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mercuriians · 3 months ago

Note

I feel like a fic about Atsumu, Oikawa, and Bokuto finding their s/o reading fanfic about them would be hilarious

(You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to <3)

Have a lovely day and thank you if you end up doing this request <33333

a fantasy world

content info — gender neutral! reader, fluffy hq!! drabbles with some crack & hurt/comfort (sounds weird but bear w it, all separate). a teeny tiny bit suggestive in atsumu's part cuz he's a little shit.

word count — 1.9k words.

author’s note — holy HELL this is so late 😭 anon i hope ur still here, i made this pretty long so that's my way of apologizing. im also praying that atsumu is in character because this is only the second time ive written him. anyway, tysm for requesting!! hope u all like this <3

MIYA ATSUMU

your eyes are obstinately glued to your phone, wholly transfixed by the words that were typed across the screen. not a single soul knew about your little hobby and quite frankly, it was likely better that they remained oblivious. you wouldn’t know how to react if anyone found out, but really, there was one particular person who absolutely had to stay unaware.

as it turns out, they were also the very subject of the story you’re currently reading—of course, none other than your sweet, beloved boyfriend, atsumu. not that the term ‘sweet’ was an especially fitting term for him. ooh, that was a sick burn.

now, obviously you loved the boy. atsumu was bold, intelligent, thoughtful, hardworking, and affectionate to the point where osamu and the rest of his team often complained about how shameless he was in front of them. his spirit burned bright with fiery ambition, glimmering red and orange and yellow, and he introduced a kind of light into your life that you had never quite experienced before. at first you were a little wary at first, a little blinded by how much he shone, but because you were just as stubborn as he was, you soon grew used to it.

if anything, you came to learn that atsumu was undoubtedly one of the most inspirational people out there. motivating his peers was like second-nature to him, and even if he didn’t consciously put in the effort to inspire them, he still ended up doing so anyway. his love for volleyball was blatant in its authenticity, in its obsession. so when coupled with his charisma, and, yes, his boyishly good looks, atsumu developed a serious kind of gravitational pull. it was no wonder so many people were drawn in—yourself included.

but, inevitably, something had to be sacrificed. your boyfriend’s devotion to the game often meant that you two didn’t get to spend much time together. if atsumu wasn’t practicing at the gym, then he was either thinking about doing it, on his way to doing it, or—this happens only under the direst of circumstances—recovering from doing it. he was, in every sense of the word, a workaholic.

you were fine with it for the most part, mostly because you had a busy schedule to deal with yourself. if you weren’t doing homework or studying for an upcoming exam for the sake of staying on top of your classes, then you were either fulfilling your duties as a student council member, playing your respective sport, or taking care of things at home.

regardless, there were still times when you wished atsumu was with you. it didn’t matter if he was spewing volleyball jargon, or forcing you to pepper with him, or anything like that. you just wanted to spend time with him, to actually see him and his stupid face and his stupid smile that you want to kiss so badly.

maybe that’s why you’re so zeroed in on the fanfiction you’re reading—to try and make up for what you’ve been deprived of for days on end. a very palpable twinge of sadness tugs at your heart. you push the unwanted sentiment to the depths of your mind, trying to focus on reading the story again.

god, what sentence were you even on? and why was the door suddenly opening—

“hey baby, did ya miss me?”

your soul leaves your body.

before you even have time to think, a shrill scream rips from your throat as you scramble to hide your phone underneath the covers. atsumu's jaw drops, completely and utterly befuddled by your behavior. after a moment he raises his hands in mock surrender. "jeez, darlin', it's just me. your boyfriend, remember?" atsumu says, brow raised. there's a mixture of emotions written across his face—slight concern, palpable amusement, even some suspicion. "what are ya hidin' there on your phone, anyway?"

finally, you seem to find your voice. "n-nothing important," you mumble, clearly and very intentionally avoiding the intensity of atsumu's hawk-like gaze. "i didn't even know you'd be visiting today.. thought you would be busy with practice again."

maybe it's because your boyfriend knows you so well by now, but he catches the hint of bitterness in your tone. his face softens, and he takes one, two, three steps toward you until he's taking up the space on your left. "coach called in sick, so mister perfect decided to just cancel practice for today," atsumu shrugs. you're still somewhat upset, but you can't help but smile at the setter's nickname for his captain—kita shinsuke, the closest embodiment of perfection that anyone's ever seen.

"i'm pretty sure i texted ya that i would be dropping by," your boyfriend adds, glancing over at you. cautiously, you pull out your phone again and open up the messages app. lo and behold, he did in fact text you, but you were too busy with your fanfiction to notice.

your face burns with the weight of your embarrassment.

a small chuckle escapes from atsumu's mouth. "wow, i haven't even done anything and you're already blushin' for me," he teases. you hit his chest halfheartedly, muttering about how mean he's being. you fail to notice the calculating glint in his eyes. you also fail to notice his hand wandering.

a second later, atsumu grins smugly, your phone held securely in his grip.

"what the hell, 'sumu?!" you screech, trying to retrieve the object in vain. "how did you even—"

"i'm good with my hands," he winks, and you don't even have time to scold him for the clear innuendo because he's typing in the password to your phone. all you can do is accept your fate as atsumu discovers the story you were reading.

as expected, he laughs. loudly. it's almost like the laugh he lets out whenever he wins a bet against osamu. you turn away, shame and humiliation gnawing at your chest. there's nothing more you want than to be swallowed by the floor beneath you.

however, when atsumu's laughter dies down a few moments later, you feel him wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "baby," he begins, voice still a little breathless from all his cackling, "why are ya reading this when ya got the real thing right here?"

you look up at him, a confusing mess of emotions swirling within your stomach. "because we don't seem to spend much time together anymore," you admit, lowering your eyes to the ground. "laugh all you want, but these stories are there for me whenever i need them. you probably think it's stupid, or pathetic, or whatever, but.. i miss you, 'sumu."

you close your eyes, preparing to hear another round of thunderous laughter. it never comes.

"open yer eyes for me, babe," atsumu's voice is unexpectedly soft, tender. hesitantly, you do, and your gaze meets his. your boyfriend reaches out, resting a calloused hand against your cheek. his touch is so familiar, so comforting, that you can't do anything else but lean in and welcome it. "i didn't know that ya were feelin' this way, and i'll admit that it's my fault for not noticing. but hey, you wanna know somethin'?"

"what is it?" you whisper.

"i miss ya too," your boyfriend confesses. he leans in, placing a soft kiss against your lips. "and tomorrow, i'm taking ya out on a date."

OIKAWA TOORU

"oh my god, this is so cute," you sigh dreamily, swinging your feet in satisfaction as you indulge yourself. it was fanfiction, for crying out loud—can you really be blamed? this particular story practically reeked of fluff. you had just received flowers from the male lead, with you two having confessed just a few days ago. now you were on the first date, entering the doorway to a beautiful relationship that made every reader jealous.

the fact that the male lead—the infamous setter of aoba johsai, fanboy of iwaizumi hajime, hater of ushijima wakatoshi—also happened to be your boyfriend was just a minor detail.

you continued reading, the outside world completely irrelevant as you immersed yourself in the story. soon another squeal leaves your lips as oikawa, the male lead, bends down to kiss your hand. he says something swoonworthy, causing you to giggle like a madman. "that's it, i'm marrying you," you say, as if he can hear you through the story.

"marrying who?"

you let out a defeated sigh as your boyfriend pops his head into your room. there's a pout on oikawa's face, his mocha eyes filled with mock betrayal. still there's a part of you that knows he actually is a little bit jealous; he just doesn't know that technically, he's jealous of himself. "who are you marrying, babe?" he asks you somewhat accusingly. "i think it's a bit too early for—"

"shut up please," you groan, a bit sad that your reading session got interrupted. "i'm reading this fanfiction of you, and in the story, you're actually nice to me."

you immediately hear an indignant gasp from your boyfriend. he puts a hand to his chest, his pout now even more prominent. "excuse me, i am nice to you," oikawa scoffs as he walks over, squinting at the story you're reading. "i'm way better than him!"

"you are him," you deadpan.

"exactly! why are you reading that when i'm right here? i'm hurt," oikawa says in disapproval, shaking his head at you. "now move over."

you blink—once, twice. "wait, what?"

"i wanna read too," oikawa says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "so i can list all the things they got wrong about me."

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

maybe reading fanfiction about your boyfriend wasn't the best idea. it's not that the story wasn't great because it really was—the characterization was on-point, the writing style was smooth and elegant, and the plot was creative. it's more about your boyfriend himself. particularly the way that he reacted when he found out.

"am i not good enough?" bokuto asked you quietly as he stared up at you. his golden eyes were absolutely despondent, his shoulders were slouched, and even his owlish hair looked like it was deflated. you didn't need akaashi to understand that those were all signs of an emo bokuto.

and it was all because of you.

man, the guilt was unbearable.

"koutarou," you say softly, reaching out to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. "baby, you are more than enough for me. you're amazing, okay? you're my anchor, and you make me smile when no one else can. compared to you, this fanfiction means nothing." you pause, placing a tender kiss against his warm cheek. "seeing you sad makes me sad, you know?"

"i'm sorry," bokuto mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. "i thought i'd let you down or something, like i wasn't being a good boyfriend. it scared me."

his words make your heart hurt even more. you pull away from the hug, letting your earnest gaze meet his. "from now on, you don't have to be scared," you tell him seriously. "i'll stop reading fanfiction, and every day, i'll remind you of how much you mean to me. is that fair, kou?"

bokuto nods, and it's at that moment that you start to see the gloomy aura around him disappear. "i love you," he says, and you can tell that he means it. he always does.

you pull him closer, your fingers combing through his hair soothingly. he hums quietly, enjoying the feeling. "i love you too, koutarou," you smile. "and no story will ever change that."

you let a few moments pass by, simply listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. slowly, you let your eyes close, your boyfriend's strong embrace lulling you to a light rest. after a few moments, though, bokuto's voice breaks through the silence. "can i ask you a question, babe?"

you open your eyes. "anything."

he pulls away, his expression completely serious as he looks at you. "can we get something to eat?"

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error4343 · 10 months ago

Text

Questions

CW: gore & blood It all will end where it began - at Snake Meadow Hill Church Love letter for @zzoupz John loves you AU

Don't be afraid, preacher. I hear His voice loud and clear now. He's welcoming you. And so do I. It's our last opportunity to talk before my Ascension. So ask, don't make Him wait

What you want to ask about?

John You don't recognise my face, Miller? I'm John Thomas Ward, a servant of His, just like you. I condemned myself to God since young age and, under guidance of father Garcia, learned true ways of preaching and serving His will. I was priest of false church before you, cowards, threw me away from God's home. But I hold no anger.

