#i'll answer as long as it isn't spoilers
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AUGH I’d love to see more time looping odile if possible,,,,, how do you think she’d like; “devolve” over each of the acts as compared to Siffrin over time :O
ok im gonna be honest i did like portrait edits months ago and just never finished them. so here you go
act 3:
act 5:
#some of them are still missing... I'll edit this post if I finish them as well#isat#isat spoilers#odile loops au#day 108#isat odile#i'm too lazy to individually export them in transparent atm...#tell me if yall ever need it#edit: I FORGOT TO ANSWER THE QUESTION#I mean yeah technically the portraits work but I do have Thoughts about this#I just think that throughout the loops odile becomes more. annoyed. and irritated#Like by act 3 fighting isn't really amusing anymore#dying/getting frozen is. ah. welp#But by act 5 she's just speedrunning#Just super irritated. like die already i've got variables to test#act 3 frozen is a momentary rest; the break is nice and she knows she can get back next loop; it's fine. act 5 is ugh seriously#tired. annoyed. unamused. what a waste of time#anyways wait how long has it been since I posted#(sees date of last post) OH. um#sorry guys I've been busy job (internship) hunting#will I post more from now on? No promises <3#Thank you for sticking around nontheless... I appreciate all the stuff yall send in my inbox <3#isat au
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@percahliaweek Day 4: Scars / Tomb
Perc'ahlia + An Intro to Forgiveness (and, worse, being forgiven) // Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken
#'stitched up' counts as scars right? (i don't wait for an answer)#shaking my fists at the skies. campaign 1 720p quality.#i don't know if i'll actually make it just because my brain doesn't work and it's frankly a miracle I'm getting any of my perc'ahlia week#things out at all#but there's a spiritual successor to this with the 'i made this place for you. a place for you to love me' part of this that's just.#whitestone both in . percy gives vex a baronry. vex insists that percy isn't alone when he wanders back to his haunted and rotting hometown#and they build a home. and a life. and a family. and a legacy.#head in hands . percy lives as long as whitestone lives. vex was the first in line to help him bring whitestone back to life.#vex's plea for percy to come back including her telling him she doesn't want to be in whitestone if he's not. get me OUT OF HERE#percahliaweek#percy de rolo#vex'ahlia#cr1 spoilers#cr1#critical role#perc'ahlia#percy + vex
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hihi! not to pressurize you into giving it away 😭😭 but I have my curiosity about how long of a fic is jadeite ginkgo exactly. ITS NOT LIKE IM READY FOR IT TO BE FINISHED ANY TIME LONGER!!! i absolutely love and adore that fic 🫶🏽 I'm just shooked by how you plan out these long fics oml
also I would love to draw something related to jg again soon if I get the chance and time !! <33
i can only give you a rough estimate honestly bc it is a known fact that I Do Not Control The Fic Length. it just happens. so uh- i'd say at the very least ten more chapters, probably more. most likely more. watch it be longer than cyanide. i don't know man (gn)
#i hope this doesn't sound like a werid response it's just i genuinelly have no clue hahaha#believe you me i'd love to!!! i think it was in a similar ask that i mentioned the power i'd have if i could actually know like#how many chapters a fic would have with certainty#because then i could coordinate chapter titles#which i wanted to do for jadeite but i think that ship's long since sailed#once the fic is over i'll tell y'all what song i wanted the chapter titles to follow#still feels kinda spoiler-y to mention it rn#maybe it isn't but idk#anyway#the use of pressurize here instead of pressure is absolutely sending me. ik it's probably a mistake i know i make those a lot#but still. hilarious mental picture thank you#anyway aaaa sorry i can't give an actually good answer. it always happens when ppl come asking for fic lenght lmao#thank you <3 <3 <3#ily <3
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𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 「𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯」 ೀ⋆。˚
content. f!reader. discussions of separation/divorce, friends to lovers, (name) is a fallen angel, sexual harassment, insecurities, discussions of mental health, spoilers for hazbin hotel season finale, implied/referenced not-safe for work. not proofread. 3.3k+ words.
author's note. i'm not sure if i'll be making a valentine's day post, but i haven't updated in a while, and i wanted to post something. so here's another hazbin hotel oneshot that's been in my drafts for a while! (sorry to all my bsd readers, i will be posting content soon!) i hope you guys enjoy ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.
synopsis. two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.
OR someone comes in to try and ruin your relationship with lucifer, and he isn't happy about it.
You remembered the sensation of an eternal inferno, the mark of damnation that scorched your fingertips, submerging your divine being within a cluster of flames. Exiled from the heavens—a fate worse than death to most became an accepted element of your newfound reality. You never belonged perched atop clouds, even with the virtue nestled in the recesses of your heart. A part of you feared the unknown as you descended through novas and clouds, but it felt like a pressure had lifted from your being as those imposing gates shrunk behind you.
As the first of a cluster of falling stars, your impact landed you on the steaming ground of a new, hellish landscape, your mind scattered from the force of the fall, limbs trembling with their aching joints. And that was when you saw him, a brand-new man who held out his hand, smile desperate yet reassuring. The Morning Star himself, brought upon the same fate, still shaken from the tragedy of his descent—it had been much more personal for him.
“It’ll be okay, (Name),” his familiar voice reassured, but it was impossible not to hear the waver in his tone as your hands intertwined. “It’ll all be okay.”
And with a single touch, traversing hand-in-hand through this foreign land, you knew that someday, he would be right.
But that happened many millennia ago, a tale for storybooks rather than a memory that should’ve constantly been on a loop in your mind, held onto during the dead of lonely, bitter nights. Despite your long-standing friendship, the both of you held very separate lives—him with his family, you with your industry. You worked in tandem in relation to the public and aristocratic duties but otherwise barely spoke past the occasional smile and wave. And no, you couldn’t help the desolation that had sprouted inside your heart, the muscle aching as you observed his radiant smile from across ballrooms, the king exchanging affectionate glances at his wife while coddling his sweet daughter. But you were happy for him all the same. He deserved to be surrounded by those he loved, deserved to be happy after years of heartbreak, even if you weren’t in the picture.
But you knew that you could depend on each other, even if you hadn’t spoken in months. It was an unspoken connection between you, a rule unbroken. Which was the reason you knew his midnight call one evening had been serious. His voice was flooded with anguish, sputtering out incomprehensible words as his breath caught with every beat. You dropped everything, the paperwork and meeting planning, flying over with speed so fast that the denizens of Hell whispered for days about the shooting star that had flown across the sky that evening.
In your journey, there was one persistent question that kept bothering you—why wasn’t his wife the one to comfort him? It wasn’t that you minded, not at all, but the entire situation struck you as odd. However, your answer became clear as you cracked open the doors to his bed chambers; the room was frozen and still as if left abandoned. However, the knocked-over furniture and smashed artifacts only made it look like it was robbed, which you highly doubted. And there in the center of the chaos was the Morning Star himself—no, Lucifer. Simply Lucifer. His body crumpled to the ground, painful hiccups leaving his lips. You slipped inside with ease and were about to grab his attention, and then you spotted it, the large lettering of a familiar type of document—a divorce agreement.
You were aware that the relationship between Lucifer and Lilith wasn’t perfect, not by any means. When they had fallen in love, there wasn’t a guideline for navigating relationships and marriage. They had to play it entirely by ear, leading to rushed decisions and a shaky foundation. You had always believed that they were each other’s perfect half, but it was only because their punishment and subsequent banishment had tied them together and forced them to suffer the same fate. At least, that was their belief for a couple of millennia. It didn’t mean that the split that was bound to happen didn’t hurt.
His cries had been hard to hear, throaty and painful, his body trembling as he mourned on the floor. It took a culmination of your mental and physical strength to unravel him, forcing him away from those papers and into an embrace, slowly steadying his breath with yours as he clung to you as if you would leave if he let go. That night set the standard for weeks of a miserable routine, with the former king reduced to sobs and silence. It was unbearable, especially as he pulled away from those who cared for him—his fellow sins, his friends, and especially his daughter. But you continued to hold on, not leaving even with his harsh utterances and occasional outbursts. You wouldn’t let him be alone, couldn’t let him be alone, moving into the broken family’s manor to care for him full-time.
And he would always be thankful for that.
His mental health was climbing uptick for years, fluctuating back and forth until he had stabilized, at least in comparison to his state before. He became fantastic at masking his depression, brushing it underneath the rug as he delved into his own creations, pushing many of his relationships even further away as he stopped leaving home. You were the one to bring him food and clean the estate—his staff had drifted to other careers over the past few years. You were the one assuring that he wasn’t left hunched over a bench in the worst posture possible, toiling away with his latest obsession, no matter the cuteness of the ducks.
In his more conscious moments, you would listen as he ranted about his issues, even though you both were aware they were a product of his self-isolation. But in those instants, whispering quietly as if the heavens still held onto your every word, hiding from its light as if the touch of it would scorch your skin, an intimacy blossomed from the depths of your former friendship. It had remained idle for centuries, underlying the foundation of every interaction and word, leaving fleeting touches and shared laughter in your blissful youths for stern support and brief softness in your demonic adulthoods—neither of you ever noticed that you saw the other through heart-shaped lenses. Two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.
But that had been the norm for thousands of years.
And without knowing, you had fallen into a relationship stage humans had archaically dubbed as “courting,” traveling outside the estate for the chance to spend time with one another, exchanging personalized gifts whenever the opportunity arose, swapping words of encouragement and affection. It was only after you had kissed him on the cheek one night that you both realized your feelings, and it only spiraled on from there. There were scars from his past love—undoubtedly, you had nurtured them with care—but even despite those, you worked to establish a healthy, balanced relationship as you navigated this strange stage in your lives.
However, there was someone who had not been quite so fond of this new development. You had attended meetings with the Heaven Embassy for many years as a favor to Lucifer, his absence becoming common after his separation from Lilith, but you could still remember locking eyes with the first man as you entered the room, dropping the chicken drum in his hands as his mouth widen agape.
“Hot damn.”
His flirtatious and oftentimes self-centered advances didn’t fly past your head like you wished they would. It seemed despite having thousands of years under his belt, he was unable to learn any kind of manners, but he had been the original sexist prick. And for his status as a divine man, he fucked around a lot. You didn’t doubt that was due to his own insecurities about both of his wives preferring someone else’s dick over his.
Once you and Lucifer had started dating, you happened to make the mistake of slipping that information to Adam in the hopes that he would back off, but it only seemed to provide him a challenge as his flirtations increased tenfold. From then on, your meetings no longer consisted of the same old information surrounding the exterminations; rather, they were him pointing out the many sexual accolades that he had roped under his belt and the way that apparently made him better than Lucifer—his favorite line was always that “that snake must have a little snake.”
Your disdain was obvious, repeating over and over for him to shut his mouth, but he would only smirk, taking your response as a sign that he had struck a nerve and that it was an opportunity to dig deeper. You decided to take over all the meetings with the embassy, keeping Lucifer away from the lecherous banter of the man, no matter the discomfort that formed in your gut from his unabashed perverseness and the predatory stares at your body.
“Come onnnn, babe,” Adam whined, in the middle of biting the meat off a chicken bone.
You shot him a look. “I’m not your babe, Adam.”
“Babe.” If you were able to reach over and strangle him, you would’ve. That was probably the reason the coward used a hologram instead of coming here himself. “A guy like that couldn’t possibly please you the way I could.”
You massaged your nose bridge, pointedly ignoring the flicker of his eyes from your face to your chest, unable to maintain stable eye contact. “Can we just get on with the meeting?”
“You know I’m right, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.”
You groaned, slamming your head onto the table.
From years onward, his nerve only increased, but he had never shown his bloodlust to you before until the exorcist army descended from the heavens to wreak chaos and death upon the doorstep of Lucifer’s only child, Charlie. You and the ever-so-optimistic princess of Hell developed quite a soft spot for one another, which wasn’t difficult since you had already been considered family in centuries past. The title of your romantic relationship with her father initially came with questions and a couple of awkward moments, but it wouldn’t stop either of you from growing a deeper friendship and understanding, walking through the process together. And it definitely didn’t stop you from defending the girl you had seen for years as a pseudo-daughter, along with her noble ambitions.
“Charlie!” you yelled, knocking Adam away from her as he attempted to strangle her. Charlie sputtered, holding her throat with a pained cough, and you raised a steady hand to her back, helping her rise to her feet. You gave her a once-over, relieved to find that she had no substantial wounds besides a couple of cuts and bruises.
You sighed, cupping her rosy cheeks. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Sorry for being so late. Your father will be here any moment.”
Her formerly desolate expression quickly changed into a beaming smile, eyes glimmering with revitalized determination. “Good! We need all the help we can get.”
However, the moment was cut short by the overexaggerated breaths of a particular man, Adam wobbling to his feet as he cradled his bruised ribs, which you didn’t doubt had been cracked in the impact. It was hard not to smile as he struggled to stand, a wave of retribution twitching through your fingertips.
“You bitch,” he groaned between shallow gasps, though his voice drifted into a humorous lilt. “You know, I’m all for feisty women, but this shit’s a bit extreme, don’tcha think, babe?”
“I am not your babe, Adam.”
You cringed at the moan that left his lips, knowing it was not from the pain of his bruises. “God damn, I love it when you say my name.” He chuckled. “It’d be better if you screamed it.”
“You couldn’t have been that good if both your wives left you for someone else,” you muttered, swallowing your bodily urge to vomit as you rubbed the burgeoning headache coursing through your temples.
His expression drained of any warmth or humor, only leaving behind the rotted, sinful corpse of a man that he pretended not to be. “What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?”
“Hmmm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “Did I strike a nerve there?”
His mouth contorted into a snarl. “You know, the only reason that snake keeps your ass around is because he needs a couple of assets,” he barked, curving his hands to gesture toward your curves. “To distract him!”
“Hey! Don’t talk about him—”
He cut you off, his imposing figure towering over you. “You’re only a convenience. A pretty face and a hole to fuck.”
You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, a smirk curling up on his disgusting face. “You don’t mean anything to him, hun,” he sneered, his voice sickeningly sweet as he grabbed your chin, craning your neck at a muscle-aching angle to stare into your eyes. “You had a chance at heaven, slut. A chance to be with me. And you fuckin’ blew it—!”
He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, a bone-crunching punch tunneling into his face, his body cast off the hotel, which rocked under the aftershock, before it started to crumble like a deck of cards. With no time to waste, you and Charlie haphazardly jumped from shrapnel piece to shrapnel piece, able to land on the ground with barely a tumble as it collapsed into your foundation. The moment would’ve been devastating if your focus hadn’t been pinpointed elsewhere, the screams of a dying man drawing everyone to the impact pit.
“You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve,” a low voice scowled, sweltering steam blocking everyone’s vision away from the pair until it evaporated into the air, and that was when you spotted him. His voice was barely recognizable. The duplicated tones and whispers surrounding each word made him unidentifiable. But you knew who it was; those familiar sets of wings and the eyes of his tailcoat were clues enough. You hadn’t seen him take this form in decades, centuries even—he had no use for it, and to go to such an extreme was unlike him. He was shaking more than ever before; his fists balled up Adam’s collar as he pinned him to the ground.
“Intruding on my fuckin’ realm. Hurting my daughter.” And with each offense, another blow was added to the first man’s face, which looked more like roadkill than a former human with each malefaction. “Harassing and insulting my future wife!”
“Don’t you mean your little whore?” Adam managed to utter, that cocky tone still persistent.
But that was a terrible mistake.
Lucifer did not respond to his comment, not at all. Instead, he paused, finding himself unprepared for the sheer audacity of the man underneath him, a man only clinging to life through recesses of holy power and spite. To the unsuspecting bystander, it would seem the king had calmed himself down, but instead, an inferno blazed between his fingertips, his form threatening to tear with the amount of heavenly light that he balanced on his palms. The ire of his many eyes looked upon Adam, and they saw to it that his judgment day had come early.
“Die.”
“Dad!”
Luck seemed to have Adam’s back as Charlie intervened, one of the few people who could ever draw her father out of such an irate warpath. However, it was only after a moment of contemplation from Lucifer, whose eyes stared at Adam, his face unreadable as his fingers twitched before he cracked a wicked smirk.
“How’s mercy feel, bitch?”
The next moments were a blur, though those eyes had turned towards you instead, not with the anger they had towards Adam, but of sheer contemplation—not that you paid attention to them, watching Adam’s death unfold in an ironically anti-climatic sort of way. You would’ve felt bad if your mind didn’t remedy the guilt in your gut with memories of your several encounters, most of which were not PG-13. The rest of the staff and residents gathered their bearings, joining to work on rebuilding the hotel, but you did not have the strength to. Instead, you took a moment for yourself, thoughts toiling through your head as they often did, not understanding the icky, nauseous feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach.
You flinched at the brush of a hand that rested on your shoulder, only to find that it had been Lucifer, his brow furrowed in that same contemplative expression. And much like those times alone in the estate decades prior, a patient silence persisted as he sat next to you, gauging each touch as he pulled you closer, allowing your limp body to lean into his.
“You know none of what that asshole said is true, right?”
Is that what you had been so concerned about? You couldn’t tell. Your thoughts surrounding your relationship, especially in the context of his former love, had always been indecipherable, even to yourself. His question brought a small beam of clarity into the shadowed pits of your darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now, at least.
“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was more shaken than you wanted it to come out, but he understood the underlying message. He could tell it wasn’t the truth, not entirely, and that the roots of your insecurities weren’t something to be remedied through a singular conversation. But it was a start. He intertwined your fingers, caressing the bare area of your ring finger.
“I wish you would’ve told me,” he spoke, his voice soft. “I would never have let you go to those meetings.”
You stayed staring out into the distance. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
However, he believed differently, tilting your chin as he cupped your face, much more loving compared to the hands that had grabbed you prior. And his eyes, ones that had been filled with hatred, now glinted in sharp concern. “But it is a big deal. That’s sexual harassment.”
“You were going through so much,” you replied. “It was just one additional thing I didn’t want you to deal with. Another burden on your back.”
“(Name),” he said, voice stern.
The gruffness of his uncompromising tone drew your eyes to your hands. “Any insult to you is an insult to me. Always has been, always will be. People don’t get to talk to you like that. It doesn’t matter what shit I’m going through. That doesn’t mean you get to be thrown under the bus.” He cracked a smile. “And anyone who even thinks of treating you less than the perfection you are deserves to be roasted alive. You’re not a burden. You’re priceless.”
“You’re really into those cannibalism metaphors recently,” you quipped, a bit of your reprieve and humor returning back. He laughed, his heart falling into ease, though he recognized the nod towards his disdain for a certain radio demon, his expression contorting in disgust.
“I’m not gonna eat him! Think of how gross that thing would taste. Just awful, bleh—!”
You cut him off with a kiss, making his rosy cheeks redden more. “Thanks, Lu.”
You tried to stand. His arm braced underneath your back, a hand brushing across the sensitive skin of your waist as he hovered above, his lips locked onto yours. You sighed into his mouth as his fingers mapped every beauty mark of your face, only for him to split, panting. His eyes shone with recognizable desperation, but the smirk on his lips told you he was prepped to tease, brushing the stray baby hairs out of your face that had been ruffled in the fray.
“If someone ever bothers you like that again, you tell me. Got it?”
You only sighed. “Lucifer, I can handle my—”
He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, mouth upturned in a cheeky grin at the way it cut you off. “It’s not smart to fight without your shield, now, is it?’
You relented, unable to withhold your bashful grin. “Of course.”
A silence persisted.
“Your future wife, hm?”
“…shit.”
TAGLIST: @little-miss-chaoss
© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.
#☆.musings#f!reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#lucifer morningstar#lucifer#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer x reader
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spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below
please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚
miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k
tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression?
You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?"
He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong."
"Something looks wrong."
You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice.
"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile."
He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy."
"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?"
"Gabs?" he asks.
"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it."
You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met.
"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?"
"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange.
"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air.
"Am I being weird?" he asks.
"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?"
"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk."
"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?"
You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too.
"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?"
"I'm okay. I just feel strange."
"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card."
Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far.
"Hm?" you hum in question.
Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?"
The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting.
"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms.
Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.
It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing.
"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.
He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.
"Was it scary?"
"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair.
"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?"
"Yeah, he did."
"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?"
"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you."
You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you."
You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you.
You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years.
"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?"
"She's in her room. Call her."
You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner.
"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove.
You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared.
"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!"
"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her.
He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him.
"Woah, careful."
"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late."
"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long."
Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.
"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers.
"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back.
Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back.
"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home."
"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says.
You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital.
"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella.
She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!"
"Well, come and sit. What mug?"
Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.
"You're having some too, right?" he asks you.
"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot."
Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness.
She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?"
Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot.
"What?" he asks.
"You're not doing the thing."
"The thing?"
You frown.
"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses."
He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia.
He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after.
Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!"
"Blow in her ear," you mouth.
He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm.
When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it.
You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?"
"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks.
"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke."
"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low.
"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel.
"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up."
You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?"
Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks.
"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure.
His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry."
"For what?" You blink.
"I don't know."
You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?"
He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off.
"You're really something special," he says quietly.
"How so?"
His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you."
"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features.
"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.
You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love.
"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?"
"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad."
"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.
"I must have some good luck," he says.
His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness.
You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to.
"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–"
Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time.
It's not a bad kiss.
You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin.
The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him.
"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers.
He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time.
"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear."
"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included."
He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?"
You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fanfic#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara drabble#miguel o’hara scenario#miguel o’hara blurb#miguel o’hara oneshot#spider-man: across the spider-verse#spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers#spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction#across the spider-verse spoilers#across the spider verse spoilers#across the spiderverse spoilers#spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara x fem!reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel ohara fanfic#miguel ohara fic#miguel ohara drabble#miguel ohara scenario#miguel ohara blurb
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Hi! This is my first request also i love your writing so much! I've been looking everywhere for a nsfw alphabet headcanons for jinx there isn't any can you please make one i don.t think anyone understand or describe her the way you do
Also don't push yourself!
NSFW Jinx alphabet🔥
Tags: NO spoilers for season 2
I did!! It was an interesting experience for me and thanks for the kind words. In fact, I have a problem with understanding the characters and it is very nice to hear this 😅
PERSON WHO ASKED SOMETHING SIMILAR: Are you still waiting for an answer to your request? Most likely, I will write the same thing 👉🏻👈🏻 You can also answer anonymously.
Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Jinx spends most of her time proving her love for you. Sex is no exception. It's just another of the many ways to say: "I don't just love you; I obsessed you." That's why, in the moments after intimacy, Jinx finally calms down. She just spent all her energy on pleasing you and got it in return. There is no better confirmation of your feelings for her right now. You can just look at each other; she won't rush at you to touch you like she would at any other moment.
Don't worry, she'll do it later.
Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Choose and Jinx are not compatible. She will never tell you what she likes most about you; it's too complicated. Hands, neck, legs, hair, belly, and absolutely everything will be honored with attention from Jinx before and after sex. She also sincerely does not understand why others choose a favorite part of their beloved if they can fuck all parts?
It's much easier for her to say what she doesn't like about herself. Her breasts are her main complex, and if you say something like "I like big breasts," "my exes had huge breasts," or simply "between big and small, I'll choose big," expect a bunch of strange decisions from Jinx to hide her "flaw."
Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
She will never think twice before cumming. Jinx doesn't care where, how, or where she does it. If you like it when she does it in certain places, she will remember and will definitely do it... However, if you don't like it when she cums somewhere, then... accept it; she will simply forget about it until you throw a real tantrum and you won't start threatening her.
Jinx has trouble remembering "no" and is great at focusing on "yes."
Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Jinx has a strange turn on when playing with her guns. She has imagined you saddle her with a gun in your hand more than once. She finds it oddly arousing to think about the possibility of a purely accidental death or injury while you're so close. The possibility of being blown up is also close to her.
But all of this will remain a fantasy. You are unlikely to agree to point a gun at her, which Jinx is well aware of. Besides, it's too dangerous for you. What if you go crazy and shoot yourself in the foot?
Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
You are her number one in everything, and she will do anything just to keep you from finding out. Jinx thinks that her lack of experience will make her a terrible partner in your eyes—a bad choice, and you will absolutely never fuck her. You will definitely understand that she is inexperienced when Jinx cannot pull off your bra. She has never worn one, and I swear she was ready to burst into tears at that moment.
After a couple of "training sessions," Jinx becomes the best lover possible. She learns quickly and does exactly what you want her to do because of her excellent understanding of people and her huge intellect.
Favorite position (this goes without saying)
She likes everything as long as you touch her. Jinx won't mind hanging upside down if it means constant physical contact.
Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Until Jinx gained enough (by her standards) experience, she took any joke in bed personally. Don't joke with her in the beginning; it might trigger voices in her head.
Later, when her skills allowed her to make mush out of you, Jinx began to like sudden stupid phrases. Especially while you were riding her. Jinx is not very goofy, but she starts to enjoy breaking your serious mood with the stupidest joke. You can start so hot and continue so intensely, but at some point Jinx will whisper in your ear: "What do you call a person who runs away from a cannibal? Fast food"
She lost a couple of orgasms, but you laughed! It's a small loss for a great cause.
Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Jinx's hair is really long, and I believe that her pubic hair was just as long. Okay, not that long. But Jinx has definitely never shaved. One day she got the idea to paint them green, but she got a minor chemical burn, and now she is afraid and ashamed to do anything with them.
You can ask her to shave, and then do it yourself, because she will definitely cut off a piece of herself without help.
Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Jinx is focused on your feelings and simply adapts to them. If you want it hot and fast, she will do it; if you want it slow and gentle, she will do it. You don't even have to ask. And believe me, she will like it. Jinx will definitely not deprive herself of pleasure; she can just enjoy any interaction as long as you are delighted.
Jinx herself doesn't put much meaning into sex; there is no special romance in it that she could not achieve without getting into your pants. After all, she grew up in a city where they make a living from it.
Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Jinx did this a couple of times as a teenager, mostly out of curiosity. Mylo ruins her mood every time, and it never worked.
After her first orgasm with you, she tried to repeat something similar on her own. She missed your hands, your breath, and your giggles. She couldn't cum.
Jinx will quickly stop doing it.
Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Jinx is obsessed with you. She spends most of her time expressing her gratitude to you for all the good things you give her.
And she loves you even more when you do the same.
It's okay if you get cruel and a little over the top at this point; Jynx will still love it. She will never feel as loved and needed as when you are completely obsessed with her. Sincerely, not when she asks you to. Bite her to mark her, dominate her, and constantly whisper: "You are mine, and that will never change." Oh, she will cum so hard.
Location (favorite places to do the do)
On the table in her workshop. Jinx will also call you her project or her favorite gun.
Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
When you take the initiative. Any touch to her with a subtext will be met with active actions. She feels your mood well.
Jinx will also try to tease you if she feels like you've been too cold towards her lately. She firmly believes that this is a radical way to love and will definitely remind you of her devotion.
No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Want to pick a fight with Jinx? Ask her for group sex.
Jinx won't share with you. Forget about a threesome.
Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Jinx will always be the first to initiate oral sex. She enjoys it while she's doing it and goes crazy when she's receiving it. It's her favorite. She's also damn good at it; oral wasn't bad even the very first time.
It must just be a talent—another one in Jinx's stack.
Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
The one you need. She won't be too shy about being rude to you if you moan louder and rub against her more actively.
Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Jinx herself is very active, and her life is quite eventful. And yet this does not mean that she is a fan of it.
Usually you have quick sex just because you want it; Jinx prefers to wait for the moment when it will be possible to do everything she wants. Bite, rub, look, and lick, enjoying the moment, not just to stop the itching.
Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Experiments? Yes. Risk? Never.
You will try everything; Jinx is a searching nature. She will definitely tie you up, spank you, not let you cum, and try different toys on you. You will go through all this together and more than once.
But Jinx would never risk the safety of your pussy. To do so much for your safety, only to be able to lose you so stupidly? No, never.
And no threesomes either.
Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Jinx runs around Zaun with three guns and a bunch of bullets. She's incredibly resilient. You'll sweat more with her than you would on a Silko or Sevika mission. She won't leave you alone until she feels satisfied. Just when you feel like you're getting used to long sex sessions, she finds a way to knock you off your feet again. You tried to wear her out by having Jinx lift you.
Fatal mistake, terrible decision. That's why Jinx is a genius in your little family.
Her body got used to your weight pretty quickly and only strengthened her, making your sex not only long and exhausting, but also a little more difficult for you.
Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Jinx only uses them when she thinks you're getting bored in sex. Jinx will also definitely make a couple of sex toys, more for the sake of interest than sexual desire. She won't use it on her own, but how can she deny you the pleasure of torturing her a little with a toy? She'll definitely enjoy it too much, and control of the situation will pass into her hands as quickly as it left.
Unfair (how much they like to tease)
For Jinx, teasing = prelude. She won't start until she realizes how hard you're want to coming. Sometimes it can go on too long, and you'll be hysterical and start crying. Jinx didn't want that; she just got carried away, so she'll definitely pay for it tenfold.
Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Scream or she will make you.
Your moans and screams are the only way to show others that you adore her without endangering the lives of others. It's also a great way to relieve stress.
Jinx will definitely enjoy it; don't hold back.
Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
One time you accidentally called her by her real name in the midst of oral sex. She immediately stopped and just looked at you for a few seconds before she started crying. You didn't finish that time.
"Powder" has become your stop word.
X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
5.25 feet of slender body, long fingers, and a nimble tongue. There's a lot to work with.
Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Jinx has a low libido, and before meeting you, sex was not a concern to her. Even as a teenager, when hormones were raging, Jinx remained indifferent to intimacy. Now, you can excite her with just a hint. A light touch, a piquant pose, or an ambiguous phrase will make Jinx immediately become active.
Other people doing similar things irritate her.
Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
After sex, Jinx will lie next to you, just watching. She will be strangely silent and soothingly sweet. Very soon it will stop stressing you out and make you calm down. She will not close her eyes until she is sure that you have fallen asleep. This will last for a couple more hours before she can fall asleep.
Jinx always had trouble sleeping, but when she's next to you, her problem disappears.
I hope the topic of sex is covered and I didn't miss anything 🙏🏻🙏🏻
#arcane x reader#jinx x reader#arcane jinx#arcane jinx x reader#jinx arcane#jinx x fem!reader#arcane#arcane headcanon#arcane league of legends#arcane netflix#jinx alphabet
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mercenary!ghost is dead inside. he wonders what it leaves behind on his pretty little bunny.
notes about reader: as always, reader is curvy and ghost knows exactly what he wants to do with all that ass
more mercenary!ghost (part 2/?)
word count: 5k
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, pet names (luv, pet, bunny + rabbit, puppy), dark!ghost, mean!ghost, toxic!ghost, ghost is thicc, mentions of violence and gore + murder and extortion, mw3 spoilers, mentions of ghost's canon trauma, tw smoking, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink (reader described as much smaller, manhandled easily), suggestive touching and oral (fem!receiving), cumplay, mentions of dubcon but relationship/dynamics are consensual, simon "i eat pussy like a god" riley
his phone is ringing. it surprises him, the sound of it. it's not familiar, to hear it ring, to see a name on the screen of it and recognize it.
there was no one left to call. not until now.
he adjusts his hold on his rifle, slipping an earbud into his ear.
"'ello?"
"almost back yet?" it's you. rattling your cage.
"'m busy."
"i know--" he clicks his tongue when you say this, annoyed. "but you're not back yet."
"i'll be back when i'm back."
"yeah, but when is that?"
brat.
"'s this how it's gonna be? botherin' me when 'm out?"
"uh huh. so when are you gonna be back?"
"when 'm back."
you huff at that, and ghost snarls a bit under the mask, adjusting the scope and peering through it. there is movement, and he focuses. then your soft voice sounds again, "are you with someone else?"
there's a grunt, and then a firm, "no." and it is the truth, and you know it is, because he doesn't care enough to lie to you. you sigh on the other end, staring up at the ceiling with a wobbly bottom lip.
"we done 'ere?" he asks after a long pause. you sniffle, closing your eyes.
"take me with you next time."
he hangs up before he answers. needy little puppy he has, he knows this. he isn't unfamiliar with this kind of dynamic. it wasn't unlike the job he used to have--a lieutenant, a man in charge, in command of other needy puppies that needed to be put in their place. he wonders often if johnny would have liked you, but you are enough trouble as it is on your own.
a pet dies and another is bought; whatever ghost is, he outlives them.
he attracts them, he thinks. the ones who ache to belong. from the first moment he met you, he knows that is why he felt his blood run a little warmer at the sight of you--it is something in your eyes, something he recognizes, something that he knows tastes so fucking good. there is predator, and there is prey, and then there is the in-between. the purgatory of those who have no idea who they are. they must be shown. they have to be taught, and if they fall into the wrong hands, they are mangled and chewed through.
he wonders for a moment if maybe his mother was one of them. then he remembers that it doesn't matter what she was, because his father had black running through his veins. the same black that simon thinks he sees in the mirror--and sometimes it bleeds onto his face, he swears it's there, hiding underneath the eye-black he paints on himself.
when he was younger, he used to hide from his reflection because of it. the rot of the other half that he was made of, it terrified him. he feared being consumed by it. he was afraid of letting it show, he was afraid of scaring other people.
but when he crawled himself out of his early grave and buried the good half of himself, he didn't flinch in the mirror any longer. he let himself linger there, and when he swiped the black against his pale skin for the first time, he remembers thinking that maybe it had always been there. that he doesn't recognize himself without it because this is what i am, something made of ash, something that shouldn't be here, the remnants of something that touched a flame too hot and swallowed something foul. rancid.
and maybe that is what he's been doing since then--maybe that is what the hollow place is that he feels inside, maybe it's the half that he buried that he wishes so fucking badly to hold onto because it's the only thing that distracted him from feeling like the thing that he truly is. and maybe that is why he died again when johnny did; it was too late to realize that the hollowness is back, and it is deeper, and it hurts now, fuck, take it back, take it away--
and maybe that is why he hates you in some way. because the space is gone. it is filled again; and you fit so perfectly there, and it will happen again, and he has no idea how many more times he can lose the redeemable half of him until there is nothing left to redeem.
but black still runs in his veins, and he is selfish, and he will hold onto it until it's gone. he doesn't care. he is a thing, he is not real, and it doesn't matter to him if he will die again when you do, because while he has you, he will drink what you give him. salvation, redemption, painting his blood red, whatever the fuck it is that you are meant to give him, he will take it, and he will devour it, and he doesn't care what he leaves behind.
he wants it. it's selfish, it's cruel, but he wants it. everything he touches fades away; if he was something real, he would cut you off. but he isn't, and he doesn't care, and he's curious to know what the stain of himself will look like on you.
beautiful you. such a pretty girl. soft like a bunny, glittering eyes--if he was a poet, he might say they are filled with starlight. but ghost is a predator; the shine of you only makes his mouth water.
you were his the moment he saw you for the very first time. he was not inclined to ask your permission, but it wouldn't have mattered--he knew as soon as your eyes met, really met, that he had you. hook, line, and sinker--there it is, there she is, what she really is inside. there is a light there inside of you, he could see it.
he is going to snuff it out. he doesn't know why, but he will, because he wants to. he has an urge to kill something, and he thinks whatever it is that swims in you will do just fine. he knows, somehow, that you will look beautiful covered in it--in the tears when he breaks, when he tears, when he destroys, you will look beautiful, and he won't stop until he takes all of it. he knows, too, he doesn't know how he knows but he knows, that you will let him.
he crossed another name off his list today. he watched them on a lonely rooftop all morning, and it rained. he watched them move back and forth, between doorways, answering phone calls. he doesn't ask questions, so he wonders occasionally what it is they did to warrant a visit from him.
they could've stolen. maybe they betrayed; that is a popular motivation. lovers' quarrels--he knows what it is to die for love, but dying for love at the wrong end of his rifle isn't in marriage vows. maybe they were in the wrong place at the wrong time; maybe they saw what they shouldn't have, and it was enough for a visit from their guardian angel.
sometimes he thinks that what he does is at their mercy; because if he didn't do it, if he didn't make it so quick, so easy, they would suffer. at least this way, by his hand, they would never know. he brings comfort. ease.
it is the same with you, it has to be. he closes his fist and bangs on the outside of your door. the wood rattles under the force, and when you open the door, the look that you give him only solidifies his assumption. if it wasn't him keeping you, then it would be someone else. someone else would look into those eyes, and they would take from you, but they wouldn't be like him. he takes, and he will take, but you won't know that you are empty until it's too late.
that is merciful, isn't it? this kind of love is forgiving, right? the kind that shields, the white lies that protect, that blindfold that hides--this is humane. he is a thing, a predator, yes, but he isn't like the others.
right?
you step aside, and he has to maneuver his shoulders to make it past the narrow doorway. as you close the door, your eyes linger. he wears a dark rain jacket over a long sleeve, dark cargo pants tucked into heavy boots. he wears a holster on one meaty thigh, but it only holds a small pack there. his balaclava is plain, hiding all but his dark eyes, and the hood of his jacket casts a long shadow over him. the gloves he wears are of a utility variety--he worked today. if you ask him, he will say yes, but he will not tell you anything else.
sometimes, you aren't sure if he just doesn't care or if he is trying to protect you from some ugly truth. but then you remember that there are no ugly truths with ghost; the truth is as it is, nothing more and nothing less, and if he hides it from you, it is because you simply don't need to know.
you lock the door behind you, leaning against it. he moves through your apartment with ease. he has been here before, but it feels as if he has always been here. he knows how to rattle the balcony door to get the lock to free, and you don't remember showing him how to unlatch it. you busy yourself with putting the kettle to boil as you see him light a match, a cigarette between two gloved fingers.
it's a nasty vice. it blackens the lungs, shrinks the organ, addicts the user. but it tastes good. and it feels good. and it isn't what will kill him, because this isn't real.
you come outside, a mug of tea in your hand, and you set it down beside him. he flicks ash off the cigarette, spreading his legs wide as he sits there, watching the street below. it's quiet because it's raining, and while the balcony is covered, it wets the toes of his boots.
he looks so good. he spreads himself out in the chair, taking up so much space, and his hand that doesn't hold the cigarette is spread out along his thigh, running absentmindedly down the material of his pants. it's hard to describe the breadth of him--ghost is just big. his hands, the height of him, the space that you can tuck yourself into his chest. he could curl you around his arm, wrap you up with both of them, trap you there. you don't hate the thought of that, the idea of him keeping you there like that. you think about the width of his hand, how it might look with the black of his glove spread out across your throat, holding you there, keeping you there.
you think about what it would be like to be under his mercy. his control. to feel the press of those fingers against the hollow of your throat, knowing he could crush your windpipe with just one perfectly placed squeeze. he would know where to touch. he would know where to tug just right to cut the air off.
it's too bad you didn't know you already belonged to him.
"can i have some?"
you nod to the cigarette burning in his hand. his eyes flicker up to look at you for a moment before he adjusts in the chair. he shrugs finally.
"'f you want."
you put a hand on his shoulder, lowering yourself to sit on his lap. you wear nothing except for a loose shirt, one that covers you to your thighs, but when you sit, it rides up. he takes the weight of you easily, not looking strained in the slightest, one arm supporting the thickness of your thighs with a firm grasp.
you lean forward a little, into him, and he brings the cigarette to your lips. you wrap your lips around it, taking a breath. you want to revel in that fact that you're putting your lips around something his own have touched, and then you start to cough.
the air burns. you turn your head to the side and wheeze; you hear a condescending chuckle, and you go warm with embarrassment. but his hand rubs small circles into your back, coaxing the smoke out of your lungs. you take in a few strong breaths to clear the smoke, and then you look away from him.
"not a smoker, eh?"
"that was...my first time."
when your head turns back to face him shyly, he tilts his head to the side. you cannot see any of his expression, but you imagine he's curious. the way his eyes look you up and down tell you that much.
"wot, you saw me do it, 'n ya think y'can take it?"
you don't respond, just keep your eyes on his. your fingers move, spreading across the solidity of his chest, and you rest them there. you lean in a little more, your face only a few mere inches from his own, and it gives you an opportunity to examine him so close.
his mask is weathered, the skull mouth painted along the mouth a little faded and messy with wear. he smells like cigarettes and earth, wet soil and ash and something warm. the eye-black that is smeared across his eyes fades out at the edges, and the paleness of his skin peeks out a little. you know the black covers the tiredness under his eyes, the lines that must be set in his face from how much he frowns. he has blonde lashes and dark eyes, and what intrigues you the most is that you can see the jagged edge of a healed scar peeking out from under the fabric that hides him.
he frowns, and you see the furrowing of the skin underneath. you meet his eyes again, and it feels surreal to see him in this much detail. you don't think this is a common occurrence; you have a feeling that anyone that has ever gotten this close to him did not live to talk about it the next day.
he has never told you, but you know death follows him. you have never seen what war has done to him, you can't see the rough skin and the patches where skin has been shredded or torn off, but you know, sitting so close to him, that he leaves bodies behind him and terrifies the ones that approach.
you wonder if you should be afraid, but then you remember that if he wanted to kill you, he would have done it by now. he does not want to kill you.
he wants to eat you.
you have asked him once what he does for work. he said he used to work for the military, but he didn't say anymore. when you asked what he did now, he said he was an independent contractor.
a contractor for what, you did not get the answer to. just that he was his own boss now, and no one told him what to do anymore.
"what did you do today?" you ask him finally, reaching up timidly and slipping a thumb down the line of his strong jaw.
"work."
"and how was it?"
he does not answer, and your eyes flicker back up to his, studying his reaction. he doesn't give one, just eyes the line of your throat as you swallow hard.
"a good pay day then?" you ask, and he hums at that. you smile a little, reaching up with both hands and cupping his masked cheeks gently. "must be good at what you do."
his face flickers a bit at that. he sniffs, looking to the side before back at you, shrugging those broad shoulders of his. one of his big hands comes up and slips up the shirt you wear, gripping your ass firm.
"good at other things, too," is all he says, and you smooth one of your thumbs down the row of painted teeth along the mouth of the mask. his breath comes out warm under your thumb.
"like killing people?"
his hand stiffens against you, and he glares up at you. a huff of a breath comes out, and you tense a little. he flicks the cigarette onto the ground, reaching up with that hand and gripping you around the jaw. your face fits nicely in his hand, and you might enjoy it if it wasn't so aggressive, the way he touched you. he shakes you a little, bringing you close enough that you can feel the wetness of his snarl against your lips.
"that wot y'think i am? some kind o'murderer?" he spits. "think 'm some kind o'fuckin' killer?"
a wave of tears prick the sides of your eyes, and you grip his wrist tight, trying to keep the pressure off of you.
"i know what you do," you whisper. "i know what you do, it's pretty obvious."
"yeah? 'n ya think it's a good idea to fuckin' talk t'me this way? ask me questions you don't want the answers to?"
you narrow your eyes, and you stare back at him, matching the intensity of his own. this makes him laugh; there is no humor in his laugh, but he laughs, and he rattles your whole head as he brings you close enough that your lips brush against the fabric of his mask.
"oh...you want me to tell ya...want me to spill all my bloody secrets..." he growls. you let out a whine when he brings you even closer, smashing your lips against the front of his mask. you choke out a whimper, and you swear you feel his tongue trying to find yours through the barrier. "think y'can handle the lot like me, bunny, and you can't. blood on m'ledger would fuckin' drown you."
and it is the truth, he knows it is, and he wouldn't lie to you because he just doesn't fucking care enough to think up a lie. he didn't serve so many years, he didn't give so much time to what he thought was righteous to come home and paint war as a pretty picture to civilians like you. war is blood, war is loss, war is what takes and takes and takes from a man, until they are things. until they come home and realize they have no idea what they were fighting for when they seem the same dirty streets they left behind.
when their brothers still get killed. when their families still come apart. when their lovers betray them, when they break their hearts--when they realize they are glorified weapons for the politicians that don't care about them, that send them away to die, that refuse to support them when they come home without the goodness that they left with.
he gave his entire life up for this. they took his family, they took the only half of him that mattered, and what was it for? nothing waits for him at home. there is no one in his bed, there is no one to call, there was no money in the bank.
there is only the memories that manifest into nightmares, and the blue sky that reminds him of blue eyes. the blue eyes that he could not save, the blue eyes that haunt him, that ask him, desperately--let the bonnie lass go, LT. you cannae save'er.
but he is a lieutenant, and he was a sergeant, and he didn't take fucking orders from anyone anymore anyways.
you are his, and you look so pretty in that cage. pretty enough to eat. pretty enough to take away. pretty enough to poison, because he thinks maybe this is the only way to make himself feel better.
he wants to see your blood run just as black as his own. misery loves company, they say, and it would please him, the selfish thing that he is, to see you just as ugly inside as he is.
"but you want it," he says, and your eyes flick back to meet his. you don't smile, but your gaze doesn't falter. you just stare back at him, and he laughs again, because he sees something he recognizes there. something inhuman, something a little feral. it is inside you.
and he wants it out.
he stands, leaning over you. you're forced to walk backwards, and he doesn't stop until you're back inside. he closes the balcony door behind him, putting a hand on your chest before forcing you backwards with a firm push. the back of your knees hit the couch, and you squeak as you fall back against it.
you almost think he's going to pounce on you. rip your panties to fabric shreds, spread you wide, and fuck you into the cushions. you think he's going to take from you, because that is what predators do, but you're almost taken back by the sight of him lowering to his knees.
he's kneeling. this behemoth of a thing kneels in front of you, and you yelp with a start when he grips you by the back of your knees and yanks you forward, manhandling you until he has your legs tossed over his shoulders. he grunts as he pushes the shirt up to expose your cotton panties, a soft red pair that you know he will ruin when he's done with you.
your back arches as he buries the front of his mask against your cunt, taking a deep breath through the mask. it's filthy, the way he takes in the scent of you, and if you were sane, you would push him away, the nasty thing he is. but you don't--the gesture floods your insides with need, and you squirm in his grip.
"stay still, little rabbit," he says, but it's a demand. he moves one hand further up your thighs, and you whimper softly when his thumb squishes the slit of you through your panties. his eyes brighten when he notices the fabric darkening as soon as he does this, a growing wet spot dampening your underwear. "look at 'er...drippin'...you hungry, luv?"
"uh...ngghhh..."
"oh, fer fuck's sake, haven't even got m'mouth on ya, and y'can't speak already?"
he laughs, because he is mean, because he is a thing that just wants and takes, and what he wants is between your thighs, and you are easy. you want to be more of a challenge; you want to make him work for it, but his eyes flicker up to meet your own, and there is nothing you can do. there is something said whenever your eyes are on each other--you have no idea what it is, but it tames him, and it keeps you.
