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sevcasejay1chicago · 10 months ago

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Hi! Would you please write one with Matt/Kelly/Jay x reader where the reader is walking home or something and gets attacked. Roughed up a bit maybe a concussion and like a dislocated shoulder... but she manages to get away before anything too bad happens and just runs on instinct to 51. Kelly and Matt all worried and trying to comfort her but she’s in shock. Sylvie and Violet take care of her and take her to med. Jay meets them there. Maybe with worried brother-in-law Will and a Connor appearance?

Messed with the wrong one- Matt, Kelly, and Jay

Warnings: attack briefly described, vomiting, possibly wrong medical jargon

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You have always been decently independent, which is something that your boys love and hate at the same time. You enjoy doing the grocery shopping and often find yourself walking the short distance to the small neighborhood market around the corner from your shared home. Today was no different.

It was late in the afternoon. The sun was just starting to set and you were happily enjoying watching the beautiful colors change in the sky. Jay was still at work, you having been able to leave early since you finished your paper work, but Jay still had a few files left to tidy up. Your errands could have waited, but you had the time now. So, while Matt, Kelly, and Jay were all still at work, you planned on getting a head start on dinner.

You were two blocks from the market when you felt four hands grab you and drag you into a nearby ally. All your training kicked in and you fought back as hard as you could. All you could think about was getting home to your boys. You kicked and punched, having to drag yourself off the ground twice. The second time you found yourself on the ground, your head also found purchase on a brick wall. You quickly shook it off and stood, laying one guy out and dodging the other, bolting down the ally and running as fast as you could. You didn’t dare look back.

Next thing you know, you are running through the bay doors of 51 and Kelly is snatching you up in his arms. You are violently shaking, blood tricking down your neck and face. You don’t respond when Kelly talks to you, given the fact that you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. You notice blurred figures run past you and out of the bay doors, others running out of the firehouse to see what the commotion is all about. Matt comes to your side, but you flinch and scream when he touches you.

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just Matt.” Kelly whispers, rocking you back and forth in his arms. He isn’t sure you hear him, but you relax as you bury your face into his neck and breath in his familiar scent.

Matt doesn’t attempt to touch you again. Not yet anyways, but he thinks he understands why you screamed now. Your left arm is cradled between you and Kelly protectively, leading Matt to believe that your hurt. “Kelly. She’s hurt pretty bad.” Matt whispers, walking around you slowly to examine you with only his eyes.

Kelly nods. “I know. I know baby. Let’s sit down, yeah?” Kelly says, acknowledging Matt and guiding you to sit in his chair at the squad table.

Brett and Violet are standing at the ambo with the doors open. They are both assessing you from afar until Matt and Kelly can get you focused or give them permission to approach. Brett can tell you are slipping into shock, but she doesn’t want to make things worse, so she waits.

It doesn’t take long after Kelly gets you sitting down. His hands pushing your shoulders to lower you down has you screaming in pain. Matt steps aside and waves the medics over, allowing Kelly to keep a hold on you since he got to you first.

“Y/n? It’s Sylvie Brett. Can you hear me?” Brett asks, crouching down to find your tear filled eyes. When you nod, Brett smiles warmly at you. “Good. Good. Can you tell me what hurts?” Brett asks, not yet laying a hand on you.

You gently run your right hand over your collar bone and then touch the back of your head. When your hand comes away with blood, you start shaking harder and hyperventilating. You didn’t feel that.

“Hey. Hey. Baby. It’s okay.” Kelly soothes, taking your hands in his. He carefully wipes them off with a towel that Violet offers as Brett stands to examine your head wound.

“Pretty deep.” Brett comments. At this point, you have lost most of the color in your face and are sweating pretty heavily. Brett can tell, without checking your vitals, that the shock is fully setting in. “Kelly. Get her loaded up. Violet, run inside and tell Boden what’s going on then drive us to med. Matt, call med and have them set up a trauma room and have x ray and CT ready upon arrival.” Brett instructs, putting her feelings as your friend aside to get you help quickly.

Everyone jumps to their tasks. Kelly scoops you up and apologizes as you cry out in pain from the movement. Brett gets in the ambo and immediately pulls out some pain killers and an Iv tray for you. She hands Kelly a towel to keep pressure on your head wound as she hooks you up. You barely flinch as the Iv is stuck in your hand, but begin to calm slightly as the meds take over.

When you stop whimpering, Brett moves to check your chest. “Y/n. I gotta look, okay? No pressing. I promise. Just gotta make sure that everything is still relatively where it’s suppose to be.” Brett said, not wanting to scare you with the fact that your bone could potentially be out of your skin or at an alarming angle or something.