Snake Meadow Hill Church Too predictable, isn't it? Sentimental even. I was thinking the same when we moved here. Still, this place more fitting than anything: it's cradle of my own faith.

What you want to ask about?

Horned twins Ah, will-o-wisps. You're not the first whom they brought here. My apologize if they caused you any trouble. I couldn't deny them their fun.

"Him" I see. You forgot for whom you've been praying to. Don't be ashamed: you're not the first or last one to went astray. Recall: Him is above, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. If only you weren't so afraid, you would hear His voice though mine.

What you want to ask about?

Lisa Pearson Made not for caring His will on her shoulders, but for guide us towards it. A sinless lamb, iconographer, send to us long ago even before I knew my destiny. She was closer to absolute pureness that anyone of us could get. She was the one whom Initiation you interrupted, but it doesn't metter now. Everything went according to plan. She's with Him now, speaking with us from above.

The Ascension The Ascension isn't some bloody mess as you describe in church guidelines. It's delicate, precise process of hard work. And in the end - He grands His blessing. Firstly, one must clean themselves from any sin. For each sin there's way of redemption. Not just penance: for pride, lust and warth - mortification of flesh, for greed - poverty of monkhood, for envy - condemnation to another, for gluttony - everlasting fest, for sloth - work. Cleaning can take years… But you will know when you're ready.

Then comes the Ascension. No need to describe - you about to witness it. Participate, even.

Oh, how nice of you were to visit us today.

#faith the unholy trinity #faith the game #faith game #faith john ward #john ward #john loves you au #art #my art #cw: gore #cw blood

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casterousaudrey · 1 year ago

Text

Healing Touch

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Astarion/Cleric!Tav!reader

Theme: tooth rotting fluff, some religious themes due to reader being a cleric.

Note: I think I made the reader and Astarion too obsessed with each other.. but in a good way!! Also this was inspired by the time I gave offerings in the stromshore tabernacle and I just see the 'Astarion disapproves', what the flip man! Sorry to those who were waiting for this, It took a while because of my busy sched!

"I’m never going to accept any kind of healing that doesn't end with a kiss after"

Fighting with Astarion never escalated far. It was usually just small jabs at each other or teasing gone too far but then there are times like these when neither one of you would back down it just kept making the fight more heated.

"I bring you once. One time to the stormshore tabernacle, and you can't even hold your tongue when I'm trying to commune with my God!"

"I just thought that you weren't the type to bow down to anyone, my dear."

"I'm a cleric, Astarion! Yes, I'm a devoted worshiper to my God and they give me strength! Apparently, strength I need to deal with you!"

Astarion sneers and crosses his arms at you. Worshipping another being doesn't exactly sit well with him, he feels that it controls you and makes you too dependent on them. It was probably due to how Cazador treated him but in his mind, any being asking for worship was self-admiring.

"You have your own strength, darling. So pardon me if I don't think you need some God for that."

"It's not that I don't trust my skills, Astarion. I worship my God because I choose to. Was it too much of me to ask my lover to respect that holy place? If not for the Gods then at least for me!"

At this point, you were screaming your lungs out not caring that the others in camp were glancing at the commotion. This wasn't the first Astarion had expressed his distaste for your faith, it never escalated this far because you tried to understand his situation with Cazador and all. But the constant disapproving stare and look of disgust, whenever you would pray to your God or gather some offerings to bring to the stormshore Tabernacle slowly, got to you.

After all the times you saved him from life-threatening wounds, you thought that maybe he'd warm up to your faith- but he remained unshaken.

"I'm going to take a walk... It's better if you don't follow me for now....., dearest" Your heart jumps a little at the nickname but then anger eventually pops your lovesick bubble. Astarion gets up and leaves camp, his definition of laying off steam was to walk through the woods and terrorize whatever animal crosses his path. You were about to say something about how you were the one who was supposed to storm off but instead, you held your tongue and went back to your tent making sure to close the opening.

You loved Astarion- and there is no doubt in your heart that he loves you too, but you didn't want to have to choose between faith and love because you believed that they are the main pillars that keep your spirit strong.

~~~

As Astarion was walking through the woods he reminisced about the argument you both had, he couldn't understand why anyone would worship a being without being sure that they'd get a reward in return. The only thing close to God he had in his life was Cazador- oh and how much he wanted to rip his face apart.

Astarion ponders all of this unaware he is dangerously close to enemy territory and suddenly senses another presence- maybe four around the trees. "If you're going to spy on me all day at least make it less obvious" Just then two goblins jump down from the tree, their weapons craving for blood.

"Hells, there must be quite a bounty on my head" Astarion smiles as he brings his weapons out. He strikes at the first goblin. "You fiends are making this stress reliever way easier for me. I can do this all day!" Astarion did occasionally love the thrill of the hunt, especially when he gets something in return. A thought comes across his mind that he feels rather... alone in this fight, although he could handle this on his own he couldn't help but crave your helping hand and your smile that shines when he saves you from danger.

Unfortunately, Astarion didn't realize how distracted he was until one of the goblins blew a horn, a signal for backup.

"Well, shit.."

Astarion killed the first two goblins but he sees backup quickly replacing them. The grip on his dagger tightened, this was supposed to be a nice relaxing walk to calm down or even hunt for other creatures. He guesses that trouble always did find a way to follow him.

The goblins fall one by one but not after Astarion gets injured by their bows, axes, and maces. As the last goblin loses, Astarion clutches his side. He was hurt and it's been so long since he's felt hurt in combat, his mind jumps again to your hands that always healed him at an instant or your ability to heal the entire team within seconds. God, he really missed you- he didn't even feel angry anymore, he just wanted to be in your arms as you kiss every part of his injuries after you healed it.

Just then he hears a footstep, and he groans in annoyance, more of this and he'd actually collapse- either from his injuries or his need to hold you again, he isn't sure.

"Look if you're looking for gold, you're out of luck..."

"Oh Gods.. what happened?"

He quickly glances to his side where the figure had approached from where he was sitting. Astarion half expected it to be you, The thought of you running after him made him smile but then it quickly disappeared when he realized the fact that the female human in front of him may be a cleric but it wasn't his beloved cleric.

"We should get you back to the church! They'll help heal your wounds!"

"As kind as your offer is, I'm afraid I have to decline. I can't these injuries for myse-" Just as Astarion tries to stand up, he feels pain in his side. He now just felt annoyed that he was displaying this kind of weakness to some stranger.

"Nonsense! I'll help bring you there!" The cleric smiles as she wraps Astarions arm across her shoulder. Astarion couldn't protest as much because of his condition but he'd be damned if he'll let himself get healed by some cleric.

~~~

The sun was about to set and Astarion still hadn't come back to camp. You were getting worried, you weren't even mad at him anymore you just wanted him safe and back in your arms. You really did fall hard for this man.

"Hey soldier... are you okay?" Karlach has seen you pacing back and forth all over camp, fiddling your weapon nervously, and even stress-eating your favorite sweets.

"Yeah, sorry if I'm being all jittery today it's just.."

"Astarion, yeah I know how much you care about each other. I'm sure he'll come back safe!"

"Thank you, Karlach. You're the best"

You softly smile at her as she waves and walks back to her tent. Just then you hear Gale laughing walking towards you, he just came back from town to fetch new ingredients for tonight's meal. He always loved cooking for the group.

"Ok you won't believe what happened"

"Spit it out, Gale. What's gotten into you?"

"Ok, so I was walking around the city and I stopped by the church. Guess who I saw there sneering at every cleric on-site..."

"No..."

"Astarion! Gods, if you saw the furrowed brows of the clerics trying to help him you'd laugh too"

"He's hurt?!"

"Not badly, I came to tell you about it. Figured the only cleric he'd let touch him was you"

You started to flush but quickly remembered that your partner was hurt. "Oh Gods, I need to go there Gale before he loses his mind. We'll be back for dinner!" You grabbed a few of your belongings, as well as some healing ingredients, and sprinted out. You wave quickly at the others before reaching the path to the church.

You have no idea why you were nervous to see Astarion, you see each other every day and sometimes even every night. You were scared if you got there and he was still mad at you. You push those thoughts away because all you wanted was to see and help him (maybe to also give him a little smooch but you won't tell him that).

As you open the door you hear the clatter of equipment being thrown to the ground, You greet the other people you know at church as you hear another glass breaking. You already know who would be acting hysterical in a church so you followed the sound and opened the door to reveal your one and only lover sitting up on a bed and a cleric who had been trying to help him.

"Oh sorry ma'am but this section is strictly forbidden to outsiders"

"It's ok I'm a cleric, and he's my husband"

"Oh well... if that's the case I can hand his case to you!"

The female cleric quickly picked up her equipment and left the room, she seemed a little too eager to finally leave. You turn to face Astarion whose eyes are already on you, his lips curled to a smile- at least you know he isn't mad.

"Husband? You could at least take me out for dinner first, darling"

"Oh hush, that was one of the only peaceful to get her to leave us alone"

The other beds in the room were surprisingly empty, leaving the both of you alone. You walked towards his bed as you set your bag on the side table. You place yourself in between his legs as you softly caress his face with your hands.

"How's my favorite vampire doing"

"Better now that you're here.... look darling, I just wanted to apologize for my actions earlier. It was completely uncalled for. The closest thing to a God I knew was Cazador... you saw firsthand how much I hate the beast.. but I also understand that it wasn't like that for you, I can live with you being faithful to a God and it also makes you kind, sometimes too kind"

"Too kind, eh? Maybe I should just leave your injuries unattended then"

"I would appreciate it if you won't"

You laugh softly at him as you place a kiss on his lips and at his lashes. You've always loved his eyes and how easily you could get lost in them. Astarions hands were on your waist as you lifted his shirt to finally tend to his wounds.

"I'm also sorry for screaming at you. Wasn't very kind of me to do... but also you were an ass"

"What an apology, my dear"

"Only the best for you"

Still in his hold, you grab a few medicines in your bag and quickly healed him with your magic. In no time Astarion was all healed, all that was left was to clean his bloodied clothing. You loved times like this- intimate and calm, You thank your God for the power to help him because he does get into trouble quite often.

"And there, you're all set. We can go back to camp now if you want"

"It still hurts right here, love"

You glanced at where his fingers were pointing only for it to be pointed at his lips. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"I wouldn't want nothing more, my sweet"

You chuckle as you kiss him on his lips. Even before you got together he always had this flirtatious attitude, you could argue that it only became more frequent when you got together. Always the charmer.