"he woulda loved you," he says suddenly. you frown, opening your mouth to say something, to ask who he is, but his index finger pulls your panties aside, and he buries his masked face into the wet seam of your pretty pussy.
you cry out at the feeling, your thighs closing around his head instinctively. your back bows even further, a taut, imaginary string being pulled inside of you, and ghost laughs again, because you're so warm and cute and needy. he pushes his face further into you, nuzzling his nose into the place where he knows your clit is, and he draws the most delicious moans out of you. he smiles under the mask when one of your shaking hands grips the back of his head, pushing him deeper, his mask soaking with the slick of you.
he continues the torture for a time unknown. your brain isn't working; you have no concept of time. all you can think about is the way your legs shake and the grip your hands have on the back of his head as you grind your hips up into him. your eyes flutter open and closed, and you push your shirt up a little so he can see your nipples harden with how much everything aches for him.
it feels so good. he grunts, and then a low groan leaves him when you maneuver his head, shoving his nose up against your clit again and slanting your hips up and into him. you're getting off on this--fucking the front of his mask to feel something, to feel this thing you have been chasing for your entire life.
you saw it in him the first time you met him. the knowing when your eyes met for the first time--whatever it is that you have been chasing for your entire life, it is in him, and you need it.
the thing that poets chase. the rush that a high brings. the missing half of you, the warmth of a love you've never had, the shape of something in your cunt that you know he can fill.
you think you might faint when you feel his tongue finally. you can't see his face; he hides it with a wet mask, but his tongue is inside of you now, and you can't help the crying moans that leave you as he laps at your folds like a thirsty dog. maybe he is thirsty--you can hear the lewd, deep swallowing sounds he makes as he tightens his grip on your thighs and bobs his head in time with your stuttering, pleasure-chasing hips.
he drinks. he drinks you insane. his tongue suckles at your clit, then lets it go with a filthy pop to swirl inside your tightening cunt and eat the pretty bunny he has been thinking about far too much. when he works, before he sleeps, in the shower, in the mirror as he covers the scars of him that he never wants to share anymore. the taste of you is enough to distract him--here, between your thighs, your sweetness in his mouth and your moans filling his ears, he doesn't think about anything else. it's impossible. he has been chasing the void for a long time, and all he had to do was eat a pretty girl to get to it?
he knows it now, has decided it already. your cunt is redemption, and he will lose himself in it to make it reality.
"ghost! please!"
your cries shatter his resolve. he folds you in half as he leans over you now, his hands sliding up your soft stomach before he grips the weight of your breasts in his rough hands and squeezes firmly. you whine, cry, moan, beg--you beg for more, for him to please, please, please--! it feels so good, i want it! i want you, i want it all, i want--i want--what does she want?
me? the thing? what isn't real? because ghost knows that if he gives in, it is over. he signs something away, and he has done this before, and suddenly he is afraid.
when he did this before, he was left something else. he is afraid of what will happen the next time. what will happen to him, what might become of him, because what he is now terrifies his reflection, and he has no idea what it'll do.
"please! please! please!"
but you're crying, and you taste so good. and as he laves into the prettiest pussy he's ever had, the sweetest, he remembers why he is here. he isn't here because he loves you. he isn't here because he cares, he isn't here because it is good.
he is here because whatever he is needs a new host, and you are what it wants. soft, pretty, naïve--you have let it inside, and now he will eat and chew and bite until he sucks something out of you.
maybe the good. maybe blood. but it doesn't matter.
he slides his hands back down, using both thumbs to spread your folds apart, and he pulls back to look at you. you're a sloppy mess, your little hole puckering and pulsing, your clit a throbbing bud that begs him to stop teasing. he looks up at where you're a whimpering, crying thing, tears sliding down your puffy cheeks, and he snarls before he leans down and spits right on your clit, watching it drip into your cunt and swirl between what seeps from you.
"say it."
"nnh...huh?"
"say who you belong to."
when you take a moment to answer, he leans down and licks a fat stripe over your clit, making you sob. you reach down, cupping the underside of his jaw. it's bare, and your soft hands glide over the scarred skin there. it is the first time he doesn't flinch.
"you--you!"
"say it."
"b-belong to you..."
the moonlight is blue when he makes you come. his lips wrap around your clit and suckle soft, and when he knows you're coming, he opens his mouth, hinging a strong jaw so he can swallow what drips from you and take in mouthfuls of it. there is a glare over you, a blue light that shines over your sweaty, shivering body, and ghost nearly bites.
as if the blue eyes he can't keep out of his head, the blue eyes that follow him everywhere he goes, are mocking him for taking the thing he knows he shouldn't have. he's telling him to leave you. that there's still time to let you go. that what he has in his hands, what he has at his mercy, is too soft and too pretty and too gentle to be touched by what he will bring to her doorstep.
you sit up on your elbows, half-lidded, face wet with your tears. ghost almost believes the blue that washes over you, but then his eyes meet yours, and it is over. you're smiling.
this is acceptance. because you know what he is. you know what he does. the gun on him is real. the black in his eyes isn't a trick of the light. the poison spreading in his veins isn't just a sickness, it is a cancer, and this will kill him, and it is contagious.
you cup his face, bringing him up, letting him crowd the space between your legs as he leans over you.
he would care. he wants to care. and when he kisses you, sealing your fate, he remembers, suddenly. the blue moonlight is gone.
and this isn't real.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#dark!simon
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one day i'll feel alright (joel miller x reader) 18+
here it is... the Big One. i've been hyping up this part of my soft!dom joel series for a while now (probably too much, i'm sorry) but i'm so excited to finally share it with you guys. i just wanna note that this is not the end of soft!dom joel by any means. i wanna keep writing for these two as long as i can, just probably nothing else as long as this lmao 💖 enjoy! | masterlist summary: joel must finally face his demons when you don't return from patrol. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: fem!reader, age difference (reader is mid 20s, joel mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), hurt/comfort, angst, praise kink, dirty talk, bathing together, oral (both f and m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, size kink, orgasm denial, comeplay, come eating, yall this one is SO filthy be warned word count: 15k | ao3 spoilers: this contains vague spoilers for part two of the video game (and most likely for season two of the show). nothing too major (joel does NOT go golfing in this fic).
The patrol schedule is posted on Monday morning outside the community center and you're one of the first people to look at it, eyes frantically scanning for your name as your heart pounds in your chest. There's no way, you think to yourself, still searching, He wouldn't actually talk to Tommy about a schedule change.
You finally find your name and feel those annoyingly familiar angry tears begin to burn in your eyes.
"Fuck you," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head, "Fuck you, Joel."
You're no longer his patrol partner.
You briefly consider going to his house, pounding on his door until he answers and screaming in his face about how ridiculous and immature he's being, but you realize that doing so would make you just as immature. Instead, you just decide to pretend it never happened, like you never patrolled with him to begin with.
"Steve is nice," one of your friends says to you later, "I like him, you'll get along."
Who the fuck is Steve? you want to ask, but then remember that it's his name that has replaced Joel's on the schedule. To make matters even worse, you're no longer going up to the ski lodge and are instead going out past the perimeter, a patrol location known to encounter raiders pretty often. Fantastic.
--
The next time you see him is that night in the dining hall, sitting in his usual corner by himself and gulping down bites of chili like he hasn't eaten in weeks. It used to be endearing, those big bites, now it just pisses you off.
He doesn't look at you. Over the past few weeks you'd grown accustomed to him peering over at you every so often, giving you small smiles to acknowledge that he saw you and remembered what the two of you shared every weekend. Neither of you would talk about it; it was private and belonged on the mountain, which you were fine with. At least he'd give you those looks, those smiles, and remind you that you were his pretty girl, his little secret.
Now his lack of acknowledgement, his purposeful ignorance of your presence, it makes you feel sick. You end up having to excuse yourself before you do something you'll regret. Like punch someone.
--
Steve is nice, but that's your first immediate problem with him. He's too nice. He talks too much, constantly trying to fill a silence that doesn't need it, asks you way too many questions and doesn't seem even vaguely put-out when you give him the most basic possible answers. He's young, probably in his mid-thirties, and you find yourself desperately missing the long and comfortable silences you shared with Joel, his gruff sighs, his breathy chuckles, his music, his books, his age. You realize pretty quickly that you view Steve as a boy and not a man, despite him being older than you. Internally, you tell yourself you need to get a grip.
Your new patrol location isn't as bad as you'd first thought; you're stationed in an abandoned cabin in a wooded area past the perimeter. It's cozy and inviting, kind of reminds you of the ski lodge, which quickly makes you feel depressed. You both take turns circling the area - although at first Steve had suggested you do it together; you'd vetoed that immediately. Your main responsibilities are checking traps and watching out for infected. It's actually a bit more engaging than your previous patrol which you feel slightly grateful for; it's nice to feel busy. And to shut your thoughts up.
At the end of your first patrol with Steve you both walk back to Jackson together in the early morning, him still continuing to chat and tell you things about himself regardless of whether you respond. You're almost back to town when you notice that you're suddenly on the same path you and Joel used to take, the one that leads up to the mountain. You stop in your tracks.
"What time is it?" you ask, interrupting whatever Steve had been prattling on about.
He looks down at his watch, "Almost six," he smiles at you, "We'll be back just in time for breakfast."
Almost six; around the time you and Joel would usually be reaching the bottom of the mountain. Your eyes scan the tree line, brow furrowing as you search for any sign of him making his way down the path. Steve stands there awkwardly, waiting for you to say something.
"Should we...?" he gestures toward the path you're both on, toward town, and you bite your lip in thought.
"Just gimme a sec," you say quickly, still searching, "I wanna say hi to my old patrol partner."
"Aw, that's sweet," he says with a smile, and it's so earnest and endearing that you can't necessarily be annoyed, "My old patrol partner, we-" he starts chatting again, buying you some more time.
Not more than a moment later, two figures suddenly emerge from the trees: Joel and Tommy. You feel your heart start to pound as they walk down the path, neither seeing you and Steve standing there until they're almost directly in front of you. They're caught up in some kind of deep conversation, you might even call it an argument judging by Tommy's stiffness and Joel's flared nostrils.
Tommy sees you first, giving you a wave and a smile, then nudging Joel. Joel follows Tommy's eyeline and suddenly freezes in his tracks, standing still on the path while Tommy continues to approach you.
"Good patrol?" he asks, nodding to Steve, "No trouble?"
"No, sir," Steve says, eager and polite, kind of like a golden retriever puppy, "No problems whatsoever."
"Glad to hear it," he looks at you again, "Hey, mind if we meet later for a chat?"
You wonder if he wants to chat about whatever he'd just been arguing about with Joel. Intrigued, you nod, "Sure."
Joel reaches you then, pace slow and hesitant. You turn to look at him, trying not to let the anger you feel toward him completely overtake you; the last thing you need right now is to either start crying or yelling.
"Hey," you say with a stiff nod.
"Hi!" Steve says beside you, and you try not to wince as he puts his hand out, waiting for Joel to take it, "I'm Steve."
Joel simply stares at him, then his hand, and then looks at you, eyes dark and cold. His gaze slips between the two of you back and forth for a few seconds, expression unreadable, then continues down the path without speaking.
"Meet me by the stream 'round noon, alright?" Tommy says, backing away to follow Joel, "I'll bring you lunch."
You watch as he catches up to Joel, says something to him, but Joel doesn't respond and just keeps on walking ahead, pace quicker and quicker. You're still just standing there watching their forms get smaller when Steve finally speaks again:
"He's...uh...friendly."
You laugh without humor, hitching your pack up your shoulder and starting to walk, "Oh, you have no idea."
--
You meet Tommy around noon by the stream like he'd asked, crossing the bridge and giving him a small wave of acknowledgement as you approach. He's got a paper bag with him; lunch, just like he'd promised.
"Tuna fish," he says with a kind smile, chuckling at the face you make as he hands the bag to you, "It was either that or egg salad."
"The dining hall must stink today," you reply with a scrunch of your nose, but you take the bag gratefully, "Thanks, Tommy."
"No problem," he gestures toward the bench he's sitting on, inviting you to join him, "Let's talk."
He talks and you mainly listen, nodding along every so often and chewing your tuna sandwich thoughtfully. He starts by thanking you for "everything" you did for him and Maria, which you quickly dodge because all you'd done is take a patrol off his hands - a patrol that's gone back to being his again, but he doesn't mention that part. He talks about how big a help you've been, how he's glad you're here, all the basic stuff he's already told you before. You're almost done your sandwich when you realize he's talking complete bullshit.
"Tommy," you say, balling the paper bag up and shoving it into your pocket, "If you wanna talk about Joel, just do it."
He freezes, recognition dawning in his eyes as he sighs and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. It's a habit he and Joel share, and you can't help but feel an ache in your heart when the image of Joel doing the same thing crosses your mind.
"I'm sorry about the switch," he finally says with a deep sigh, "Joel told me to do it. Not asked, told. He was pretty obstinate, told me it wasn't workin' between you two anymore and he wasn't gonna stay on ski lodge if you were there."
The words sting, even coming from Tommy. You swallow the last of your sandwich and cast your eyes down to the stream, watching the water ebb and flow as Tommy continues to speak.
"I just want you know that if I had it my way, you'd still be up there with him," he says it earnestly, and you understand now why he'd led with all the compliments and reassurances; he'd thought you didn't know why you'd been switched.
"I know," you say quietly, "Tommy, I know it was Joel's idea. He told me last patrol that he was gonna ask you to take me off ski lodge."
"But why?" he sounds genuinely confused, "It was working so well, Maria and I thought you had a great thing goin'."
You nod slowly, refusing to look at him, "We did. But I guess he never told you any details?"
You sense him shake his head beside you, "No, I spent almost the whole patrol trying to get him to talk about it and he wouldn't. Just kept saying it wouldn't work anymore and that he wasn't gonna say anythin' else about it. Stubborn, my brother. Always has been."
I know, you want to say, believe me, I know.
"So I figured I'd ask you."
You finally look over at him then, "There's not much to say, Tommy."
"But there's somethin'," he leans forward, looking concerned, "I know my brother, I know when he's hidin' somethin'. There's somethin' he's not telling me and I want you to tell me 'cause otherwise I'm just gonna assume the worst."
"Which is...?"
He sighs, leaning back against the bench again, "I don't even know."
You touch the back of your neck awkwardly, trying to decide how to word it. There's absolutely no way you're giving him all the details - or any details for that matter - but you do owe him some kind of explanation considering he's now losing his free time again over this.
"Me and Joel, we..." you bite your lip, "We had...." you sigh and shake your head, "Okay, what I'm about to say does not leave this bench, Tommy. You can tell Maria but that's it."
"Oh shit," he says, eyes going wide, "Were y'all fuckin' up there?"
You groan, leaning forward as your arms fall to your knees and you cover your face with your hands. He's not necessarily correct, but somehow the reality is much more embarrassing to admit. You don't say anything in response, confirming his suspicions.
"Jesus Christ," he says, voice full of genuine surprise, "I was...holy shit, I was not expectin' that."
"Anyway," you say into your hands, skin turning bright red beneath your fingertips, "It's over now and he doesn't want me up there with him anymore, that's all you need to know, okay?"
"Yeah," Tommy says immediately, "Yeah, sure, of course. I wouldn't dream of -" he makes a weird noise, "God, I did not think that's what was goin' on."
"Sorry," you wince, pulling your hands away and sitting up again to look at him. He looks genuinely uncomfortable, arms crossed as he shifts next to you on the bench, cogs turning in his mind. He's probably thinking about what exactly the two of you have been doing up there when you're supposed to be patrolling and the very thought makes both of you cringe simultaneously.
"No, don't apologize, I asked," he shakes his head again, eyes still wide, "I, uh, I won't tell anybody, no worries."
"You can tell Maria," you reiterate, "I don't want you keeping anything from your wife."
"I'll tell her but I doubt she'll believe me," he's staring ahead, still in shock, "You? With Joel? I'm sorry but..." he laughs loudly, still shaking his head, "I didn't think my brother had it in him."
You make a face and stand up, "Okay, that's my cue to leave."
"No, sorry, I'll leave," he stands up as well and digs his hands down into his pockets awkwardly, "I'll uh... be at the bar, if you need me."
He goes to cross the bridge but stops halfway, turning slowly and giving you one last kind and gentle look, apologetic.
"Hey, I'm sorry it didn't work out," he says, and you can tell he means it, "You're real sweet, my brother's just an ass."
"I know," you say with a small nod, "You did warn me."
"I did," he says it sadly, looking down at the stream, "He has his reasons, though. Maybe he'll tell you one day."
"Maybe."
He turns back around and walks away, leaving you standing there alone by the stream with an ache in your heart that won't go away.
He was pretty obstinate, Tommy's words echo in your head, told me it wasn't workin' between you two anymore and he wasn't gonna stay on ski lodge if you were there.
You stare at the steady flowing water and try not to think about how much it hurts to know he really said that to Tommy. Is that how little you mean to him? How little what the two of you shared meant? You've known the whole time that it wasn't a "real" relationship, you haven't even kissed him for god's sake, but it was a relationship nonetheless. A little weird, a little timid, but soft and new and safe and warm. And all along you'd just been a distraction for him.
In the deepest parts of yourself you've known this all along, remembered how many times in the past few weeks he said that it would be the last time, that he couldn't do it anymore, and you'd just continued to persist and persist until he'd finally had enough. You hadn't really thought he'd end it, didn't think he really meant it.
The tears start flowing before you can stop them. You continue to just stand there dejectedly, staring at the water and trying to figure out what exactly it is about you that made him simply stop caring - if he even cared to begin with.
A rustle of branches makes you jump and your head snaps up, looking toward the sound. A short distance away you catch a bush moving in an unnatural sort of way, shaking back and forth like someone had been watching from behind it. Quickly, you dash forward and pull the leaves apart to find the culprit.
No one's there.
Hurriedly you wipe your face and walk across the bridge, shoving your hands back in your pockets and hoping someone hasn't just witnessed your moment of weakness. And if they have, they'd better keep it to themselves.
--
Another week passes without any acknowledgement from Joel. You decide to stop eating in the dining hall because it hurts too much, instead grabbing your meals to-go and eating them either in your house or by the stream. On one occasion you'd arrived at the stream at the same time Ellie had decided to sit and practice guitar, freezing in place when you saw her. You hadn't spoken since that one very brief conversation months ago when she'd asked about your scars. You hadn't known then what you know now.
"Hey," she'd said with a nod, then went back to strumming aimlessly on her guitar, "You can eat your lunch here, I don't mind."
You'd shaken your head and taken a step back, "No, that's okay, sorry," then you'd turned and practically run away from her, not entirely sure why.
She reminds you of Joel, you dummy, you'd thought to yourself on the walk back home, biting down on your lip and trying to keep the tears at bay this time. Everything reminds you of Joel.
--
On Saturday morning you hear a knock at your door. You're still in bed, confused and bleary eyed as you sit up and wait to hear it again, just to be sure you're not still dreaming. When you hear a second series of knocks you practically tumble out of the bed and run downstairs, blanket trailing behind you as you dart to the front door.
It's Joel, it has to be Joel, he's here to apologize, he's gonna kiss you and tell you he's sorry.
You yank open the door and feel your face fall immediately when you see none other than Steve standing there, hands on his hips. He grins at you but it falters slightly when he looks down and sees that you're still in your pajamas.
"Morning, sleepy head," he greets you, reaching forward to playfully bump your arm with his fist, "Looks like someone missed their alarm."
You stare at him, vision still slightly blurred from sleep. You reach up to rub your eyes so you can see him clearer, make sure he's actually standing there in front of you. Yup, he is.
You force yourself to smile back - something which takes a lot of effort but he seems to find genuine - and reply, "My bad, I guess I did."
"No worries," he says with another wide grin, "We got some time before we need to leave, no rush!"
You force one last smile and shut the door in his face, trying not to slam it - even though you really want to. You look at the clock on the wall over your fireplace and make a face: 4:30. He woke you up at 4:30, half an hour before your alarm.
"Steve, I swear to god," you grumble to yourself, heading for the bathroom as you drop your blanket to the floor and clamor back up the stairs; there's no point in going back to sleep, you're wide awake now and pissed.
You know who'd never do this? Joel.
After a shower and a quick bowl of cereal you head back out to meet Steve, prepared to put on your best everything is great impression again. You stop dead in your tracks as soon as you open your door.
"Listen, sir, I think you should leave," Steve is saying, voice cracking slightly as he talks to the figure in front of him.
It's still dark outside; the sun hasn't come up yet and everything is muted and hard to make out. It takes you a few seconds to figure out who Steve is talking to, the figure shrouded in shadow and half hidden behind Steve's tall form. You feel your face go pale when you hear him reply.
"You didn't answer my question," the growl is unmistakably Joel's and you grip the edge of the door in your hands tightly, not opening it all the way as you eavesdrop. What the fuck is he doing here? What question?
"I don't think I owe you a reply," Steve replies, attempting to stand his ground but sounding pretty pathetic, voice shaky and high, "I think you should move along, sir."
"What the fuck are you doing at this girl's house at four in the fucking morning?" Joel practically spits, taking a step toward Steve. In response, Steve takes a step backward. He's not a confrontational guy, you know that from the one patrol you've spent with him, "Answer me."
"I'm her patrol partner," Steve finally says, putting his hands up in defeat, "I'm waiting for her to get ready."
"Patrols don't start 'til five thirty."
"It's true, I swear, you literally met me last week!"
That seems to stump Joel, and he must be trying to figure out what to say next when you shove the door open and walk out onto your porch.
"Joel, what the fuck are you doing?" you ask, voice steady and firm. He looks over at you in surprise, backing away from Steve. Is it just your imagination or did his expression soften when he saw you? But that doesn't matter now.
You walk down the steps of your patio and stand in front of Steve, shoving him behind you lightly, "Steve, I'll meet you at the gate," you say firmly.
"But-"
"Steve. Please leave. I'll meet you in a few minutes."
"...Okay," you can't see him but you hear him walk away from you, trudging down the gravel path in the opposite direction. Once his footsteps are faint enough, you finally address Joel again.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" you repeat, "Why are you berating Steve in front of my house?"
"Who the fuck is Steve?" Joel asks; the question of the hour.
"My patrol partner," you reply, shaking your head, "I mean, you should probably know that seeing as you're the one who switched with him."
"I don't know who I switched with, Tommy did that," he retorts, looking away from you, down at his boots, "Wasn't my decision."
"Right, 'cause nothing's ever your fault, right?"
He looks back up, a glint of emotion in his eyes that you've seen only once before, "You have no fucking idea," he says, voice heavy and gruff, "Don't even-"
"Don't even what, Joel? You're the one standing in front of my house at the ass crack of dawn yelling at some guy you've never even talked to before. Steve's actually great, by the way," you're laying it on thick but you don't care; you want him to think you've moved on, "Patrolling with him is much better than patrolling with you."
He raises an eyebrow, "Is that so?"
"Yeah," you lie, cheeks going red with anger, "He actually talks to me."
"And fucks you, I gather?" he says it with a hard edge that makes your blood run cold.
You stand there just staring at him, mouth agape as he lets what he just said wash over you. You inhale and exhale deeply, feeling those godforsaken tears sting in your eyes as you take a step away from him, genuinely fearful that you might end up slapping him or punching him or doing something you shouldn't.
"Fuck you," your voice is small and broken and the tears are already flowing, "Fuck you, Joel."
His expression changes then, and you know an apology is coming. You put your hand up before he can speak, shaking your head.
"Don't," you say, firm and solid, not bothering to wipe your tears as they flick off your face into the grass below, "We're done." You turn on your heel and stomp away from him, feeling a sob wrack through you as you cross your arms and speed walk to the main gate where you know Steve is waiting.
Joel doesn't follow you.
--
Steve knows better than to question you about what happened. As soon as you'd approached him at the gate he'd seen your tears and the shake of your head when he'd opened his mouth to say something. Ten minutes later you were on your way out to the cabin again without either of you saying a word.
Now you're back on patrol with an aching heart and a huge lump in your throat that won't go away no matter what you do, trailing the perimeter back and forth with your head hung and eyes downcast. Joel's words repeat over and over in your head like a curse, damning you into a feeling of guilt that you don't think you really deserve. You haven't done shit with Steve, the assumption that you'd just immediately moved on from your sexual relationship with Joel to another man makes your blood boil. Who the fuck does he think you are?
Do you really even know him? This whole time he's remained so secretive and aloof, mysterious and cryptic. You hadn't pushed him to reveal more about himself, hoping eventually he'd open up to you, but he never did. Just kept you on a short leash with good girl and pretty girl and the way he'd look at you in those moments where you bared yourself to him.
But you're not much better, you remind yourself with a grimace, and you know it's true. You never told him much about yourself or your past. Yes, you would've, but you didn't. And you're the one who kept asking to get off with him, kept expecting more and being disappointed when he wouldn't give it to you even though he was clear about his boundaries.
"But that doesn't give him the right," you mutter to yourself, still walking through the muddy grass, deep in thought, "It doesn't make what he said okay."