You nodded, leaning your head further into Kelly’s hold as Matt finally jumped in and the ambo began moving. You groaned as the movement caused nausea to spike as your head swam. “Mmmm.” You ground out, trying to breath through the nausea.

“What’s wrong hunny?” Brett asked, pulling back from looking at your collarbone, which seemed to be in place, to look at your face. You had gone pale once again, your face scrunched up as you shakily brought a hand to your mouth. “Okay. Hang on.” Brett said, pushing Kelly forward to lean over and grab a sick bag for you. Matt immediately took it and held it under your chin so that Brett could keep examining you.

“M-Matt.” You gasped, clutching onto his wrist when he came into view. It was like you were just processing that he was even around at all.

“Shhhh. I’m here baby. Kelly and I are here.” Matt soothed, using his free hand to wipe tears from your face. “We are almost to med. We gotcha now.” Matt murmured, hating to see the pain and fear in your eyes. He wanted nothing more than to find whoever did this to you and lay into them, but you were his first priority.

Matt’s thought process was cut short when you heaved, flying forward with a scream of pain at the end of it. Kelly stood, holding your forehead in one hand and the cloth to the back of your head with his other hand. Matt held the bag around your mouth, holding one of Kelly’s arms to stop from trying to steady you or put his hand in the wrong place and hurt you more instead o comforting you.

“Brett. You gotta do something.” Kelly said, trying not to burst into tears as you threw up, screaming when you had enough air. You were shaking violently again, the pain and the vomiting causing your body to go into overdrive.

“Kelly. I can’t. We are two minutes out. I gave her enough to take the edge off, but they gotta assess her before she gets anything else on board.” Brett tried to reason, wiping tears from her own face as she attached wires to you to check your vitals. “I’m so sorry Y/n. I’m so sorry. We are getting you to med.” Brett whispered, her heart aching as she watched her friend get sick and scream while her other friends desperately tried to help.

As soon as the ambo got to Med, Conner Rhoads, Maggie, and your brother in law, Will Halstead, were pulling open the doors. Will stood slightly away, knowing he couldn’t treat you, but he also couldn’t leave you and the boys until Jay got there. Luckily, Jay had been notified by Will when he found out, so he knew his brother would be there soon.

“What do we got?” Conner asked, helping Brett get the stretcher out of the ambo as Kelly kept up, one hand still holding the cloth to your head while the other held the bag Matt had to secure it under your chin as you gagged.

“Deep head lac and suspected broken collar bone. The vomiting started about 4 minutes ago. GCS 6, 140/97, pulse 120, O2 95 on room air.” Brett spout out. “Iv in the field. Left hand. Administered 5 of Morphine to take the edge off.” Brett said, getting your sheets in her hands.

“Okay.” Conner said, “On my count. 1, 2, 3.” Conner counted, then helped transfer you onto the hospital bed. You screamed out again as they moved you, then proceeded to pass out. “She’s out. Elevate her feet. Tip the bed.” Conner instructed, following your head down as you were moved. He checked your pupils and palpitated your collarbone while you were out. “I can feel some inflammation around her collar bone on the left side. Most likely broken, but still in place. She also has a minor concussion. I’m gonna have them do an xray and CT just to make sure on both.” Conner said, standing and looking at the monitor. “Maggie, put her on 5ML of oxygen. Her stats are dropping some. Probably from the pain. Let’s go ahead with another 15 of morphine and some Zofran too.” Conner said, typing it all up pretty quickly.

You began to stir as Kelly pushed some fly away back. Conner was quick to get to you, repositioning the bed to a more comfortable position and checked your head lac. Your eyes fluttered open just as Conner was stepping back.

“Welcome back.” Connor said with a smile. “Your gonna be okay. We need to run some tests, but I think that you’ll only need a few stitches and all you’ll need is a sling to stabilize that arm while your collar bone heals.” Conner supplied, smiling as he heard Matt, Kelly, and Will sigh in relief.

You nodded, then winced. “Hurts.” You whispered, throat raw from throwing up.

Conner nodded and moved aside for Maggie. “Mags is gonna give you more morphine and some Zofran. Sound good?” Conner asked, searching your face for confirmation. When you you gave a shaky thumbs up, he smiled. “Good, I’ll check back in a bit.” Just as Conner was leaving, Jay skidded to a stop as he came barreling through the door, almost hitting Conner in his haste to get to you.

“Baby girl.” Jay breathed, patting Conner on the shoulder and going around him to get to you. He was sweating, eyes wild as he searched your body for injuries, hands and bottom lip shaking.

“J-Jay.” You immediately sobbed out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You wailed, covering your face with your right hand.

