And the realization brings him a deep satisfaction, knowing you chose him.

But bringing it home means you assumed Joel would show up here at some point. And he can’t help but feel a little played. Like this has been your plan all along; to provoke him to anger, to incite a reaction from him. And the worst part is that it worked—Joel did just what was expected. But he doesn’t regret it for a single second, still feels the residual wrath in the palms of his hands and he wants so badly to give you a spoonful of your own medicine.

You want to be bratty, to taunt him? Fine. But you need to understand that your actions are not without consequence.

When he pushes open your bedroom door, Joel ignores the gasp of surprise you let out. Your hand goes to your chest in an attempt to slow your racing heart, and his hand finds a home around your neck. He pushes you against the wall, and expects you to fight back or shove him or shout out curses or something— but all you do is rest your hand against his wrist. His touch is bruising but yours is affectionate and, just like that, Joel’s lost all control yet again.

His knees go weak at the sultry look in your eyes, at the smirk playing at your pretty mouth, at the deviance you exude. “Tommy told me to stay away from you,” you say.

Joel realizes his brother is now playing both sides, trying to drive from the back seat. But Joel’s already driven over the cliff, now in a complete free fall. It’s too late. Too late. And he thinks it might’ve been from the moment he first saw you. “S’that right?”

“Said I’ll be the reason you get kicked out of Jackson if I’m not careful,” you continue. “You should go, Joel. It’s not smart for you to be here. Go back to Kelly.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says. And he means it—there’s no getting rid of him now. Not anymore.

“Maria won’t let you stay. Not if you kill someone.” He’s not talking about Jackson or Maria, and he thinks you know it, but he can see your hesitance beneath all that sinful seduction and decides the conversation can wait until tomorrow.

“You did that shit on purpose.” It’s a statement, and the wicked gleam in your eyes all but confirms his suspicions.

“Yeah. And what’re you gonna do about it, huh?” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and a breathy sigh escapes him at the sight.

“I oughta spank you till your ass is red,” Joel says, noting the way your pupils dilate at the threat. And it is a threat—one he swears to make good on. “Always being so disrespectful.”

“Abel’s nice, Joel. Says he’s good at making girls come, that he’s been practicing longer than I’ve been alive. Said he’ll make me feel good, that he’ll be real gentle with me. And you and I both know just how much I like older men. ”

The image you create has Joel’s fingers tightening around your throat. “Gentle?” It’s laughable. “That what you want, little girl? Want me to be gentle with you?” He tilts your face up with his thumb beneath your chin, presses his body against yours. Your hand goes to his belt buckle as it digs into your belly, and your legs fall apart on instinct as he wedges his knee between them.

You seat yourself right over his denim-clad thigh, hips rolling already, desperate for friction, for relief.

He chuckles darkly and says, “Yeah…didn’t think so.” Joel presses into you harder, because he knows just how bad it hurts. Knows just how that longing feels, knows how bad it aches. He grabs a fistful of your dress and hikes it up over your hips. He wants to see the mess you make, and he’s rewarded with the embarrassed whimper you let out in response. “Filthy little thing,” he says. “Don’t want it gentle at all, huh?”

At the sight of you grinding against his thigh, Joel forgets what he came here to do. Forgets he’s supposed to be giving you a taste of your own medicine, supposed to be showing you just how difficult it was to watch you flirt with another man. Because he thinks you look so pretty like this, he doesn’t have the strength to stop you. Joel wants to watch you fall apart just as much as you need to, wants to touch you till you shake, wants to lick your clean afterward, wants to make you feel so good no other man will ever compare.

But you’re not quite there yet, he knows. He can feel you’re not quite relaxed, not quite as pliable as he wants you to be. But he knows how much you like hearing his disgusting words, and so he lays it on thick. “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Lettin’ me fuck you with my fingers in public and that still ain’t enough for you, hm? You want more, always wantin’ more. Beggin’ me all the time.”

He’s surprised when it doesn’t work as well as he hopes. You’re moaning in his ear—breathy, needy little sounds that make his hard cock seek you out behind his zipper—your hips move restlessly, creating more and more friction, and there’s a telling dark spot beginning to form on his jeans. But something is off.

Joel can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something. And he begins to spiral, heart racing behind his ribcage. Because what if you’re finally coming to your senses, finally realizing he has nothing to offer you? What if the whole thing was just some fantasy to you? Maybe you’ve gotten your fill of him, gotten your rocks off enough times to be satisfied. What if he’s here, willing to sacrifice everything just to be close to you, while you’re slowly growing tired of him?

But then he tears his eyes away from his knee and sees the downright evil look in your eye as you let out a dramatic moan and say, “Oh, Abel!”

And he’s had it. Absolutely fucking had it.

Joel steps back, fists his hand in your hair, and pulls you towards the bed. You’re giggling and he’s seething as he sits on the edge of the mattress and takes you over his knee. “Fuckin’ brat,” he says. “Tired of your attitude. Think you know everything. Think everything’s a goddamn joke.”

You spread your arms straight out above you, fingertips disappearing beneath the pillows. And you're sitting on your knees, ass arched beautifully, and Joel’s mouth waters when he pulls your dress up to expose a pair of royal blue panties, ones he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate in the dimly lit bathroom. “What are you gonna do, Joel? You’re gonna spank me? Really?” You scoff in disbelief. “All bark and no bite. Why don’t you— Joel!”

The sound of his harsh slap reverberates through his head, sharp and delicious. He feels his muscles relax almost instantly—almost as if he needs this more than you. “I told you, baby,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. “I don’t make idle threats.”

“Joel! You can’t—you—! What the fuck?”

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. Your whole body tenses and a soft little whimper leaves you, one that sends shivers down his spine. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he warns.

There’s already a hand-shaped mark blossoming across your smooth skin, and Joel rubs the tender flesh to soothe. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, shoulders shaking with each desperate inhale. “Joel,” you cry.

“Wasn’t it just five seconds ago you were moanin’ some other man’s name?” He brings his hand down against your ass again, a stinging slap that has you shoving your face into the pillow. “C’mon, now,” he says. “Where’s he at, baby? Thought he was gonna make you feel good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, words muffled through both the sheets and your giggles. “I was just kidding!”

“Nah. I don’t think you were.” When he strikes again, it’s lighter this time, on the opposite cheek. Your skin is reddening beautifully, and Joel licks his lips as he watches the damp spot in your panties become more and more prominent as the seconds tick by. “How’s that feel? Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! God, Joel—I said I was sorry!” You sprawl out further in front of him, spine bending, thighs clamped tightly together. He knows you're enjoying this, can see it in your face, but Joel doesn’t think you’re quite getting it and he needs you to understand.

He brings his hand down again, so hard this time his palm tingles. Your legs cross at the ankles and your muscles go rigid. He holds you in his lap with one hand and uses the other to stroke your hair out of your face. “Imagine how I feel, baby. Imagine how much it hurts to see him makin’ you laugh, makin’ you go all red. How much it hurts to see him kiss you.”

“Then you should’ve taken me away from him,” you say quietly. And it forces Joel to pause—to see through his frustration for just a moment. Because you’re right. He should have. He wanted to.

“You know I can’t do that, sweet girl,” he says, thumb stroking gently over your reddened flesh. “Can’t let you get away with bein’ bratty, either. Think five is enough?”

Joel laughs when you press your face into the mattress and let out a dramatic groan.

“Gonna make you count with me, baby,” he says. “Can you do that for me?”

When you lift your head and look up at him, Joel gets that zealous feeling again, twisting up his insides—warm and intense and heavenly. It makes him want to lean over and kiss your cheek, your forehead, makes him want to hold you so close the concept of disconnect becomes foreign. You nod slowly in answer, and he wonders if you can feel it, too.

He watches your face this time as he brings his hand down sharply against your ass. The cutest crease forms between your brows, and your knuckles turn white as you clutch the sheets. He caresses the supple flesh, squeezing softly as he waits.

You let out a long breath. “One,” you choke out, and Joel feels pride swell in his chest. Already you’re following his direction. All it took was a little discipline.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Bein’ so good for me, baby. Sittin’ so pretty.” Joel’s attention leaves your flushed face as you begin to squirm. And it’s only then he realizes just how much this is affecting you—the seam of your panties is soaked. The fabric has gone from blue to almost black, wet material clinging to every dip and curve of your pussy, leaving nothing to the imagination. And Joel moans at the sight—he can’t help it. “Oh, little girl…look at that,” he whispers, voice thick with admiration. “Now you’re finally gettin’ it.”

This time when his palm connects, it’s right in the center of your ass, lower than before—and Joel can almost see your clit pulsing. “Two,” you whimper, eyes squeezed tight to try and fight your oncoming tears. When you catch your breath, you begin pleading almost immediately. “Please, please, touch me. I need you.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shh, baby, I know,” he says. “I know it’s hard, wantin’ something so bad…having it so close…” He slides his middle finger over your panties, right through your slit. It’s featherlight and teasing and torturous. You tilt your hips back to meet his soft touch, but he only pulls away, leaving you trembling in his lap. “And then it gets taken away from you,” he continues. “Leavin’ you all needy and cold and hungry. ”

Joel strikes your ass with his tingling palm, grinning to himself in satisfaction at the art he’s made of your skin. “Joel,” you cry, shoulders shaking with every deep, ragged breath. “Joel, please.”

“See? Knew you’d forget his name. Happened so quick, darlin,’” he mocks. He snakes his hand beneath your dress, tracing the curve of your spine, stroking in reverence. “S’posed to be countin’ for me.”

Your voice is breathy and broken as you say, “Three, Joel I need it, oh my god.” This time the tears do come, sliding slowly down your flushed cheek. Joel reaches over and swipes it away. He runs his knuckles softly over your jaw, ignoring the rocking of your hips.

“Shh. S’alright, little girl. I’m here, nothin’ to cry about,” he coos. And then he takes your arm in his hand, pulling you up off the mattress. “C’mere, baby. I’ve got ya.” When you lean back on your heels, knees pressing against the side of his thigh, Joel kisses the tip of your nose with his lips stretched into an amused grin.

You reach for him, hands finding the coarse hair of his beard, pulling his face to yours, crushing your mouth to his. You taste like heaven, and Joel lets you take control for a single moment. Lets you bite his bottom lip, lets you lick into his mouth, lets you run your hands through his hair and tug the curls at the nape of his neck. But the moment you reach for his cock, Joel grips the back of your neck and pulls you quickly away. “ Please,” you whimper, and you sound so fucking pretty begging for him that his resolves wavers.

But then he remembers the way it sounded when you said Abel’s name and Joel’s jaw feathers. “Arms up, sweetheart. Still got two more to go.”

A whine leaves you in protest, but you do as he asks. Joel helps you take off your dress, tosses it to the floor in the pile where he left his faith, and runs his rough fingertips down your bare chest.

“You’re so pretty baby,” he says truthfully, thumbs ghosting across your nipples. “You know how pretty you are?”

No answer comes in the form of words, but you clue him in on just how desperate for him you are when he sees your head fall back at the light touch. Your lips part with a ragged breath that turns into a moan when he leans forward and takes one nipple into his mouth.

He swirls his tongue, flicking it over the hardened peak. He pinches the other gently between his thumb and forefinger, massaging the delicate flesh of your breasts. And when he pulls away, pushing you back down against the mattress, Joel can’t hold back the grunt that leaves him at the pressure your body creates over his cock. He’s so hard it hurts. And he knows the cure, longs for it, but he has to finish this. He has to make sure you remember what happens when you disrespect him, when you entertain another man.