No, it doesn't. But maybe he's hurting more than he lets on. Maybe this isn't as cut and dry for him as you'd thought. Why the fuck had he been snooping around your house so early this morning? He only lives a few houses down from you; had he seen Steve and felt he had to protect you? Does he actually care about you, as much as he tries to put on a front that it's only been sexual between you two and nothing more? Is that why he's been so distant?
You suddenly realize that you've gone much further than the perimeter, continuing to walk ahead instead of turning back and circling the area. You freeze, eyes scanning around as you try to discern exactly how far you've gone.
"Fuck," you mutter, turning around and starting to walk directly back the way you came, hoping it'll lead you right back to where you're meant to be.
--
It doesn't.
You'd been so lost in thought that somehow you've managed to lose the original path, the tall grass hiding any sign of your own footsteps. This is only your second time out here so nothing looks familiar; it's all grass and mud and trees and rocks. How long have you even been walking? Joel had once admonished you for not having a watch, said one day it was gonna bite you in the ass; you hate that he was right.
"Steve?" you call out, unsure if he'll be able to hear you since you don't know how far you've trailed from the cabin, "You there?"
No reply. You stop again and do another quick glance around, looking for anything that seems familiar to you. But no, this isn't the ski lodge perimeter where you'd grown accustomed to each tree, each stump, each rock. Nothing here is even vaguely telling you exactly where to turn.
You feel the dull throb of panic beneath the surface of your emotions but you quickly shove it down; you're good in situations like this, you've certainly been through enough shit to not get frightened over being a little lost. You've been lost before, you'll figure it out.
All the same, you keep track of the sun's location in the sky as you continue your directionless trek, noting that it's directly above you; noon. You have plenty of time before dark to find your way back, no sweat.
--
It must be around three o'clock when you finally make it back. Relief floods your entire body as you walk into the clearing and see the small wooden cabin sitting there still and picturesque, exactly how you'd left it. You bend down, closing your eyes and pressing your hands to your knees to take a few deep breaths and ground yourself. The panic had started to really settle in about an hour ago, but luckily it hadn't gotten to a point where you'd been too afraid to keep going.
"Steve," you say loudly, still breathing deeply, "I'm back."
No reply. You open your eyes again, heart still thumping in your chest as you eye the cabin for any sign of him. You walk over hesitantly, feeling a knot forming in your stomach when you open the front door and are greeted to a dark and empty cabin.
"Steve?" you say again, voice shaky.
No reply.
Fuck. He must have gone looking for you when you didn't come back to switch. Either that or he went back to Jackson, but you can't see a guy like Steve doing that. The way he'd stood up to Joel this morning, as embarrassing as it was, it had been enough to show you exactly what kind of man Steve is. He'd definitely gone to look for you. It's only fair that you do the same for him.
You grab a roll of twine from the cabin and start your search, making sure to mark the trees every now and then so you can find your way back again. You'd been advised in your patrol orientation not to do this because of raiders, but you doubt Tommy or Maria will give you shit for making sure you and Steve actually make it back to Jackson alive.
The thought makes the panic start to rise again, but you keep going.
--
You keep hoping you'll find some sign of Steve, but it's been about two hours and nothing has caught your eye. The twine is starting to run out and you fear you'll have to go back to Jackson without him, which will undoubtedly start a panic and a huge search party, all because you got a little distracted. This shit with Joel doesn't even matter anymore - you can't believe you let it affect you how it did. And now Steve is paying the price.
Another hour passes and you're preparing to turn back when you see it out of the corner of your eye. You freeze, hair standing up at the back of your neck when you look down to see shiny droplets of blood painting the grass.
You lean down instinctively, eyes wide, reaching forward to touch one of the many large red drops. It shivers beneath your finger, not yet fully dry. It's fresh.
Without hesitation you stand back up and pull your pistol out of its holster, cocking it and holding it steadily in front of you as you start to walk again. You have absolutely no idea what you're expecting to pop out at you; raiders? Infected? Or maybe Steve just cut himself somehow and you've taken your gun out for nothing.
A loud scream suddenly pierces the silence of the forest.
"STEVE!" you scream back, face going pale as you begin to sprint through the woods, gun still in front of you, "STAY WHERE YOU ARE, I'M COMING."
It's the last thing you say before you suddenly feel something tight grip your ankle and send you flying into the air, gun falling out of your hand. You find yourself completely upside down, entangled in a net.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You sway back and forth in the thick netting, trying to find your gun somewhere below you, but you quickly become much too dizzy to discern absolutely anything. You hear Steve's scream again, further away this time, and your blood runs cold. The panic takes over and you can't speak.
Please, you think to yourself, shutting your eyes tight and trying to keep the dizziness at bay, please don't let me die before I see him again.
It's not Steve you're thinking about.
It doesn't take long for the blood to rush to your head, for your body to go completely numb as you hang there upside down, completely alone. You pass out within minutes.
--
It's pitch black when you wake up.
You're no longer hanging from a tree in the forest, no longer tangled up in a net. Instead, you're lying on what feels like a concrete floor. Your head is pounding, lips dry and parched. Your whole body feels heavy and achy, so much so that you can barely move.
"She's awake," you hear a voice say somewhere close by; it's female and sounds familiar, but not enough for you to place it.
You hear the squeaky hinges of a door opening, then a few hushed whispers that you can't make out. The door shuts again and you swear you hear the sound of a deadbolt being locked in place.
"Where am I?" you finally whisper, voice rough and broken, "Let me go."
"You're in Jackson," the female voice replies, kind and gentle, "You're safe now."
"Who are you?" you can't bring yourself to open your eyes, unsure if this person is really telling you the truth.
"It's Ellie," the voice replies, and recognition dawns on you immediately, "Remember me?"
You nod slowly, wincing at the pain as you continue to lie there on the floor, "Y-yes."
"When you didn't come back this morning they sent out a search party. Tommy found you hanging in a tree, brought you back right away."
This morning? So you must have been hanging there all night. Jesus, no wonder you feel the way you do.
You finally open your eyes then, and are beyond relieved when your vision isn't dizzy and blurry like it had been before you'd passed out. You spot Ellie a few feet away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, peering down at you with a soft expression.
"Steve?" you whisper.
Her brow furrows, "They found him too. I don't know the details but he was hurt pretty bad," she shakes her head, "They're gonna do everything they can."
You nod again, swallowing and wincing at the dryness of your throat, "C-can I have some water?"
"Oh, fuck, of course," she reaches behind her and grabs a bottle, then walks over to you. Her movements are slow, hesitant, and when she hands you the bottle her arm darts out and back extremely quickly.
You stare at her in confusion, slowly bringing yourself to sit up. She backs away from you again, presses herself against the wall and crosses her arms again. It's like she's feigning nonchalance.
Reality dawns on you.
"Am I bit?" you manage to whisper, clutching the water bottle tightly.
She swallows, looks directly in your eyes, "We're hoping you can answer that for us."
You slowly bring the water to your lips, mind racing. You try to remember anything beyond getting caught up in the net but there's absolutely nothing. If you'd been bit afterward, wouldn't it have woken you up? Wouldn't you feel the pain somewhere on you now?
You drink the entire bottle of water and place it next to you on the floor, then you begin to feel your body, placing your hands back and forth all over yourself and trying to find a particular spot that feels like it might have been bit. You come up blank; all that you feel is a steady ache from being numb for so long.
"I don't think so," you finally say, crossing your legs and bringing your hands to rest in front of you, "I feel okay."
"We only found you about two hours ago," she says softly, "So we weren't sure. This is where they keep people for observation, people who might be infected."
You assess your surroundings. You must be in some kind of shed; it's small and there's no furniture, only a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. If you'd woken up alone you probably would've thought you'd been kidnapped. Your brow furrows and you look over at Ellie in confusion.
"If I might be bit, why are they keeping you in here with me?" you ask, bewildered, "It's not safe for you."
Ellie kicks her heel and shrugs, "I don't know, they just thought you shouldn't be alone when you woke up."
She's lying and you don't know why, but you don't have the energy to press her further. What's important is that you're not alone, and you appreciate that. You watch as she inhales deeply, lost in thought, then brings her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezes. Just like Joel.
Joel.
"Does he know?" you suddenly whisper.
You didn't say his name but she clearly knows who you're talking about. She sets her lips in a firm line, "Yeah."
You place your head in your hands and sigh loudly, shutting your eyes tight. You suddenly feel like you want to cry, just at the thought of that big, broad, grumpy man being told that you didn't come back from patrol. Had he been upset? Annoyed? Angry? Scared?
"He's freaking out," Ellie answers for you, voice quiet, "He punched Tommy in the face."
"What?" you stare at her, eyes wide, "Why'd he do that?"
She laughs softly to herself, shaking her head, "Tommy wouldn't let him go with the search party."
Your face scrunches in confusion, "Why not?"
She looks away from you then, eyeing the closed door, "Because Tommy thought his feelings would get in the way," her voice is slightly shaky, like she might cry, "He thought if they found you dead, Joel might not come back, might try to find the motherfuckers who did it and make them pay."
You're already shaking your head, "That's dumb, he wouldn't do that."
Ellie laughs again, turning back to look at you, "You really don't know anything about Joel, do you?"
You stare, waiting for her to speak again. She adjusts her position, slowly sliding down the wall and sitting across from you with her knees pulled up against her chest.
"Joel's killed a lot of people," she says quietly, looking over at you with tired eyes, "I mean, a lot of us have, I'm sure you have too. We've all done shit we're not proud of," she thumbs a tear on her jeans, biting down on her lip, "But when it comes to the people he cares about... Joel doesn't do things halfway, never."
You swallow, "Ellie, I don't think Joel cares about me in the way you're thinking."
She smiles then, small and hesitant, but still a smile, "As I said, you don't really know much about him. Not like I do."
"But-"
She puts a hand up, "I know about the two of you. I overheard you and Tommy talking last week."
You remember that afternoon by the stream, the rustle of the bushes, when you'd pulled the branches back expecting to see someone but found nobody there.
"That was you?" you ask, eyebrows raised, "By the stream?"
She nods, "I showed up to play my guitar and you guys were already there talking. I wasn't gonna listen but then I heard Joel's name and..." she sighs, looking down at her knees, "I might not be talking to Joel right now but I like to know what he's up to."
You nod slowly, "So...you heard about..."
"The mountain, yeah," she makes a face, "Listen, I don't want the details, trust me, but I wasn't surprised when you said that, not the way Tommy was anyway," she giggles, "I love seeing him get all uncomfortable, it's so funny."
You snort, shaking your head, "Please, it was so awkward."
"He really had no idea, but I think I did, somehow," she smiles again, wistful, "As I said, I might not be talking to Joel but that doesn't mean I don't look out for him, watch him, make sure he's doing alright," she looks down again, "I'm not heartless, okay?"
"I know," you say earnestly, "I know you're not."
"I knew something was different with him. He's been so quiet and sad, doesn't talk to people very much anymore, but these past few weeks it was like he had a pep in his step, like the old Joel was coming back," she smiles at the thought, "And then I saw the way he'd look at you in the dining hall, all those little smiles. And at first I was like...gross. But then..." she sighs, shaking her head, "I don't know, I think it's cute how much he likes you. How much you changed him."
Her words elicit a warmth in your chest, soft and safe, like the feeling of being in Joel's presence. You wrap your arms around yourself, huddling forward and continuing to listen.
"We were eating breakfast when Tommy announced the search party this morning. As soon as he said what had happened I looked over at Joel. He looked like he'd just received the worst news of his life," her voice shakes again, like she's on the verge of tears, "He ran up to Tommy, started asking questions about the search, when they were starting, what way they were going, all that. Tommy told him that he couldn't come, they argued, Joel punched Tommy and then I had to practically pull them apart."
"You?" your mouth is agape, "You stopped the fight?"
She nods with another small smile, "As soon as Joel realized it was me pulling on him, he stopped. I told him I knew about what was going on, I said I'd stay with him until you came back safe and sound."
You feel tears prick in your eyes at the words, "That must have meant a lot to him."
"It meant the world to him, I know that," she says quietly, "I haven't talked to him for a long time, I'm sure you know that."
You nod, "I do."
She's silent then for a few moments, staring at the closed door again. When she finally speaks, her voice is shakier than ever, "I sat with him in his living room until they got back with you and Steve. He wanted to see you but they wouldn't let him, so I volunteered to stay with you. That's why I'm here."
She leans back against the wall with a sigh, biting down on her lip. You see tears beginning to brim in her eyes and you look away, knowing you wouldn't want someone staring at you if it was you getting emotional.
"He's lost a lot, you know," she says softly, sniffling a little bit, "He lost his daughter a long time ago, and a woman named Tess he really cared about," she takes a breath, shaky and full of emotion, "He almost lost me, too. That's part of the reason we're not talking."
You stare at the concrete floor, letting her words sink in. A daughter? Joel had been a father? And Tess, who was she? A girlfriend? A wife? Clearly someone important, and he'd lost both of them.
You've been through your share of trauma, experienced your own losses, but never to that degree. You'd never gotten close enough to someone to really feel a loss like that, can't even imagine what it would feel like. Your heart aches for him; that stoic, quiet, and mysterious man who'd let you in but kept you at arm's length... for reasons you're beginning to understand.
You stand up slowly, wincing at the aches you feel, your skin feeling prickly and uncomfortable as your circulation continues to regulate. Ellie's words cycle through your mind as you stretch, ringing quiet and tender in your ears; I think it's cute how much he likes you. How much you changed him.
"When can I see him?" you ask softly, still avoiding looking at her as you pull at parts of your clothes, searching again for a bite you're pretty sure doesn't exist.
"I'll ask Maria," Ellie replies just as quiet, standing up as well and walking over to the door, "If you were bit you'd be showing signs by now, I think you're okay."
"Ask her about Steve too, please," you add, "I need to know if he's alive."
She nods and opens the door, then goes outside and shuts it behind her. You hear the deadbolt slide back into place.
You burst into tears.
--
Ellie returns with Maria about ten minutes later, both of them looking at you with kind and sympathetic expressions when they find you standing in the middle of the room sobbing your heart out. Without hesitation, Maria walks forward and wraps her arms around you tightly.
"It's okay, sweetie," she says softly in your ear, rubbing your back gently, "Steve's okay, he's gonna make it."
Ellie looks down when she says this, and part of you knows that she knows you're not crying about Steve.
--
They walk you home slowly, Maria on one side and Ellie on your other. You complain a bit, telling them you're okay to walk on your own, but neither pay your stubbornness any mind, just keep their arms linked through yours as they walk you to your house.
You're on your street when you see two figures up ahead, and your heart starts to pound harder and harder in your chest the closer you get. Because you know who it is.
Joel and Tommy are leaning against the banister of Joel's front patio, talking quietly to themselves. You grimace at the sight of Tommy's black eye but feel relief flood through you when you see that he's smiling at Joel, clearly no animosity present.
"Look who's up!" Ellie says loudly, and they both turn to look in your direction.
Joel freezes, staring at you for a few brief seconds of recognition before he's suddenly throwing himself from the patio and sprinting toward you. You feel both Ellie and Maria release you from their grips, right before you're suddenly enveloped in the warmest, sweetest, most sincere hug you've ever received in your life.
Throughout all these months of knowing Joel, he's never truly touched you. Sure, he's touched your hand, shook it during your official introduction, helped you stand up here and there. He's touched your face once, your lips twice. And he's touched you where you longed for him to, begged him to, but only for a moment, just one touch. Gentle, tender, but never long enough for you to really feel him the way you've wanted to.
Now he pulls you close without any hesitation, no rules, no consequences. He presses his lips to the top of your head and whispers your name over and over until it sounds like a mantra, a prayer.
"Joel," you breathe, and you feel the tears start up again as you shut your eyes tight and just feel, listen to him say your name and hold you like you'll fall apart if he lets go.
"I thought I lost you," he says, voice rough and emotional, "Before I could even tell you how sorry I am."
"Shh," you squeeze him tighter, burying your face in his strong chest, "Don't worry about that, I'm here. I'm okay."
He holds you impossibly tighter and you hear the unmistakable sound of a sob rip through his teeth, tears dripping from his face into your hair. You pull back just enough to look up at him, see him peer down at you with an expression on his face that you've never seen before, impossibly soft and fond, eyes bright and yearning. Love.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, inhaling shakily, "For everything."
You shake your head furiously, "Joel, it's oka-"
"It's not okay," he interrupts, voice breaking again, "I'm so sorry. Not just for what I said yesterday, but for everything else. For pushing you away, making you feel like it was your fault, I'm so fucking sorry," he pulls you in again, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, "God, you have no idea how bad I've wanted to just hold you like this. I was such a fucking coward."
"You were afraid," you whisper, shaking your head, "I understand, Joel, I get it."
He lets out another sob, squeezes you tighter, "Don't let me go," he breathes, "Please don't let go."
For the entire hug you'd thought he was the one holding you, but you now realize that for him it's the other way around. You feel yourself start to cry harder as you pull him in tighter and just stand there, arms wrapped around his middle, face pressed against his chest as the beat of his heart thrums steadily in your ear. You both inhale and exhale deeply, moving as one being, one solid force. He kisses your head again and you melt further into his touch.
"I'm gonna head back to town," you hear Maria say softly nearby, probably to Tommy and Ellie, "Tommy, can you go check on Steve, make sure he's still doing okay?"
Joel stiffens at the name, suddenly pulling back from you to look over at Maria, "He alright?"
Maria nods, "Yeah," she turns to look at you then, expression serious, "He told us that when you didn't come back to switch patrols, he got worried, went out looking for you. Ended up running into a group of raiders, the same ones who set that trap you fell into. They stabbed him a couple times but nothing critical, he managed to get a few hits in himself before he got away, led them in the opposite direction."
"Jesus," you mutter, feeling guilt rush through you, "Are they still out there?"
"No," Tommy replies, shaking his head, "We took care of it. Steve knocked 'em around pretty good but we made sure none of 'em were breathin' by the time we left."
You nod slowly, still in Joel's embrace, "Tell him I'm sorry," you say quietly, "It's my fault."
"Shhh," Joel pulls you close again, rubbing your back gently, "Don't worry about that, let's get you inside."
"Make sure she has a bath," Maria says quickly, "Keep her warm, give her some food."
"I'm not a hamster," you groan, and you're surprised to hear Ellie laugh behind you. You'd forgotten she was there.
Joel suddenly pulls out of your embrace, still holding you with one arm while he reaches toward Ellie, "Come here," he says softly, "Please."
She shakes her head, taking a step back, "I'm going with Maria," she bites her lip, looks down and then looks back at Joel who's still staring longingly at her, "But I'll meet up with you later, okay?"
"Okay," he says quietly, voice still shaky, "Promise?"
She nods, gives him a small smile, "Promise."
--
"Where do you wanna go?" Joel had asked you softly, "Mine or yours?"
"Yours," you'd whispered immediately, no hesitation, "Please."
You now find yourself in Joel Miller's house, somewhere you never really ever pictured yourself. It's pretty similar to yours but there are a few differences, namely the amount of books and art. You hadn't known that Ellie was an artist; there are drawings all over his house, some in frames, some just laid around, all signed by Ellie, all beautiful. There's a picture she drew of him that he has framed on his fireplace, and you find yourself picking it up with a smile.
"Bath's almost ready," Joel says quietly behind you, and you spin back around. He looks at the picture in your hand, smiling softly, "Ellie drew that."
"She's really talented," you reply with a smile, "Wonder where she gets all this artsy fartsy stuff from?"
He chuckles, still standing a few feet away from you, "It's a mystery."
You place the picture back down and turn to look at him, feeling a nervousness in the pit of your stomach that you haven't felt around him in a long time, not since that first night together. Things are different now, it's palpable, and both of you are aware of it.
"Will you take a bath with me?" you ask quietly, unsure.
He nods slowly, eyes trained on your face, "Of course I will."
--
The bath is warm and welcoming. Joel had told you to strip down, get in, and that he'd be back momentarily with some food for you. You can't help but feel a little disappointed that he hadn't stuck around to watch you undress, but maybe it would've been inappropriate considering the circumstances.
You ease yourself under the water, a satisfied moan escaping your lips as the bath completely envelops you. He's put something in the water to make it smell good, lavender or vanilla. It instantly relaxes you, the heat of the water and the delicious smell making you feel completely at ease.
You lay there for a few minutes in silence, eyes closed, focusing on your breathing and bringing things back into perspective. You're okay, you're safe. Steve is okay, he's safe. You're both back in Jackson. You're with Joel, you're in his bath tub, he's downstairs making you lunch. Everything is okay.
Ellie's words filter through your brain again, distant but present; He lost his daughter a long time ago, and a woman named Tess he really cared about.
A light knock on the bathroom door shakes you from your thoughts. You smile, "Come in."
Joel enters the bathroom, bowl of soup in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. He places them on the chair next to the tub, eyes avoiding you as he focuses on the task at hand. He kneels by the tub and spoons some of the soup carefully, then finally looks at your face as he brings the spoon to your mouth. You open, letting him feed you, letting him take care of you.
"Good?" he asks softly, gaze still on your face, ever the gentleman.
"Good," you say with a smile.
He feeds you a few more spoonfuls, smiling fondly at you as you eat. After a few moments of this you put your hand up, shaking your head, "That's enough for now, why don't you get in with me?"
His gaze finally falls then, looks at your body beneath the water, sees your nipples poking through the surface. He sighs, leans back a bit on his knees and shakes his head.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," he says quietly.
"Joel," you say quickly, voice steady, "Don't pull away from me. Not now. Not anymore."
He looks at your face again, expression sad and distant, "I'm afraid," he admits, "I'm afraid of being close to you."
"I know," you whisper, and you reach over to place your hand over his, stroking him gently with your thumb, "It's okay. It's okay to be afraid."
"I've lost a lot of people," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I thought...I thought if I let myself get close to you, if I gave you what you wanted...I'd get attached. I'd fall for you," he says it earnestly, voice breaking slightly on the last few words, "But here I am, fallin' for you anyway."
You smile at him, soft and loving. You squeeze his hand and slowly sit up in the bath, putting yourself on display for him. His eyes don't leave yours, but he swallows and tenses his jaw at your movement.
"Bad things have happened to the people I care about," he says quietly, barely a whisper, "And you're young, you're beautiful, you have this whole life ahead of you and I'm-" his voice breaks and he looks down again, tears cascading down his cheeks, "I'm scared you'll end up like those people, dead and gone because of me."
"Joel-"
"And I'm scared I don't deserve it," he interrupts, looking up at you again, mouth trembling, "I don't think I deserve love. I don't deserve someone like you 'cause of everything I've done."
"What about Ellie?" you ask softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly, "She's alive and she loves you."
He scoffs, shaking his head, "She hates me."
"She doesn't hate you," you mean it, leaning forward to cradle his hand in both of yours, "I talked to that girl for the first time today, really talked to her, and I can see it plain as day. She loves you more than you could ever know, Joel."
"She stayed with me today," he whispers shakily, nodding slowly, "She sat with me 'til we knew you were safe."
"And you think that's hate?" you ask softly, "Joel, that's love."
He looks at you again, expression pained. You bring his hand to your lips, press a gentle and tender kiss to every knuckle, showing him how much he's worth, how much he means to you.
"I'm afraid," he repeats through his tears, watching you kiss him, "I'm afraid to want you the way I do."
You release his hand and lean back slightly in the tub, extending your arm for him to take, gazing at him with all the love and care you can muster, "Get in with me," you whisper, the splash of water the only sound in the room save for your heartbeats, both of which you swear you can hear, "Don't be afraid."
His eyes cast downward to your lips and he swallows again, then looks back up into your eyes, "Okay."
You watch as he stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt. You can tell that he's extremely nervous, his fingers trembling as he fights to get each button open.
"I'm gonna close my eyes," you say tenderly, "And when you're ready, tap my shoulder and I'll let you in behind me, okay?"
He nods slowly, fingers frozen on the third button, "Okay," he repeats.
You close your eyes and lean back, listening to the rustle of clothes beside you as he undresses. You're not used to this Joel, the one who seems powerless and submissive. You're not usually the one giving him orders, it's always been the other way around. You know he's just nervous, afraid of being close to you like this, and all you want is for him to feel relaxed again in your presence, feel like himself.