"Now let's go home before the others get worried" He released his hold on your hips as he stood up and stretched a bit. "Anything you say, darling"

"Why didn't you want to get healed by the other clerics?"

"Oh well they aren't as attractive, strong, smart, and quick-witted as you.... besides"

Astarion turns to you holding both of your hands in his as you look him in the eye.

"You're my one and only cleric. I’m never going to accept any kind of healing that doesn't end with a kiss after"

"You could ask Shadowheart next time"

"Ughh don't even get me started, I was trying to be romantic..."

Taglist: @severusminerva, @sarahskywalker-amadala, @ghostinvenus, @veethewriter. Hope you guys enjoyed this!! xoxo

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x mc #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate iii #astarion x tav

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harusaki-hugo · 10 months ago

Note

Hello! I uhm wanted to ask you if we can get another part of being like takemitches twin? Like specifically how the other gangs would react to you fighting and being a girl? Thank you 🫶��

Fandom; Tokyo Revengers

Hcs; What's it's like to be Tokyo Revengers younger/older siblings .

Note; i didn't expect it to be this popular lmao. Also. warning might contain some spoiler for those who just start the anime. i thought about putting brahman too but it's still not out in anime yet. Also, you can my favorite and my least favorite here XD.

Being Takemichi twin sister part two:-

Black Dragon:

You just want to have one day without you being drag into Takemichi problem but no, you got a call from Takuya saying Takemichi got his ass beaten in church.

Just one day, but no, seem like holy spirit want to see you suffering because your mom told you to drag Takemichi back home so you guys can have dinner together.

So here you are, ignoring the fight happening around you as you go straight to the church. Yamagishi about to cheer your name when he sees the pissed expression on your face, and he start praying for taiju.

Imagine Taiju who about to punch Yuzuha stop when someone push the door open and yell out, "Hanagaki Takemichi!!" and Takemichi like, "Oh shit, full name. I f*ck up."

Inui already know who you are, he sees you dragging Takemichi back home one day by ear. See, he once tries to stop you since he wants to talk to Takemichi but you kick him between his legs, so he politely steps aside to avoid not able to produce heir anymore.

But Taiju is another story, he sneers at you and stop you from taking another step, "who the hell are you, can you see that-"

Just before he can say anything, you rush toward him, Taiju let out a small gasp not expecting you to rush head on. He throws a right punch, but you slip underneath him, clenching your left fist you aim for his family jewel and punch it hard that all male in the church share the same pain.

Taiju falls on the ground holding his crotch, he lifts his head up to yell at you, but you already pull your arm back, without any mercy you start repeatedly punching Taiju in the face, not giving him a chance to recover.

Inui now start thinking whether he should just join toman as he stares at you beating the shit out of Taiju, Kokonoi have a second thought about this event. And Taiju, he, well might need a ride to hospital.

"Takemichi sister is stronger than him." Inui say as he looks at you drag your brother away, " Wait, what?" Koko look at Inui with a wide eye, "Oh right, that's [name], takemichi twin sister." Yuzuha looks at the unconscious Taiju, "Well, damn. I think i like her more now."

Overal: Yuzuha now has a girl crush, Inui start planning on calling takemichi brother-in-law, Kokonoi will literally buy you anything because Inui like you, Taiju has a second thought; wondering if his siblings as strong as you will he end up in hospital sooner?

Bonus: Mikey who about to help the other stare in confusion when he sees you dragging Takemichi out by an ear, yelling and scolding him. He peeks inside the church and see Taiju laying on the floor, beaten up to pulp. "Gotta marry her someday." He thought.

Tenjiku:

Izana knows about you because Mikey like you, so he thought about, why don't we have a chat with you for a bit.

On your way back home from school, you see a group of males hogging around in front of your house. Curious you step closer to them and ask why they here.

Haitani brothers point out at how similar you are to Takemichi, which you answer with duh, obviously. But then you see Kakucho and you recognize him, you greet him saying it's been long time since last you see him. kakucho can't help but blush when you step closer to him because he *cough*haveacrushonyouonce*cough*.

Izana notice this obviously want the best for his servant and take the lead, he asks you a few questions. Mostly about your relationship with Mikey. Which the answers are no.

You sigh and tell them to leave you alone since you are not really an official member of Toman. You about to walk away when Ran stop you, without much thought you flip Ran over your shoulder making him crash on the ground.

Silence. Pure silence.

Izana being curious piece of art he is wanted to test your strength because why not? When you busy apologize to stunned Ran, Izana throws a fake punch at you, but you dodge it by reflex. Oh, now he really interested.

You two start fighting, well, more like you dodging and he is attacking. Much to the other surprise you manage to dodge every single one of it.

"What are you guys doing?" Takemichi who just come back from meeting Mikey look at you guys confusedly and worryingly.

You two stop the fight because Takemichi ruin the fun, izana word not you. Izana whisper something toward you before he walks away with the other following him.

'If Mikey want you then i want you too.' is what he whispers and you like, wtf? aren't you like eighteen? red flags much?

"[Name] never change. She still looks like her brother." Kakucho said out loud making them all look at him. "...That's a girl?" Izana asks, "Yeah? Don't you see she wear girl uniform?"-"...Well, damn!"

Overall: stay away from izana if you want to survive, kakucho want to see you again and maybe you two can get a drink together, Ran is intrigue and wonder if you are stronger than you look and Rindou wonder if you willing to go out with him.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #x reader #sano manjiro #taiju shiba #inui seishu #kokonoi hajime #izana kurokawa #ran haitani #rindou haitani #kakucho #hakkai shiba #yuzuha shiba

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theguyinthemathexamples · 1 year ago

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cw// lowercase intended, mentions of execution, just religious sagau stuff, the usual

this is mostly a shitpost but like,,

do y'all think exorcists, paranormal experts or the like use our name to dispel spirits???

like ik the part where the normal populace prays in our name after every action they do or after every meal, but the part where they say "May the Creator guide you,," like we say "May the Lord guide you,," and all that fancy stuff to get rid of evil entities

it's just ⚰️⚰️

like imagine one of the first "execution" attempts they tried doing — and the one that miserably failed — is exorcism. I.e them thinking and trying to "exorcise the demon that decided to take a physical form and plague Teyvat with its impure influence." would actually cause us to disappear 💀💀

(more utc ‼️‼️‼️)

like here you were chained to a tall block of wood, internally screaming your head off as an "archbishop" of yours is reading, what you can only describe as the autobiography of your life, to a dozen thousand people or so.

sometimes you'd get sprayed/sprinkled with some water from a bottle on his person while quoting some random shit you said as a child. the small grimaces and glares you send his way seemed to satisfy him and the mass below.

at some point you even began to doze off because of how long this "exorcism" was taking, even a little sore from having to be in the same position for a few hours now.

you do feel bad for the kids that are forced to sit through the entire process, knowing full well that this whole shebang won't work.

some even looked skeptical that this was going to work in the first place.

good for them, really.

i can just hear them chanting saying "In the name of the Creator, their creations and the holy spirit, may this demon be vanquished from both the mortal and spiritual realm! May they experience an eternity of pain for ever thinking about imitating our Almighty Creator!" while the archbishop does the hand flick to splash us with water

JUST IMAGINE THE AMOUNT OF DISTRUST AND SKEOTICISM AND JUST—,,, EVERYTHING EVERYONE FEEL WHEN THE SO CALLED "exorcism" DOESN'T WORK LMAOAOAOAOO

and then eventually they all just say fuck it and execute us physically when the religious shit doesn't work

#sparkling wheat ♪#stellar-borne cookies and cream ♪#silver lined strawberries ♪#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #sagau #genshin #sagau genshin #genshin sagau #im sorry that most of my recent posts have been short recently 😭#i tbh do them short to let y'all's minds run and jump and skip and boing wildly (hopefully)#do just tell me if you guys want something longer #sorry for the confusion too btw 😭😭😭

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jackassbrainrot · 1 month ago

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confession [knoxville x gn!reader]

a/n: day 2 - priest kink, inspired by his iconic 2004 driver license and by fleabag of course. it's a very cliche priest kink fic scenario but let me be

warnings: sacrilege, oral sex (m!receiving)

word count: 712

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." You said as you sat down in the confessional, trembling slightly for the first time since your first confession as a child. The little screen separating you wasn't enough to ease your anxiety, knowing you were so close to him. "It's been 6 months since my last confession." Six months since he came to your church. Six months since your mind got overtaken by thoughts of him.

"These are my sins." And with that, you took a deep breath, followed by a beat of silence as you collected your thoughts. You listed off the usual, everyday sins, but when it came time to confess what you really came for, you couldn't find the strength to say it. You shifted in your seat, taking another deep breath before speaking.

"I've been having lustful thoughts, Father." An understanding hum was heard from the other side of the confessional. "About... a priest." You could've sworn you heard him chuckle and you felt more exposed than ever in your life, even behind the screen.

"And what is it that you've been thinking about?" The smirk in his voice was apparent, almost taunting. It felt like the words were being pulled out of you by an invisible force, detailing all the late night thoughts of him taking you in various positions and various places in the church.

There was another moment of silence and your anxiety spiked, thinking you'd gone too far, offended him, disgusted him even. But just as your thoughts started racing, the door of the confessional opened, his lean figure standing over you, looking down with darkened eyes.

"Kneel." Was all he said, and you did, falling to your knees in front of him, eyes never leaving his. His fingers threaded through your hair as he unbuttoned his slacks and you came face to face with the subject of your late night fantasies. You opened your mouth expectantly and another chuckle left his mouth, running the tip against your lips before pushing in.

His dick hit the back of your throat, making you gag around it which pulled a low groan from his chest. He let you do the work, bobbing your head up and down rhythmically, almost in a daze, taking what you were given gratefully. You whined when he pulled his dick out of your mouth, keeping your head in place by your hair as you tried to chase the contact.

"Continue your confession." He all but growled, his usually warm eyes filled with lust, stroking his dick mere inches from your face. And so you did as he said, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

"My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy."

As soon as the last word of the prayer left your, his dick was hitting the back of your throat again. He fucked your mouth mercilessly as he prayed: "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and the resurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins."

His words were getting breathier, his movement sloppier. "Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father" thrust "and of the Son" thrust "and of the Holy Spirit."

And with the last word, he came, painting the inside of your throat white. You swallowed gratefully, feeling closer to God than during any eucharist of your life. "Amen." You said as you wiped your spit slicked lips, getting up and watching Father Johnny straighten himself out.

Just as you were about to leave, squeezing past him through the confessional door, he grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks. He flashed you his signature smile, all teeth and southern charm.