Jay shook his head as he laid a hand on your leg. “Shhh. No baby. No. It’s okay. It’s not your fault sweet girl.” Jay soothed, rubbing your leg over the blanket. “We got them. Voight and Antonio have them. Your safe.” Jay soothed, smiling sadly at you.

“She was so smart and so brave. She ran straight into the bay doors of the fire house.” Kelly praised, kissing your forehead.

“You know your always safe with us.” Matt said, rubbing one of your feet over the blanket.

“I-I didn’t even think. I j-just ran.” You sniffed, wiping your face with the back of your arm. “I just thought a-about you guys. I-I needed to get h-home to you guys.” You murmured, tears streaking down your face again as the horrors of the event began to creep into your head.

“You’ll be home tonight sweet girl. Until then, we are here.” Jay soothed, moving forward as Maggie walked out, kissing your forehead gently. “You did so good Angel.”

“I’m home here with you guys. Wherever you are is home.” You whispered, finally relaxing as the drugs numbed the pain and the nausea. You were exhausted and you knew your boys would keep you safe, so you allowed your eyes to slip closed.

——————

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

@starset21

#one chicago #one chicago x reader #matt casey #kelly severide #jay halstead #matt casey x reader #jay halstead x reader #comfort #kelly severide x reader #fluff #emeto fic #emeto tw #tw emeto

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Hi,love ur stories 😍

I was wondering if u could do one based on 'I see the light' from tangled, where they meet at a mutual friends wedding or something, she was singing the song where she has the most melodiest voice and (charles, max or Pierre) somehow 'fall in love' at first sight of her along with her voice. Thx 😊😍

This was cute 💕 I hope you don't mind but I changed the setting a little bit.

Tangled Up In You || MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x singer!fem!reader Warnings: fluff, slight angst with his ex, more fluff WC: 2.2k

F1 Masterlist

Children were known to be resilient creatures that could adapt well to changes but Penelope had struggled to understand why her and her mother no longer lived with Max. It had been six months and still she asked where her ‘Maxie’ was and why he couldn’t come with them to their new home.

So, it came as no surprise when she was asked who she wanted to invite to her 4th birthday party that Max was at the top of the list.

“...you don’t have to come, I can say you are busy-”

“No, I’ll be there, Kel,” Max interrupted as he put the call on speaker and added the event to his calendar. “Is P there? Can I talk to her?”

“Sorry, she’s with Daniil picking out her princess dress. The theme’s Disney, of course,” Kelly laughed softly before she sighed. “Are you sure you want to come, or are you just being nice?”

“I want to come. I miss our tea parties, and standing on tiny pieces of lego.”

The silence on the line lingered for a moment before she couldn’t help asking. “Do you miss me?”

This time it was Max who sighed. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

He hung up before she could apologise again. Somehow she always turned a conversation back to their relationship, but that wasn’t something Max would ever entertain. If the man knew one thing from his life of racing it was how to move forward and when the three year relationship he had run its course he had taken time to reflect, just like those post-race debriefs, and planned to use it as a lesson learned for next time.

Kelly had overdone it as usual.

The largest ballroom of Hôtel de Paris had been transformed into a set straight from Disney and filled with actresses dressed as Penelope’s favourites princesses.

It was easy to spot P when Max walked in because her excited squeals were impossible to miss and he followed the sound to the front of the stage where she was jumping excitedly.

“Maxie!” she screamed, running and jumping at him trusting he would catch her.

“Happy Birthday, P,” he grinned as he lifted her up into a hug. “I can’t believe you are two years old already.”

“I’m four, silly!”

“No, that can’t be. You can’t possibly grow up that quickly.”

“I can! Have you seen my princesses? My favourite one isn’t here yet but mummy said she’s going to be here any minute.”

Max scanned the room for the princesses and saw the usual ones like Cinderella, Snow White and Aurora. “Is Rapunzel still your favourite then?”

Penelope nodded with a big toothy grin. “She’s so pretty. I want to be like her when I grow up.”

Max put her down carefully and straightened the tiara sitting on her perfectly styled hair. “You are already prettier than everyone here, P.”

“There you are,” Kelly greeted Max as she left another conversation to join them, kissing his cheeks twice just a little too close to the corners of his lips. “Just in time too. Sweetheart, look who’s here.”

Penelope screamed as she spotted Rapunzel taking the stage, a long golden braid adorned with flowers hanging all the way down her back. “It’s her, it’s really her,” P squealed as she squeezed Max’s hand. “She’s beautiful.”

Max was in a state of shock as his jaw fell slack. “She is.”