After a moment he taps your shoulder; you lean forward in the bath and feel him ease in behind you, his legs entrapping yours along the edges of the tub. He seats himself down, places his hands around your middle and pulls you in close. You feel his groin press against your lower back; you've never felt his cock before, and somehow the casual intimacy of his softness pressed against you makes you smile.
"You can open your eyes," he whispers, then presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.
You do as you're told, immediately seeing the way his legs are splayed out in front of you, long and strong beneath the water. You've never realized how small you are compared to him until this moment, completely enrobed in his body, heart thrumming against your back.
"This is heaven," you whisper, leaning back against him and closing your eyes again, "This is what I wanted, all along."
"I think you wanted a bit more than this," he replies with a chuckle, kissing your neck again, "And you'll get it, I promise. Let's just...let's just sit here for a little while first, alright?"
"As long as you need to," you murmur, and you swear you feel him smile against your skin.
--
You bathe together for a long time, just laying in each other's embrace and enjoying the company. Being this close to Joel truly is everything you could have ever hoped for, his strong arms wrapped around you as he noses your neck and breathes you in, holds you against his naked body like you're meant to fit there. He's so big and warm; you've never felt more safe.
At one point you scooch back a bit in this embrace, feel your ass unintentionally rub lightly against his cock beneath the water. Neither of you say anything, but you both slowly become aware of the way he hardens, begins to grow larger against you.
A few moments later the head of his cock is pulsing against your lower back. Your eyes are lidded, heavy, head bobbing backward to nestle at the base of his neck. His hands on your belly move upward to cup your breasts, holding you firmly and securely against him.
"Joel," you whisper, "Touch me."
The words bring both of you back to the ski lodge, the power he holds over you there, the way you're always at his mercy. You hope, despite the new situation, he'll be that person again for you. You crave it, need it.
"Not yet," he murmurs in your ear, "Be patient, pretty girl."
There he is.
You swallow, close your eyes and submit completely as he palms your breasts, tweaks your nipples between his fingers gently. You whimper pathetically, shuffle back against his cock again, feel the hard length of it along your back.
"You were a bad girl yesterday," he whispers in your ear, tongue darting out to taste your skin, making you shiver, "And today. Gettin' lost like that, makin' me worry..."
"M'sorry," you murmur, hands moving down to grip his thighs as he brings your earlobe into your mouth and sucks it, "Didn't m-mean to make you worry."
"I think," he whispers, breath hot against your skin, "I'm finally gonna have to punish you."
The words send tingles up and down your spine, eyes almost rolling back in your head when he sucks your earlobe again, eliciting sounds from you that only he knows how to generate. You squeeze his thighs tighter, feeling your pussy begin to pulse beneath the water.
"How?" you breathe, voice weak.
He releases your ear and noses your cheek, brings one of his hands from your breasts and rests a finger against your chin. He turns your face to the side, urging you to look at him. His eyes are dark, full of want and desire, and you know you're completely at his mercy.
"I'm gonna fuck you, baby," he whispers, "Gonna fill that pussy up with my cock."
The words send you into a tailspin, a guttural whine escaping your lips as your fingers press into his thighs, rubbing your own together to seek some purchase against your heat. He smiles, presses a gentle kiss to your temple, drops his hands and places them over yours, big and strong.
"I know that's what you want," he whispers, entangling his fingers with yours over his thighs, "But I'm gonna give it to you over and over again, gonna make you come as many times as I want, 'til you're begging me to stop, tellin' me it's too much, that you couldn't possibly come again," he squeezes your hands, licks a stripe up the side of your neck, "And then I'll give you another one."
"Please," you breathe, voice broken and full of desire, "Please, fuck me, Joel. I need it so bad."
"I know you do, baby," he whispers, "So be a good girl for me and do as I say, okay?"
"Okay," you whimper, leaning back in his embrace, feeling his cock prod your back.
"Say it."
"I'll be your good girl," you whine, trembling under his gaze, "I'm your good girl, Joel. Only yours."
He groans softly in your ear, "That's right, baby," he releases your hands from beneath his and cups your breasts again, squeezing gently, "Now, open yourself up for me."
With trembling fingers you reach beneath the water and pull your lips apart, using both hands to spread yourself for him. The water tickles you, makes you quiver in his grasp as you slowly push your middle finger inside.
"There you go," he whispers, "That feel good, pretty girl?"
"Y-yes," you whimper, throbbing around your finger.
"Add as many as you like," he tells you, "Need to be nice and open for my cock."
The very thought of finally having him inside you makes you whimper again as you add a second finger, feeling his familiar gaze on your cunt. It's so different this time, feeling how hard he is against you, being in his naked embrace while you obey his commands. This is nothing like being in his lap when he'd been fully clothed, holding you open for him. This is sex, pure sex that you know is going to last hours.
"Look at that," he murmurs when you've started to pump three fingers in and out of yourself at a steady pace, "So full for me, already ready to come, huh?"
You whimper, leaning back against his chest, feeling his wiry hair rub against your cheek. Without any hesitation he suddenly reaches down and presses his index finger to your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.
"Remember when I touched this clit for the first time?" he murmurs in your ear, circling it softly over and over, "Remember how you came just from a little touch? So sensitive, baby. Such a good girl."
His words send you over the edge, making you squirm and shake in his embrace as he gives you your first orgasm of the day, coaxes it out of you easily. You whimper when he touches your wrist, pulls your fingers out to replace them with his own.
"That's one," he whispers, sliding his index finger inside your heat, and you're not sure if he's talking about the orgasm or the digit. You're too blissed out to care, head bobbing against his neck again as he fingers you, adds a second and presses his lips to your ear, "Baby, she's so tight," he breathes, teasing a third at your entrance, "How's my cock gonna fit?"
"Mnnhnngg," you can't make words, looking down beneath the water at where he's fucking you relentlessly, fingers so big and thick compared to yours, his thumb toying with your clit.
"Can't even talk, huh?" he whispers, "Need to come again, I bet."
You don't think you'll be able to, not yet; you're so overstimulated but he just continues to fuck you with abandon, rubbing your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You arch back against him, his cock throbbing against your ass. Your fingers dig into his thighs again and he chuckles in your ear.
"Can't do that, baby," he whispers, "Play with your pretty little nipples for me, show me how hard they are."
You bring your trembling hands to your breasts, squeezing your tender nipples between your fingers and feeling another orgasm start building in your tummy. How? It's so soon since you had your last one, how the fuck can he give you another one so quickly?
He pumps his fingers steadily in and out of you, watching as you play with your nipples. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the skin of your left breast, inches away from where your fingers are pinching.
"Put it in my mouth, pretty girl," he murmurs against the skin, nosing the little bumps and dropping his jaw. You whimper at his words, squeezing your breast and dropping it downward so he can wrap his lips around the sensitive bud. You groan, feeling his tongue dart out and begin to lick tiny circles around it.
Seconds later, you're coming again. You shake and shiver and then go completely still in his arms, eyes rolling back as he continues to suckle at your nipple. He removes his fingers, thumbs your clit one more time, then releases your breast with a light pop.
"Two," he says quietly, smiling at you, "Good girl."
--
Somehow you make it to his bedroom. Exactly how, you're not sure. You're so wrecked from having two orgasms in ten minutes that you feel like jelly, but you're vaguely aware of him picking you up from the bath and carrying you to his room, putting you in his bed. You lay there like a starfish, arms up and legs wide as you breathe heavily, chest heaving.
"So sleepy," he says tenderly, stroking your cheek, "You ready for bed, baby? Wanna stop?"
Your eyes snap open and you shake your head frantically, only to see him standing there with a wide smile on his face.
"I'm kidding," he says with a laugh, "Don't worry."
You roll your eyes and look up at his ceiling, "Ass."
"There she is," he replies warmly, "Missed my feisty girl."
"She never left," you say with a wink, turning to look at him; he's shuffled closer to the bed, standing over you with his cock in his left hand, slowly stroking up and down. Your lips part unconsciously, eyes going straight for the plump and wet head.
"Yeah, you wanna suck it, huh?" he says quietly, thumbing exactly where you want to place your tongue, "Tasted my come twice but never had me in your mouth, how naughty."
You look up at him from under your lashes, smiling playfully, "I'm a good girl, promise."
He smirks, "Are you? Then show me how a good girl sucks cock."
You don't need him to ask you twice. You sit up on the bed and slide forward, watching as he releases his cock and lets it bounce upward toward his stomach, big and thick. You've never been so close to it, never seen it in broad daylight like this; he's huge, so wide and girthy with a big vein trailing along the underside all the way to the head, fat and leaking. With a shiver you lean forward and suck the tip into your mouth, trying not to smile when you hear him release a deep sigh.
"'Atta girl," he groans above you, his hand immediately coming up to cradle the back of your head, "That's my good girl."
You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, swallowing down everything he's leaking and then starting to bob your head along the shaft, reaching up to grasp the base firmly in your hand. He tastes like the bath; lavender and vanilla, mixed with a salty and masculine flavor that makes your mouth water.
"Oh, baby," he murmurs, watching as you take his entire length in your mouth with barely any hesitation, the head hitting the back of your throat without even making you gag, "That's it, take the whole fucking thing, just like that."
You're aware of the fact that you don't have a gag reflex; you'd thought about telling him a while ago, thought maybe it'd convince him to let you blow him, but you'd never been brave enough to say anything. Now, you're glad you never did. Hearing his absolute wonder as you take his entire length is more than enough.
"Oh, fuck," he groans, watching as you pull back almost all the way and then push yourself forward again to fully envelop him, the tip repeatedly prodding the inside of your throat, "Jesus fucking Christ."
You swallow around him and look up from underneath your lashes, eyes wide and burning. He looks down at you and immediately slips his cock out of your mouth, taking a step back and putting his hands up in surrender.
"Okay, okay," he says quickly, hissing through his teeth, "I'm gonna come if you keep goin'. Fuck."
You look at him with faux-innocence, eyes wide, "Did I do something wrong?"
He shakes his head, inhaling deeply and taking another step backward, "You're gonna kill me, baby," he curls his hands into fists, and you swear his cock bobs again completely on its own, like he's about to come without even being touched. The thought makes you shiver, "I know I say that all the time, but I mean it. You're gonna kill me."
You giggle, falling backwards on the bed again and stretching out your arms and legs, closing your eyes and listening as he does a quick pace around the room to distract himself from the orgasm his body is threatening to have. You just laugh and rotate your legs back and forth, feeling an immense amount of pride that you're not the only overly sensitive one in the room.
"You think that's funny, huh?" he asks you, and your eyes snap open to see him kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed.
"N-no," you say, but your smile betrays you. He looks at you darkly and suddenly grabs your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and pushing your thighs apart, "Oh," you whimper, looking down at yourself, seeing where he's looking, where you're wet and dripping all over the sheets.
"Messy," he whispers, "Such a messy little pussy."
"It's yours," you tell him, as if he doesn't already know, "It's your little pussy."
"I know, baby," he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, "I've wanted to taste her for so long."
You quiver at his words, brow furrowing as he presses another soft kiss to the opposite thigh. He licks a stripe along the inside, just outside your lips where you're puffy and swollen. He kisses your mound, drags his tongue down and down and down until it swipes lightly against your clit.
"Joel," you moan, throwing your head back and fisting the sheets. He pulls back and you look down again to see him smirking at you, eyes suddenly bright and playful again.
"Tastes like heaven, baby," he says softly, then ducks his head down and pushes his tongue inside you with no warning.
You let out the loudest moan of your life as he begins to eat you out, tongue alternating between twisting and licking your insides and then suckling on your clit like he'd done with your nipple, circling it inside his mouth relentlessly. You writhe beneath him, so much that he has to press his hands firmly against your belly to hold you down.
The noises you're making are practically inhuman, uttering almost a completely different language under your breath as he coaxes more ridiculous sounds out of you. You quickly realize that looking down at him is a mistake; the sight of his greying curls splayed across your pubic bone and the shape of his curved nose pressed into the hair on your mound, his eyes closed in pleasure as he sucks and licks and devours, just the image alone brings you close to the edge.
"I'm gonna come," you manage to squeak out, and he pushes his hands harder against your belly, the added pressure making you groan louder than ever.
He pulls his mouth away.
"No," you breathe, shaking your head wildly with wide eyes, "No, no, no, don't stop. Please don't stop!"
He smirks at you, removing his hands and leaning backward to release you completely from his grip. You stare at him, completely bewildered.
"Joel," you cry, real tears starting to form in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger - this time, you're just horny. "Joel, why?"
He still doesn't speak, just sits there and watches you groan in disbelief, your hands coming up to cover your face. You buck your hips into the air, seeking some kind of pressure, but nothing helps.
"Joel," you repeat, "This is mean."
"I told you I was gonna punish you, baby," he says it with faux-disappointment, like he's not the one who makes the rules, "I'm the one who decides when you come. And what I just did is exactly what you just did to me."
You pout, sitting up on your hands and giving him a dirty look, "That's not fair, you told me to stop, I would've kept going."
"But if you'd kept going, how would I have been able to do this?" he asks, and suddenly he's standing up and leaning over you on the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as he hovers above you.
"W-what?" you ask, but you know the answer as soon as you feel the wet head of his cock gently prod your entrance.
"This, baby," he murmurs, and pushes himself all the way inside.
You almost let out a scream, squeezing his sheets in your hands as his huge cock practically rearranges your guts, feeling him in your stomach as he reaches his hands up to entwine his fingers with yours, plying them away from the sheets.
"Oh, she wasn't ready, was she?" he asks quietly, nosing your neck and smiling at the incoherent noises coming from your throat, "Poor little pussy, never had something so big inside of her, huh?"
He stays still inside of you, letting you get used to his wide girth and thick length, so large within you that you feel like you're going to burst. You continue to make odd noises, twitching under his grasp, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that you're coming. You're coming, just from having his cock fully sheathed inside of you.
"Three," he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there, "That's three times now, baby. Such a good girl for me."
Your pussy pulses and throbs around him, aching and burning in the most perfect way. How does he know exactly what you need? How does he know exactly what'll get you there?
"You're okay, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair gently as you convulse around him, "You're doing so well, takin' it all so good."
You've never felt so full in your life. You've only ever had sex a handful of times, only ever actually been with two other men. If you had to compare them to this, you'd laugh in their faces.
"Big," you finally find your words, barely a whisper, "So big."
"I know," Joel kisses your temple, pulls back to look down at you with a gentle smile, "I'll wait 'til you get used to it, don't worry."
It's only then, looking up into those big brown eyes, that you realize you still haven't kissed him. He's got his enormous cock inside of you, stretching every inch of you open, and you've never kissed him.
It's like he's suddenly thinking the exact same thing. You watch as his brow furrows, lips parting slightly as he leans down and presses a sweet and gentle kiss to your lips, your eyes closing as you kiss him back with a hunger you've never known. You slip your tongue inside his mouth and he grants you entrance immediately, breathing deeply against your face as he sucks you in, lets you taste him. You can taste your own wetness on his tongue and it makes you moan against his lips.
"You're so fucking perfect," he breathes against your mouth, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against yours, "My perfect girl, always so good for me."
"I'm yours," you remind him, voice weak and shaky, "I'll do whatever you tell me to, Joel."
He inhales deeply, removing his hands from yours and trailing them down your body to hold you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your torso and trailing his fingers up and down your back.
"You can move now," you whisper, still pulsing around him, "I can take it."
"I know you can, baby," he murmurs, "Such a good girl."
It takes a few slow thrusts, your mouth still eliciting the most unhinged sounds as he fucks you at the slowest pace imaginable, but eventually you build up a rhythm. He's so big, it's hard to believe he's actually fitting inside of you. You'd only ever seen his cock from a distance, in darkness, never realized how fucking huge he was. You can't believe you'd even managed to fit all of him in your mouth.
"I'm close," you groan in his ear, your own hands coming up to grip his back tightly, loving the feeling of having him pressed so close to you as he fucks you, "Give me my fourth, Joel, fucking give it to me."
He laughs lightly in response, pulling back to look down at you, "Not much of a punishment anymore, is it?" he says with a smirk, shaking his head, "Now you're begging for it." He slows down his thrusts, eventually stilling inside of you and pulling almost all the way out, letting the head of his cock sit inside your pulsing hole.
"Look at that," he says softly and you sit up to follow his gaze, looking down at your already fucked-out hole, his cock only connected to it via the fat head that sits nestled at your entrance, "Look at all your come on my cock, pretty girl."
You notice the white and glistening spots along his cock, feeling your cheeks go red at the recognition that it's all from you. You bite your lip, chest heaving breathlessly as he carefully pulls the tip from your hole and places it against your clit.
"Oh, fuck," you whimper, watching as he gently rubs the head in circles on your clit, his tip continuing to leak and making you even more slippery than you already are.
"Here's number four for you, baby," he murmurs, and pulls back his cock to lightly slap the head against you, the pressure immediately making you moan. He slaps it again, a little harder, and you have to bite down on your lip again to stop the onslaught of little whines you're threatening to make.
"Come," he says firmly, deliberately an order, and slaps the head of his cock against your clit one last time, delivering the final push.
Your eyes roll back again and you fall back on the bed, body twitching as you come for the fourth time, feeling his eyes on your pussy as your hole pulses and throbs around nothing.
"Good girl," he whispers, and seconds later you feel his cock slide back inside of you, exactly where it belongs, "There you go."
You lay there completely limp for a few seconds, body only moving with the thrusts of Joel's steady pace. You finally open your eyes again, see him kneeling on the bed above you. He's holding your lower half upwards, hands digging into your hips and thumbs splayed across your tummy.
"Use me," you breathe, eyes closing again, "Just use me for a few minutes."
He groans, a guttural and fierce noise that rips through the silence of his bedroom. You relax completely, melting into the sheets and letting him take what he needs, take and take and take, using you like his personal fuck toy, something you'd only dreamed about and never thought would ever actually come to fruition. Your arms hang limp and loose off the edge of his bed as you inhale and exhale, trying to get your energy back as fast as possible so you can come again.
Because you know he's not gonna let you off at number four.
After a few more steady thrusts you slowly sit back up on your elbows, looking at him through hooded and tired eyes. He can see that you're close to being completely done, smiles gently at you and slows his rhythm.
"Welcome back," he says softly, leaning down to pull you up so you're level with him. He repositions the both of you so his legs are circling you, yours coming up to wrap around his lower back as you sit on his cock. He pulls you closer, cradling the back of your head and pressing kisses along the side of your face, "I know you're tired but I'm gonna give you one more, baby, just like I promised."
"I know," you whisper, voice shaky.
He holds you in his wide arms, completely envelops you as he fucks up into you steadily, nose and lips pressed against the side of your face as he brings himself closer and closer to release, continuously whispering a thread of dirty things to you, building you up.
"Such a tight fuckin' pussy, all for me," he murmurs, "So wet and pink and perfect, takin' me so good, so fuckin' full of cock."
"Joel," you whimper, leaning further against him and letting him fuck you mercilessly, letting him push you closer and closer to your fifth orgasm, "Keep talking."
"Okay, baby," he whispers, brow furrowed, "Okay, pretty girl. So fuckin' good to me, so fuckin' pure and perfect, lettin' me fill this little cunt, lettin' me fuck it so deep," you scratch at his arm, tension building in your belly, "Waited so long for me to give it to you, begged for it for months, and now you have it. It's all yours, baby. You get this cock whenever you want now, just say the word."
He reaches down and rubs your clit with his thumb, feeling you tense against him as your orgasm overtakes you. You shake in his embrace, moaning out his name one final time before you start to come, heart pounding and chest heaving as he releases your clit and hugs you close to him. You tremble beneath him, feeling completely spent, almost boneless in his lap as he keeps fucking you.
"Where do you want my come, pretty girl?" he asks you through clenched teeth, "You still want it in your mouth?"
"Yes," you say immediately, eyes widening, "In my mouth, please."
Without another word he pulls you from his lap, watching as you fall backwards on the bed weightlessly.
"Christ, I fucked the shit outta you, baby," he says, genuinely shocked at how blissed out you are.
"You did," you reply softly, feeling a smile cross your face, "Can't move anymore."
He gives you a gentle smile, walks around the bed and aims his cock toward your face, "Here's your reward, baby, open up, nice and wide."
You do as you're told, feeling an immense amount of pride and satisfaction as you finally get what you've been craving for months. He strokes his cock once, only once, and suddenly ropes of thick white come are painting your tongue and lips, your cheeks, your chin. He groans, long and low, watching as you close your eyes and take every drop he gives you, watching it all pool on your tongue, dribble down your chin.
"Fuck," he breathes, and you open your eyes again to see him staring at you, eyes still dark and pupils blown wide, "Swallow it, pretty girl."
You close your mouth and swallow all of it, reveling in the salty taste on your tongue and in the back of your throat. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, push the leftovers from your cheeks and chin past your lips, swallowing a second time.
"Good girl," he whispers, leaning down to push your hair out of your eyes, "That's my good girl, did so fucking well for me. Did everything I said."
"I'm yours, Joel," you whisper, voice completely wrecked, "I'm your good girl."
--
He cleans you up tenderly, pressing kisses to your skin every now and then as he takes a warm washcloth and wipes you down, pays extra attention to your sensitive spots and lets you lay there in peace. He's so sweet, so gentle, you'd hardly know it was the same Joel who walked out on you back at the ski lodge.
But it is the same Joel. He's just finally let himself have what he wants, finally let himself give you what you want. When he climbs in bed beside you and wraps his arms tightly around you, you've never felt so desired in your entire life. He kisses your face all over, whispers praises, tells you how beautiful you are, makes you feel wanted.
"You asleep?" he asks you softly, hands running up and down your arms soothingly.
"In and out," you murmur back, "You really did a number on me."
He chuckles quietly, kisses your cheek and holds you tighter, "I know. It was okay, right? I didn't go too far?"
"It was perfect," you reply sincerely, leaning back into his touch, "It was everything I ever wanted, better than anything I imagined."
He smiles against your skin, "Good, I'm glad."
You both lay there in the silence of his bedroom for a few more moments, listening to each other's breathing. He kisses the back of your neck, noses your skin and inhales your scent.
"Are you still afraid?" you ask quietly, "You can tell me, I want you to be honest."
He takes a few moments to reply, sighing deeply and bringing one of his hands down to hold tightly to yours. You squeeze his back, quietly reminding him that you're here, that you're not going anywhere.
"I am," he says softly, voice barely a whisper, "But not so much anymore. I think it'll be easier now."
"It will be," you reassure him quietly, tightening your grip on his hand, "I'm here for you, okay? Every step of the way."
He nuzzles into your hair, presses himself against you and sighs contentedly, "Okay."
You close your eyes, focusing on the perfection of this moment, the feeling of his body so close to yours, warming you up and keeping you safe. You can't help but notice how perfectly your bodies fit together, how right it feels to be lying together like this.
"By the way," he whispers suddenly, "You'll be my patrol partner again, right?"
You grin, tilting your head back slightly so his cheek brushes against your temple, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against your skin, so natural, so easy.
"I thought you'd never ask."
i can't believe how long this took me to write but i'm so glad i finally finished it. this isn't the end of soft!dom joel, but i would consider it the end of their story, most likely. i'll probably write some more smutty one-shots for them, but i doubt i'll write anything for them again with this much detail. i feel pretty satisfied with this.
let me know what you think!!! i love hearing yalls feedback, it makes me so happy. i also have a kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip. thank you so much for reading 💖
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#tlou fic#pedro pascal fic#*#fic: soft!dom joel
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VotV Speculation Megapost
(For posterity's sake, the latest major release is 0.8) (Also, buckle in. This post is a long one.) (Edit 9/20/24: Added Addendum 1) (Edit 10/14/24: Added Addendum 2) It should be extremely obvious, but spoilers ahead.