Joel hooks his fingers in your panties and slowly pulls them down. A low, throaty groan leaves him as he sees the mess you’ve made. It’s pornographic and dirty and obscene and Joel has never, ever wanted something so bad in his life. “Fuck. This all for me, little girl?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “It’s yours, Joel, all for you.”

He pulls your panties further down your thighs, cock throbbing as he watches strands of your slick snap as they disconnect. Your pussy is glistening, and Joel wants to feel it, wants to taste it. But he resists, knowing it’ll be worth it in the end. “I know it is, baby,” he mutters.

This time when he brings his palm down against your ass, the sound is sharper, louder than before without the fabric between you. Now it’s just his hand and your flushed skin, and it isn’t until now that Joel realizes just how badly he needs to touch you.

Your hips lift up towards his hand, looking for relief that won’t come. “Four,” you sigh.

“Good girl,” he says. “One more, yeah?”

Through panting breaths you ask, “And then you’ll touch me. Right, Joel? Right?”

The words are so innocent and hopeless that he can’t hold back his dark laughter. You’re being so good for him right now, and Joel knows you don’t deserve any more punishment than this…but the opportunity to tease you is just too sweet to resist. And Joel has already established that, when it comes to you, he’s got no restraint. “What’s wrong? Hm?” He slides his middle and index finger through your pussy, chuckling at the blissful moan you give in response, down to your clit where he circles once, twice—and then back up, gathering your wetness on the pads of his fingers. He spreads you open and traces your entrance, careful not to push inside. “Feelin’ empty, little girl? S’that it?”

You’re nodding frantically, eyes transfixed as he lifts his fingers covered in your slick to his mouth and sucks them clean with a groan. “God, Joel, I can’t take it anymore,” you say.

But he knows better. If he can sit there and watch you dance with another man for hours, you can handle a little desperation. “Good. Now you know how I feel. One more baby,” he says. “Then I promise I’ll touch you, just like you said. Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, please. One more.”

He makes it the worst one yet. When he slaps your ass the sound reverberates through his ears, and Joel knows it hurts because his palm stings and he starts to feel a little bit guilty. Because the relief it brings him to have finished, to have made you suffer in the same way he has, is incredible. So much so that he wants to do it again—wants you to act out, to be bratty, just so you’ll end up over his knee with his handprints on you again. And that’s wrong, isn’t it? It has to be. It’s fucked up, wanting to punish a little girl for his own satisfaction.

But then your shoulders drop, and delight shines in your eyes, and Joel knows you enjoyed it as much as he did. So, even if it is fucked up and wrong and immoral, it’s something he shares with you and, somehow, it makes it all worth it. “Five,” you whisper. And you immediately go to sit up, to crawl into his lap, but Joel stops you.

“Stay still, baby. You just lay right there, I’m gonna take care of you, ‘kay? Just like I promised. Don’t gotta lift a finger, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts from underneath you. He stands up, admires the way you look sprawled out over the sheets with your pussy dripping and your ass marked in the exact shape of his hands. You’re so beautiful it pains him, so flawless it hurts. Joel has to remind himself to breathe as he unbuttons his flannel and tosses it aside.

By the time he’s unbuttoning his jeans, you’re getting desperate again—needy little thing. He watches you squirm, watches you press your thighs together and arch back towards him.

Once he’s got his jeans off, he climbs over you, takes his aching cock in his hand, and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “My perfect little girl,” Joel murmurs against your skin. He slides the head of his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick, smirking as you whine for more. “This what you want? Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, God, give it to me, I need it, I’ll be so good,” you beg as he circles your clit.

And what is he supposed to do but give in to you? You’re always good when he’s got you alone like this. “I know you will be, baby. Say please.”

“Please, please, please — ohh.”

You feel like damnation as he eases inside. Your long moan sounds like a psalm, his fingertips on your ribs are like keys to the gates of heaven. It feels so fucking good to be inside of you that Joel feels like a thief. A brigand, a predator, a vulture. Because in the back of his head, he knows the truth, knows you can never really be his, knows that the age difference between the two of you means that you’re not meant for him. And he’s stealing, taking from whoever it is you should belong to…but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop.

He moves slowly, pushing in deep until there’s no spot inside of you left untouched. And when he pulls out, his cock is wet with your slick, and Joel shivers at the sight. “Oh, God, Joel, it feels so good.”

“I know, baby,” he says. He leans back, straightening his spine so he can watch himself disappear inside of you. The dark hair between his hips has been made darker by your wetness, and the muscles in his thighs flex with each slow, meaningful thrust.

There’s something different tonight. Something even more holy than any other time he’s been this close to you. His heart aches behind his sternum and pressure builds in his throat. The feeling chokes him, runs through his veins as naturally as blood. And though it’s never felt quite like this, Joel knows this feeling. Knows, too, that it terrifies him.

But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Doesn’t want to take himself out of the sacred time he has with you. So, he leans into the feeling, letting it take over all those thoughts of sin and doubt, all those thoughts of guilt and shame. He pushes them away and loses himself in you instead, picking up his pace, fucking you hard. “Feels real good, hm? You know he’d never make you feel like this, sweetheart. Just me, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, mmhm, just you, just you.” He can feel you clench around his cock, squeezing your walls tighter with each cruel thrust. His name sounds so pretty in your mouth, Joel thinks.

Already he’s fighting release, fighting to hold himself back. “Fuck, baby. That’s right, just me.” He snakes his hand beneath you, fingers finding your sensitive clit a moment later. He swipes his hand back and forth quickly, delighting in the way you begin to shake. “Don’t want nothin’ fuckin’ gentle. Wanna be fucked just like this, hm? Fucked like the little slut I know you are. You fuckin’ love this cock, don’t you baby? Hm? Say it, sweetheart.”

“I love it, I love it, I love it, ” you say, and Joel’s heart pounds a little faster in his chest. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, God,” you cry out. And he knows you’re right there, can feel it in your trembling limbs. Joel grabs your ass with his free hand, raised skin hot to the touch, and spreads you open for a clearer view.

The sight of his cock stretching you open nearly does him in. But he resists, because he wants to come with you, wants you to drown him. “Give it to me,” he says, thrusting in deeper, stroking your clit faster. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon. There you go, thaaat’s it. Good girl, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Shit, pretty little pussy’s soakin’ me. Gonna come inside, hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you’re nodding and you look back at him with hazy eyes and say through your moans, “Yes, I wanna feel it. Please come inside me, Joel, please.”

He doesn’t last another second. His orgasm hits him so hard his vision blackens and he sees nothing but bursts of light, hears nothing but your sweet sounds, feels nothing but admiration and devotion and worship. For you, all for you.

Everything for you.

He fucks you through it, doesn’t stop until he’s completely spent, even though you've finished and come down and your knuckles are white around the sheets, too sensitive to care about anything else but the steady movement inside of you. He gives you every last drop, makes fucking sure of it. And when his muscles go slack, he presses his sweaty forehead to your spine and tries to catch his breath. He breathes you in deep, holding you in his lungs, in his heart.

And he doesn't want to move, but then you let out a sated little giggle and say, “Joel, you’re squishing me.”

He laughs quietly, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and slowly pulls out of you with a groan. He crawls to the other side of the bed, pulls the comforter back, and helps you crawl underneath it. And when he nestles in beside you, he’s a little startled when it’s a natural reaction to pull you close. He wraps his arms around your waist, hooks your thigh over his hip, leans into your hands as you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp.

It’s intimate and closer than he’s been to anyone in a very, very long time. But he doesn’t hate it. And he doesn’t hate it when you pepper kisses over his face, either. And he really doesn’t hate it when you arch your back, tits pressing against his chest, and smile like there’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than being here with him, just like this.

He knows you are, but he has to ask. “You okay? It wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shake your head. “No, not at all. I…” You stop, chewing on your bottom lip. “I, uhm…”

“What is it?”

You look away from him, suddenly very interested in the shadows you make on the ceiling by rubbing your cold feet over his legs. “In the morning, I’ll have to go talk to Robin,” you admit. “She…she makes this tea, something you can drink to prevent unwanted…uhm,”

Joel thinks it's real cute, the way you’re struggling over your words. But he decides to grant you a little ease. Thinks you deserve it. “You don’t have to do that. I had a vasectomy before the outbreak,” he says. And when a crease forms between your brows, the question written plainly on your face, he explains, “It’s a procedure that, uh…makes it so I can’t…you know. Do that. Shootin’ blanks.”

It’s only then he realizes the gravity of the situation. Realizes that you didn’t know, because the two of you have never had this conversation, and you were ready and willing and begging to risk everything, to risk being tied to him forever, all for a single moment of bliss, of sweet relief.

“Oh. How convenient,” you say.

“That’s somethin’ you were worried about?” He begins to wonder if you’ve ever felt pressured by him to do things you didn’t want all in the name of pleasing him. Realizes that never once has he asked for your permission. He’s always just…told you what to do. Bossed you around. And there’s a power imbalance here because of his age, isn’t there? His mouth runs dry, his blood runs cold. “You can say no, baby. At any time, with anything. You know that, right?”

You nod, and he feels the panic bleed from his chest as you explain, “I know. I wanted it, too. And I wasn’t worried. I trust you, Joel.”

That fucks him up. Blows through all the defenses he’s put up, all the walls he’s built to keep you out, to keep you at arm's length.

I trust you.

God, he’s fucking done for.

You let out a long breath. He feels at ease the moment you nestle your head in the junction of his shoulder, muscles relaxing as the tension subsides. “I don’t want to see you with her,” you whisper against his throat.

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “I never should’ve gone in the first place.” It’s the truth, and Joel means it. There’s no one for him but you and he knows by now that there never will be.

“So…I’ll only be with you, and you’ll only be with me, and we’ll keep it quiet for a while. That way everyone’s happy.”

“Yeah,” he says. But it’s not enough. Just seconds after the words leave your mouth, there’s a pull within him for more. He wants to parade you around Jackson, to hold your hand and kiss you over dinner at The Tipsy Bison and dance with you so every man in the commune knows who you belong to.

But he can’t. He can’t.

It’s not enough, but it has to be.

Joel can tell there’s another question on the tip of your tongue. He gives you time to work through it, to form the words in whatever way makes you most comfortable. But the longer you stay silent, the deeper that crease between your brows becomes. You swallow thickly, open your mouth, close it again. And Joel feels his heart shatter in his chest because he knows. He knows because he feels it, too. And the words crack in your mouth as you say, “Joel…Joel, I—”

“I know,” he says, because he can’t hear you say it. He can’t. It’s too much. It’ll rip him apart. But he gets it, he understands. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, hoping you can sense his piety. When he pulls away, your eyes are wide and glassy and you look just as frightened as he feels. “S’okay, baby. I know. Get some sleep.”

Joel holds you a little tighter.