"I hope to see you at confession again next week."

#hellooooo father johnny #yes I grew up catholic how did you know #johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #jackass fanfic #jackass fic #jackass x reader

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dilftaroooo · 2 years ago

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a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #mw2 smut #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #black reader

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fandomnerd9602 · 1 year ago

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Absolving?

Nun Novitiate!Wanda x Male Reader

It’s something that felt so sinful and yet at the same time, it felt so beautiful and planned out.

You were a seminary student studying at the local parish when you first met her. Wanda Maximoff, it was said that she came from a family line that had a witch or two but she chose to become a nun. Well rather she was taking the steps to become one when you met.

Her beauty, her kindness, the fire she carried for her devotion, her spirit, it all started a fire in your heart. It made you want to be better, both for God and for her. But at the same time, it felt so conflicting. How could you fall for a nun?! Well she was a novitiate so she hadn't taken the vows yet.

You and Wanda spent hours together. In prayer, in devotions, in taking care of the Sunday school children. And all of it just made you fall deeper in love with her.

You found yourself wondering the courtyard when you grunted in frustration. Your mind was racing.

“Trouble?” Steve, former army captain and your best friend, asks you with a smile.

“Have you ever had feelings for a nun?” You ask with a little embarrassed smile.

“I know my wife Peg thought of becoming one when I was missing in action for a month or so” Steve rubs his neck. "I appreciate you telling me this. I would say that she's not a nun yet. So take from a guy who took five years to tell his wife how he felt, don't wait"

You took Steve's advice to heart. But you didn't want to force her to choose between you or the habit.

You went to your mentor Wong, the high priest of the parish. Before you could tell him your dilemma, he informed you that he needed you to run the confessional for the day. You didn't think much of it, it was good training for you.

You took the priest's spot in the confessional booth. What you failed to notice was that Wanda was walking in right as you closed the door. All she knew was that the confessional booth was open and she needed to get something off her chest. She tried to pray it away but it still wore on her spirit.

Wanda, after taking a deep breath, opened the confessional booth door and sat down, crossing herself. You opened the side panel, allowing you to listen to her.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned" a calm, beautiful voice admitted to you.

"Do you seek absolution, my daughter?" you asked her back.

"Yes." Wanda took a deep breath, "no. maybe?"

"What troubles you?"

"I'm a novitiate and yet I don't know if I can go through with my vows."

"Do you have doubts?"

"No. I love my Lord do not get me wrong" she explains, "but I feel my heart drawn to someone. One within my own parish."

"A seminary student?"

"Yes. I've been assigned to be with him. And honestly, I love spending time with him. He's kind and sweet, a man who has a heart after God and that just makes him all the more appealing."

Wanda feels her breath shutter. "I love him. Y/N."

You feel your own breath hitch, she feels the same way for you! "I suppose there's nothing wrong with love. It was one of the first things created by the Father."

"But i dream of him. I wish to marry him. I wish him to take me against... I feel so conflicted."

You could feel the heat rising in your chest. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

"Y-you can still serve the Lord even if it's not within the walls of a parish. You can still volunteer with the church" you try to admit, "the scriptures do say that it's better to live in marriage than in the fires of lust"

"And if I find myself lusting for my own husband? If I dream about being with him?"

"T-that's a good thing" you manage to say, "Love is amazing."

"Thank you" Wanda manages to smile. "I will still need to pray about it but you've helped me through a great deal."

"Then may you go out today in peace, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit" you bless the young novitiate who stole your heart.

You try to get out. Sadly, or maybe by the Father's divine plan, you stepped out of the confessional booth at the same time that Wanda did, coming face to face with the young woman.

"Uh...hello" you manage to say.

"hello." she smiles back at you.

for @lifespectator and @aloneodi

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda variant #nun wanda #scarlet witch #scarlet witch imagine

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miller-lookforthe-lite · 11 months ago

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steps: part two

joel miller x f!reader

rating: M

words: 7k

tags/warnings: unplanned/(unwanted?) pregnancy, thoughts and discussion of abortion, UNSOUND MEDICAL PRACTICE/ADVICE, description of injury, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, not proofread i'm literally so sorry - please heed the warnings, as these may be triggering to some! MDNI

part one | read on ao3

There are no doctors in Kansas City. There’s nothing left of the QZ, in fact, besides a group of raging militants who have taken over and are hunting for the very two boys you happen upon. Henry and Sam don’t have much, but they have a relentless ambition, and Joel must see that as reason enough to go with them.

As you journey through the tunnels underneath the city, you get sicker. It’s clear to you now that this is not some nightmare you can wish away, not like one of your silent demons. This is real, and here, and now, and if you’re not pregnant, you’re dying. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Ellie finds out while she’s kicking a soccer ball with Sam, because Joel lowers his head to inquire to Henry about a pregnancy test and is a lot less fucking quiet than he ought to be.

Her head snaps towards them and you scowl at Joel, burning his entrails with your eyes, picturing his slow demise, then feeling even more sick at the prospect, taking it back, praying the Deity didn’t hear you think it so it won’t come true.

“What the fuck?” Ellie exclaims, her head whipping to you. “You —” Her head swings back to Joel almost cartoonishly. “And you? I thought — ew, gross, but holy shit — I thought Tess —”

“Ellie,” you warn quickly, trying to jump ahead of Joel’s ire, because that definitely also happened and you know he’ll never tell you why or why you happened after.

“Enough,” Joel snaps, and the room hangs still. Even Sam, though no one has bothered to bring him up to speed, can tell that the tension simmers low, and he abandons the soccer ball in favor of curling up by the far wall.

Joel turns back to Henry. “You know where I could find one or not?”

Henry shrugs. “All kinds of shit stashed in here, man. Take a look.”

Ellie’s gaze is burning into your skin, but when you turn to look at her, you only see a quiet understanding in her eyes, a Knowing too old to live in a body so young. She plops down in the seat next to you while Joel and Henry are off rummaging through the bins on the far side of the bunker, and her huff troubles a strand of her hair. You reach forward to tuck it out of her face. Her mouth is set into a grim line.

“Is that why you’ve been sick?” She murmurs, her voice betraying her fear.

Your heart clenches. You didn’t want her to have to feel the way that you were feeling. She shouldn’t have to shoulder it, shoulder you, but you don’t know how else to be with her but truthful. Her face so open, so honest, begs nothing less in return.

“Yeah,” you say, and she reaches out to grab your hand. You blink back sudden tears that choke your throat and crowd your lashes.

“It’ll get better then,” Ellie says, knee bouncing. “The sickness. I heard that it gets better after a while. And you won’t have to yack every time we think about cooking beans. So that’s a plus.”

You can’t help but smile, still feeling hot and slippery with shame, but hope shines through, minuscule and persistent. “I hope so,” you whisper.

—

When you leave the motel, Ellie’s the one to lead the charge. You follow her, leaving Joel gazing down at the graves he just dug. Henry and Sam are under those piles of dirt, and you can’t help but think that it’s some kind of curse that surrounds you, the same deadly spirit that befell Tess.

Ellie thinks it’s her fault, a strangled confession pulled out of her that she knew Sam had been bitten but tried to save him. You know that feeling, know the despair it leaves behind, but you’re not quite sure how to reach the place she’s gone to.

A plastic-wrapped stick sits in your pocket, has for days, but you’re too scared to do more than make sure it’s there, palming reassurance. Henry had slipped it to you before he died, not saying a word, but there was kindness in his gaze. There was a care you didn’t know people still had for other strangers. Your heart aches.

Along the road, it’s been hard to find food. Joel had shoved what he could from the bunker into his bag, but there wasn’t much in the way of nonperishables - the Kansas City militants had already taken care of that. He let you have the last of the crackers, but you can’t help the pangs of hunger that wrack through you late at night, curled up in a ball on the ground, your back to some tree or to him or to Ellie, one of them always wrapped around you, always watching. You can’t help the dread that follows either, that you swallow like the air that feeds you these days.

Joel feels it too. You know he does, but he’s better at hiding it. He’s acting strange lately — delicate — not something you’ve ever known him to be. He guards you when you’re sleeping, but can hardly look at you in the daylight. Where he’s started to let his eyes wrinkle at Ellie’s teasing jibes or stupid puns, he slams his lid shut when you deign to speak your piece. He offers you a hand to help you over a ridge, and always, always throws an arm in front of you when he thinks something sinister lies ahead, but then swiftly pulls away like the boil of your blood burns him too.

After six days have passed, you go behind a tree and pee on the stick. It’s not hard. All you fucking do is piss these days. What is hard is remembering the hands that touched the test before you - a dead man’s fingers before they pulled a trigger twice, him and another child. Is that the price you pay? One child’s life for another? What kind of sign is that — what kind of life is this? What kind of world to bring a baby into?

Two lines glare back at you. You muffle your sob into the heel of your hand.

—

Your teeth are clattering against each other, your violent shivering overtaking any autonomy you once had over your limbs.

You’ve set up camp underneath a rock overhang, and your breath comes out in puffs. Ellie’s pressed as close to you as she can get between the layers of your coats, the extra flannel that Joel had wrapped around her hanging loosely off her puffy-coated shoulders.

You’re in Nebraska, as far as you can tell, wide open plains stretching as far as you can see, the foothills offering little respite from the biting prairie wind, but you take what you can get under the boulder’s meager shelter.

Joel hasn’t stopped moving since you decided to set up here; he’s tearing up jerky pieces, distributing them to you and Ellie and only pushing one between his lips when you glare, he’s coiling some rope, he’s pushing a tarp under some stones to provide some cover from the ceaseless wind. You wish you could bring yourself to get up and help, but you don’t know how much help you’d be, not with the illness still permeating your veins, your trembling uncontrollable.

When Ellie figures out that she can’t fix it no matter how she lends her heat to you, she speaks up where you couldn’t.

“We need a fire,” she wheezes to Joel, eyes flicking to you even though she tries to hide it.

He sniffs, doesn’t look up from his tarp-maneuvering. “It’d blow out,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

Your desperation pushes you to chime in. “We could at least try. Under the tarp, or maybe the rock would shield it enough —”

“It won’t,” Joel snaps, and he still won’t look at you. He clearly intended to stymie your words, but now that you’ve started, you can’t stop.

You get up from your spot next to Ellie and wrap her firmly in the blanket from your pack. You stumble on shaky legs over to where Joel continues to fiddle, continues to fuss. “Let me just fucking try, Joel, we’re freezing, we can’t—”

You reach for the flint that you know is in the bag he holds. Your gloved hand brushes his, layers of cloth and unspoken and Too Spoken between you, and still he pulls away like he’s been burned. You freeze, watching him quickly shift to a different task, turning his collar further up against the wind.