As we all know, Voices of the Void has a "story breadcrumbs" approach to its plot. Combine that with its alpha status, and we're left with a lack of hard answers. However, some pieces did seem to click into place. This is far from anything definitive, but here are some of the conclusions I've drawn. Let's start with everybody's favorite:
Part 1: The Arirals
god i want one to hold me like that
You know em. You love em. Like 90% of the fanart is about them. But the question is... what the hell are they doing here? Judging by the fact that they construct a campsite in the facility, they clearly expect to be here for a while. A common interpretation I hear from people is that the ones out in the facility are either political refugees, or just some sort of benign "tourist group". I've personally come to a different conclusion. Let's consider what they brought with them.
Exhibit A: The weapon (left)
The weapon they drop around Day 24 is no mere Star Trek phaser. If you drop it in the main building, pretty much EVERYTHING in the building is going to be sent flying from the resulting blast. Not only that, but the "human-wieldable" version that can be unlocked for the sandbox mode has one hell of a fire rate. Something tells me that there's no way in hell this thing is a civilian-grade weapon. And, as established in a previous post of mine, they're kitted out in full-body armored stealth suits.
Exhibit B: The stealth suit (Kerf dutifully remains there for scale)
These aren't tourists or runaways. They're goddamn Black Ops. But you're probably asking, "If that's what they are, then why do they have nothing better to do than to steal shrimp and prank you?" Don't worry, I'll get to that later. Eventually. Maybe.
For now, let's move on to a third thing of theirs: The letter to Kel.
Exhibit C: Esraniki's Letter (D-, see me after english class)
This is the letter left at the Ariral camp if you have maxxed reputation with them. There's one line in particular that's always stood out to me. "GET WE HOME YOU GET DEATH AVOID" So... why can't they go home? Let's review: A: They have perfectly functional spacecraft parked right behind you. Even if they were broken, surely some random Pre-FTL primitive wouldn't be able to help with a mechanical failure in their technology. Hell, they buzz you at the radio tower with one. So there seems to be nothing physically stopping them from leaving. B: They've come kitted out with some serious weapons and armor C: Something in the facility is drawing the attention of all manner of extraterrestrials (and ghosts and demons. are 'metaterrestrials' a good word for them?) So my take? They're monitoring something, waiting for an opportunity to act upon it. (In keeping with the Patch Note naming convention, I will be calling this unknown something "The Threat") Not only that, this 'opportunity' may only open up with the assistance of a human. But what could Dr. Kel possibly do that an Ariral couldn't? Well, I can think of one thing he can do better... Interface with human technology.
Exhibit D: Ariral Communique (quality: shit) Computer technology isn't some universal constant. You can't make a program and expect it to magically run on alien technology with an unknown architecture. This ain't Independence Day. The fact that the Arirals barely managed to send a heavily-garbled message to Kel's computer, quite frankly, speaks of an extreme amount of effort on their part. And it was all just to say the word "OUTSIDE".
If The Threat has some ties to human technology, then perhaps Kel actually could be more qualified to deal with it than the Ariral Black Ops. Hmm... An unknown threat with ties to human technology. Could it possibly involve...
Part 2: The Incredibly Suspicious Bunker
"I left a 'Do not enter' note on the floor. That'll stop people from investigating!" This damn thing is quite obviously, as TVtropes would put it, The Very Definitely Final Dungeon. It is my firm belief that this is what the Arirals were sent to monitor, and where The Threat can be found. But we can't really get much further in than a few doors. So... what's in there? An easy assumption to make is that it's some sort of fallout/storm shelter. But something nearby might tell a different story...
Exhibit E: *squints* ...Liberty Prime? If you take a metal detector over to the bunker entrance, you'll quickly discover a buried drive nearby. The image you just saw is its contents. It's clear that something is being depicted here. What exactly it is, well, that's hard to say. but if you look at that teeny tiny thing at the top, you'll see something that looks like the Alpha base and its radio tower
oh god we're getting into crusty duende video territory now
What this says to me is that there is a colossal something underneath the base. Some sort of mega-facility? Unnatural cave formations? Something else entirely? Or I could be looking at it entirely wrong. But the point is, it's very likely that something extremely expansive is down there.
What if we could just take a peek a liiiittle bit further in? Well, there is ONE way...
Exhibit F: The Least Cursed Elevator in Horror Fiction
Roughly around 3:33 each night, there is a chance that a camera inside the bunker will become active. It's monitoring what appears to be a heavy-duty elevator coated in blood. An elevator like this would also indicate something buried deep underneath the base. Say, this elevator seems familiar...
youtube
Exhibit G: Monique Santificer's Extremely Ominous Foreshadowing
...Huh. I'm sure that only means good things. So we have a Hellivator and evidence that there's some place that you'd need a Hellivator to get to. Are there any other clues around? Well, there's that handy instruction book on robotics. You can make your own little friend!
POV: You're 5'11 and she's 6'0 And... Oh! looking back at that camera, it looks like someone else made their... their own... friend...
Exhibit H: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- ...I don't think they followed the instructions to the letter. So it seems the people in the bunker were working on combining robots and, er, 'biomass'. I don't think our meaty friend here is The Threat itself, but I do believe that it is some aspect of it, or at least a result of it. And whatever The Threat is, it seems to be "leaking" out of the bunker. After all, this toothy bot here seems to have little siblings burrowing out from underground!
Exhibit I: should start running Kerfus. Kerfur. Whatever name they have, they love you! Such a shame that the flesh inhabiting their chassis does not.
they seriously recalled the ++ models over a little thing like this, smh Something deep underground, cursed flesh, and occult sigils. Hmm. Things would tie together neatly if there were, say, some sort of demon around associated with flesh and dark depths.
Part 3: Furfur (and conclusions)
"I WATCH YOU SHIT AT NIGHT" The Great Earl of Hell and raw flesh afficianato, it's Furfur! Demonology refers to him as a liar, but also a teacher of secrets. And he seems to really really like flesh. Not bones, though. He's always leaving those behind.
They say that if you burn an offering of flesh at his altar, he'll give you a marketable Furfur plushie!
The children who survived loved them! Interestingly, there's a certain location connected to Furfur: The bottom of the well. If you pass out at the bottom of the well, you will end up in a (dream of a?) mysterious structure.
Exhibit J: all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well
A few things of note in this place: -More demonic sigils -The only 'exit' is a tunnel leading upward with a broken ladder. And even if you could reach up there, Furfur's giant skull-face is blocking the way. -A unique knife, which when examined in the inventory, says that it was found "deep underground".
How very interesting that this flesh-loving demon has his own little place down in the depths of the earth. And you say the bunker reaching downwards has been spawning horrific robot-flesh amalgamations? Robots that are specifically of human design?
Well then. So here's what I think is going down:
no i'm not crazy it's invisible alien catgirls versus demon cyborgs you weren't listening were you?
-Some scientists from before did a Very Bad Thing in the bunker depths. If I had to venture a guess, it's that they bargained with Furfur for secrets of the flesh, perhaps in the pursuit of cybernetics, biocomputers, or somesuch. This resulted in the Very Bad Thing happening, thus creating The Threat. -The Threat was contained to some extent, but is starting to noticeably leak out. It is also severe enough to have drawn extraterrestrial attention. -The Arirals have sent a squad to monitor the situation and act if necessary. Seeing as there's been no urgent need to act as of yet, they are bored out of their skulls and taking it out on you. -The fact that the bunker hasn't been blown up by catgirl black ops already says to me that the situation down there is delicate, and a 'guns-blazing' approach would be inadvisable. Not only that, but The Threat seems to be tied to technology they have little knowledge of. They would most likely need outside assistance if they want a 'clean' resolution to the problem. -And wouldn't you know it? Right there in the facility is some nerdy, crusty, half-crazed twink that seems to be very proficient in handling human technology. How very convenient.
"average person eats 3 roaches a year" factoid actually just statistical error. Dr. Kel, who-
That's how I think this ties together, personally. Of course, there's always unaccounted for 'loose ends' that may or may not be tied to the Bunker Conspiracy (the rozital pit in particular has been bugging me with its vagueness). Plus there's always the chance that I misinterpreted things like a dumbass. There were a few other smaller things I wanted to cover, but my fingers hurt from typing, and my ability to hyperfixate has its limits. And sorry if the screengrabs are a bit mismatched, I've already spent hours on this post without having to get screenshots from the game myself. If anyone actually read through this monstrosity of a post, congratulations! If you're as deeply brainrotted as I am, feel free to point out the reasons I'm dumb and wrong :)
Addendum 1: Meta Aspects
no, not this. wrong place. wrong time.
Every now and then I hear talk of lore clarifications in Discord servers, Google Docs, etc. Will I be covering these?
(source) The reason? I want to give my impressions based purely on the work as published. Death of the Author and whatnot. The furthest I'll reach 'outside' the games are those ambiguous little teasers on YouTube, which you don't have to be in any 'specific server' or anything to see.
youtube
haha what if funni meme robot was irreversibly corrupted by the horrors?
Think of it as me giving a form of feedback on how the game is presented as an isolated work. Anyway, I'll be posting another Addendum later, connecting more demon stuff to the bunker. Fun! One thing I intend to investigate between then and now is a rumor of a very poorly documented... item interaction. As a little preview, consider this note.
It seems, in my pursuit of knowledge regarding a mysterious bunker in an incomplete videogame story, I find myself investigating a skeletal entity of ambiguous origin described as having a single glowing eye. God. Fucking. Dammit. Every time with this shit.
This always seems to happen whenever the protagonist is bullied by tall monstergirls
Addendum 2: Classified
Progress on my investigation has been slow due to a combination of poor RNG and real-life stuff. Fun fact: I've never encountered the fossilhound in my many months of playing, and it looks like that won't change anytime soon!
I'll get you one day, ya boney bastard. In the meantime, it seems that someone has leaked classified pokemon data communications from our employers...
youtube
And just who do we encounter within the first few weeks?
Our classified documents are their vacation photos
So it seems that at the very least, our employers seem to be aware of the Arirals. So to what end do they want to draw them out? And why would the Arirals show any particular interest in a human presence in this facility specifically?
They clearly seem to be hiding their presence from the world at large with their cloaking ships and whatnot, but they seem almost eager to grab the attention of anyone working at this particular site.
And, as everyone already knows, Arirals are certified Goobers. They form like 3/5ths of the Counsel of Goobers*. The ones we encounter at the very least are very much not what our employers expect to kill us. So our employers are also aware of the existence of some other threat, possibly even THE Threat. *the remaining members are Kerfuses and Dinguses
Truly an incomprehensible menace from beyond the stars. (source)
Personally, I feel like this all feeds back into my previous thoughts. There is clearly a Threat at this location, and the Arirals probably believe that they may need human assistance to do something here. Or maybe I'm just biased towards whatever random thoughts got cooked up in my head.
Anyway, hopefully next time I'll be back with reports of yanking the lifecrystal out from the Fossilhound's head and shoving it up its ass. I am so, SO sick of trying to get that thing to show up.
#votv spoilers#votv#ariral#spoilers#tw blood#dr kel#voices of the void#votv speculation#speculation#furfur#kerfur#kerfus#kerfus omega#this is what hyperfixation and brainrot does to you#i should have been in bed like five hours ago#Youtube
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DR RATIO ANALYSIS
SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT!
Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, Oh No! and Are You Satisfied? are much too basic songs to analyze Dr. Ratio to! Just because he's a scholar doesn't mean that he has academic trauma!" WRONG! Before we start, I have been researching psychology for approximately six years and I plan to go into it professionally. HOWEVER, that said, I am NOT a professional (YET. One day I will be. Yay for Aurae!) so understand that everything I come to conclusions about has been analyzed with some personal judgement, personal interpretations, and this is just what I have concluded with the info that I have deconstructed from his brain. If you disagree, that's fine!
I will be pulling from my own experiences with being a "golden" and "gifted" child, as well as the experiences I've had speaking to other people who were those. I will also be pulling from my experiences of researching and seeing how people with superiority complexes work, as well as diving into how those work (from what I've seen, as well as how they conceal a lack of self-esteem).
OKAY, NOW THAT THAT LONG AHH DISCLAIMER IS OVER, ALLOW ME TO WORK MY PSYCH ENJOYER MAGIC! Let's deconstruct Dr. Ratio like a lego toy.
Let's start off with how Dr. Ratio presents himself. When you first meet him, he seems like a haughty, arrogant asshole. He likes to PRESENT himself as a stoic, superior scholar who is purely in it to win it, and I got total "*stares down at your tiny body and laughs at how you lack knowledge*" vibes at the very start, due to how he goes around calling people idiots all the time. However, he DOES lose the idgaf war, and we can very quickly see that he does care for other people, even if in his own, strange way. Dr Ratio presentation: An asshole. The reality?
His entire character is based around the idea of helping the masses. He wishes to spread knowledge through the cosmos and give people who didn't have access to it, access. He's a harsh teacher, and calling people 'idiots' is NOT the way to motivate them, but he's doing his best™.
Actually, no, I'm going to go full psych into this. Okay, so here starts the Dr. Ratio and my FATHER COMPARISONS. My father is a professor and he is often called a harsh grader by his students. However, I've spoken to him multiple times because I was curious - why is he so harsh and diligent with his grading system? The answer is - he wants them to actually learn. When he's grading, he gives them harsh marks because he wants them to know exactly where they messed up, and he's always willing to stay after hours to help students understand where they can't. My father also is an enjoyer of knowledge, and for as long as I've remembered, he has prioritized teaching me how to think critically. He wants me to be able to think for myself - and I think that's what Dr. Ratio wants, too. He wants for his students to be able to fully comprehend and absorb the information that he teaches, and although his methods are harsh, he genuinely wants to help. My father's like this too - he hates students that waste his time or aren't here because their hearts are in it. Dr. Ratio hates people who aren't taking their education seriously because knowledge is important. Knowledge is a tool, and to disregard it completely is lowkey kind of insulting - especially when there are people who weren't privileged enough to actually get it, so this isn't something that you should take for granted. Dr. Ratio despises people who take knowledge for granted.
Also, I disagree with the claims that say that Dr. Ratio hates the genius society. He shows open respect for them in his voice lines. Just check them if you need proof. Also, I'll delve into the idea of Aeons and recognition later.
Now that we’ve established that Dr. Ratio kins my dad, let’s let's tackle the 'stoic' allegations. He is LOSING the idgaf war. Like, really badly. He has a temper of a thousand suns and snaps at people frequently, despite his 'impassive' face, his tone holds a LOT of emotion. He seems to feel very deeply and has a shit ton of empathy for others - why else would he be dedicating his entire career to helping others? Of course, he doesn't express this in 'typical' ways of being openly kind - but it doesn't mean that he doesn't care for other people. In fact, he seems to be pretty good at putting himself in the shoes of others and understanding them - expressed in the 2.1 quest where he tells Aventurine to tell him if he can't hold on any longer. Also, he loses the IDGAF war because he is actively trying to help people who want to learn and trying to spread logic and knowledge across the cosmos to those who didn't have it before. Would a man who didn't GAF do that? No!
Now that we've covered his view on knowledge and the way that he presents himself, let's turn to the way that he SEES himself. Now, this is where we get into the nitty gritty of gifted child trauma & academic trauma as well as crippling expectations. It's literally explicitly said in his character stories that he sees himself as mediocre, and it's canon that he doesn't have a good view of himself. His self-esteem is down in the fucking trenches along with my sanity as I write this analysis. The reality is - being called a genius your whole life doesn't really make you feel better about yourself. I'd know. I was. In fact, it makes you feel fucking worse when you can't live up to an expectation. We all fail in life. It's part of being human. But when you're held to such high standards - idolized for your knowledge and the way that you're 'gifted' - the crash comes really fucking hard. Failure is inevitable, and when people who are held on that pedestal experience it, they take it really bad.
The reality is that nobody - not even geniuses - are perfect, but you grow up believing that you are. Then, when you fail for the first time, it all comes tumbling down. The first time I came home with a bad grade was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I hadn't studied because I was arrogant and I thought that I was smart enough to pass without putting any extra effort into it - because I was a 'gifted' child, right? I should've been able to do it without studying like the other kids. And that's the thing with gifted children – you grow reliant on that title. You cling onto it for dear life for motivation, as well as self-perception. Little by little, the person you are falls apart as you slave away to the perception other people have of you. I think basically every gifted child that I've ever spoken to is a victim of this – and of course, you can heal from this mindset - but it's a hard one to shake.
Ratio's way of presenting himself as being a 'genius' and 'arrogant' also seems to contradict the way that he calls himself 'mundane' at the same time. However, these are two mindsets that can coexist. One part of you believes that you are a genius and that you are perfect, while the other part is crumbling and calling yourself good-for-nothing every time you make a mistake. It's a tiring cycle to live in. This usually leads to people shutting themselves out and closing themselves off after living like that, pushing back your own feelings in favour of being the perfect child. However, we don't know the exact details of Dr. Ratio's childhood, but we can infer that he was held to a pedestal, and this is a very harmful mindset for a child to have.
His superiority complex comes both from how other people view him, but it's a way to cope with his crippling lack of self-esteem. I'm sorry my guy. Also helping others probably helps him feel like he's worth something and makes him feel better because he bases his entire worth off of what he can do and how he can help others. However, this is just my personal interpretation backed by what I have already deconstructed.
In general, this is an easy way to crush self-esteem. You spend your whole life working to meet the image of what other people think you are. In fact, another reason why Dr. Ratio might be so harsh is because that’s the kind of attitude he holds towards himself when conducting research – he’s as hard on himself as he is to others. You end up hating the idea of failure, instead of seeing it as it should be - a way to improve and grow. Actually, I think this could be a reason that he went out of his way to break that illusion of 'worshipping geniuses' in the Space Station. Maybe some sort of childhood connection? Personal connection? In his endeavour to spread more knowledge and make people think for themselves and not blindly follow geniuses, to wake them up and let them think for themselves - maybe, somewhere, in there, he's helping that little child that was almost dehumanized for his intelligence. TLDR: Conflicting mindsets due to trauma, brain vs heart almost - his knowledge that he is a genius vs the crippling lack of his self worth.
Now that we've established Dr. Ratio's self worth, let's take a look at the impact Aeons had on him. Nous, the Aeon of Knowledge itself. I think in a world where the Gods are real, tangible beings that you can reach out and talk to - it makes sense that someone with high ambition and someone who's been called a genius his whole life would seek the confirmation of Nous. When you're a man of knowledge, and you've spent your whole life working with it, being praised for it – it feels natural to look for a god to look down upon you and bless you, right? The Genius Society – it should house him, because he is a genius as well, right? Imagine this – you have been called a genius your whole life, held to that kind of pedestal for so long, and now you wait for the recognition of the Gods. Because if you truly are a genius – then surely, a higher being will recognize your intelligence, right?
The invitation never comes.
And then, comes the doubt.
What if I'm really not a genius? What if everything I've worked for is a lie? Aeons are beings that are 'absolute'. If the god of Knowledge won't accept you or even cast a glance upon you, does that mean that everything was wrong. Gods see more than humans, after all. Gods know more than humans - and that spiral... I think you can see if. (If you don't let me know. I will ramble about how a failure like that can make you spiral down into a worse mindset).
However, the reason why Ratio was never invited to the Genius Society is simple. It’s because he LOSES THE IDGAF WAR. Now, if we look at all the people we know who are in the Genius Society - we find one thing in common. They’re in it to win it for themselves. They don’t help others using the knowledge that they’ve gotten - they use it to pursue shit for themselves. The people of the Genius Society are inherently self-serving. They WIN the idgaf war. Ratio LOSES. Do we see now?
Ratio’s empathy is the reason why he wasn’t let in. He is too human. Nous is a computer. Herta is detached from people. Ruan Mei is literally looking at life as test subjects. Screwllum is a robot.
OUR DOCTOR MAN LOST THE IDGAF WAR, BECAUSE HE IS HUMAN AND FEELS FOR OTHERS!!!
Also, it’s a plausible theory that Nous’s definition of ‘genius’ is different from the human definition of ‘genius’ – it’s a computer, after all. Who knows what’s going on in that code head of its.
However, we still love you Ratio. Never stop losing the IDGAF war.
TLDR: Nous is a computer. It is also in it to win it. It is also self serving. It gazes upon the hoes who are here to win it for themselves. Ratio is busy serving the masses and cooking knowledge in his frying pan. To it, there is no logical reason to be doing this. Therefore, no reason to invite this guy to the Genius Society.
Ratio’s gifted child trauma says otherwise. He wants in. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been working his whole life as a genius.
Nous is like… nah bro, you care too much. Ratio is like, ‘what the fuck?’ And then the AEON OF KNOWLEDGE GOES FOR THE MILK.
Okay, now, quick shoutout to Ratio wanting to help others. He is just like me fr. SO BASICALLY, RECAP OF EVERYTHING I JUST SAID:
Ratio LOSES the idgaf war because he cares about other people. Spent his whole life as the golden egg, and then turns to the gods for recognition because of the inherent trauma of being a child genius. He goes, "hey bro, can you confirm that I am in fact a genius?" and Nous goes, "no, you are too busy cheffing for the masses." Ratio goes, "what the fuck?" and then we collectively realize his attitude comes from blocking off his feelings (while failing miserably), being salty about not being recognized, being put on a pedestal for his whole life, and his crippling depression *cough* lack of self worth *cough*.
Oh, and the "I will never be enough" thought train probably hits him every single day. He is not enough to be recognized by a God. Gods are superior to humans. Maybe nothing has worth after all. Hey, that's Nihility! Hi IX, let's hear what you have to say.
*muffled ix noises*
I see, I see.
The consensus is: HE'S TRAUMATIZED BY EXPECTATIONS! HE WILL PROBABLY SUFFER FROM BURNT OUT GIFTED CHILD IF HE HAS NOT ALREADY!
Okay, now, before I delve into song lyrics (and I KNOW this has been long, just bear with me) I want to talk a little bit (read: a lot) about his relationship with Aventurine. We all know that he cares about Aventurine in his own way. But I want to pull in another idea that I didn’t cover before:
Ratio’s fucking emotional constipation.
Basically, the reason why he has trouble connecting with others is because he was most likely alienated by others as a symptom of being called a genius and being put on a pedestal. This makes him seem unapproachable to his peers, most likely, and therefore, as a result, doesn’t know how to properly connect with others. This just makes his way of presenting affection and care to others even more challenging – because he just doesn’t know how to do it in a healthy and clear way. Academic trauma causing emotional problems, because he’s probably a little bit out of touch with his own. Processing? No! Research. Also, this is very important for understanding Ratio’s character in my opinion, because he’s just a little guy who doesn’t know how to articulate. Maybe he’s got a touch of the ‘tism. Tism mutuals, do we agree or disagree?
However, in comes Aventurine. Love Aventurine, but they are both emotionally constipated. Aventurine displays his affection in ways that Ratio probably only catches after re-analyzing their time together about five times. He’s also a very closed off individual – but Ratio knows this. A cute thing is that Ratio is patient where he needs to be, even if he’s generally a pretty hot-headed guy, and I’m like… bro… that letter… “I wish you the best of luck”... I will wait for you…. GAY ASS MAN…
Sorry the Aventio demons took over. Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is that they both have nonverbal communication with one another that they clearly decipher and Ratio obviously cares for him (he came back and almost jeopardized the plan just for the sake of his ‘coworker’... okay gayboy…) and they just have such a neat little dynamic… Aventurine lets Dr. Ratio do his thing… understands his emotional alienation to a degree…. they’re so neat….
Okay, Aventurine segment over. NOW, FINALLY, WE CAN GET TO THE SONG LYRICS!!! YAY!!!! We all cheered!!!
We are going to be here for two more amber eras, because I realized I actually want to analyze every single lyric from both of these songs. Brace yourself for like, 2k more words. Help.
I think it’s only proper that we start off with ‘Oh No!’ the song that has haunted me since my childhood.