[part three] [part five]

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #ellie williams #joel miller smut #idle threats #pearlessance #jackson era joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #tommy tlou #jealousy #brat taming #the feedback on this here has been insane i love u all so much #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #smut

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nhlclover · 1 year ago

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wish you were sober pt.2 | mark estapa

summary: mark works up the courage to finally tell you his long kept feelings. part one here!

request: yes / no

warnings: the second part to a previous story, i recommend reading the first part before this one. semi proof read, couple instances of cursing, little bit of angst + fluff

a/n: sitting here pretending he didn't just get hurt yesterday😃 also sorry for lack of posting it’s midterms and i’ve got lots of school work so bear with me!

word count: 1.08k

It had been a full day and a half since you’d heard anything from Mark. Although you had told him off, saying you were done, you had hoped he would’ve come to some sort of senses sooner. You missed him. You missed having him in your life, to the point you wished you’d said nothing. You honestly would’ve rathered staying in your limbo of friendship as long as that meant keeping Mark in your life.

The past couple of days had been miserable for you as you were stuck in your dorm room, doing homework and getting ahead on readings. Normally, over a weekend, you would have a hockey game to go to. You’d watch Mark play, and hopefully watch Michigan win. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go to Saturday’s game, so you instead watched online from the comfort of your bed, missing Mark's hold.

When your phone buzzed, you’d expected a text from you and your friends' group chat. Your heart did a leap when you read Mark's name on your screen. A text from him asked if he could come over. You wondered if it was just going to be Mark pretending as if nothing happened, as per usual. The smart and right thing to do would be to say no or ignore his text. But the prospect of having Mark back, hanging out with him in your dorm again, made you blindly pick up your phone and agree, telling him to come over.

He was there within a few minutes, a soft knock signifying his arrival. When you opened the door, his appearance was not one you’d expected. His normal smile-dressed face, eyes lighting up with excitement even if it was just another normal day, was absent. He looked somber.

You stepped aside, allowing the boy to walk into your room. He sat in your desk chair, leaning back. The space was void of any words.

You stay by the door, wanting to maintain the distance between the two of you. You know that if you’re within reaching distance and you fall into his arms, Mark won’t need to say anything because you’ll succumb to his touch.

“How was your weekend?” He asks. It’s suddenly as you feared, with Mark brushing past what had happened on Friday.

You scoff at his question. “Uh, it was fine, Mark. I did some homework.” You answer bluntly.

Mark nodded, picking at the skin around his fingernails. “We had a game on Saturday. I was hoping you’d go, but I kind of figured you wouldn’t. We won. Four nothing. Rutger had this awesome play where-”

“What’re you doing here, Mark?” You cut him off.

He licks his lips, looking away from you. He’s silent as he looks out your window, the orange leaves slowly dropping from the tree just outside.

“I thought about what you said…on Friday.” He finally says.

Your mouth goes dry, anticipating what his next words will be. You figure it goes one of two ways; he tells you he feels the same way or he tells you he doesn’t feel the same way and it’s the end of your friendship as you know it. You pray it’s the first.

“I was a douche.” He says. “I like you. I do. I really do.”

His words seem sincere but you don’t feel wholly convinced. “You said that, Mark.” You say. “But I don’t know if I believe you.”

“I understand that, but please try to.” He says softly. You stay silent, going to sit on your bed, giving Mark the chance to speak.

“Okay…I’ve liked you for a while now. Like, last homecoming, y’know?”

You do know. It was the first time he’d kissed you.

“That…that was…sober thoughts becoming drunk actions,” Mark says. “Y’see I liked you a lot but I was scared…I didn’t know what to do. So when I got drunk, I wasn’t scared anymore so I just kissed you. And then the next morning, I was sober and the fear was back.” “Okay but Mark, I don’t understand what you were scared of. You say.

“I was scared you wouldn’t reciprocate, y/n.” He says.

You can’t help but chuckle at his reasoning. “Why would you think that? I did reciprocate.”

Mark bows his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Y/n… you’ve been in my life for too long. If I fucked up our friendship…I don’t know what I’d do.”

You run your hands over your face, processing his words.

“And you’re you! I mean, y/n, you’ve always been this straight-A student, and you’re so god-damn smart and I’m a fucking fourth liner with more penalty minutes than shots on net.” Mark says, chuckling as he reaches the end of his sentence.

“Mark…” You say. You finally lock eyes with him, his brimming with tears. You hop off your bed, standing in front of him.

“And I’m not trying to give excuses I’m just trying to explain why the hell I’ve been the way that I am.” He tells you.

You reach forward, running your hand through his hair. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. His hands find the back of your thighs, his head resting on your stomach. The pair of you stay there momentarily, holding one another close.

“Y/n?” Mark finally says. You pull back slightly, looking at Mark. “I want you. I want to be with you. Please.”

He pulls you down so you’re sat on his right knee. “If you’ll have me.” He adds.

You chuckle, bringing a hand to his cheek. Mark doesn’t hesitate to close the space, pressing his lips against yours. The comfort of his lips swaddles you as his hands grip your hips to hold you on his lap. The lack of sloppiness his sober kiss brings realizes the truth of his words. You’ve also known Mark since grade school and you’ve come to recognize when Mark is being genuine and not. And right now you have no doubt in your mind of how genuine he is.

When you break apart, you wipe away a stray tear that had escaped Mark's eye. “So, you’ve liked me since last year?”

“Maybe more like high school…” Mark says.

“High school? You’ve been hiding this since high school?” You ask.

“Yeah, well you didn’t like me then!” Mark defended.

You chuckle, brushing back a piece of hair that fell over his face. “Honey, I’ve liked you since the day you destroyed my sandcastle in the sandbox.”

#mark estapa #mark estapa x reader #mark estapa imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #hockey #umich imagine #university of michigan

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booksandabeer · 10 months ago

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A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy) (E | 150 K)

To celebrate the completion of the fourth & final part Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) in this wonderful series by dorian_burberrycanary.

Author's summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

Follow Steve and Bucky on their Great American Road Trip as they drive and eat their way across the country and beyond. From the beaches of the Jersey Shore to the graveyards of Savannah, from the cragged horizons of Mexico to deserts with (small) volcanoes, from college campuses to earthship settlements, from the mountains of Colorado to the monumental emptiness of the Great Plains and on and on and on…there is always more road ahead.

A Man Takes... is a miracle of a series that works with what should be an unworkable premise: Steve really did leave to go live in the past. He returned a few months later, yes, but he still made that choice. Knowingly. So, how can any author, any story, rectify such a colossal mistake, and how can it be reconciled with a believable, satisfying romance that short-changes neither Steve nor Bucky? Like this. With patience, and care, and often painful honesty. Just like Steve, this story slowly digs itself out from under the burden of that terrible decision.

I know that some people are very reluctant or even outright refuse to read EG-compliant fics and I understand why this might be a tough sell for them. Believe me, I do. But this series manages to neither let Steve off the hook for his choices nor does it punish him excessively. Instead, Steve and the readers are repeatedly confronted with the fact that there are no magical solutions here, no take-backs—it’s a fix-it, yes, and very much a Stucky fic through and through, but it’s not a fix-it fantasy where in the end everything turns out to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding after all. What's done is done and the only way out is through. But. even if you usually prefer to ignore anything that happened post-[insert preferred point of canon divergence here], please, please try to give this absolute marvel of a series a chance. It is genuinely one of the most rewarding and satisfying works I've ever read in this fandom. It's catharsis in slow motion.

You will find descriptive writing here that is so incredibly beautiful that it will bring you to your knees in awe. This series transcends fanfiction in many ways, as it stands out for the remarkable quality of the prose and the nuance, subtlety, and precision with which it explores both the emotional landscapes of its protagonists and a fictionalized, yet very recognizable post-Snap America. At the same time, it could only ever work as fanfiction because it stays so close to the characters and is so deeply rooted in and filtered through Steve’s inner life and perspective. Just like the real Steve Rogers, this story is smart and curious, and deeply empathetic towards its characters and the world they inhabit.

Every detail is imbued with meaning. The food Steve and Bucky eat. The clothes they wear. The art they look at. The books they read. The music they listen to. The places they stay at. The landscapes they drive through and the objects they carry with them or acquire along the way. One doesn't need to understand or even notice all of the references, allusions, or ambiguities to enjoy the series, but it makes for such a rewarding reading experience to really dig deep into the many, many layers the author has so expertly assembled into this phenomenally rich text. More often than not in this fic, the curtains aren’t just blue. Or rather, Bucky’s sweatpants aren’t just gray.

At some point amidst this sprawling, reflective journey, a bittersweet realization sets in: There simply is no compensation for the time and life lost, for the pain suffered. No money, no medals or statues, no hagiographies, and certainly no delusional pipe dreams forcibly made real, will ever make up for all that loss. You can't outrun your past, but that doesn't mean you should bury yourself in it. And maybe, solace can be found in mutual understanding, not just between these two men, but in interactions, in shared community—however fleeting—with ordinary people doing ordinary things in their ordinary lives. And in the beauty of the mundane and the relief that there still is a world in which such beauty can exist, even though it is so often a cruel and unjust place. Steve Rogers finally allows himself to feel his feelings: his grief and his shame, but also his joy and—even though he’s already so very tired—his hunger for more. More time, more life, more Bucky.

This series is a wonderful tribute to Steven Grant Rogers—an honest and affectionate portrayal of this compelling and lovable, if at times difficult, character. It is also a gorgeous, intricate love letter to the miracle of a man that is James Buchanan Barnes. As you can probably tell by now, I love it a totally not normal amount.

A most heartfelt thank you to @burberrycanary for taking us all along on Steve and Bucky's long journey across America and (back) to each other. Thank you for letting us sit in the back seat and watch as they learn to love and live with each other in old and new ways, finally find some measure of well-deserved rest and peace, and, together, face their greatest challenge, their longest fight, the eternal question:

How to live with all this survival?

#stucky fic rec #or: a completely unhinged and very sappy & very gushy love letter to this series.#stucky #steve x bucky #steve x bucky fic rec #stucky fic #stevebucky #my recs

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chishiyaisasnack · 2 years ago

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Dare, part 2

Part 1 Part 3

Here it is! The smut fest continues. Thank you so much for the support on the last chapter. This is a direct continuation of the first part so make sure to remind yourself how it ended because I didn’t describe it in this. I am writing and posting this on mobile so I’m sorry if there are wierd formatting.

Disclaimer! This is smut and smut only. Very nsfw. Stay away if you aren’t of age. Also - this is pure fiction. Protect yourself, use condoms and always ask for consent.

You asked to be tagged when it was released @just0ncef0rme @jimingotjams

————

The circles that Chishiya had been drawing on your shins with his fingers were slowly moving further and further up your leg. It wasn’t until he reached the inside of your thigh that you looked over at him and raised your eyebrows, questioning where he got new energy from.

”Oh, really?” you asked him, slightly spreading your legs in response to his touch.

”As nice as that was, I still want to fuck you properly” he answered without an ounce of embarressment. His fingers were almost reaching your bikini bottoms again, lingering, waiting for your response. No matter how much he annoyed you he was always respectful of boundaries and consent and you cherished that immensely. ”I want to take my time with you” he murmured, eyes glued on where he was touching you. You moved your hand over to his and with a soft grip you moved it over to the fabric, sighing as you felt him press down over you. He knew exactly how to touch you to get you to melt, even when clothes were seperating you from his fingers. He had always been attentive to what you liked and he was a fast learner. His hobby of reading people really worked in his favor. It didn’t take many attemps for him to figure out exactly where and how to touch you in the beginning, and now that he knew what you wanted he had gained confidence to tease you instead. You could tell how much he enjoyed driving you to the brink of madness before giving you what you asked for. And you loved to get your revenge on him.

You let go of his hand and started to trace the tendons on the back of it with your fingertips. You felt them flex and move as he let his fingers graze over you.