“Fine,” he mutters.

You don’t know why it hurts so much to curl up next to the fire that night.

—

When you stop to make camp a few nights later, you decide you’ve had enough of this, this awkwardness and separation that your revelation had caused you. After Ellie’s been asleep for an hour, her soft breaths quiet in the dark, you push Joel behind a tree before he can protest, grab his face with your hands and pull his mouth to yours before he can remember that you haven’t spoken, haven’t talked about it, have only worried in silence. He grunts, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you, before pulling back, only a little, the slightest breath of distance. His eyes are locked on yours, so close that you can’t see straight, can only see brown brown brown, can only drown in it.

“I don’t…” he says softly, one hand on your wrist and the grabbing for your waist, turning you, pushing your back into the rough bark, but so gently, so gently it prickles and scrapes and wounds.

“Why not?” You say like you haven’t noticed how he’s been treating you differently, like he doesn’t know what to say to you, like you aren’t the same person you’ve always been before all of this. Like you aren’t praying praying praying that he won’t make you beg.

(He doesn’t.)

—

It’s dusk when you stumble upon a still-smoking pile of ash, the crisp wind spiraling it up to the conifer fronds above, dancing its warning like a specter. It makes Joel stop in his tracks. His shoulders, ever broad and imposing, are tense.

He spins on his heel and almost knocks right into Ellie, who trails mindlessly behind him.

“Dude!” She protests.

“We’re goin’,” he hisses under his breath, grabbing onto the handle of her backpack to drag her along with him.

You have to pick up your pace to keep stride with him, bounding through the trees. “Joel—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, releasing Ellie’s bag. She remains next to him without issue or question. “We gotta circle back to the road. Ain’t safe if there’s more people out here.”

“The road?” Your skin is warm, your breath coming short, but you keep your voice quiet as his, startled to stir the crunching leaves beneath your tired boots. “Joel, we got off the road ‘cause there were people —”

“I know why we got off the road.” His countenance is fierce, his resolve steely, but he still won’t look at you.

“It’s safer with the cover,” you insist behind him, a furious ire bubbling in the back of your throat. “Here we can — we can —” You’re gasping for air now, and Ellie notices, her steps faltering. She tugs on Joel’s jacket, wordlessly. You have to stop and brace your palm on the rough bark of the oak that shelters you, your vision narrowing to a tunnel of blurred, black edges and brown sodden ground.

You don’t know how he got there, but he appears in front of you, one hand gripping your bicep and the other pulling your own hand to his heart.

“Breathe,” he commands softly, and you try, you really do, but you know he sees the truth of it.

You’re fading, ability dulling quicker than an overused knife, and you can feel the panic crest in your mind, the sting of liability pricking at your consciousness.

“Sorry,” you struggle to say. He just takes an enormous breath, the cavern of his lungs expanding and exhaling underneath your hand. You follow the mountain of it, the in and the out and up and down, and it makes it a little easier to see again.

You drag your eyes up to meet his, shame and exhaustion omnipresent parents in your expression. He looks blown wide open, sad, maybe worried, but mostly so, so certain.

His grip on you tightens. “Let’s stay in the woods,” he whispers his acquiescence. You feel no kind of victory. You want him to argue with you, not the dark circles printed onto the skin under your eyes. That can’t be all you are now.

Joel tenses suddenly, eyes flicking from you up to the edge of the tree line. You think he’s about to grab you and Ellie and run when you hear a muffled shriek from behind him, his broad form blocking your sight. He whips around to reveal two women, one with golden-red hair and one with a knife to Ellie’s throat. Ellie struggles and swears and writhes. You freeze.

The golden-red-haired woman has a revolver pointed at the two of you. You can’t see Joel’s face, but you know that he’s furious. You almost hope it’s with you, hope it’s because you caused him to turn his back, to lose his focus. You want him to feel the way you feel.

“Quit it,” hisses the taller woman that has a hold on Ellie, like she’s speaking to an incessant fly rather than a young girl at her mercy.

“Let her go,” Joel says lowly, calmly. There’s no questioning a tone like that. “Then you and I can talk like adults.”

“We don’t want trouble,” the golden-red-haired woman responds smoothly, her fist around the revolver begging argument. “Just hungry. Just lookin’ for food.”

You don’t even think about whether you should, whether Joel has a plan. You keep your eyes on Ellie as she continues to squirm. She’s afraid, but maybe not as much as she should be. Her confidence in you crushes you. You dart forward to Joel’s bag, unzip it from where it rests on his back. You pull out the measly offerings - two more pieces of jerky wrapped in flaking paper. An old health bar. Some roasted acorns you had made that taste like bitter ash. You throw the food at their feet. Joel doesn’t stop you.

The woman holding Ellie narrows her eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you plead. “You can check.”

You shoulder off your own, lighter pack and toss it to them. Joel glares at you, his fingers clearly itching towards his own gun tucked in the back of his pants, but you glare right back. Not with Ellie’s throat under a blade, you try to tell him with your fear.

The golden-red-haired woman bends down slowly to rummage through your bag, revolver still pointed your way. Joel shifts his weight while the woman looks down and she cocks the gun without even looking up, clicking her tongue in admonishment. Once she deems your supplies as paltry as you had claimed, she stands up, kicking the bag over, and slipping your meager offerings into her pockets. “Fine. Elaine, let her go.”

Elaine’s eyes flash like she’s considering an argument, and you try to calculate the distance from your hand to Joel’s gun, from the bullet to the spot between Elaine’s eyes, and the speed her lithe wrist would need to flick the knife across Ellie’s life.

Your action is decided for you when Elaine relents, shoving Ellie out of her grasp and forward to the forest floor. You’re there to catch her in your arms, her gangly limbs knocking painfully against yours, her furious demeanor tempered by your trembling.

You pull her back with you towards Joel, scrambling on the ground, and look up to see he’s drawn his gun. “Get movin’, then.” He bares his teeth at them.

Elaine moves to back away, but the other woman hesitates. Elaine nudges her shoulder with her own and hisses. “Madison.”

Madison looks between you and Joel as he helps you and Ellie up like she’s trying to decide something. Ellie seethes with derision and you have to clutch her to keep her from springing back towards her captors, this time on the attack. She only settles when she realizes she can’t lash out without hurting you, her fury still spitting but her face turning into your collarbone, probably more for your sake than her own. You rest your palm on her head. Joel’s got his free arm wrapped around you, too, sandwiching you and Ellie tight to his side.

Madison seems to decide and opens her mouth. “You know the way to Jackson?”

Elaine halts her retreat, brows furrowed and eyes clenched.

Joel holds his gun steady. “Get out of here.”

Madison continues to speak like she didn’t hear him. “Settlement out in Wyoming. My brother was headed there with an old army buddy. Heard they take people —”

She cuts off at the click of Joel’s safety. His finger rests on the trigger. He doesn’t say another word, just bores into her with eyes of molten lead.

Madison nods, and before you can blink, she and Elaine are gone. You’d almost believed you’d dreamed them up if your stomach didn’t turn at the thought of your reserves, now depleted.

Joel doesn’t let either of you move for a good ten minutes, his gun still raised and his arm still around you both. Ellie’s breathing has evened out and she turns her head up to look at you. You run a hand through her ponytail. “Okay?” You whisper. She nods, lips in a hard line.

You let her burrow herself back into you and look up at Joel. His thoughts race too fast to hide from his expression, and when he finally lowers the gun, he steps forward to grab your pack and swing it over his own shoulder.

His jaw grinds itself to dust as he stares at the ground, and it occurs to you what he might be agonizing over.

“Army buddy in Wyoming? Joel—” Your breath catches before you can really ask him. He looks up at you with hardened eyes and nods.

You let out a shuddering exhale, still rocking, rocking Ellie in your hold. The word rolls acidic off your tongue. “Jackson.”

—

It’s Jackson you’re headed for when the first shots ring out. You’re following the faded lines of a dusty map, hoping for the best. It’s brought you to a small town, several wooden buildings lining what must have once been a comfortable main road.

It’s not even that your guard is down, either — Joel had been antsier than ever after the run in with the women, especially since Ellie’s life had been on the line. She grumbles against his insistence, but you think she’s secretly appreciative of this mangled care, this devotion that no one before has extended to her.

They still get the jump on you, though, because they’re trying to get the jump on someone else. You glean somewhere during the shootout that it’s two opposing groups, both vying for the others’ resources. One had been holed up in the last building in town, the last one Joel had to clear before giving the signal. The other had been over the hill, peering down, waiting for their moment to ambush. They had thought Joel, ransacking and searching, was their target. It probably hadn’t mattered that he wasn’t.

You hear the shots before you know any of this, before you see anything that happens, so you follow protocol and grab Ellie and duck down behind a crumbling outpost, pushing her head under your cover. You peek over to see a torrent of people flooding out of that last building, the one Joel had been headed towards. Their guns are pointed away from you, up towards the peek where the last shot echoed from. Their shouts are incoherent, and your eyes search frantically for Joel. There’s no sign of him by the building, but there is a blooming red scar on the ground where he had been standing.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and spin around, knife raised high. It’s Ellie who stops you, grabbing around your middle, and swearing under her breath when she sees who’s startled you.

Joel’s managed to sneak around the back of the houses towards you, clutching his arm to his chest. Blood pours from between his fingers. His jaw is set as solidly as stone, and he jerks his head back towards the foothill you came from. He wants you to sneak back unseen, you’re sure, but you can’t focus on anything but the red viscous that flows from him, the life force, the cellular beat, and you feel it in you, too, you have that same blood growing in you, in your body, in your stomach, eating you alive to keep itself growing —

You reach your hand towards him, and he jerks back. All you can see is your hand, frozen in the air. He and Ellie must exchange words, something, but you don’t hear, the pounding of your eardrums too raucous, the rushing of your own tremulous blood overwhelming. He turns and crouches in on himself, hunched in pain or stealth, you don’t know. He runs on sure and quiet feet back towards the trees. Ellie only goes when you start behind him, like she’s not sure you can be trusted to follow.

—

You make it about half a mile up the side of the mountain before Joel’s using the trees to keep himself upright, the heft of him only supported by the roots at your feet. It’s Ellie who ends up stopping him and sitting him down, back against a bristled trunk. You waste no time falling to your knees beside him, whipping off your pack. Your hands shake as you riffle through it for the tweezers, for bandages, for anything that might help him. If only he still carried around oxy.

You pull out a small glass bottle of amber, stomach-churning liquid. Joel finds it in himself to shoot a judgmental glance your way, before his eyes are rolling back in pain. He keeps his arm clutched to his side.