“Don’t do love, don’t do friends
I’m only after success
Don’t need a relationship
I’ll never soften my grip”
Remember when I mentioned that alienation was a big part of Ratio lore? Yeah, that manifests itself in this. When you spend your entire life chasing after knowledge and being held to that standard of untouchable genius, it makes sense that you couldn’t connect with others and that you turn your gaze only to success. Therefore, relationships that are interpersonal lose meaning for a bit – you’re just looking for answers and ways to help them, not connect with them. Also, this is what he wants to do – so he’s never going to pass down an opportunity to better himself or to help someone else.
“Don’t want cash, don’t want card
Want it fast, want it hard
Don’t need money, don’t need fame
I just want to make a change
I just wanna change, I just wanna change”
This is directly alluding to his reasonings for distributing knowledge across the cosmos. Was he based on this song? Maybe he was. He’s not looking for money or fame, his ultimate goal is actually pretty selfless – to bring knowledge and give people the tools they need to think for themselves. He just wants to make a change – he just wants people to be able to have access to knowledge and help cure ‘stupidity’. He wants to do it as quickly as possible, always reaching for lofty goals that might seem impossible, but he will make them possible.
“I know exactly what I want and who I want to be
I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine
I’m now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy
Oh! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no, oh!”
Ratio knows his goal. He knows what he’s working towards. I do believe that he understands why he is the way that he is – he has a degree in Psychology, after all. He knows how he’s been hurt but at the same time, the trauma brain probably doesn’t want to recognize it and he hasn’t stepped into healing yet. He knows what he went through impacted him, but he’s too busy helping others to help himself. He’s becoming what he wants to be, and yet he’s not, all at the same time – which causes the idea of “oh no!” as a kind of cry for help, almost. He’s too proud to ask for it himself, of course, so he’ll fall alone until someone manages to catch him and give him the strength to continue holding on. Aventurine is that.
“One track mind, one track heart
If I fail, I’ll fall apart
Maybe it is all a test
‘Cause I feel like I’m the worst
So I always act like I’m the best”
Now, these are the exact lyrics that made me associate this song with Ratio in the first place. He’s got a singular goal that he will do nothing to stop at getting, that he goes so far to get to. However, as I mentioned earlier, failure is not an option for those who were deemed gifted or genius. You are perfect, so therefore you must live up to everyone’s every expectation and surpass them, too, in order to keep your perception of yourself intact. Ratio does not hold himself in high regard, but acts arrogant in order to hold himself together and not fall to the self-deprecating thoughts, even if they fall through the cracks. It gets tiring to hold yourself together like that for a long time, you know?
“I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly
I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die
I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly
I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die”
Remember how I was talking about contradictory mindsets and how they can coexist. This is them. The feeling of crippling self-hatred and lack of self esteem versus the idea that you can do it, you can make a difference – you were born a genius, this is what you’re going to do. This is the knowledge that you are a genius vs the lack of self-esteem that Ratio has. “Mediocre” vs “genius” mindset, eh?
All the other lyrics in this song are repetitions of what I’ve analyzed before, so let’s move onto “Are you Satisfied?”
To be honest, there are only a few lines in this song that allow me to connect it to Ratio, so therefore, I will only be analyzing them. However, if you think that other lyrics can connect to him, I’d be interested in knowing how.
“What you’re gonna be
It’s not my problem if you don’t see what I see
And I do not give a damn if you don’t believe
My problem, it’s my problem that I never am happy
It’s my problem, it’s my problem on how fast I will succeed”
Pretending to not care about how the world sees you is so fucking real. Sometimes, you really don’t give a shit, and sometimes it’s all you can think about. Ratio… doesn’t seem like he’s the happiest person. He works himself hard and he’s always chasing after a goal that must be exhausting. He’s always doing his best, and I think even with his empathy, it’s easy to start not giving a shit after trying for so long and so hard. Accepting help is one of the hardest things that anybody can do, especially with how much pride he has. His personal problems are his personal problems and he can deal with them on his own.
“High achiever, don’t you see?
Baby, nothing comes for free
They say I’m a control freak
Driven by a greed to succeed
Nobody can stop me”
Nothing comes for free. A lot of the things Ratio has achieved is due to his own intelligence, yes, but also because of a shit ton of hard work. His goal is literally to cure the universe of ‘stupidity’ – and that’s a pretty large fucking goal. He is a high achiever who likes to know the details of every situation when he can in order to try and make things better, and he is driven by a greed to succeed. Why wouldn’t he be? Success is important, and success means helping more people. He isn’t going to allow himself to be stopped by anybody – not even anybody from the Genius society.
Okay, and we have finally reached the end of my analysis! This caps at around 4k words, so if you stuck around for this long, thank you so much. I would love to hear any of your comments, and I hope you laughed a little bit. Thank you again! This means so much to me that you read. <3
#dr ratio#drratio#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr dr ratio#hsr ratio#veritas ratio#character analysis#song lyrics#song analysis#attempt at humour#so that you don't get bored#long ahh analysis#analysis#media analysis#aventio#ratiorine#managed to sneak them in#i love homos#help#god help me#aurae analyzes
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Deepest Desire
Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader
Word count : 2k
Warnings : angst, heartbreak, feelings of betrayal, alcohol, strong language, spoilers. Unedited.
A/n : This is a Supernatural x Lucifer crossover fic. I’ve only ever watched a few episodes of Lucifer. This is a work of fiction, I don’t own Supernatural or Lucifer. They belong to CW and Netlfix respectively.
I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.
Another day, another hunt. But it was nothing crazy. With Chuck being gone things are as normal as they could be. Y/n's friend had called in for help and she was happy to go. On her way back to the Bunker, her car stopped abruptly and wouldn't start. She slammed her hand on the steering wheel before calling Dean, filling him in on the situation.
"If only you'd let me take baby I would've been home by now." She groaned over the phone and she heard him laugh on the other side.
"My bad, sweetheart. You can take it next time." He chuckled before he added, "I'll be in an hour tops okay? Get some place safe."
"Yeah I see a bar its uh.. 'the tipsy tavern' I'll be there."
She hung up the phone and made her way towards the bar. It wasn't too far from where her car stopped, just a walking distance. She went inside and it was, well, typically how a bar is. She scanned the place thoroughly, her eyes landing on a woman with blond hair. She seemed troubled. She kept looking over her shoulder, continuously fidgeting with her hands.
Y/n walked up to her and slid in the stool beside her. The woman slightly jumped at the action and it didn't go unnoticed by her.
"Hey are you okay?" Y/n asked her, the woman eyed her cautiously before nodding.
"I'm fine." She replied curtly.
"Are you sure? You seem distressed." Y/n pressed hoping she could help somehow. The woman sighed, looking at her.
"You’d think I’m crazy."
"Try me." Y/n said mentally scoffing, what could this woman tell her that would be more unbelievable than what she deals with on a daily basis.
"I'm not from here."
"So you're a foreigner, are you lost?" Y/n questioned.
"No you don't understand." The woman seemed frustrated. "My name is Chloe Decker, I'm a detective." She said and Y/n nodded, urging her to continue. "I'm from LA. But this isn't my world." Chloe didn't know what it was about the woman infront of her that made her want to trust her.
"Your world?" Before Chloe could answer a man in a black suit takes a seat on the side side of Chloe.
"Well hello there. Made a new friend, did we detective?" The man spoke in a British accent.
"This is uh.." Chloe trailed off not knowing her name so Y/n quickly told her name. "This is Y/n." The man opened his mouth to say something but Y/n interrupted him.
"What do you mean this isn't your world?" She questioned.
"Well you see darlin' we were on a case, an then an explosion went off and we were here. I can feel the change in the cosmic energy around us." The man spoke.
"How do you feel the cosmic energies?" Y/n questioned the man.
"My bad lady, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Lucifer Morningstar." He said with a smooth voice.
"You're Lucifer? Like the devil Lucifer?" She questioned.
"Yes." He replied. "The devil Lucifer."
"That can't be." She said mostly to herself.
"I know it sounds implausible but-"
"You're dead. We killed you this isn't possible. You're not Lucifer. You can't be." She whisper yelled at the man who claimed to be Lucifer.
Chloe looked back and forth between Lucifer, the smirk on his face was long gone and it was morphed into a serious expression,
"Can we rewind back to when she said we killed you'." He said looking at Chloe who seemed even more troubled. "Who even are you?"
"God, this day couldn't get any worse." Y/n sighed. The trio had now shifted to a table for four. Chloe sat beside Lucifer and Y/n infront of him. She had foregone the glass and was now directly drinking from the bottle of whiskey. She needed as much as alcohol she could to process this.
"So, you're telling me, you hunt monsters and Lucifer of this universe was locked in a cage in Hell and then your..boyfriend's brother let him out and he wreaked havoc so you pushed him back inside and later killed him when he came back?" Chloe asked tasting the words on her mouth because it sounds absurd when said out loud.
"I know it sounds weird when you put it like that but yeah." Y/n said with humorless chuckle. "You weren't locked?" She asked Lucifer.
"No, Father just kicked me out from Heaven, I ruled Hell for a while but then I got bored so I came to Earth and I'm detective's partner now."
"Wow, so you're not a dick like he was. Our universe's Lucifer should've learned a thing or two from you." She scoffed. "Anyways, so if you have your mojo you can't teleport yourself back to your universe?"
"Mojo?" Chloe questioned.
"His powers." Y/n clarified and the former nodded.
"You I haven't actually tried if they're working." Lucifer admitted.
"Bit slow, aren't you?" Y/n sassed Chloe snorted, she found it amusing, this woman is sassing the devil himself.
"You seem so unbothered it's like it's just another Tuesday for you." Chloe commented and Y/n muttered a small 'tell me about it'. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she answered call the call. It was Dean.
"Hey I'm almost here. I saw your car and I'm heading to the bar now." He said.
"Alright cool. See you soon." She said hanging up. She looked at the couple infront of her. "Dean's here, I'll ask him if we can help you somehow."
"Thank you so much, Y/n." Chloe said gratefully smiling at her. The former nodded and mumbled a quick, 'I'll be back' before leaving the bar.
She waited a few minutes before she saw the black Impala pulling up. She watched her boyfriend get out the car and she made her way towards him.
"Hey gorgeous." He cupped her cheeks and pulled her in for a kiss. "I could've come get you inside. You didn't have to wait outside." He said against her lips. She pulled away and bit her lip. Dean groaned as he recognised her expression.
~~~
"So you're telling me this Lucifer is British." Dean said looking at his girlfriend incredulously. The two of them had went inside and Y/n took her previous seat while Dean took one beside her.
"That's all you gathered from what I've told you?" Y/n asked her boyfriend and he shurgged. "Anyways, they need our help and i think we should help him."
"Really? You want to help the dick that possessed Sam and almost killed all of us twice?" Dean snapped. Lucifer seemed offended but he didn't comment.
"De, he's not him. That asshole is dead." Y/n added. Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his gaze scrutinising Lucifer. He then looked at Chloe who seemed helpless and then at his girlfriend who was sporting a pout.
"Fine." Dean sighed. "We'll help, but that doesn't mean I trust you." He warned the devil who raised his hands in surrender.
"Lucifer why don't you see if your mojo works in this universe as well?" Y/n suggested. Lucifer closed his eyes doing God knows what.
"Woah woah stop." Dean said to Lucifer, then turned to Y/n, "What if he's as juiced up as the one we encountered and blows up the place?"
"You're right, I guess." Chloe chimed in and turned to her partner, "why don't you do the thing?" She said to him and he smirked, it's clearly something he loves doing.
"The thing?" Y/n questioned.
"It's nothing harmful. I promise." Chloe replied.
"Y/n dear." Lucifer calls her and she looks at him, he leans a bit towards her making Dean's protective side take over.
"Hey back off." Dean growled but Chloe put a hand over his arm.
"Its okay." She reassured him.
"Tell me Y/n, what is it that you truly desire?" Lucifer asked but his smirk dropped.
"Am I supposed to feel anything or should I just tell you?" She questions.
"This usually works." Lucifer says. "I think I don't have my powers here."
"What were you even trying to do?" Dean questions.
"He can read into people's heart, find their deepest darkest desires." Chloe answers. "Things that you never tell anyone."
"Well maybe it didn't work because I don't have a secret desire." Y/n commented making Lucifer and Chloe look at her in disbelief.
"Everyone has something they desire." He retorted. "Things they never tell anyone."
"I agree but mine isn't hidden or a big secret, for me its Dean." She shrugged. "My deepest desire is to have a normal life with him a house, family, kids, the whole nine yards." She spoke as if it wasn't a big deal and Dean swore he felt himself fall for her all over again. He pecked her temple and Chloe gushed at them.
"Interesting." Lucifer commented.
"If you can feel the cosmic energy around here I'm sure you have your powers. Why don't you try it on Dean?" Y/n suggested.
"I think she's right." Chloe added.
Lucifer faced Dean and the latter shifted a bit under his observing gaze. "Tell me Dean, what is it that you truly desire?" He questioned the Winchester and Y/n watched in anticipation awaiting his answer. A few seconds passed before he answered and nothing could've prepared her for Dean's answer.
"Amara." That one was enough for Y/n's world to come crashing down on her. She felt herself tear up but she cleared her throat before speaking.
"Well at least your still have your powers." Chloe could hear the heartbreak in her voice and gave her a sympathetic look. Lucifer, who found this situation amusing, asked,
"Who's Amara?" Dean sucked in a sharp breath, glaring at the man in front of him, who just smirked in return. What could you expect from him, he's the Devil after all.
"Your Aunt." Y/n snapped unintentionally.
"Why, must you be this childish?" He asked, feeling offended.
"No literally. Amara is God's sister, the darkness. She was here a while back before we locked her up." Y/n explained her voice void of any emotion.
"I've never heard of her. She didn't exist in my universe." Lucifer replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose before adding, "one thing I've realised you lot's universe is way fucked than ours."
"I'll call Sam and ask if we know a way to open a portal to another universe. Excuse me." Y/n said getting up from her chair and walking out the bar. Dean immediately trailing behind her.
"Baby, Y/n." He called out for her but she didn't stop. She let tears fall free now that she wasn't in front of a crowd. "Sweetheart listen to me." He caught up with and turned her to look at him. He hated seeing her cry and hated it even more when he was the reason for her tears. "I can explain, please just..-"
"What's there to explain, Dean?" She cried. She harshly wipes her tears. "Do you want to add salt to wound, tell me it's pitiful that you don't want me as much as I want you?" She let out a sarcastic laugh. "You know what I realised?" She asked rhetorically. "It's always something before me, your car, Sam, Amara, hunting. I'm probably the last thing you need in your life." The moment she said that Dean felt like someone had shot him in the heart.
"No baby, don't say that." Dean begged holding her close. "It's not true. I want you more than anything in this entire world." She scoffed before pulling away from him.
"I need to call Sam. Even if he's been harmless until now, we don't need another Lucifer prancing around our world." She put some distance between them before calling Sam.
"Harmless, my ass." Dean muttered as he kicked the dirt on the road.
He needed to make this right, he wouldn't be able to live if he ever lost her and he needs her to know that. He has to make it right and he will be damned if he didn't.
Part 2
#dean x y/n#dean x reader#dean winchester#sam and dean#dean x you#supernatural#dean winchester x reader fluff#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester angst#dean winchester x reader angst#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#spn fanfic#spn angst#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester fanfiction#lucifer morningstar#chloe decker#lucifer#sam winchester#nini writes
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since reqs are still open i have a thought,,,,
scara/wanderer falling in love with reader all over again after he forgets them and everything else after the attempt of becoming god feel free to ignore those
A/n: For the sake of this request, he forgets who he is for months instead of just a day.
Summary: He’s had no name for so long, maybe his salvation is the voice that has remained in his head. Though, it seems that voice has turned to reality.
Warnings: Told from his perspective, Wanderer without his memories, but bonus is when he does get them back, Spoilers for Sumeru, Scara wants to kill Dottore, Jealousy, Kinda corny
Puppets are meant to have strings, and yet he is forced to lift his limbs on his own. Puppets have puppeteers make them do what they must yet he has to think for himself.
It makes sense, yet why is he left to walk without a purpose.
It feels like he's forgotten something from his past, yet there is no past for him to remember.
"Kuni... Have you... that isn't my... Huh...? You're just embarrassed I... pictures... Didn't hide... Okay... Think it's sweet... from you...!"
It's like his brain only had memories of some broken past he could no longer recall. Yet, he still finds some worth in the broken words that echo in his head.
"Uhm sir...? Can you please hand me that sunsettia? I have the Mora for it."
His trance is quickly dissipated as the voice in front of him is sounded. It feels familiar yet he doesn't have it saved in his brain.
"Huh...? Oh sure."
With no sure background on himself, nor any real idea of how he came to be, he's stuck working many jobs. His finger tips quickly brush against the hand in front of him, it felt like static rushed up to his chest, though he lacked a heart it felt as if there was one there.
"Thank you, I'll be taking my leave, so, have a good day." Familar...
"Sunsettias and Bulle fruit are kinda different huh? In fontaine, there's this certain candy made out of it, have you ever had it Kuni? No? I'll bring you some when I go back! You wanna come too...? Wha?! Don't act like you didn't say that! Hey don't walk away from me!"
Before he could reach out and ask for your name, you had already walked away from him. It didn't feel like the first time it had happened either.
A week later, all he could remember was that single interaction. His fingers still tingling whenever he remembered you.
It's as if he had some third sense for you, the moment you step into the bazaar his eyes quickly looked toward the direction you had cam in from.
"What is your name" his hands cling onto your wrist, even though you weren't planning to leave any time soon, almost like he felt as if he let go you would disappear once more.
"Wha...?" You're still not too caught up in what it is exactly he's asking so your don't answer, only quirking your eyebrow at him.
"Name?"
"Mine? It's [Name]...?" He quietly whispers it under his breath, like a mantra, a prayer. When he says your name again it's like it melts off his tongue.
Like you belong there on his lips.
"Am I in trouble? I promise i didn't steal anything from the stand sir!"
"What? No no, It's not that." He pauses before he speaks, a little hesitant while he thinks of his wording to dish out, how does he ask without coming off as weird? "I think... You're... You seem familiar."
"Hm? Well I do get supplies here often so maybe that's it-"
"Can we have dinner later?"
"Wait wha? Well, I mean we can, but I only know you as the vendor here, so that's kinda sudden is it not...?" He takes what you say into consideration, but only shrugs his shoulders.
"It probably is but, I wanna talk to you more." He couldn't let the opportunity slip between his fake fingers, for such a long time since he had awoken, it's like your voice had been in his head for such a long time.
No, not like... Your voice has been with him.
------
Months had passed by in such a hurry, yet he still had no title to go by. He didn't have anything attached to his person, so he told you the name he remembers feint whispers of.
"Kuni...?"
He can tell in your expression the name is familiar on your tongue, but does not hold any memories in your head. He doesn’t mind though, it's nice to hear you adress him, even if if the name you speak isnt one he remembers.
It doesn't take long before occasionally meets up turned into daily hang outs. There wouldn't be a second where you two weren't attached by the hips.
The two of you sit on the highest branch of the tree located at port ormos, your head rested on his shoulders while the wind calmly brushes by the two of you.
"Kuni." He doesn’t give you an answer but you can feel his eyes bore into you.
"I have to leave next week. Something urgent came up and… My job needs me to leave sumeru for some time, i’m not sure how long though." His expression doesn’t give too much away, but when you lift your head to look at him, the slight squint in his eyes is all you need to know he’s upset by it. “Don’t give me that look, it probably isn’t gonna be for more than a month anyway so i’ll be back soon.” He turns his head away from you, presumably to hide whatever look he has splayed on his face.
“Don’t be like that, besides, it’s my birthday soon. It’ll give you time to prepare for when I get back.” He still doesn’t answer you. A sigh leaves your throat before your hand reaches up to his face, pulling it closer to your lips as a quick peck is placed on his cheek. It’s enough to stun him a bit, watching his brain short circuit in real time while a smile cracks on your mouth.
“What would you want anyway? You’re not too open about your wants.” It’s nice to know he cares. Though you don't give him a straight answer, once again deciding to mess with him.
"Who knows, maybe I want you-" it doesn't take long before a palm pushes your face mid sentence. "Wha?! I was gonna ask for food."
With the way his face is turned, you'll never notice the way his face is warmed. He's sure if he had one, his chest would be beating sporadically.
He hopes the two of you can last.
------
Bonus:
It had been awhile since he had last seen you, 2 weeks maybe? At the time, when you had told him on your little date, he didn’t think much of it, he had only the memories of the clothes on his back to stick to, so he really believed it was for a simple job.
But with his memories back, he knows what your "job" truly is. Formerly, you were his assistant back in his harbinger days, but now that he is no longer the ballader, he can only seethe in silence at the thought of you being a differnt harbingers aid.
He might even go insane if he finds out you're to be working under The Doctor.
God Forbid, he finds out that man has been messing with you, he'll gladly become a god once more if that means he can protect you, or better yet, destroy him.
Instead of his hiding spot being a place to relax, he's now left with the thought of Dottore in his mind, it makes his hands curls into balls, grassblades ripping apart at how tight he's clutching his fists, he's sure if he was human there would no doubt be blood pouring out-
A sudden weight had jumped on him from behind, arms quickly tightening around him, a familar head coming into view.
"I finally found you." His eyes are right in front of your own, like your eyes are locked onto his and he can't look away from you. "I was worried, about you, ever since I had come back yesterday, you weren't at the usual spot."
Of course he wouldn't be. He had finally remembered his past sins, he no longer felt worthy enough to lay by your side.
But he still had some sense to at least protect you from the shadows.
"I just felt like changing the scenery is all."
"Hm? You've never wanted to do that before. Did something happen?"
His fingers... His fake fingers, tightly grip onto your very real arm.
"Maybe I've grown a hatred for doctors, is that not reasonable?"
"Huh...?? It's certainly random to change a spot for that reason that's for sure."
"If a certain doctor had any copies of himself, I would've loved to rip him to pieces."
"Okay future serial killer..."
He doesn't answer, maybe... Maybe it's best you don't remember his past atrocities with him.
"Perhaps you're one too [Name], who knows, maybe you're just as bad as me."
Your head leans forward, resting your chin on his shoulder while he talks.
"If that's the case, we really are meant to be huh?"
He let's a laugh escape his throat, not the usual one he lets out, filled with joy, it's filled with something more sinister, menacing? Yet it's still filled with some love for you.
"Yeah, that might be why we're together again."
"Again? Did you date a doppelganger?"
"Just sit down."
" Oh wow, that's some new attitude."
---
Wanderer before he got his memories back would probably be really awkward so I tried to incorpate that. (I wrote this really sporadically, so there's probably a lot of mistakes and really rushed I'm so sorry 😔)
#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#scara#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#vesperwrites#askves#scaramouche fluff#wanderer fluff
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just the two of us - black leg sanji
a/n: (this totally isn't my comfort bedtime dream scenario at all......idk what you're talking about...) just a little sanji x reader fic!!! sorry, no proofreading here, if you see anything, no you didn't 😭💀
a/n: also spoilers for book one of the mistborn trilogy, the book, im talking about in the fic was book two (since im currently reading it at the moment)
summary: you and sanji have the sunny to yourselves while everyone explores the island you stopped at!
nothing but fluff here 💗
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its not often you have the sunny all to yourself, and quite frankly its a time you cherish. everyone had been getting a bit of cabin fever on your long voyage, and decided to take a pit stop at the closest island.
nami and robin have been dying for some more pieces for their wardrobe. luffy, whose always overzealous for some exploration needed no convincing to jump off the ship the second it docked, practically begged zoro for some company in his shenanigans, brooke left tragically stuck with them to make sure the two of them didn't get lost or start a fight. chopper wanted to look for a particular medical book. and usopp and franky wanted to gather materials for all their inventions. sanji always enjoyed looking at local cuisines to find new ingredients and also stock up on things he's almost out of.
which left you, the only one willing to stand guard on the sunny. not that you minded, a quite ship was the perfect time to relax on the deck, stretched out on a lounge chair, book in hand, enjoying the warm sun, sea breeze, and the sounds of the waves as you read.