”You’re still so wet” His fingers was on their way of dipping inside your bikini but moved away from the seam just as fast. He wasn’t going to let you have it that easily. You should’ve learned that by now.

”Well, it doesn’t just dry off” you answered sarcastically with a small eyeroll. ”And you’re supposed to be the smart one here”

”I am the smart one” He sounded very confident with himself as he continues to trace the seam of your bikini, occasionally moving back onto the center to give you a bit of sensation where you wanted it.

”You didn’t get me like that all over again if that’s what you think. You have to work a bit harder for that” you shot back at him.

”Oh, is that so?” His eyes landed on your face and as soon as you looked back at him his fingers found their way under the fabric and drew a long line between your folds, making you gasp and close your eyes. You heard him chuckle. ”Hmm, are you sure that you’re not enjoying this?” When you opened your eyes again his eyes didn’t leave yours as he started to draw circles around your clit with a touch so soft it was barely there. You didn’t bother answering, you both knew that you couldn’t lie your way out of this one.

”I thought you wanted to fuck me.” you stated breathlessly instead as he used a bit more pressure while touching you. You couldn’t help but to try to grind your hips to get him to press harder. Wrong move.

”I want to take my time with you” He took away the pressure again and went back to soft strokes. You whined. He smirked. Asshole.

”What about what I want?” You tried to sound like you were somewhat in control but when he pressed down on you again all that went away and you went straight back to submitting to his touch.

”It looks like you are already enjoying yourself y/n” He removed his hand, with a sour huff from you, and dragged his finger along your inner thigh. You could feel the wet line it left behind and you weren’t sure if it turned you on or if it felt gross. Either way he didn’t care. He reached over, hooked his fingers around the waist of your bikini, and removed them in one swift motion. Before you knew it he was hovering over you with your legs on either side of his hips.

You didn’t waste any time and pushed his hoodie off him so that you could finally touch him the way you wanted to. You let your hands roam around on his back, his shoulders, and dragged you fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.

Chishiya leaned down and let his mouth hover right above yours. You could feel the warmth from his breath mix with yours and you hoped to feel his lips against yours again.

”What do you want y/n?” He didn’t close the gap between you but he did press his pelvis down on you to let you know what he wanted. He was so hard against you that you desperately pressed your hips back up into him, whining and gasping under his lips.

”I want you inside me” you whispered with a hint of begging on the tip of your tounge. ”I want you to take me to the bed, bend me over and fuck me down into the matress until I can’t move” That was all it took. In a mere second he was standing up, dragging you with him and in a few steps you were laying on the bed with him standing in front of you, removing his shorts. You turned around and positioned yourself so that you were sitting with your legs folded under you, back against him and looking at him over your shoulder while taking off your bikini top. It didn’t take long before you felt his lips on your shoulders, tasting you like he hadn’t had you for ages. His hands were on your breasts, his chest against you and erection pressing into your lower back.

”Bend over” he commanded when his lips had reached your ear. You did what you were told and moved so that you were on your hands and knees. This was the first time you’ve tried this position together, and as awkward as it felt you were kind of relieved that he didn’t get to see it on your face. You felt his hands stroking and caressing their way from your lower back, over your waist and up to your shoulders, where he moved your hair from you neck so that he could bend forward and place a feather light kiss there before kissing his way down your spine, leaving a burning sensation wherever he touched you. You wanted him so bad. When he finally got up again and started positioning himself behind you, you were already a mess, panting and gripping the sheets, making your fingers turn white.

”Can I?” His voice was strained when he asked you for permission and you could feel him against your core, hard and hot and waiting impatiently.

”Yes”

With one hand digging into your hip and the other guiding himself he slowly sank into you and you couldn’t help the moan that came out of you. The further he pushed in the more your arms gave out and when he finally bottomed out you were laying on your elbows with your face in the sheets, panting and trembling with need. He felt so fucking good inside you.

”Please, Chishiya” you begged and just hoped that he knew what you were begging for because you couldn’t find a way to use your words anymore. He did know, and he showed it. He didn’t waste any time and started to move, his cock moving back and pushing in again with fervour. There was no slow start, no getting used to the feel of him, just the two of you needing to feel eachother coming undone. Chishiya was just as much of a mess as you, panting and gripping your hips like you would run away if he didn’t. You felt heat build up in the pit of your stomach and it didn’t take long for you to feel that fire that told you that you were close. You wanted to be pushed over the edge so bad and you wanted to take him with you. It got increasingly clear that you wouldn’t need him to touch you anywhere else, just his cock thrusting in and out of you was going to make you come. And it did.

Your orgasm rushed over you, stealing your breath away and making you moan way too loud for your own liking. Your body was shaking, insides pulsing and somewhere in the background you heard Chishiya hiss as he fucked you through it. He was holding his arms around your waist, trying to keep you in place while your body moved however it wanted. And then, when you finally came down from your high he carefully let go of you and pulled out of you completely. Wait, did he come too?

You gathered the bit of strength left in you and looked back at him just to be met by the most gorgeous look you had ever seen. He was panting through parted lips, eyes dark and filled with desire and the way he looked at you were so raw and intense that it almost made you blush. It was pretty clear that, no, he hadn’t come just yet but he was probably very close and chose to stop for a moment to last longer.

”Sit back on your legs, like you did before” he said and reached down to help you get up. You whole body felt like jelly, so when you got to a sitting position you let yourself fall backwards onto his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. His arms circled you again, stroking their way down your chest, over your ribs, and then back up again.

”Are you feeling okay?” his warm breath spread over your neck as he spoke, soft and almost like a whisper. It made you shiver under it, wishing that he would whisper something filthy next time.

”Yes, I’m very good”

”Good” he placed a kiss on your shoulder. ”Because I want to show you something. Remember how you asked me what it feels like to be inside you?”

��Umm, yes?” you answered, confused but intrigued by where this was going.

”Here, give me your hand” He placed his right hand on top of yours and gently moved it with his until you reached between your legs.

”Let me show you how you feel.” His voice went hot and dark, and you felt like you were drowning in it. For once you wished that he kept talking, just like that. With that voice, against your ear, saying every dirty thing he could come up with. Maybe you’d ask him to do that one day.

You let him move your hand down and then let two of his fingers press one of yours down between your folds. You drew a smooth line, your wetness making it easy to move around. Then he guided your finger back to your entrance just to slowly start pushing it in along with two of his.

”Can you feel how warm you are?” Chishiya murmured against your shoulder as you both sunk deeper into you. ”So wet and soft.”

You were still so sensitive and you both filling you up was almost overwhelming. You felt a shiver running through you as he praised you, wanting nothing more than to hear it again.

”And when I press here…” he bent both your fingers forward and put some pressure right against that spot that felt so good ”… you always clench around me.” You knew very well how you reacted to his fingers, even to your own, but having him showing you like this was one of the hottest things you’d ever experienced. He started to move your fingers in a thrusting motion, fingering you together and creating that blissful friction you craved. His other hand had made its way to your breast, just holding it while his concentration was on your joint hands.

When you started to get wound up again you removed your hand from under his and let him continue by himself. You put it around his wrist instead, holding his hand in place, making sure that he didn’t stop moving his fingers. Then you started to rock your hips back and forth, riding his fingers, making them hit the exact spot you wanted. And god did it feel good. His thumb made it’s way to your clit and the way you moved made you grind yourself against it, building up the pleasure even more.

Chishiya enjoyed it too. His cock was caught between your bodies and the way that you moved were affecting him too.

”Fuck, y/n” he whispered in that dark voice again. It sent shivers down your spine and made you clench around his fingers, trying to show him how much you liked hearing him. But no matter how good it felt, you wanted more.

”Chishiya…” You wanted him back inside you. You wanted to share the intensity with him, wanting to tighten around him and bring him to the edge with you. ”I want you, not just fingers, please” You weren’t above begging, he already had you right where he wanted you anyway. If begging made him do what you wished for then you’d beg shamelessly. With a final curl he pulled his fingers out and you quietly whined in disapproval from being empty again.

Chishiya worked fast, moving your hips so that he could push himself back inside you in the position you were currently in, your back against his chest and your head still resting on his shoulder. He was probably even needier than you and you loved the feeling of being that wanted. And when he was buried in you again you both let out a content sigh, relishing in the feeling of feeling good together. When he started to thrust he did it slow, dragging out the sensation that his cock created inside you, making you moan and dig your fingers into his arms where they were holding you around your waist. His hips rolled into you like waves, slow and steady, never faultering. You let one of your hands grab hold of his neck, pushing his face closer to you. And without even thinking about it you turned your face around and kissed him, slow and hot, your tounges searching for eachother.

When you felt your orgasm building up you gathered some strength and moved your hips in sync with him. It made him hit the right spot with every thrust and brought you closer to the edge with every movement. You broke the kiss and let your head fall back on his shoulder again, and with a final moan you came, slow and steady this time, waves of pleasure rolling through you over and over. Chishiya kept moving, dragging out as much of your orgasm as possible, and when he finally came himself, it was with a quiet groan buried in your hair. You could feel him twitch inside you as he pressed in as deep as he could.

When you both came down from your high you let yourself move off him and lay down on your stomach to try and catch your breath. You felt the bed shift and Chishiya was soon laying down next to you, on his back with his chest heaving and his eyes closed, looking way too pretty for his own good. If he wasn’t such a jerk you might have actually liked him. Well, looking at him was nice so that was always something. You could just turn off your ears and only use your eyes when he was around.

The sun had set completely and the only light in the room was coming from the party that was still going on outside. It was making his skin glisten and you got a strong desire to touch him. You didn’t though because you couldn’t move at all anymore. Then again, you had asked him to fuck you until you could’t move and he had done just that, so you couldn’t complain.

”You’re staring at me” Chishiyas eyes were still closed but appearantly he could read you even when he wasn’t looking.

”I can’t move my head to the other side and you are right in front of me so unfortunately I have to look at you” you answered. You would be caught dead before calling him pretty to his face. The corner of his lips curled upwards a tiny bit and you just knew that he enjoyed that answer a bit too much.

”Besides, you’re always staring at me. I get to stare back sometimes”

”I stare because you are confusing me” he answered honestly. You knew that he found you intriguing, he had told you that several times by now. You didn’t really get why because you thought you were very simple to read since you liked to be honest about things, but maybe that was what he was intrigued by.

He opened his eyes and looked right into yours with a tired but satisfied glint in them. ”Why are you staring?”

#chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya x y/n #chishiya smut #chishiya #chishiya x reader smut #my writing #chishiya x fem!reader #shuntaro chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya aib #aib chishiya

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lilac-hecox · 5 months ago

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Lilac I love you, you are so cool and important to this fandom and I love what you do

But would you chill the fuck out?

Like in a silly goofy joking way.

I get you like Ianthony and you’re scared. No one is allowed to police each others feelings. But like. Girl. Ur making me stressed. I love Ianthony. And the idea that we might barely see them is quite frankly crushing. But I’m doing my best to not be upset about it considering this is what they’ve wanted for years. They were delayed by defy and Anthony leaving. But this has very much always been the goal. I love them. I love their dynamic and their sketches. We cannot deny YouTubers the right to retire like every other profession just because their faces are the brand. They have done an incredibly smart and responsible thing programming the channels the way they have so that they can slip into the background more and more this past year. It hurts. Of course it does. They raised me more than my piece of shit parents ever did. They are partially the reason I am still alive today.