“What?” You hiss. “It’s not like I can drink it anymore, of course I still have some.”

You flip the cap off as quickly as you can and pry his good arm away from the wound. It’s still bleeding profusely, an ugly, obscured fissure in the perfect planet of his skin. He makes a high sound in the back of his throat when you pour the moonshine over the wound, but his lips stay pressed tight together. When you’ve got it as clean as you can manage, you grab the tweezers. You can see the metal still buried in his flesh plain as day. You’ll have to get it out.

“Can I help?” Ellie flutters anxiously at your side, her hands lifting and retracting with directionless adrenaline.

You nod towards your bag. “Grab the bandages, then cut them into three strips for me.”

She doesn’t waste any time, and you turn back to Joel.

His skin is sallow, and sweat crusts his brow. You reach up to wipe some away with your thumb and his eyes flutter. “I’m gonna take it out.”

He nods, breathing heavily, expression unreadable. “I know.”

You search his eyes for any kind of direction, anything that would help him that he’s too reticent to admit. When you find nothing but grim determination, you grab the strap of your pack and offer it up to his mouth. He understands, and takes it gingerly between his teeth.

Your hands won’t stop shaking as you level the tweezers with the hole in his arm, so you balance your forearm across his chest. His great, heaving breaths push you up and down. You place the two tapered points of the tweezers as best you can on either side of the bullet, having to dig through some flesh. Joel keens under you. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, over and over, a mantra that pulls you forward into the next several minutes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It takes several attempts, and probably a whole lot more damaged surface area than appropriate knowledge would have allowed, but you’re able to finally wiggle the bullet out of its warm home. The silver pelts to the ground and bits of Joel’s muscle, along with a whole torrent of blood, flow from the pulsing circle. Ellie’s there with the bandages and you throw your whole body weight into pressing them against his arm. His eyes roll into the back of his head, you think he might be shrieking through the fabric at his teeth. “Just have to stop the bleeding,” you tell Ellie, or Joel, or maybe the wind. “It’s okay. It’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, it does, or at least it slows. You remove the soiled, rust-colored fabric from Joel’s arm and wrap it up with the remaining bandages, but not before pouring more of the alcohol on it. He sobs, eyes squeezed shut, and Ellie clutches on to his uninjured shoulder, her eyes wild with fear.

“No sepsis, Ellie, that’s why,” you pant, breaking off another portion of the bandages with your teeth to secure it. His breathing calms when he seems to notice Ellie pressed up against him, her trembling fingers pulling the fabric from his mouth and pressing her face to his chest. His good hand holds her to him, clinging with a strength you’re relieved to see remains.

You go to wipe your filthy hands on the grass when you notice a spare bit of Joel’s gore on your thumb. You crawl as far away from Joel and Ellie as you can manage before spilling everything in you onto the bushes. You dry heave long after your stomach is empty.

—

You lie awake several nights later. Your back throbs against the unforgiving forest floor, your blanket wrapped around the top of you instead of padding the ground. Ellie snores softly on your right side, the tender puff of her breath singing through the frosty air. You wish you didn’t begrudge her the rest, a better person wouldn’t, but no matter how tired you get you can never seem to quiet the racing of your mind when the sun goes down.

You turn onto your side to see Joel lying next to you, flat on his back, eyes wide open towards the night sky above. He looks almost comical, bundled up to his throat and arm crossed across himself in an awkward approximation of healing. He spares you a brief glance, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing before he turns his gaze back to the branches that bow above you. He’s keeping watch best he can, but his injured arm is still in a sling, which means he can’t wield the rifle properly. He’s to wake you or Ellie if anything happens. You all know you’ll probably wake in the morning curled together like a three-pod cocoon, the greater threat to your person the chill of the wilderness.

You see your breath crystalize in front of you, even in the dull silver light of the moon, but you can’t see most of his face. He turns it from you, shrouded in shadow, like he does the rest of himself. You never know what he feels, never know where you stand. He had said he didn’t blame you, but it’s hard to believe him when he clearly harbors some kind of sorrow.

You don’t know if its the faux anonymity of the dark that gives you the courage or the delirium that your baby secretes into your bloodstream, but you almost feel inspired to ask him. Instead, you open your mouth and stick your whole entire foot into its waiting orifice.

“What did you think about abortions? Before the outbreak?”

The harsh of your whispering disturbs the tranquil blanket of night. He doesn’t move, doesn’t answer. His eyes don’t even shift to indicate he’s thinking about it.

“Because,” you rush to cover your clumsy footsteps, “you were from Texas. Everyone always said — I mean, I’m sure there were people everywhere that—”

“I don’t know.” He saves you from yourself, his cool, clean baritone soothing your spiked and frayed nerves. The baby pounds its fists against your insides braying like it had heard the word you uttered. You feel sick.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No,” Joel continues, turning his head to look at you. “I mean, I don’t know because I don’t think I paid enough attention to that kind of thing. Sarah’s mom never even — considered — so I didn’t — ” His voice catches in his throat and he looks away.

You knew about Sarah, but not from him. Tess had whispered to you one putrid Boston night about his past, about Texas, about a daughter that hadn’t made it, which she only knew about from Tommy, but you’d never heard him say her name. You feel the scorching lick of shame about your heart, not having even considered what your current state would mean to him. One child, stripped away so cruelly from him, and here you were implying you’d thought about doing the same to another, but then again — maybe that’s what he’d want. To nip it in the bud, to end the pain before it could start.

You take a shuddering, bracing breath, but your voice still comes out meeker than you wish it would. “My sister told me about it. She said there was a place you could go in the QZ, some woman in the Fireflies. I don’t know how,” you admit, “but I kind of wish I did.”

“No,” he snaps, and you shrivel. “It never works out, especially not now. It would just kill you.”

You acquiesce. It makes sense. It seems too good to be true, a relic of medicinally sound days-gone-by.

“Sorry,” you say again, at a loss for anything more.

“Will you quit?” He huffs, and he surprises you, reaching out his good hand to latch onto yours. “Enough apologizin’.”

You can’t stop yourself from pulling his gloved palm even closer to you, into your chest, curling around it like you’re supposed to want to curl around this thing inside you, this parasite that eats away at you, this child you’ll evict from its warm, safe home, whether you want to or not.

He notices your reticence, turns on his side to face you, to coax your bile out of you.

“I feel sorry, though,” you whisper, blinking furiously, finding it hard to look right at him. “I don’t want it. I think I hate it, and I ought to feel sorry for that, right? That’s so awful, Joel. I’m so awful. But I’m so — I can’t —”

You shudder, and it’s like turning off. The tears you felt like crying halt their rise to the surface, and your breath slows. The blade of the hurt dulls, pricking instead of slicing, fading. It’s hard to hear him when he responds, hard to feel the gruff hand he lifts to cradle the back of your head. It only comes back into focus when he insists.

“Hey, listen to me.” He shakes you a bit, and with Herculean effort, you lift your heavy eyes to meet his. His expression is intense, pinched, and so, so beautiful.

“You’re not wrong, you’re not bad. I know this is hard. I know,” he shakes you again when your eyes start to glaze.

“Joel,” you breathe.

“Listen,” he says, fingertips pushing into the firm of your scalp, and you notice faintly that he’s abandoned his sling, that he’s pushed his pain aside to reach for you. “You’re doing better than you think you are. I see it, I see you fightin’. You’re not failing, darlin’. Not on my watch.”

You feel yourself nodding, not knowing where the internal command came from. “I know, Joel.” How do you tell him? How can he not understand that you trust him, just not yourself and your rotten, black heart?

He exhales harshly, searching your eyes for doubt, for something other than this flatness you feel settling over you. He gives in when he can’t find it, but his hand keeps rubbing your head, and you lean into it, relishing in the prick of his calluses. “Okay,” he says, then closes his mouth, opens it, shuts it again. His indecision pulls you back to the forest, back into the body you now share with another.

“What?” You venture, and his eyes alight, enthused to have found you in there.

“You ever been to Texas?” He says quickly, and he doesn’t blurt things, but maybe he did just then.

A startled laugh escapes your lips. The world shifts into focus, and the world is just his eyes, boring into yours. “Probably not. I don’t think we travelled much before the outbreak. Boston’s all I remember, besides a few summers in Maine.”

He lets out a low whistle, eyes flicking over to Ellie to make sure his sound hasn’t bothered her. She remains still, burrowed in the confines of her dreams. “Pretty different from Texas, then,” he says, and you laugh again, realer this time, easier.

“Colder,” you agree, “Even in the summer. We always had to bundle up next to the coast, even in July.”

“Nice though?” He prods into your memory with an iron poke, trying to keep you awake, keep you alive. Guide you ashore. The granite slopes wade into your mind, crashing waves and evergreen needles, a creaking Cape and damp, mossy mornings.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Really nice. Pretty quiet. Not many people, mostly just the deer and the gulls.”

His eyes flash, some emotion you can’t name, but it feels like it fits in the still blanket of space between you. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad place for a baby.”

You think of a child, toddling through the sand, tossing rocks into the water at your ankles. You think of a quiet life in a cove town, small but big enough for the three of you. You think of scribbled drawings on an antique fridge, of fatherly pride and big hands sweeping up a little girl, throwing her over his shoulder. Her lovely laugh peeling through the dunes.

You can’t help but smile. “Maybe you could have built us a cabin or something.”

He grins then, a real, full smile lighting up the planes of his face. You want to reach out and stamp it into your skin, hold this moment, suspend it in simplicity. “Big order for that. Think the invoice would be pretty intense. You plannin’ on compensating the vendors properly?”

You snort, curling his still-captured hand under your chin. “What, the baby’s not enough? Plus, your memory’s shot. Rural real estate isn’t anywhere near expensive as those city slickers liked to run you for.”

“I guess a nine month gestation is payment enough,” he says, and you feign to smack him, beaming.

“Three beds, three baths,” you continue. “One for us, one for the baby, one for visitors.”

He sucks in through his teeth. “Steeper and steeper, these costs. And it’s oceanfront, too?”

“Balsam fir,” you babble, the picture forming so seamlessly in your mind. “So it always smells clean. High ceilings — and a skylight! So we can still see the stars.”

Joel’s nodding, eyes shining. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Whatever you want. I owe ‘ya that much.”

Your heart skips a beat. You feel a giant spark smolder in your chest, so you tuck yourself into Joel’s side to share it with him. He carefully folds you into himself, stretching around the subtle curve of your abdomen that’s recently manifested.

Something unnamable pulses through you, through the bump, over to him. Before you drift off, you convince yourself you might have seen it in his eyes, too.