•♡•
you weren't sure how much time had passed, since you had gotten so absorbed in the story. but it wasn't until you heard some faint footsteps behind you that you practically jumped out of your skin, slamming your book closed and turning to see who had stepped foot on the sunny.
"sanji! oh thank god... its just you. you scared the shit out of me!!" you yelled at him. the blonde cook looks at you with an adorable smile and replies "sorry, mon amour! i didn't mean to frighten you. i finished early with all the grocery shopping and figured i would head back here to put them away. must be a really good book you're reading, i tried calling your name so i didn't scare you but i guess you didn't hear me."
"really? i didn't hear you at all.." your cheeks suddenly heating up, a bit embarrassed he had caught you off guard.
"you're fine, mellorine!! i'm going to get these to the kitchen now!" he said, with a slight chuckle, taking a drag of his cigarette.
"oh, yeah!! of course! go do your thing! i'll be here!"
•♡•
you go back to your book, finding the page you stopped at by the grace of god herself, but this time making a conscious effort to pay a bit more attention to your surroundings. the sound of pattering footsteps again sound behind you, seemingly coming closer to you.
you turn around to sanji, with a delicious looking fruity drink in hand. he breaks the silence first by saying "mon amour, may i offer you like this pineapple strawberry lemonade? as a peace offering for scaring you." with a slight blush growing on his cheeks, you instantly felt a little weak, how could you say no to him?
"you're lucky that strawberry lemonade is my favorite, and that the drink looks absolutely divine" you replied, a clear empty threat given the blush on your face as well. he smiled and happily obliged handing the drink over to you. "anything else i can get you? maybe a snack?" he offers.
you pause for a second. "....i wouldn't mind some company. if you have the time for it."
sanji, who definitely wasn't expecting that response choked a bit on the his cigarette smoke, taking a small moment to collect himself he answers "i have the time... i wouldn't want to interrupt your book though. what's it about anyways, it must be super interesting to hold your attention like that."
the sudden reminder of your book, which had totally slipped your mind since sanji returned came rushing back to you "oh! it's super interesting actually!! basically, this girl was able to take down this tyrant ruling over her city, but is now left with the fallout of a government without a leader. her love interest the most logical choice to take the throne, she's more of a fighter than a leader, is now faced with lords trying to siege their land and...." sanji's quiet chuckle stopping your info dump, making you a bit embarrassed and self conscious for getting carried away.
but for some reason the way his sky-blue eyes glowed when he looked at you made you blurt out the following "i can read it to you, if you want..."
with a wide smile, he sat down next to you and said "i would love that"
•♡•
the lounge chair was a bit small for the both of you to sit on it, forcing you a bit closer than you had anticipated, which was a problem.... sort of..
unlike nami and robin, you didn't really find sanji off-putting, annoying, or creepy. you actually found him to be quite charming.
with his fluffy golden blonde hair and the way it rested against his forehead covering his right eye, his slim but muscular build, those ocean blue eyes you could drown in, was really just the beginning of the list of all the things you loved about black leg sanji. thats not even mentioning his passion and kind heart.
so the problem was, on this too small for two people lounge chair, that you're hanging on the edge of to avoid physical contact with a guy you've definitely been pining some feelings for, but were too anxious to actually be that close to him.
the lack of thought about the practicality of your suggestion made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out of it.
sanji, being the gentleman he is, was doing his damn best to not touch you, despite the space of the chair actively fighting against him. "are you comfortable, mellorine?" he asks, not looking too comfortable himself.
are you really going to run from this opportunity to cuddle up to sanji?
"um... yeah.. i'm-" but before you could get out the word comfortable, the wind had shifted and the sudden chilling breeze made you practically jump into sanji's lap for warmth burying your face into his chest.
it took .2 seconds to register what had just happened and .5 seconds to decide to just roll with. "i am now" you reply, pulling yourself a little bit closer to him as you can finally begin reading your book aloud to sanji.
•♡•
for a moment, you believe you had died and went to heaven. the warmth and closeness of sanji, his arms had wrapped around your body in attempts to shield you from the cold, had you practically enveloped and dissolving into him. he smelled like sandalwood, cigarette smoke, and rosemary, definitely an odd combination but one that suited him so well and surprisingly complimented each other.
whenever you had the chance to catch his eye at the end of a chapter, or whenever he asked a clarifying question to better understand the plot, you couldn't help but swoon over his genuine interest in you and your hobby.
chapter after chapter flew by and it wasn't until you heard a familiar voice that you stopped dead in your tracks, "ah!! you'll never guess i found the cutest-" nami had begun to call out to you until she spotted a certain someone's blonde hair precariously close to you. "um... what are you two doing?"
"oh! i was talking to sanji about my book, and he seemed really interested in it so i offered to read it to him, then it got super chilly and um..." you frantically explained, nami's raised her eyebrow at you both, mainly because she didn't remember you mentioning you had a thing for sanji but also slightly suspicious of the cook's intentions. however, the rapidly appearing bright blush flushing your cheeks quelled those suspicions. "okay, um... carry on then.. sorry to interrupt.. i- i'll show you the top later" she said, obviously awkward especially since she felt like she killed the vibe for you both.
as nami walked away, you could see usopp beginning to board the sunny again. sanji had seen this as well and suddenly called out "wait, nami, what time is it?"
"its about 4:30"
at her response, sanji started slowly untangling himself from you and getting ready to stand up "oh putain, i totally lost track of time, i need to start prepping for dinner. i can totally see how you can get lost in a story like that, im kinda bummed we couldn't finish it.... i was really starting to get into it" he said, relighting his cigarette, since he put it out earlier not wanting to smoke so close to you.
"maybe we can do it again..." you quietly offered.
"i'd enjoy that a lot, mon amour" he replied with a smile, as he turned away to head back to the kitchen.
and how you'll long for the next time it'll be just the two of you...
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a/n: in my universe, of course god is a woman 😌 who else deserves such devout worship? 😌😌😌
a/n: i also stand by the headcannon that when sanji swears, its in french so thats what that is
a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!
#one piece#one piece fic#one piece x reader#one piece black leg sanji#op black leg sanji#black leg sanji#one piece vinsmoke sanji#op sanji#sanji x reader#black leg sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji x reader#sanji x you#sanji fluff#one piece fluff#fluff fic#via's fics#one piece fanfic#sanji fanfic#op fanfic
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Perhaps silly questions, but I'm growing more and more curious of your blog with each new entry/question answered. Love the story slowly unfolding here, cannot wait for the next part and following moons <3
Does Palekit have any further deformations? Or rather that question but in past tense. His tail looks almost fin-like, but I'm not sure if what we are seeing is a) a stylistic "drooping goo" effect, b) a very weird tuft of fur, or c) some malformation of the tail tip, resulting in its split structure.
What's the clan's relationship with Sweetkit, considering so many of its members', em... involvement in the perishing of Honeyspring and her kits. Mostly wondering if Flaildrizzle, Tanglefern and Rootstar feel anything (guilt, sadness, etc.) at all when they see this only kit in clan after a whole litter dies in such horrible circumstances before Sweetkit's arrival? I mean, surely such a tragedy leaves an impact. A followup question-
How much time has passed since Honeyspring's death and Sweetkit's arrival? Do any of LutumClan's cats consider Sweetkit to be like "a second chance" for the clan after losing their only queen and her litter?
A bit of an alternate outcome question! Let's assume Nothing Bad Ever Happened©️ to Honeyspring's kits. What would their warrior names be? What would their basic personalities be? Would any of them pursue high ranks within LutumClan?
Also sending fictional love to Honeyspring, stay goopy queen 💅
There's no such thing as a silly question! Besides, I like answering questions, even if it takes me a while to get to them! <3
My answers are a tad long, so I'll put them under the cut!
1.) Palekit did not have any further deformations! His face was slightly crooked, and his tongue sometimes hung out, but that was about it. He also had severe issues with vomiting; he just couldn't keep anything down and tended to bleed.
2.) Rootstar, Flaildrizzle, and Tanglefern all feel very guilty and upset by what happened to Honeyspring's kits! Still, they, and the rest of LutumClan, saw Sweetkit's arrival as a sign of hope. However, LutumClan as a whole tends to be a tad overprotective of the only kit in the clan.
3.) About 3-ish months have passed since Honeyspring's death! Sweetkit is definitely considered LutumClan's "second chance" of sorts, but a few cats (namely Rootstar and a few others) REALLY wish Sweetkit was in the care of someone who ISN'T Bearface. They're worried that Bearface, being a former outsider who barely respects the clan code as is, will be a bad influence on her.
4.) As for the alternate outcome, let me think! I'll give you my best guesses, but destiny is mutable, so these could've easily changed!
Smallkit would grow into Smallcloud, and would become an apprentice to Tanglefern! She would be on the smaller side, but she'd be a fierce creature for sure! She'd be smart and cautious, but never a push-over.
Flailkit would grow into Flailwhisker, and would likely go on the path of becoming a queen or mediator! She'd likely be about average height and a bit on the chunkier side. I imagine her to be quiet and shy, much like Flaildrizzle, and easy to talk over. Still, she cares greatly about her clanmates, even if she's easily overwhelmed. Smallcloud would've been very protective over her in their youth.
Palekit would grow into Paleclaw, and would most certainly follow the path of a warrior! He'd idolized his aunt, Rootstar, and wanted to become a leader just like her. He's prideful and a little boastful for sure, but not intentionally. He's just very proud of his aunt being the leader, and his mom (Flaildrizzle) being the deputy, and wants to make sure everyone knows it.
Had Honeyspring's kits lived, Sweetkit's role would have also changed, but I can't say it due to spoilers!
#thank you for the ask!#lutumclan#clangen#clan generator#warrior cats clangen#ask#honeyspring's kits
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SHE'S MINE (PART TWO)
summary: after you've been attacked, the group becomes cautious and confused, now being targeted as well. but you still can't get over the fact that ghostface had helped you and why you think you know who it may be. and maybe you wouldn't mind keeping a secret.
warnings: scream vi spoilers, language (cussing), blood, gore. it follows the plot loosely.
pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader
authors note: hiiii i really hope u enjoy :-) also i have no idea if mindy shared the apartment with tara, sam and quinn but if she didn’t, we're just going to pretend she does and i also altered ethan's motive a bit too for this (lowkey was inspired by don't blame me by taylor swift so if you like listening to music when reading, i recommend that song for this part)
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The hospital visit wasn't as long as you anticipated. Two of the stabs you endured hadn't cut deep so they were able to stitch it upon your first visit and they closed up that same night—it still hurt like a bitch. Your previous stab wound was the worst one overall as the stitching process was a lot more painful because your skin was sensitive as it had been punctured once before.
When you were released, Sam took you under her care. She didn't feel safe having you and Anika alone in your apartment since the attack so she offered her, Tara, Mindy and Quinn's home to you two. It didn't really matter for Anika as she was always there in the first place but it bothered you.
You didn't mean to feel unappreciative but you hated being controlled by useless fear. Whether or not Ghostface attacked you in your home, he would find them someway or another; it didn't matter where you were. But, you agreed in order to clear her conscious.
They didn't ask much questions when you were in the hospital. After the second Ghostface left the apartment, you remembered blacking out and waking up in the hospital bed with Anika by your side. The doctor wouldn't let anyone come in since you were preparing for surgery but decided to let Anika stay since she was your roommate.
Her story was that your security system she had built when you two first moved in had went off when the second Ghostface broke in. Her and Mindy didn't tell everyone before leaving because they didn't want to risk not making it in time. The frat house was only a block down so they just ran their way to your building, ultimately finding your unconscious body on the kitchen floor.
Anika told you that they had met Ethan at the entrance of the building when the ambulance was called and said you called him, which was true but you wondered what took him so long. You were highly suspicious of him but you didn't want to be because he was your best-friend, you couldn't imagine him having anything to do with this.
Ever since that night, he was around, a lot. He even skipped his Econ classes to keep you company because Sam didn't want you to be alone and everyone else was busy.
You didn't ask him about what happened. You were afraid of what the outcome would be. But you knew you had to do something in order to understand. At least interrogating the truth out of him (because he couldn't lie to you) would give you peace of mind—well, depending on the answer.
"You don't have to be here, you know." You broke the silence, watching him write notes from the lecture he was missing.
"But I want to be," he told you honestly.
"E, you're missing Econ. You have an exam this week."
"I'll be fine, don't worry." He looked up from his notebook, putting the lecture video on pause to give you his full attention. "I don't want anything to happen to you again."
"Ghostface rarely attacks in the daytime," you joked.
"Still, Y/N/N." He was being serious. "Your stitches haven't even fully healed yet."
"This isn't the first time." You sighed. "Plus, Ghostface never attacks the same person twice."
"Says who?"
"Says Mindy."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't want to take any chances."
It went back to comfortable silence. You went back to reading your book for your English class while he continued to write his notes. After a couple more minutes, you decided to ask the question that had been eating you alive.
"What took you so long?" you asked randomly.
He furrowed his brows, turning to look at you. "What do you mean?"
"When I was attacked," you clarified. "I called you and you said you and Chad were on the way. Anika and Mindy beat you to it and Chad wasn't even with you when you arrived."
Ethan looked away, his face becoming pale. "Well, I went to go find Chad when you were on the call but I couldn't find him so I decided to leave. I didn't realize how much time I wasted until I saw police lights outside your building."
That was the first and final conversation you two had about it. You gathered what you knew from it but, again, you didn't want to believe he was Ghostface. Unless he wasn't and used the costume to throw the other one off. But where could he buy a replica of it that quickly and still be able to make it in time to save you? It didn't make sense.
You kept this realization to yourself. You felt guilty for it, especially because if he was apart of the plan in harming your friends, this smudge of proof could be enough to hold him accountable before it was taken too far. Of course, you didn't listen to yourself and decided to keep his secret that he wasn't even sure you knew because of how much you liked him.
On the third day of your recovery, your stitching was finally beginning to heal. It hurt to bend down and sometimes walk because it worked the muscles underneath the wound but you couldn't stand doing nothing anymore.
You made the excuse that you were planning to meet Ethan at his dorm for the night because you promised to help him with Econ. Sam wasn't exactly keen on the idea, wondering why he couldn't come to meet you here but you told her you were beginning to feel claustrophobic and wanted to get out. She didn't say much in defense and reluctantly agreed.
They all offered to walk you there just in case something were to happen but you brushed them off. If your assumption about Ethan was correct, he wouldn't let anything happen to you.
The subway was packed because it was nearing Halloween and it took you awhile to finally make it inside one. And the thirty minute ride to campus added onto the time. It was around twelve at night when you arrived at his dorm.
First, you decided to knock. Nobody answered. Then you remembered he had an Econ lecture to attend for the night and took out the extra key he had given you awhile ago and unlocked it yourself.
Honestly, you were glad he wasn't there because it would make your digging a lot more easier.
You searched through everything he owned. Through his drawers (which you highly regretted), under his bed, inside some of his unpacked bags—everywhere but you couldn't find anything that incriminated him.
It had been what felt like hours, but was really only thirty minutes, when you gave up. Your phone was going off but you didn't pay any mind to it because the group had consistently texted you ever since your attack; you just assumed it was them checking up on you and then getting paranoid because you weren't answering. Even if you knew you should've checked, you didn't bother as you were going to head back to the apartment anyway.
You quietly snuck out of the room, making sure the coast was clear until you turned your head to the left and saw Ghostface, waiting there for you. When you tried to scream, they grabbed your face with their hand, restricting your voice from releasing.
They were strong, being able to grab your entire body with their one arm and toss you carelessly back into the room.
You hit the floor, wincing at the impact because of your stitches. Ghostface shut the door behind them, looking down at you. They stalked toward you very slowly as you made sure to keep your distance from them.
Using the dresser that stood behind you, you lifted yourself up with your available arm as the other clutched your stitching instinctively to keep you balanced. It was a silent stare-down until they reached for their mask, untucking it from the behind. Then, they pulled it off.
You stared in shock. "…Ethan?"
"Y/N." He didn't have much expression on his face. He looked out of breath as you could see sweat shimmering on his face from the lighting.
"Oh, my god," You breathed out. Although you suspected him this whole time, finally being able to know it was the truth hurt you more than being stabbed. "You're Ghostface."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Ethan ignored your statement as he furrowed his brows.
"I knew it. I knew you were the one who saved me," you confessed. "That's why I'm here."
"You shouldn't be here," he told you, shaking his head.
"You're trying to kill me and our friends and you're telling me what I shouldn't be doing?!"
"Y/N, there's more to this than you know."
"That much is obvious," you snapped. He tried to step toward you but you backed up. "Stay away from me."
"Please, just listen to me," Ethan began to plead.
"You let them attack me!"
"No, I didn't!" he declared, lowering his voice when he saw it made you flinch. "They promised to leave you out of it. That was the only thing I told them to do."
"They?" you repeated in confusion.
He thought over his response for a second. "Look, what I'm doing—what I've done—is for a good reason. You have to understand."
You furrowed your brows. "What have you done, E?" You couldn't help but use his nickname; you couldn't help but try to hear him out.
"Y/N." He walked toward you slowly and this time, you didn't back away from him. "You're the only thing I care about. If it means I have to kill a thousand people to keep you safe, then I'd do it."
"I don't understand." Your voice was almost a mumble.
"I agreed to do this before I met you but when I did, it all changed. I-I tried to convince them to stop. I wanted to try and be good—for you but she found out and threatened to kill you if I didn't continue with the plan so I did with the exception that they would leave you out of it," he explained softly. "I did this…for you."
You looked at him like he was insane (he kind of was). "You'd kill our friends?"
"If it meant that you'd be safe."
His words didn't completely register but when they did, you couldn't help but feel guilty. You had a crush on him for so long and here he was, basically confessing his love for you in such a fucked up way. You hated yourself for finding him even more attractive after hearing him say those words.
"Ethan…" you whispered his name.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked. "Can I please kiss you?"
You didn't give him an answer as you closed the space between the two of you.
It seemed wrong—no, it was wrong. Kissing him while he still wore the Ghostface robe, one that he wore while taking someone's life.
You knew he wasn't wearing this costume for fun. They only ever wore it for a purpose. Even though your mind was totally blanked because of how dumb his lips made you, when you pulled apart, you began to think about where he had come from and who he had just killed and why you weren't more concerned about the matter.
He chased after your lips, kissing you again with more force this time, even pulling you closer by the waist. You only pulled away because you were receiving a call.
You pulled your phone out from your pocket, the reality setting in when you saw Sam's contact. He looked down with you, not doing much in keeping you from answering. It took you a couple more seconds of contemplating until you decided to click the green button, putting the phone to your ear.
You took a deep breath before answering. "Hello?"
"Y/N, what the hell?!" Sam hollered into the speaker, her voice mixed with relief and annoyance. "Why weren't you answering? Are you okay?!"
"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied rather nonchalantly. "I had my phone off. What's wrong, Sam?"
There was a short beat. "Ghostface attacked us."
You furrowed your brows, glancing at Ethan. "What?"
"Yeah, he killed Quinn and…"
"And?" you repeated instantly. "Who else, Sam?"
"Anika…" Sam's voice was barely above a whisper. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I-I tried to help her."
You shut your eyes, feeling tears starting to build. There was silence on the line and you were sure it was because Sam didn't want to say anything knowing you would be taking her death as personal as Mindy did.
Suddenly, your stab wounds began to throb which made you let out a grunt. You knew better than to cry over Anika only because it would achieve nothing. Yes, it was messed up that you were now standing in the room with her murderer, watching him undress himself of his black robe that he wore while killing her but you realized nothing you could've said or done—whether you got to him before she died—could've changed her outcome.
You watched him pull out a hunting knife from his back pocket, the silver glistening with dried blood. That blood probably belonged to Anika and Quinn. It made your throat go dry.
"Sam," you blurted quietly.
"What, Y/N?"
You were going to say it; tell her the truth. It was the right thing to do. Ethan, even if you liked him a lot, had just murdered your best friend and one of Sam's. They deserved the justice of their murderer being caught.
But when he walked back over to you, his eyes scanning your expression, you had already picked your choice.
"Y/N, what? Are you okay?" Sam's voice echoed in your mind.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just…" You tried to find the words. "Is everyone else okay? Did you get hurt?"
"We're fine. Mindy got cut but she's fine," Sam answered softly. "Can you come down here? I'd feel a lot better if you were here with us. Plus, I'm sure you can comfort Mindy than the rest of us. She doesn't want to be anywhere near Tara or Chad."
You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Ethan and I are on our way."
"Ethan?" she questioned.
"Yeah. Remember I told you I was going to meet him at his dorm? I was with him the whole night," you lied.
"Oh, okay." Sam sighed into the speaker. "That's good to hear, actually. Mindy thinks Ethan was the one behind all of this but if you were with him then it checks him out."
"Don't worry, Sam," you said. "We'll be there shortly."
"Okay, see you soon. Be safe."
You nodded, even though she couldn't see you and then hung up.
"You kept my secret?" Ethan asked.
You shook your head. "I shouldn't have. You killed Anika and Quinn."
He bit his lip, nodding calmly. "I know, I know. It wasn't exactly my first choice. But I had to for saving you the other night."
"Yeah, I know," you mumbled. "But did you mean it?"
"Mean what?" He furrowed his brows.
"What you said about wanting to be good?" You repeated his words. "Because that's the only reason I saved your ass. I should hate you. You killed Anika."
"Y/N/N," he said softly, walking over to grab your hands. "I only did this to protect you. They made me think my original motive was right but it's actually fucked up. I realized that the moment I met you. So, yes, I do mean it. And I'm sorry about Anika. I didn't really want to do it either."
You mulled over his words, looking down at your connected hands until you finally spoke. "Okay. Then, I'll help you," you informed him. "But, in order for me to do that, I need to know everything."
Let's just say it was an interesting conversation.
#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry#ethan landry x you#ethan landry imagine#jack champion#scream imagine#scream vi imagine#ethan landry x y/n
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Hello hello Saiiii!!!
I have a book recommendation for Conan <3
I had a few Conan related questions, feel free to skip any that you think may contain spoilers-
1) After thinking about it long, I wanted to ask, At what age did Conan marry his wife? Can we get some vague hints about his early life…or his life with his wife?
2) Does Conan have an Irish accent?
3) Does he have distant/ close family members?
4) Apart from Elanor and Angel has Conan had any one on one interactions with the other cast members? If he has what does he think of them?
5) Has Conan ever dyed his hair in the past? If he ever decides to dye his hair now what color will it be?
6) I SWEAR this is the last one ;-; — His favorite song/ song that makes him sentimental.
Thank you in advance!!!
Have a great day/ evening Sai💜
⌞♥⌝ CONAAAAN!! I can answer most of these since they aren't spoilers :3
Conan met and married his late wife in his early twenties. He wasn't all that interested in the idea of marriage at the time, but his wife was the only woman that he truly cared for — and she was extremely enthusiastic about the prospect of having a family of her own — so he was willing to settle down for her. Seeing her happy made him happy.
In my mind, Conan does have a noticeable Irish accent, though he doesn't really use any Irish slang(?) when he talks.
He does have family living outside of Corland Bay!! Though Conan isn't really that close with any of them, he doesn't try to keep in contact with them either.
In my head and in my heart Conan and Jae have interacted more than a few times. I like to think that Jae applied to do volunteer work at the library (and secretly hoped he did a good enough job for Conan to hire + actually pay him), but unfortunately, it's not canon T_T So outside of Elanor and Angel, Conan has never interacted with the other characters. (Unless you want to count Violet renting out a book and Conan saying "thank you" or something sjsdgsj)
Conan has never dyed his hair. However, he has used those obnoxious glitter sprays at Alice's behest!!
The "hehe haha" part of me wants to say that Conan listens to Divorced Dad music (like "Lips Of An Angel" or "How You Remind Me"), but canonically, he'd probably listen to the mainstream pop songs that his daughter plays on the radio.
As for a song that makes him sentimental, Conan probably heard "I'll Still Have Me" by Cyn playing from the TV once and had to hide in the pantry for a quick Sob Session ghjsdj
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