But they deserve their freedom, and the fans need to breathe and not be so clingy.

I’m also in the game theory fandom and have been watching Matpat for around as long as Smosh and he again did a very similar thing slowly passing over his channels and hosting duties. And his fandom reacted very differently than the Smosh fandom. And it’s making the transition harder for everyone involved I fear.

Again have all the feelings you want about it, but I feel like when you and others are anxiety spiraling about the dudes on YouTube you need to step back and take a bit of a breath. Because now I’m anxiety spiraling. Which yea my own thing to deal with. But I just. Post on your own. But when I’m not expecting it and I go into the reblogs on someone else’s post and ur in the notes reminding me that Ian and Anthony are pulling back because you’re busy moping it feels kinda catty?

All this too say everyone’s feelings are so valid and understandable but we have to actually work through them instead of panicking. Please.

If you're talking about what I just reblogged I messaged the op and told them I wasn't trying to attack their post.

I'm aware I'm having anxiety about it. Bro, I wish I could chill the fuck out about this but I'm having a really hard time.

I was talking to a couple friends and explained that Smosh and Ian and Anthony are a happy place for me so I'm scared to lose that and I get that it is mentally not healthy for me to think that way.

I'm trying to not even engage so I don't act like a brat and whiny but I know that I am being that way.

I'm sorry. My mental health is in the toilet and I just don't feel good and this is all making me feel way worse.

Have fun and love Bit City and be happy about it. I don't want people to feel bad or feel like they can't enjoy it. They absolutely can.

Idk I'm confused on your ask you tell me my feelings are valid but then tell me I'm being catty?

I don't mean to be mean or catty. I'm sorry if I've come off that way. I don't like to see a ton of posts saying "Well Angela and Chanse rightfully deserve to take the main channel from Ian and Anthony."

I put a little timer to only give myself a couple of hours on tumblr on my phone a day before it blocks it but maybe I should block it all together to find peace before I don't have any friends in smoshblr left.

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mashedpotatosinacup · 4 months ago

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HELLO IM VERY INTERESTED IN THE D1 LORE TELL US TELL US TELL USSS

RAGHHHHHH TY MY SAVING GRACE

okay okay so my big main idea for the lore is Connor was one of the original VKs to be chosen for Auradon . because they chose some of the more presumably violent VKs like Mal and Evie they wanted to balance it out w someone who came from villainy but not like . killing people villainy (I love Kronk but he’s . not smart enough to be a rlly bad villain) SOOOO Connor was invited along but because of that he’d have to leave Harry and his crew behind and although the rest of the gang is hesitant they eventually send him along because they have the same idea as the other villains to try and get an inside look at Auradon to eventually get them of the Isle . Connor doesn’t rlly get along w any of the other VKs early on because they came from different crews on the isle but eventually learn to work together because they have the same common goal of saving the Isle by getting the wand (just for Connor it’s to see Harry again and for the others it’s for their parents) . D1 is pretty uneventful and doesn’t take up a lot of space in my mind but it has a lot of set up that I’ll go into eventually when the hypertension is more hyperfocused (I’ll rewatch it soon and do all my in depth analysis stuff) but yeah he goes along w their plan at the end which of course ends up failing but YAY happy ending

also during the whole thing because there’s much less signal on the ships instead of calling Connor writes letters to the crew (esp Harry) but every time he brings them to the post office to mail they throw them away without Connor knowing so he thinks that he’s been in contact with his friends while they think he abandoned them for the good life on the Isle :3 (I have an angst wip about them reuniting in D2 where Connor is all excited to see his friends again and they resent him bc they think he abandoned them and never thought about them again after finding a better , cleaner life on Auradon with their childhood enemies who bullied them all the time that I’m super excited to write more of)

ALSOOOO he gets rlly close w Carlos and Jay and they have a good bro relationship:3 he’s semi-close w Evie (she sometimes has him model her masculine clothes) and has probably the least close relationship w Mal just because he’s from the pirates and she grew up picking on them but they slowly realize they’re not so different (Connor tries to befriend her golden retriever style throughout the whole movie as kind of an overarching B plot where she keeps rejecting him and disliking him because he’s w the pirates but eventually realizes somewhere around D3 that, like the rest of the pirates , he’s just another VK)

anyway thank you for coming to my Ted Talk there will be more posts like this and hopefully more writing soon because I am once again loosing my mind over Harry and I need to talk about him forever and ever

#I feel awkward posting w out prompt #my saving grace my mutuals 🫶🫶🫶 ILY #🏴‍☠️🪝#D2 I should say is where i rlly have ideas but D1 has the most set up #like I said I’ll rewatch it sometime soon and try and get back into it so I can redesign my s/i and make more analysis #as I get more ideas I’ll keep posting them :3

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skymaiden32 · 1 year ago

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Bad News

AO3 link here

Fandom: Thunderbirds, Stingray

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Continuity: TOS

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Gordon and Trench come face-to-mask.

------

Fake base located and other family members quelled for the time being, the three brothers lay in wait among the shrubbery of the little island they were on, munching on some rations from Thunderbird 2’s hold. The Thunderbirds themselves had been hidden to the best of their ability, only Thunderbird 1’s bright silver being truly visible through the leaves. As they waited, the conversation from earlier picked up speed again.

“So, if Commander Shore working it out wasn’t what spooked you so much, Gordon…” Scott, ever the big eater, chomped on his protein bar. “What was?”

“Yeah, we were there in the room with you. Nothing else he said was too out of the ordinary.”

Gordon sighed. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about telling them this. “You know how he said Stingray was down a crew member?” His brothers nodded. “That’s what I’ve been worried about. Shore told me that ‘Betrayal never comes from an enemy’. The reason he said that is because the crew member, whoever it was, went rogue. Abandoned the WASPs. Quite possibly joined Titan.” The aquanaut shrugged, acting more nonchalant about the whole thing than he felt. This whole thing had been his exact nightmare since the war with Titanica had begun. “He couldn’t tell me the full thing, so he was speaking in code.”

Scott and Virgil’s eyes lit up in recognition. Of course, it all made sense now. “And…” Scott started. “You think whoever it is will come here to meet you?”

“Why not just kill me if that’s not the case?” Gordon answered honestly. “Why use a tracker instead of a missile?” He held up the tracker itself, a small aquamarine light on it flickering. “Everyone on that crew are smart. It stands to reason that whoever’s defected just uses those smarts for another cause now.” He sighed, looking down. “The wrong cause…”

Unbeknownst to him, his brothers exchanged a look. “Whatever happens, we’re here for you.” Scott whispered, and the three Tracy’s looked out to the waves.

Gordon looked up at them, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, guys.”

Ahead of them, the waves slowly and steadily receded as low tide began, almost lulling them to sleep. “When do you think these Aquaphibians will get here? I’d quite like to sleep at a reasonable time tonight.” Virgil sighed.

“How about right now?” An artificial voice behind them answered him, waking all three of them up instantly. A quick look behind them confirmed it. Five figures stood menacingly, clearly having been waiting for the right moment. Gordon immediately took notice of what the centre figure wore. He wore a fully aquamarine coloured uniform, at least Gordon assumed they were a ‘he’ based on their overall build, the boots a somewhat darker shade and seaweed that wrapped around his leg. On his hip, a teal scabbard held a sword with a silver hilt, with a golden seashell at the very end. The mask on his face confirmed his Aquaphibian allegiance, but he was clearly human. And clearly the one in charge. “Get them, boys.” He ordered, pointing at the three IR operatives.

“Move!” Gordon ordered, his WASP training kicking in. He delivered a swift kick to the Aquaphibian that was about to pounce on him, watching in satisfaction as the sea-dweller fell to the ground, unconscious. He risked a look at his brothers. Scott was also putting his military experience to good use, and also had a knocked-out Aquaphibian in front of him. Virgil, unlike his brothers, had no military background, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to defend himself. “Go for the gills!”

The leader of the undersea group watched as the three of them continued to incapacitate the forces he’d brought with him. Soon, International Rescue had finished taking out the Aquaphibians, and he stepped back as the trio walked towards him, the pilot of Thunderbird 4 just a couple of feet forward from the others. As they glared at him, he smirked at them, although they couldn’t see that.

“Oh, Gordon.” He sighed, robotic voice still hiding his true identity from his old friend. It didn't matter, the aquanaut would learn who he was soon enough. “You should know better than to turn your back on your allies.” Gordon gasped, spinning around quickly, but not quick enough to save Scott and Virgil from getting tackled by two hidden Aquaphibians. And this time, now that the sea-dwellers had their fins on them, there was no way out. Gordon could’ve cursed. He knew he shouldn’t have dragged them into his business. “Or should I just come out with what I know and call them your brothers?” Gordon’s stun gun was on the enemy in front of him in a flash. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My men are very…” Guns cocked behind him. And the aquanaut knew they weren’t aiming at him. “Trigger-happy...”

He had no choice. He threw his gun down, even as his brothers behind him protested the move. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“In Titanica, they call me Captain Trench.” He took a bow, eyes still on the angry IR operative in case he tried anything. “Second-in-command of the Aquaphibian army, right-hand of His Majesty. Mighty King Titan, and ex-WASP.” He huffed. “Although I do hope I can drop that last part from my introduction someday.”

Gordon scoffed. “And who are you really?”

Captain Trench chuckled. A tinny sound that grated on Gordon’s eardrums and frayed his nerves. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He gave his subordinates keeping a tight hold of the other Tracy’s a nod. “Take the prisoners to the sub while I… catch up with my old friend…”

“I swear Trench, if you hurt them-”

“You’re in no position to demand things of me.” Captain Trench almost hissed, but did his best to keep his tone neutral. “As long as you cooperate, your family will be unharmed and returned to you once our little chat is over. Consider it an assurance for me that you won’t rip me to shreds once my men have left.”

Gordon huffed, taking one last look at his brothers before they were carted off in different directions. They both offered a silent promise that neither of them could say out loud with the Aquaphibians clinging to them. They would be alright. “Fine.” The aquanaut stared warningly at his new enemy, and alleged old friend. “But if your slimy excuses of men lay even a single finger on them, I will retaliate.” He watched as his family disappeared further into the undergrowth.

“Ironic, coming from a man so dedicated to preserving lives.” Trench commented.

“Once you attacked us and took my brother’s hostage, all bets were off…” He shot back.