—

One stormy night in Boston, you’re helping Tess pack a couple of bags. The thunder cracks and you shiver, mind wandering to Katie, to where she might be sleeping that night, if she’s wet, if she’s cold. Tess hasn’t said much to you, her mind on her next move, her next haul; she’s particularly preoccupied with Joel’s absence, you think, but you don’t say anything. When her grim determination sets the precedent, there’s no getting around it. You wouldn’t want to pry, anyways.

She’s the one to finally break the silence. “He say anything to you before he left?”

You had been here at their place earlier in the day, while Joel was packing up to leave. He hadn’t said a word, had just brushed by you on his way out, your shoulder buzzing from the brief contact.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t even know where he was going.”

Tess hums, eyes flitting from the door to the radio against the wall. “Well, whatever. We can’t wait around all night. You hungry?”

Your stomach gurgles in response, carving deeper into the hollow pit of your abdomen. “Yeah,” you say, like there was ever any other answer.

Tess heats up the green beans with ham you had brought that day from your shift at the pantry. The corner of the can is dented, which is why no one cared that it had gone missing, but Katie had started rejecting the dented ones recently, saying botulism was a silent killer the Fireflies couldn’t afford to barter with. Your palms sweat. You’ve eaten so many like that, it’s probably fine. But what if this was the time it wasn’t? What if Tess ingests your poison and you’re the thing that kills her, after all she’s been through?

She doesn’t seem to care, dumping portions into two bowls and leaving the rest in the beat up tin pot on the stove. You both slurp in silence, letting the wash of sodium rush over your gums. You should have thought to add pepper, but getting up again feels too much like an inconvenience, and maybe a slight on Tess’s preparation.

You’re both jolted from complacency when Joel bangs through the front door, throwing it shut behind him and shouldering into the nearby bathroom before either of you can stand up.

“Joel?” Tess calls warily.

A moment of silence, then he responds. “Just a minute.” His voice is strained, slightly raspier than usual.

Tess immediately knows something is wrong, and you know because of the look on her face. “Fuck,” she mutters, and pitches towards the cabinets underneath the sink. She tosses you a couple of rags. “Will you go hand these to him, or get him to sit the fuck down? Where’s the disinfectant?” She starts muttering under her breath while she rummages around and you stand there uselessly, rags flowing limp between your fingers.

“Will you relax?” huffs Joel, emerging from the bathroom and moving stiffly to the kitchen table. You can’t help but gape at his complexion marred with bruising, the ugly discoloration above his eyebrow and around his jaw swelling to a reddened burst. Blood drips down his nose, around the contour of his rugged angel lips, then down onto the rotten floorboards underfoot. He sits, unable to hide a wince and a grunt, or maybe not trying. You’re still frozen.

Tess whirls by you, slipping the rags from your hands and settling next to Joel with a bottle in her hand. She wets one of the rags, then starts to dab at his face. He halfheartedly bats her hand away for a second, until she glares, then relents and lets her clean his face.

“You wanna explain yourself?” She murmurs lowly after a minute. Her voice spurs you into action. You want to help, want to stitch him together with your own sinew, dull his pain with a drug from your veins, but you don’t think he’ll take kindly to it. Tess has clearly done this before; even if she hadn’t, she’s comfortable, certain of where she stands with him. You can’t step into the space she takes up.

“Not really,” he mutters, a childish impatience squirming through him. You feel his own restlessness in your own feet; useless, you can’t just stand here. You turn to the stove, grabbing another bowl from the cabinet and doling him a portion of the sad green beans and ham. You grab the pepper, flaking a kick into his food that you’re sure he’s said he prefers, and turn to quickly set it down in front of him. Tess is done, grabs the rags to toss in the sink.

Joel seems confused. “We’re outta green beans.”

You grin at him, the flesh on your face feeling tight and out of place. “Good thing you’ve got a supplier.” You don’t say that you had stashed him a can extra even above your smuggling quota. You don’t mention it because you know he likes them better than any of the other shitty cans because they remind him of home, because they’re made down south, somewhere, because he can’t know that you know that about him, that you study him like he’s something worth knowing about. You can’t wear your love so openly like that, but you think he might see it leaking out of your porous heart anyways, because there’s a stern gratitude in his nod, in the bite he lifts to his mouth. Tess knows too, and squeezes your shoulder as she walks you out later.

“Thank you,” she says, “for doing that for him. He’ll never say it, but he’s grateful. I’m grateful. You’re a good kid.” Your heart beats faster. You can’t remember the last time someone said something like this, told you you were good, saw the care you hemorrhaged, and gave it back to you. You nod and head back to your own empty place, counting down the hours until you can see him again, until you feel like there might be a reason you’re here.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou

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godhasatenderheart · 1 month ago

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Hello there. As a fellow Christian, I really enjoy a lot of posts on your blog. I think sharing the love of God is very important. But one post on your blog gave me a bit of pause. You see, something that often causes me distress is the idea of people going to hell. I understand that free will and consent is important to God. I know that hell has to exist because there needs to be just punishment for sin in the world and that it's one of the biggest things Jesus has saved us from.

But still, I worry about people going there. I don't want people going there. It's part of the reason why the Great Commission is so important. So, the post that gave me a bit of a pause, as it often does when I see it crop up, was the part about a line being drawn in the sand and the wailing about "Why won't you accept us?" Presumably, this is referring to the LGBTQ+ community and how the Bible forbids homosexuality. I won't get into the parts about whether the translations are correct or not - it is an area in which I have doubts - there are plenty of other areas of which I do not have doubts. Do we not all have our struggles in our faith? I believe Jesus died for my sins, was raised from the grave, that He forgives me of my sins - He is my Lord and Savior. I've confessed this with my mouth and in my heart and to people I don't know and to you (who I also don't know). I think that is first and foremost the most important thing. And also the two greatest commandments as outlined by Jesus: to love God with all your heart and all your mind and all your strength and to love your neighbor as yourself.

With this in mind, can we hold sinners, those who have not yet accepted Christ to our same standards? They don't yet know the love of Christ! Jesus ate with prostitutes and tax collectors - those deemed the most sinful in His day. Didn't Jesus wait until AFTER he saved the woman about to be stoned for adultery before saying "Go and sin no more?" Should we not be throwing our doors open and inviting people in with no expectations - only love - presenting the Gospel "with all gentleness and respect" - teaching the love of Christ first, praying that God will turn their hearts towards them, and then letting the Holy Spirit do His work?

Instead, we say, "No. We do not accept you as you are. Do NOT come as you are. We have nothing to teach you." We say, "Do not come here. You will be judged by us. Our primary goal isn't your salvation; it's to get you to stop being gay / transgender / etc." "You don't get God's forgiveness and love."

The church is in decline for many, many reasons that don't just have to do with a "change in culture." God hasn't stopped working. There are people still seeking Jesus but getting turned away by the workers of the harvest. And I just... I have a lot of feelings about that. I don't think we should discard the Bible.

But does desiring the salvation of as many souls as possible mean I'm living a life of compromise? Am I saying "Did God really say-" or am I saying, "What about when God said this? What about when Jesus did that? Aren't those things important, too?"

Hello, beloved! Forgive me for not knowing which post of mine you're referring to, but I'll try to answer as best I can.

My main goal is to get people curious about God, because once they open their hearts to Him, even for a moment, He reveals Himself, and they become convicted by the Holy Spirit. I think it's okay to bring newcomers to God, help them find their footing, and then allow God to handle the rest. He is sovereign, and will guide them along the way.

The truth is, I am bisexual. I was also an alcoholic and abused marijuana during the time I found God. If, before I gave my heart to Him, someone had listed all my sins, I would have presumed I was condemned to Hell for eternity and not pursued a relationship with Him. Or, if I had pursued it, I would have felt nagging shame, believing I wasn't good enough and constantly fearing for my salvation. For this reason, I believe it's best to establish God's love and mercy first and foremost. Our God is forgiving, and He will forgive us if we come to Him.

If we lead with harsh criticisms when evangelizing, we give people the impression that God is cruel, tyrannical, and abusive. Since finding God, I've been able—by His power—to avoid sexual sin and stop using substances. It wasn't me who did this, but God. We can't overcome our sinful desires without Him, and when we approach people first with criticism, it makes them feel like they have to “fix” themselves before ever coming to God. This is backwards. When you break your arm, you don't try to cast it yourself—you go straight to the hospital. The same is true of our sin and God. We must go to our healer to be healed.

We cannot overcome sin on our own, so why do we, as Christians, expect people to cure themselves or make themselves presentable before coming to God? I believe in going out into the fields, gathering the lost sheep, and bringing them back to the Shepherd. He is the expert when it comes to His sheep. He knows exactly how to handle us, and indeed, He is the only one who truly can.

but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

—Romans 5:8 (ESV)

What do you wish? Shall I come to you with a rod, or with love in a spirit of gentleness?

—1 Corinthians 4:21 (ESV)

I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.

—Luke 5:32 (ESV)

#g #a

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echologname · 9 months ago

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What's from God and what's not

From God

Holy - set apart from the world (which is cursed with sin) and anything that comes directly from God Himself

Love

Joy

Peace

Patience

Kindness

Goodness

Faithfullness

Gentleness

Self-control

Mercy, forgiveness and grace

Truth

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Phil.4.8&version=NLT

Everything humans do in the Bible is not of their own power but God's which they receive the blessing to experience through FAITH. So, God is saying to keep our minds focused on Him because many beliefs or doubts start as thought and can work their way to the heart and spirit for better or worse.

What's not

Demonic - absence or lack of God's light and presence (think of how the sun provides warmth, light and life and as you get further away, space becomes cold, dark and inhospitable)

Anger/bitterness (holding a grudge)

Hatred

Sadness

Lonliness

Distress (fear)

Lies

Murder

Theft

Pride

Greed

Lust

Gluttony

For jealousy and selfishness are not God’s kind of wisdom. Such things are earthly, unspiritual, and demonic. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jas.3.15&version=NLT

Demons are angels who've chosen to separate themselves from God, and the Bible is very strict about committing sin in your mind and heart like 1 John 3:15, "If you hate each other, you are murderers, and we know murderers do not have eternal life."

This is to warn others about merely doing something in your mind and heart with good or bad intentions. You can do anything for the goodness of God if you're acting in genuine honesty, humility, selflessness and empathy. But anything can be sinful if you're doing it in selfishness, callousness, or in the desire for malice, deceit and disorder (chaos).

The point is, ALWAYS check your thoughts and feelings.