Trench nodded. “Fair enough.” He gestured to the beach in front of them. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds fanfiction #stingray 1964 #stingray fanfiction #thunderfam #gordon tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #captain trench #sky writes stuff

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quaddmgd · 1 month ago

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ever since I made Evie in cyberpunk, she was mostly vibes. i've said it before, but i just wanted to recreate my red dead oc in cyberpunk, but due to limitations of its character creator i had to take some liberties. she did look different and gave off totally different vibes, so i decided to make her largely the opposite of red dead Evie.

since then i only shot pics of her and i was mostly focusing on her vibes, even though i've quickly started to consider her my canon V. Still, when Phantom Liberty came out, i played through it as Crystal. Evie got some posts referring to V only at the start of this year.

still, i saw potential in developing her, especially emotionally. i love V's story in cyberpunk and certain stort bits hit me really hard the first time i was playing it. some of them i even tried to capture in the posts i mentioned earlier

at the start of november i decided to finally begin my second playthrough of the game, after 2 years and nearly 400 hours of playtime (on a console alone). this time i was playing as my canon V.

since i've started, i've been writing a document focusing mostly on her feelings throughout the game, the reasons she left for Atlanta (her ex - the OC i still haven't introduced ;-;), her relationships with supporting characters etc. it kinda evolved into a full psychological evaluation of her, since her early years, through her young adulthood, up to 2077. the doc also includes analysis of certain events and Evie's choices/thoughts about them. there's a detailed description of her combat style, her motivation, her early cyberpsychosis symptoms, ways in which relic affects her daily life and how she deals with slowly dying and getting weaker over time.

this time, instead of developing an oc from the ground up, i decided to take as much canon information and additional dialogue possible, and add my own context to it, which ironically makes it my most developed cyberpunk oc.

of course she's from Heywood, she's street smart, always knew how to fight, hated cops, had her first kill defending a friend when she was 13, she had always wanted to become a legend.

but she's also an orphan, she was mostly raised by Heywood itself, she always loved tinkering with technology, played music and wanted to become a rockergirl. her reasons for leaving NC were personal and the reason for coming back even more. when she had learned that she was dying, she initially wanted to off herself, but shortly after was running around NC doing gigs, just to not think about death. she had bonded with Claire over things they had in common, like hobbies and loss. and many more tbh.

i used so many little details from V's story and expanded on them greatly, making them mine and often key in shaping Evie as a person (like that small mention of working backstage for a band she can say to Kerry in an optional dialogue requiring high technical ability).

and not that long ago she really was mostly vibes and i wasn't in a hurry to change that. now the doc about her has 11.5k words and i still have some stuff to cover.

this second playthrough is arguably even better than the first one, not only because of updates and me adjusting V to my playstyle perfectly this time around, but mostly because of how much development Evie got and how i got immersed into her story, constantly coming up with new things to add to her doc.

seasonal depression hit with full force this year. playing cyberpunk again let me focus on something much more pleasant and creative.

now that i made her 10 years younger self from back when she was still making music and committing small-time crimes, it's a total brainrot for me.

just in case anyone wondered why i've been posting so much about cyberpunk lately

#oc: EV #text.qd

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whumpycries · 2 years ago

Text

brother's keeper #1

cw: carewhumper, bad caretaker, medications, angst, emotional whump, bruises.

this is me writing on this idea i'd posted a few days ago.

i didn't proof read this so if there's any glaring mistakes just tell me and i'll correct them. dima and vin are siblings, dima uses she/they and vin uses he/him

...

“You brought this on yourself, you know,” Dima said ideally as she set down the glass of water and the little cup with Vin’s medication down.

He stared at her blearily from under the covers, one of his eyes bruised nearly shut. It had been a few days now, but that bruise had been nasty, so however bad it looked now, it had been worse before.

“That’s the third time you’re telling me that,” Vin muttered, not getting up to eat the meds. Dima breathed deeply, slowly, and counted down from ten in their head. This was fucking stupid, counting down didn’t help with anger. It never has. She did it anyway.

“It’s not like you listen to me, is it?” she sniped, backing away, “if you don’t want to eat the meds, tell me before I take them out of the packets. There’s a lot of other, more useful stuff I can be doing that does not involve babysitting you like some goddamn toddler.”

“I never asked you to,” he said, not even looking at her anymore. He had a hand thrown over his head and was pressing it down. Probably had a throbbing headache. The meds she’d gotten him had a pretty strong painkiller as well, but it’s not like he was smart enough to recognise it, or even ask about the meds she was giving him. She could slip him poison for all he knew.

Sometimes she was tempted to.

“You’re feeling bold for someone who is bed bound with more injuries than I care to recount,” they said, narrowing her eyes.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” he snapped, tuning away his face completely.

Don’t hit him don’t hit him don’t hit him he might actually keel over dead if you hit him don’t hit him—

Dima didn’t say a word as she took up the small cup of medicine and the water, feeling petty, and exited the room. For a moment she was tempted to lock him in as well, but decided against it. Plausible deniability in case he did end up dying.

God. Why did they have to find him? Why did they have to leave him alive? The missing case had been dropped. Her life had finally been in control. A huge burden had been off her. And now he was back, worse than ever, infringing on Dima’s life like he always did. Ruining it. Ruining their time, ruining their plans, ruining the safety and comfort of their home.

Just take a deep breath, she told themselves, he’s already in pain.

And he was. He was already in pain. That thought went a long way towards calming her down. He was in pain and powerless here and there was no Nana or mother to talk her down or mediate between them. There was no one here, and he was in pain, and he’d been found half dead in a goddamn dumpster and somehow remembered Nana’s phone number even thought they now live like a hundred miles away and so Nana had called Dima and now—

Deep breaths, she told herself, and slowly opened up her laptop. Maybe she can check student papers and be infuriated about that instead of Vin. Maybe she would find some really good papers too. She could send them to the college journal for publication. One student has been showing a lot of potential in that regard.

This was a far better use of their time than catering to the whims of a fucking ungrateful bitch.

She got to work, putting most of their effort into not thinking about the man in the guest bedroom, about the blood on the clothes she’d thrown away the day before, about the way Nana had sounded when she’d called and told Dima about how they’ve found Vin, and that he’s alive.

They pointedly don’t think about any of that at all as they make their way through the student assessments, a notebook in hand as they scribbled down little notes. The tension left her in increments, until she’d almost– almost forgotten about Vin.

Almost.

At that moment, the door to his room– her fucking house, a room in her fucking house– swung open, revealing Vin standing there, clutching at the doorframe with his life, shaking and pale.

“I was calling for you,” he said, “Are you fucking deaf?”

She thought of giving him a snarky remark, but then decided against it, only raising their brow at him. She genuinely hadn’t heard him, but then again, there’s music playing, the fan spinning, and the air conditioning on. She’s used to their solitude. Used to not having to keep an ear out for him.

Vin visibly gritted his teeth, “Where’s the meds? I thought you’d leave ‘em for me.”

“In the kitchen,” they said simply, and turned back to their work. She was done, and she’d said as much to him, to nana and to their father. She was done catering to him and dealing with his tantrums. She gave him a chance. She isn’t gonna keep running after him now.

There was a pause, where Vin neither moved nor made a sound. Dima wanted to start giggling, but controlled herself. Take that, you little shit.

Then Vin started moving, painfully from what she could see, but he refused to feel any pity for him, any sympathy or guilt. He disappeared into the kitchen.

Dima turned back to their work, but hadn’t read a single line more when she heard a crash from the kitchen. They jumped, startled out of their wits, heart thudding loudly in her chest as she whipped her head around to see what the fuck had just happened.

She shot to her feet and hurried to the kitchen, and had to stop at the doorway, staring. One of the decorative glass bottles she kept on the kitchen counter was on the floor, pieces of coloured glass scattered everywhere. She looked up, and Vin was staring at her with a faintly baffled expression, like he didn’t know what just happened.

Dima breathed.

“Out,” she said, very tightly, “Go back to your room.” It’s not your fucking room, she thought, it’s my house. You’re an invader.

When she brought him his meds later, she left out the painkiller.

ask to be added to the taglist!

#whump #whump writing #carewhumper #bad caretaker #angst #emotional whump #bruises #brothers keeper #theyre both a little fucked up but i think the way dima is fucked up is a lot more interesting than the way vin is fucked up

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natashadied4oursins · 11 months ago

Text

Not S#xting

Notes: I’m still working on this fic, but I want to share something to make myself feel like I’m being productive. It’s gonna be a long while until this fic is ready to be posted.

Summary/Context: Bucky and MC are “just friends” and have been through a lot together at this point in the fic. He’s sick of hiding his feelings for her, but she refuses to let him tell her how he feels (because she’s an insecure idiot). Bucky has no choice but to relentlessly and suggestively flirt with her instead. (FYI: MC lives with the Avengers in the compound, but she’s a civilian).

Pairing: Bucky x female MC (no name or physical descriptions of her in this chapter)

Fandom: Avengers (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Word Count: 1565

Warnings: 18+ only, sexually suggestive comments, inappropriate flirting, talk of sexting, idiots in love, brief descriptions of sexual acts, cute pet names

Not Sexting

BUCKY: Miss me yet, doll?

That was how Bucky started every conversation since leaving for his first mission several days ago. He couldn’t text every day and his calls wouldn’t come through clearly, so I was always relieved whenever I was able to hear from him.

Of course, I always tried to come up with a smart ass remark in return. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just admit that I missed him, and I wanted him to come home so I could wrap my arms around him and not let go for a month.

Oh, god no!

That was too much. Clingy. A smart ass remark was much better.

ME: “No. Wanda’s a great cuddler, so I’m good thanks!”

BUCKY: “You miss my cuddles?”

ME: “No. I have Wanda for that.”

BUCKY: “But if Wanda wasn’t there…you would miss my cuddles?”

ME: “I didn’t say that!”

BUCKY: “It was heavily implied.”

ME: “No, it wasn’t.”

BUCKY: “Don’t lie, doll. I told you to be a good girl for me, remember?”

BUCKY: “And I told you what I’d do to you after the last time you misbehaved.”

I let out a small whimper, my heart racing, clutching the edge of the kitchen counter. I tried to shake the image of Bucky bending me over his bed and screwing me from behind while smacking my ass and praising me the entire time.

Dammit…

BUCKY: “Did I scare you again, doll?”

Smug bastard!

Did he know that every time he sent me anything suggestive I ended up on my bed with my fingers inside myself soon after? It would never be enough, of course. I wanted his fingers inside me—anything of his, really…

ME: “No!”

ME: “Whatever!” Did I seriously just type that?

BUCKY: “I can just imagine your eyes widening like a deer in headlights.”

“Nuh-uh!” I said out loud at the screen as if he could hear me.

BUCKY: “Not a deer. A bunny. A scared, little bunny cornered by the big, bad, ravenous wolf ready to devour her. Slowly. Savoring all of her until she begs for mercy…”

I stared at the screen wide-eyed—like a damn bunny!

I could just imagine Bucky in his Winter Soldier getup stalking me in the woods, quiet and deadly. Maybe he would take me against a tree. Maybe on the dirt. I would fight him but, of course, he would overpower me and make me his…

Dammit, why couldn’t he ease up on the suggestive remarks?!

I re-read each word carefully.

It was a joke! Someone got to Bucky’s phone, and I knew exactly who.

ME: “Seriously, Sam? Are you getting back at me for backing up Wanda the night of the cookout? Was Notting Hill really that bad?”

BUCKY: “It was a pretty cheesy movie, bunny, but I liked it.”

BUCKY: “You looked so cute trying not to cry at the end!”

I rolled my eyes; he was being so childish. Was that what passed for entertainment on the quinjet? Prank text messages?

The sudden ringing of my cell phone made me yelp. It was Sam, of course. I could just imagine him cracking up on the other end.

“Hi Sam,” I said with overtly fake enthusiasm, “You big perv!”

There was static on the other end, and I could barely make out Sam’s voice.

“…Buck…said…call…you ok?”

Bucky must’ve read what Sam wrote me. What would he think about the nasty and just, plain wrong fantasies my sick brained conjured up?

“Are you calling to say you’re sorry?” I chuckled. “Are you actually sorry or are you sorry you got caught?"

“Why would…. sorry? What’d…do?!” He sounded surprised and defensive.

My back stiffened and the blood drained from my face as I realized Sam didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.

“I can’t hear you very well,” I licked my chapped lips, “but, um, did you use Bucky’s phone to text me just now?”

“No! Why….Is…emerg...cy?”

No, no, no…

“I’m sorry I still can’t hear you very well. Um…it’s not an emergency. Sorry. Bye. Be safe!”

I ended the call and held my breath. I carefully set the phone back on the counter, and stepped back, watching it…waiting for it to…I don’t know…blow up or something.

Was I really supposed to believe Bucky texted that? Sure, he’d called me “bunny” before, but…his “prey?” Not that I would’ve minded if it was actually him, but it was kind of hard to believe.

Bucky liked to flirt to boost his ego. He liked to make me squirm. That’s what it was. He was just taking it to the next level. I would have to talk to him about that when he came home. He was going a little too far…wasn’t he?

I yelped when my text notification sounded. Was it somehow louder or was I going crazy?

SAM: “Did you want me to call you just so you could call me a ‘perv’?!”

ME: “I didn’t want you to call me. Why do you think that?” I was afraid I already knew the answer.

SAM: “Because Bucky told me! Are you guys messing with me?”

Damn, damn, damn.

ME: “Yes! I’m sorry! I guess it wasn’t really funny, was it?”

Let it go! Please, Sam, just let it go!

SAM: “Leave the pranking to your brother, girl.”

I nearly collapsed against the kitchen counter. He bought it. Oh, god that would’ve been so embarrassing…

SAM: “HOLD UP!”

No!

SAM: “Wait, wait, wait!”

No, no, no! Should I just turn off my phone? If I didn’t read what he was about to type then it’d be like it never happened. Right?

SAM: “You accuse me of using Bucky’s phone to text you…and you call me a perv…”

SAM: “You guys are sexting!!!”

SAM: “Bwahahahahahahaha!”

I could just imagine Sam cackling, drawing everyone’s attention. Oh, god, everyone was about to find out!

ME: “NO! We are NOT doing that!”

ME: “NOW you’re being a perv!”

SAM: “Oh my God!”

SAM: “Is that why he always power walks to the bathroom whenever he’s texting? And he has that dorky smile on his face when he comes out?”

SAM: “I didn’t need to know THAT…but it’s hilarious!”

ME: “He’s not doing THAT!”

SAM: “I knew you two would eventually get together, but DAMN! Not what I expected.”

SAM: “No judgement!”

SAM: “Whatever makes you happy, momma!”

ME: “You don’t know what you’re talking about! We’re not doing anything like THAT, so don’t start spreading lies!”

SAM: “Oh, I’ll keep my mouth shut for now, but EVERYONE will know soon enough! You two are joined at the hip. You’ll slip up eventually. Might as well come clean.”

Dammit! I actually stomped my feet. I muttered the words as I typed.

ME: “You’re wrong, Sam. So, just get that idea out of your head RIGHT NOW!”

SAM: “I’m sure you have your reasons for keeping it a secret. I’ll respect that. They won’t hear it from me.”

SAM: “He’s already out of the bathroom? He looks waaay too relaxed. Oh, please, God, give me something to make me forget!”

“You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” I muttered to myself.

Bucky didn’t do…what Sam thought he was doing in the bathroom. Maybe Sam was bored! Maybe he was pranking me!

BUCKY: “Did you have a nice conversation with Sam, bunny?”

ME: “Don’t call me that!”

Oh, god, please don’t call me that because it’s already doing things to me…

BUCKY: “No. It’s too late. You’re my bunny now.”

ME: “Are you high? Did you come across any strange-looking plants on your travels?”

ME: “Have Steve check you out or something.”

BUCKY: “Hey, this is all I’ve got until you agree to hear what I want to say to you.”

Why was he talking about that? There was no reason to bring that up!

BUCKY: “We’re landing soon, bunny. I can’t wait to come home and kiss your cute, little, bunny nose!”

ME: “You are SO high!”

BUCKY: “High on YOU, bunny.”

ME: “I hate you.”

Oh, god. He was about to land who-knows-where and might have to fight who-knows-how-many armed HYDRA agents and I told him I hated him? Idiot!

ME: “I don’t hate you.”

ME: “Sorry.”

BUCKY: “I forgive you bunny.”

BUCKY: “This time.”

He didn’t know when to stop, did he?

ME: “Can you just focus on the mission please?!”

BUCKY: “Are you worried about me?”

ME: “I didn’t say that!”

ME: “Just be careful!”

BUCKY: “Aww! Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll come home to you soon.”

ME: “You’re freaking killing me, you know that?!”

BUCKY: “No, I’m not. I have too many plans for you.”

I grumbled as I rubbed my thighs together, the tingly feeling between my legs intensifying.

The dots on the screen told me he was typing more, but they disappeared. Either the team landed or the connection died.

Good. I wouldn’t be hearing from Bucky or Sam for the next few hours. I was still very tempted to bury my phone under the living room couch cushions just in case.

I turned off my phone instead, headed to my bedroom, and got on top of my bed. My messed up, depraved fantasies fueled the fire in my aching body. I pulled down my jeans and shoved my fingers in my underwear.

I really should’ve bought another toy after I got rid of the Captain America dildo.

#bucky x female character #bucky x female reader #avengers fic #mcu fic

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femmefatalevibe · 2 years ago

Note

hello! ive gone through some of your posts and i gotta say, you give pretty solid advice. i hope your own life is also going as smoothly as the advice giving! ❤

i was wondering if i could ask your opinion, as much as you can offer it to a stranger from the internet.... i know its not easy to give meaningful advice on complicated matters to total strangers.

im 29, i have a very good degree and a decent job, i am not more insane or annoying than an average person and i look just fine. i do however have a problem finding a long term partner. ive been working very hard at uni/later as an intern so it didnt leave much time for a rich social life and lot of dating. i also had the misfortune of spending several years in a very unhealthy relationship when i was about 20, young and stupid. several years of determined singleness followed immediatelly after that.

so now that im old and less stupid, ive tried dating apps, ive tried going out for drinks with acquaintances but never more than 2 or 3 times with the same guy. i do have high standards... and im a smart independent woman which im told is not extremely popular with men. anyway.

i recently met a guy 1 year younger than me who works in the same profession but is only just starting, in contrast to me being a bit of a bitter old veteran. ive been kind to him as one is to new people, and hes been slightly smitten with me as a result, if i dare guess so. we went out for drinks a few times, he seems sweet, kind and doesnt harbor any extremist political beliefs (its important to me not to date fascist-sympathisers). thats all very nice but unfortunately he doesnt exactly look very attractive to me. i feel good around him bc he is kind and lovely but i think i have too much edge and that he couldnt handle my darker sides (lots of cynism, LOTS) bc he is sich a sweet summer child. and i also feel that i havent yet lived wildly and slept around and experienced all the instant gratification options life has to offer, definitelly not enough to just drop everything and consider a serious relationship with someone who doesnt feel like ive won the dating lottery (its bc of certain personal problems hes told me of having, and its bc of the looks. im an impossibly visually-oriented person. and shallow.)

so i am very tempted to slowly explore this and the options it could offer (for example a serious relationship) but i also feel like i might be setting myself up for failure and him for a lot of heartbreak. whatever should i do?

until now ive only ever continued dating people i was really attracted to... sometimes despite their dubious political beliefs. so actually this might be the new strategy that would yield positive results, dating someone for their impeccable moral standards and kindness rather than a pronounced jawline. (am i, deep down, really that shallow?)

this got long and tedious, i wont blame you if you chuck it in the bin instead of reading and answering. maybe all i needed was to write it out. might need to use my journal bit more often.

thank you for your time and efforts in any case. take care!💕

Hi love! Thanks for your kind words and support. Firstly, from how you describe yourself, I could totally see us being friends – we seem to have similar beliefs, values, and priorities when it dating comes to dating (no fascists allowed, career-oriented, endless cynicism, and making a pronounced jawline a top criterion of a date night lol).

Here's my take – given the information you so kindly and vulnerably shared with me:

If you're still single, there's no reason to make the prospect of dating (generally or casually dating a specific person) into a black-and-white experience. You can casually date as many people as you would like until you mutually decide to be exclusive with someone. Think of dating as a networking experience: It's a chance to meet and connect with various types of people. They can become (business or pleasure, in this case) partners, friends, acquaintances, or connectors to others who will soon become members of your close inner circle (maybe even a further partner or spouse – who knows!).

You can decide to date different people for different reasons. Sometimes, you just want good conversation and decide later that you're better off as friends. Exploring the emotional intimacy aspect of a relationship with someone of the gender you're attracted to can teach you a lot about yourself and the type of partner you ultimately want to end up with – even if you don't ever kiss, let alone sleep together. Just make sure, in this case, to share that you only have a platonic connection with him before he gets too invested. Being selfish when dating is essential, but never be cruel and lead people on.

Suppose you want to see where this connection goes, without commitment. In that case, you can always indulge in casual sex with others you are physically attracted to and only go on dates with this man in a more casual dating/companionship way.

I don't think it is shallow to not want to date someone you're not physically/sexually attracted to. Unfortunately, in our current society, you wouldn't even need to question this if you were a man. There are plenty of people we really like and are emotionally attracted to in this life but have no sexual feelings towards – we call them friends.

While it could take some time to find a partner with who you're compatible in every major area, consider how much longer this process would take if you settle with men you have no true interest in before you inevitably break up with them because you're unhappy in the relationship? Staying single until your values align and mutually want rip each others' clothes off every time you see each other in the beginning stages of dating is the best strategy – in my opinion at least. It is better to be technically alone than lonely in a committed relationship. You deserve nothing but the best. Never settle for less. Keep your standards high to maintain your most valuable assets: Your happiness, success, and peace of mind.

Hope this helps xx

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lorei-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Trials and Tribulations of an Unconsenting Time-Traveller

Part 19: [To throw] beans against the wall

OC x Mitsuhide Interactive Previous Parts: Masterlist Ending: Good OR Bad

Oh, my, my. The first 5-ish chapters really could use some editing. Err... Maybe even re-writing. And some parts of later chapters. It's all a bit of a train wreck situation overall.

Maybe I shall once we've finished? Who knows, who knows. This story has started long ago, after all. It's all only natural.

Content Warnings: none

Maria sat back on her heels, Mitsuhide watching her carefully from the end of the corridor. Her brows furrowed, what she assumed to be a sort of uncertain worry flickering over his face before he reigned the emotion in. He walked up to her slowly. “I must ask you to follow me, little mouse.”

Guide:

Each chapter you will be presented with a choice(s) which will influence the story - a question(s) at the very bottom of the post. Two answers to it are mine, the third one - is completely up to you. You can add your vote by putting one of the options in the reblog / comment below the chapter.

Before I get to writing the next part, I will count up all the votes. The option the story will follow will be either the one with the greatest number of votes, or the one suggested completely by you (depending on which is more inspiring). If no votes appear, I will simply go by my own choice. There is no set time limit of voting - as long as the next part hasn’t been released, assume it’s still okay to vote.

Characters in this story are assumed to be speaking few different languages. The following is assumed: normal dialogue notation = Japanese; dialogue written in italics = English. Any phrases not written in English will be put in the dictionary at the bottom of the work.