And we destroy every proud thing that raises itself against the knowledge of God. We capture every thought and make it give up and obey Christ. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2Cor.10.5&version=ICB

This to help you be aware if you're being deceived or influenced by evil spirits and to make a strong, conscious effort to DENY them, and do what God says instead:

Give Him your fears and worries

Be joyful

Be loving

Find peace in Him

Let go of anger

Pray and praise constantly

It can be REALLY hard to do these things, but God promises to give you endurance if you trust in Him (Isiah 40:31) and strength if you ask for it.

I can do all things through Christ because he gives me strength. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Phil.4.13&version=ICB

#christian #spiritual warfare #Bible verses

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suziesfaith · 21 days ago

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find the joy

we often focus on the hardships that come with being a christian. it is a really important topic! christians are being treated worse because of their faith in many countries and communities. but today, let's find the joy:) the first thing i do in the morning is to kneel on my bed. i want to thank the Lord for waking me up. Jesus gave me another chance - the sun is still shining above me! when you get up from your bed, He is here. waiting in your room for you to come and pray your morning prayer. imagine How happy Jesus must be when you remember about Him in the morning. He is here during your whole morning routine. He cares for you so much He wants to know how did your morning skincare go and what did you have for breakfast. God knows all of you, yet He still wants to listen. i wrote about mornings since it's my favourite part of the day. but Jesus is with you the whole day! when a hard situation comes, i quickly let him know and ask for help. or when i am reading the Word - i ask Holy Spirit to enlighten me. you don't need to wait for a special occasion to talk to God. He is with you and never leaves you. i think that's one of the most joyful things in christianity! share your happiest moments with Jesus so more people can get inspired:D

#christian #christian faith #christianity #Jesus #God #christblr #Bible

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thedemoninmywalls · 2 months ago

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Fallen Angel Ch. 1

(Angel!Aro x Rire AU) Aro is a guardian angel who has failed to protect the human she was supposed to be guarding. Terrified of Heaven's wrath, she makes a desperate deal with a sadistic demon prince named Rire - and he has plans for her…

Aro was not your typical angel.

She did not have large white wings or special powers, and she lived on Earth among the humans. In the angelic hierarchy, she was considered low ranking, less holy than those who dwelled above in Heaven.

But if a human looked closely, they could sense an otherworldly spirit in Aro.

Every angel has a mission, and Aro took hers very seriously. She was a guardian angel, and her job was to protect one Dr. Larry Bergen.

Dr. Bergen was a neuroscientist. He worked at a big prestigious hospital, and he helped people with various neurological diseases. The Heavenly Authorities wanted to protect him because he was improving the human species. He was doing great things, so they assigned Aro to guard him.

Aro was very proud of her mission. Despite their flaws, she loved humans. She loved their arts and culture and innovations. She felt like she was doing something to help humans when she protected Dr. Bergen. Though she was just a low ranking angel, Aro was happy on Earth and happy with her life.

But one day, Aro failed.

On that morning, Dr. Bergen was riding to work on his bicycle. He did not see the car swerve across the road.

Aro hurried in just in time to see Dr. Bergen get hit. His frail human body went sprawling across the pavement. He was dead the moment he hit the ground. There was nothing she could do, and the feeling was burned into her mind forever.

Even angels cannot bring people back from the dead.

Traumatized, Aro fled the scene of death. She was too afraid to take responsibility for her actions, her lapse in judgment. Instead, she tried to hide in a small dark corner of the Earth.

What could she do? Heaven did not tolerate failure. They would surely punish her. She had failed Dr. Bergen, his friends and family, and humanity itself. His death kept replaying in her mind, and she did not know how to stop it.

In that dark, lonely corner, Aro did the one thing she knew how to do, the first thing that all angels are taught to do - she prayed to God.

“Please,” she sobbed pitifully. “Please help me!”

Aro stayed there for a long time without any food, water or sleep, praying incessantly. Finally, someone answered her prayers.

But it wasn't God.

A tall, handsome man approached. He looked human, but there was a distinctly divine spirit in him. He came alone, but his presence was overwhelming.

When Aro saw him, her blood turned to ice. She had never seen a demon before.

Every angel knew that demons were enemies. They were strong and powerful; they could rip apart angels like they were mere humans.

But this man did not move to attack Aro. His voice was deep and smooth as butter.

“My name is Rire,” he said. “I have come to answer your prayers.”

“W-Why?” Aro whispered hoarsely.

“I know what you did,” the demon replied. “I imagine the Heavenly Authorities will be looking for you.”

Aro shuddered. He was right, and likely the human police were looking for her as well. She couldn't stand the thought of facing either of them.

“What should I do?” she asked softly.

Rire held out his hand to her. “Come with me,” he said. “And I will protect you.”

If she had been thinking clearly, Aro might have thought twice about making a deal with a demon. But she was afraid, alone, and traumatized. She had failed both the angels and humans. What was left for her here?

In the end, Aro decided it was better to leap into the unknown than face the punishment she knew was coming.

In Heaven, Aro was told that even touching a demon could burn an angel’s skin. But when she shook Rire’s hand, nothing happened.

Rire grinned, and the sharp whiteness of his teeth seemed blinding to Aro.

She closed her eyes.

—--------------------------

When Aro opened her eyes, everything changed.

She was no longer in the dark corner. It seemed that the demon had transported her somewhere else.

Now she found herself in a beautiful bedroom, with a tall ceiling and velvet curtains. The bed was laid out with the softest linens, and the clothes hanging in the closet were rich and elegant.

There was more luxury in this one room than Aro had ever seen in her lifetime. Like all angels, she had been taught to live modestly; this kind of material richness was completely foreign to her.

There were windows behind the thick velvet curtains, and Aro peered through them to figure out where she was. She was met with a vastly expansive view, looking down at a cityscape that seemed to stretch for miles. There was no sunlight; the city was lit by a dark red glow that seemed to come from beneath. The small, twisted streets were packed with strange creatures scurrying here and there, going about their day.

Demons.

Aro felt like she was going to throw up. This was Hell. She was actually in Hell. All her life she’d heard horror stories about Hell, about the atrocities that occur there, especially to innocent angels.

“Making yourself at home?”

A familiar voice interrupted Aro’s thoughts. Rire was standing by the bed. The red lighting flattered his handsome features. Slowly, Aro turned to face him.

“This is Hell,” she whispered in horror.

“Yes,” Rire raised an eyebrow at this obvious knowledge. “I live here.”

“I-I can't be here,” Aro whimpered. “The demons, they'll –”

“You're not going anywhere,” Rire took a menacing step towards her. “I said I would protect you, and I will.”

Instinctively Aro stepped back. “Why?”

“Hmm, how should I put this?” Rire tapped his chin condescendingly. “All demons are taught to be afraid of angels. We're natural enemies, after all. But here I see a failed angel, scared and alone, just desperate to make a deal. Only an idiot would pass up an opportunity like this.”

“Y-You can't keep me here!” Aro cried. “You said yourself that Heaven will be looking for me!”

“Up there, yes,” Rire agreed. “But they’ll never come down here and soil their pretty robes. You angels are just as afraid of demons as we are of you.”

He took another step closer.

“Besides,” he continued. “Do you really think the angels will want you back after what you did? They have no use for a failure.”

Angrily, Aro opened her mouth to argue - but nothing came out. As far as she could tell, he was right. There was nothing for her up there.

Rire chuckled. “You know, I’ve fucked many, many people in my time…but never an angel.”

He unzipped his pants, revealing a cock that was as massive as he was tall. It was erect and slick with arousal.

Aro stared. She had never seen a man's nudity before. But as he moved towards her, she suddenly knew exactly what was about to happen.

Dropping to her knees, Aro raised her hands in supplication.

“Please,” she begged. “Don't do this. It's wrong, it's immoral…please–”

Rire seized a fistful of Aro's hair and forced her dry mouth around his cock. She gasped and choked as the huge thing invaded her throat, stretching her mouth and jaw to its limits. Her nose was buried in his dark pubic hair; his musk was overwhelming.

If she were a human, and had lungs, she might have actually choked to death. But she was an angel, and she could only bounce helplessly with each thrust of his hips. She tried to hit him, or push him away, but his grip on her hair was like iron.

Rire only released her when he reached orgasm, his thick cum shooting down her throat. As soon as he let go of her hair, Aro pulled back, panting heavily. Again Rire approached her, his cock still erect and dripping with her saliva.

“Please, stop–!” Aro cried.

It did not even occur to her to fight back. She fully believed that Rire was stronger than her, and she’d been trained to obey a higher power.

Ignoring her pathetic pleading, Rire roughly shoved her onto the soft bed. One hand pinned her throat to the mattress and his other hand yanked up her robe, revealing an untouched pussy, already wet with unwanted arousal.

The sight of it made Rire lose all self control. He rutted into her like an animal, his grip on her throat tightening with every brutal thrust.

“Your virgin hole is so tight,” he panted. “Forget about being an angel. You're my personal fucktoy now.”

Tears streamed down Aro's face as she vainly scratched at Rire’s arm. The pain was horrible, but even worse was the pleasure. Angels were not supposed to feel this way. Angels were supposed to be spiritual beings, unbothered by such fleeting physical pleasures.

After this her body would always ache to be filled, to be violated. She was no better than a human now, a weak, fragile human who melted at the merest touch.

“Oh God,” Aro sobbed.

“I am your god now,” Rire snarled. “From now on you will pray to me! Say my name.”

“R-Rire,” Aro moaned his name obediently. Suddenly waves of orgasmic ecstasy shot through her body, and she screamed, “Rire!!”

A few seconds later, Rire’s seed flooded Aro's guts. He pulled out, and his thick white cum spilled over her bare thighs and the sheets beneath her.

“Ahhh…that was very good,” Rire sighed contentedly. He released her throat and brushed some hair out of her face gently.

Without another word, Rire crawled off the bed and began zipping up his pants. After making sure he looked presentable, he simply walked out the door, leaving Aro alone again.

For her part, Aro could barely move. Her throat and thighs were badly bruised. Her legs and ass were sticky with cum and sweat. When she swallowed, she could still taste him.

Worst of all, her abused pussy ached, pulsing with newfound desire. It would never feel the same way again. Her body had betrayed her, forced her to accept these evil feelings as hers.

After a while, Aro mustered up enough energy to roll over on her side. The least she could do was get comfortable in Rire's bed. Right now all she wanted to do was sleep, sleep away the pain and the trauma and the grief. Maybe, when she woke up, she would be back in her own home on Earth, watching over Dr. Bergen. Maybe when she woke up, all of this would just be a terrible nightmare.

#the demon in my walls #self ship #canon x self insert #btd rire #lucien rire #btd fanfic

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