[Rzucać] grochem o ścianę = [To throw] beans against the wall

Back and forth, forth and back, there was little more to the motion, the grime seemingly refusing to leave the creaks between the boards whenever Maria put less than all of her force into her arms. Despite that, there was certain solace to be found in the mindlessness of the activity, the pain in her knees and lower back allowing for her to forget of the events of the morning, even if just for a little while. Another time-traveller? She reigned in her thoughts before they broke into a rush. No. She didn’t need that. A strand of hair escaping from its place in the braid (surely, she would have done a better job, had her hands not trembled so much when she readied herself to do the chores), she hurriedly pushed it back behind her ear, the momentary distraction drawing her attention towards the figure standing nearby. Maria sat back on her heels, Mitsuhide watching her carefully from the end of the corridor. Her brows furrowed, what she assumed to be a sort of uncertain worry flickering over his face before he reigned the emotion in. He walked up to her slowly.

“I must ask you to follow me, little mouse.”

“Has something happened?” she asked, shaking the brush held in her hands.

“It is urgent,” he stated, and simply passed by her, reluctant to offer any further explanations. Dumbfounded, Maria shot up, nearly tripping over the basin of water she used to clean the floor with.

“You’d be smart to stay quiet,” he added, thus prompting her to jog after him.

Regardless of the opinion people held of Mitsuhide, Maria viewed him as a rather kind, although secretive person. Surely, he was not nice, and he enjoyed tricking her, and he was always plotting something… Yet still, she could not convince herself there were any ill intentions at the bottom of this all. That being said, she did not understand the situation in the slightest, the both of them soon leaving the Azuchi castle behind.

“Where are we going?” she asked. They walked at a faster than comfortable pace, but Mitsuhide did not slow down. He hadn’t spared her even a glance, instead leading her through the narrower of the streets, the entire layout of the city getting tangled inside of her head… All for them to eventually arrive at his manor. Maria frowned, but he quieted her before she even opened her mouth, the last digit of his finger guarding his lips as he let out a quiet ‘shh’.

The entirety of his manor was dark, not a soul having stayed behind to tend to the estate. Completely lost on the ‘why’ of things, Maria resigned to follow him, her trust in Mitsuhide – oddly enough – refusing to falter. The corridors seemed much too long, and she was nearly certain he had played with her again, for the room he wished for them to stop at was not more, not less, but his study. Maria frowned (again), but when he pointed at the table, she sat by it just regardless. Mitsuhide lit up a candle and set it in front of her.

“Can you tell me now?” she grumbled.

“My, my. Are you not an impatient little mouse… Or perhaps I have lost your full trust?” he wondered aloud, his back turned towards her as he searched for something within a sizeable wardrobe.

“No. But I want to understand.”

Mitsuhide froze for a moment. He seemed to consider something before facing her again, the bag she arrived with in the past clutched in his hands.

“Explain it,” he demanded while seating himself opposite of her. He turned the bag upside-down, her belongings falling onto the table – her phone (with its completely drained battery), an MP3 player, a pair of earbuds, her wallet, passport, a guidebook, a pair of sunglasses, chapstick, tissues, a map, some hard candy, a bottle of hand-sanitizer, and several other items all rolling around. Maria felt her throat drying up, her eyes growing wide.

“You won’t believe me,” she stuttered. Her head hung low, and just as she always did whenever stressed, she clawed into her own lap, thoughts swirling inside of her head having her heart pound.

“Do try.”

“I… I am not from now,” she hesitated. Her thighs hurt, but she didn’t mind. It provided a pleasant distraction from the anxiety she felt at the moment. Honestly, it was similar to having to take an oral exam on a subject she was not too knowledgeable about, but a hundred, no, thousand times worse. “But from… Tomorrow… But a hundreds… Thousands… Tens of thousands more.”

“Future?” Mitsuhide offered, his eyes scrutinising her. However, he didn’t seem to wish to rush her.

“Future.” Maria nodded slowly. “I… I was on a trip. There was a storm. I don’t know why, but then I woke up, and the building was on fire. Then I thought you were actors… But you aren’t. And this is the past,” she mumbled, her voice growing quieter with each word. She couldn’t explain it any better, nor did she believe for the reality to be real up until fairly recently. She couldn’t expect for him to accept it… Yet he did not seem to argue against her. Instead, Mitsuhide reached for her earbuds, his gaze sliding alongside the wire before he coiled it around his finger.

“What are those for?”

“You use them to listen to music.”

“How?”

Maria frowned. Her phone was dead, so clearly, it was no use. However… The same couldn’t be said about the MP3 player. It was a beast of a device, and the battery worked on months for end when it was not in use, so perhaps… She pressed the “Menu” button. The screen lit up.

“Give it to me,” she asked, and he obliged. Maria plugged the earbuds in, and handed one back to him. She put hers into her ear, Mitsuhide looking at her questioningly.

“Do it…?” she squeaked… And although reluctantly, he did follow her instructions.

Now, the real struggle arose. What song should she pick? In the end, it shouldn’t matter much, yet… Maria swallowed her indecisiveness and pressed play, the track starting just as intended.

His eyes widened. At first, Mitsuhide did not register the fact that the singer’s voice came from the device in his ear, and so, he threw a series of fast glances all around, the earbud falling out in the process. Only then did he realise it was the source of the voice, the place the odd instruments played at. Without uttering a word, he put it back in. Not only did the words sung in it made no sense to him, he could not understand what material was it all made from, how could it fit so many things, how –

Maria changed the track, another artist beginning their performance. And another one. Another… Mitsuhide reached over the table and placed his hand on top of hers. Maria pressed pause.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“No. How does this work? How does it fit…?”

“It doesn’t. In the future… We tamed lightning? We have many little machines. We save sound like this. Books are cheap. We… We have boats that don’t need wind. Machines that translate languages. Machines that fly.”

“That fly?” he echoed after her.

“That fly.”

“How far?”

“Far.”

“How far?” he pressed further.

“From Europe to here.”

Mitsuhide sat quietly. It appeared that his curiosity had been satiated… Although perhaps that was not it. Perhaps it was only that things finally had connected in his head, that they had given the past few months some semblance of sense.

“Your times… They are peaceful, aren’t they?” he spoke after a long pause.

“Often. There are wars. And huge diseases.”

“Huge diseases?”

“The… The entire world diseases.”

Mitsuhide sat quietly again. Her heart pounded against her chest, each elapsed second having her wish she could decipher his expression.

“Why ask now?” she blurted out.

“The ninja you have caught this morning. He has told me a very similar tale. It was hard to believe it, although since you have confirmed it… And since I cannot dispute the fact we do have not musicians in,” he paused and half-heartedly pointed at the MP3 player, “tiny boxes, I suppose.” Mitsuhide raised his gaze from the object up to her face. “Maria, although you are considered to be loyal to lord Nobunaga, some of his vassals remain suspicious of you. You must understand that today’s incident did not play in your favour.”

“But I –”

“Do not apply reason where it does not belong,” he interrupted. “I have suspected you may not be fully aware of your circumstances. Little mouse, your involvement with me, our little play, your eagerness to work as a maid, and now the enemy spy paying you a visit. In this world, there are people who ascend through trampling over others.”

“But I’m nobody,” Maria noted.

“Yet I am not.”

Maria tilted her head to the side, confused by the implications of his words. How come there was any connection to be made there? If anything, in the past months, she had spent more time being tutored by Ieyasu and Mitsunari, not to mentioned the self-defence lessons Masamune watched over. Mitsuhide clicked his tongue.

“Allow me to explain,” he sighed dejectedly. Somehow he still found himself stunned by her obliviousness, the sharpness she exhibited when adapting to the situation standing in direct contradiction to her understanding of humans as a whole… Although perhaps, that was Maria. A contradiction. “As of now, there are two fractions working behind the scenes. The first one spun the tale as follows: ‘Lord Akechi has been in close contact with the foreigner ever since her arrival. He has not only vouched on her behalf, but tutored her, and requested for her to join him on the mission. He has later presented her as his lover, and used her. But how has she learnt Japanese so fast? And how come an ordinary woman had enough grit and stealth to be a messenger? She has protected Lord Date, and has clearly earned his favour. She was injured, yet she does not seem shaken. She must have been in service of Lord Akechi all along. And now, she has contacted an enemy spy. They all must be traitors.’ ” Mitsuhide cleared his throat. “The second story is a less colourful one. It simply states: ‘Lord Akechi holds the foreign girl in a dear place in his heart. Were we to threaten her, he would comply with our demands’.”

Maria took the information in slowly, her face not revealing any of the emotion that passed through her. She nodded several times, the tiredness accumulated over the past few weeks finally catching up to her. She watched Mitsuhide, and he watched her in turn, amber eyes holding back some secrets she was not certain she was allowed to even ask about.

“Why are you telling me this all?” she probed.

“The ninja told me you can go back to your original time. I plan to escort you both to Kyoto.”

Her eyes burned – but not from tears, or anger, or sadness, or fear. They burned through him, the intensity of her stare having Mitsuhide shiver.

“I don’t want to,” she stated firmly.

“I am not asking whether you’d like to go, little one. I am telling you to,” Mitsuhide spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper. He reached over the table, long fingers brushing against the strand of hair that has escaped from her braid. He guided it back behind her ear, the light of the candle cracking over the fresh uneven scar. His gaze faltered. It was his near-sightedness that led to her being hurt in the first place. He never wished to –

Mitsuhide tensed. Maria took his hand in hers, and held it to her scarred cheek, never once dropping his gaze.

“I want to stay. I like this life. I am better at speaking now, and I can read more. I am useful.”

“You may get hurt again.”

“I am fine with that.”

Mitsuhide retracted his hand.

“I took you along, so you wouldn’t be a nuisance among the soldiers.” It was only a half-truth. But it could keep her safe. “You made yourself a nuisance to me instead. I had to find you a task, even if only to keep you occupied. And now you refute the reality of things?”

“Exactly. I can always wash the floors.”

Mitsuhide did not let his composure slip. His eyes narrowed as he set them on breaking through her stubbornness, hot guilt simmering just below his ribs. He took note of the dark circles below her eyes. It wouldn’t take long. It couldn’t take long. Not when she was in this state.

“And if I made you wish you could return to your home?” He sat closer to her and held her chin up.

“You won’t.”

“How can you be certain?”

“You’re a kind man.”

Mitsuhide pushed her to the floor. His body hoovered above hers, but Maria didn’t protest. He pulled her collar open, but she didn’t stop him. He unravelled her obi. He pushed his knee between her legs. He wished, no, begged for her to resist him, to show him any sign of fear, so that he could cut this act short. However, she only smiled at him. It even reached those tired eyes of hers as she held her hands up to cup his face. Mitsuhide froze. Stubborn. Offensively stubborn.

“When we slept in one bed, you moved away in the morning not to poke me,” she giggled. Offensively bold as well. He felt his ears heat up – he’d be damned if they were not red. “Let me tell you my story. ‘I arrived in an unfamiliar place. I was taught the language. I was taught medicine. I was taken to a mission, but I was a fool all along. Lord Akechi tried to protect me. He took care of me, made up a task so that I wouldn’t mess up his plans. He wanted to keep me in the dark, so that I wouldn’t slip. But I have made mistakes. I am weak, so…’” she hesitated. “So…”

What should Maria say?

a. Use me as your pawn. b. I know I am a burden. c. Something else. (What?)

Dictionary

Rzucać grochem o ścianę – To throw beans against the wall; idiom -- to do something without it achieving any results; usually to try to explain something without it being understood by the listener

Tag list for the series: @bestbryn @xarexraven

#mitsuhide akechi #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series

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