The lights of the stage dimmed until only a single spotlight cast a warm glow to her skin, the braiding of hair around her head appearing like a golden crown, or more accurately, a halo.

Max recognised the song in an instant, remembering the evenings spent on the couch watching Tangled, P dancing across the living room floor as she sang her little heart out. The memory brought a smile to his lips and it only grew wider as the angel on the stage began to sing.

You double checked the wig was held firmly by the pins and not a strand of hair was out of place before running your palms over the dress to make sure there wasn’t a single wrinkle on the pastel pink material. Satisfied you were ready, you hooked the small microphone and earpiece into place and nodded to the sound engineer to start the cue.

It was no difficult task to smile brightly as the music began and you twirled out onto the stage, you lived for these days. Seeing the excitement and joy your performances made the children who witnessed it brought joy to your life. Seeing their eyes widen and their jaws drop was what motivated you to channel even deeper and give your all to the act.

All those days watching from the windows All those years outside looking in All that time never even knowing Just how blind I've been

You spotted the birthday girl at the front of the crowd and plucked a bright flower from the braid, kneeling down to tuck it behind her ear. Her smile widened and she could hardly stand still as she trembled with excitement.

You waved a hand to the ceiling and the projector illuminated it with a thousand little glowing dots and a surprised gasp whispered across the largest crowd you had ever sung to.

Now I'm here, blinking in the starlight Now I'm here, suddenly I see Standing here, it's all so clear I'm where I'm meant to be

You smiled at the little girl once more before spinning on your toes beneath the twinkling lights, the tulle skirt billowing around you as if you were floating away with them.

Around the room, the other casted characters were turning on their lanterns and raising them into the air on near invisible strings. You could perform this set a thousand times and never tire of seeing the crowd's reactions to the lanterns floating into the night sky.

And at last I see the light And it's like the fog has lifted And at last I see the light And it's like the sky is new

You scanned the crowd while they were in a state of wonderment looking up, but there was one man who wasn’t. He still held the same unblinking look of awe but he could have been oblivious to the lights the way he was staring right back at you.

There was something about the look that almost knocked you off your feet as your stomach flipped and heat burned on your cheeks under the intensity. His eyes, a pale shade of blue, drew you closer to the edge of the stage and his foot lifted as if he were to follow.

And it's warm and real and bright And the world has somehow shifted

His lips moved like he knew the words by heart and you nearly missed the line as your heart skipped a beat. The rest of the crowd faded away as you knelt back where you had been and pulled another flower from your hair.

All at once everything looks different Now that I see you

He leaned forward and you tucked it behind his ear, your fingers grazing his jawline as you retreated. You were so absorbed by his shy smile and the blush highlighting his cheeks you didn’t notice the woman standing to the side of him. For a moment, before you caught yourself, it was only him that you sang to and only him that you saw.

“Please, please can I?” P begged her mother to go and see Rapunzel but after the breathtaking performance she had been in a mood and withdrew her hand from her daughter’s.

“No, your cake is going to be coming out in a moment - I need to be here to show them where to put it.”

Tears welled along the four year old’s eyes and her bottom lip trembled before Max stepped in. “How about I take her?”

He had been watching the stage entrance for any sign of movement since her song had ended and it was hard to hide the disappointment when she didn’t return for another. He could still hear her voice and was busy committing it to memory in the hopes he could use the sweet, melodic sound to calm his racing mind when he lay awake alone at night.

Max couldn’t explain how utterly obsessed he had become or how he wished he knew what delicate perfume it was he had inhaled when she touched his face. He ran his hand along his jawline, following where her fingers had been under the guise of a scratch, and he was glad he had tidied his beard up for the event.

“Of course you would offer that,” Kelly bit back, pulling him from his thoughts as his hand fell away from his face. “Whatever, do as you want.”

Penelope understood the permission but missed the sarcasm and Max sighed to himself as he took P’s hand and made their way to the curtains that hid the makeshift backstage area.

“Rapunzel!” P squealed as she rushed forward, towing Max to keep up until she barrelled into the princesses legs and wrapped her arms around them. “I love you.”

You had almost begun to pull your wig off when you heard a little girl call out. You turned just in time to catch her as she grappled you into a hug and you laughed softly as you tucked her hair back behind her ear to see the flower you had given her.

“Aren’t you the sweetest little girl,” you giggled as you knelt down to her height and took in the sight of the man who followed her, his hands tucking into his dress pants. You drowned in the eyes that had held you captivated before tearing yours away and swallowing the disappointment that had crept up your throat. “I hope you are having the most magical birthday with your father.”

The birthday girl looked up at him with a laugh. “This is my Maxie.”

You tried to hide your confusion but he obviously saw it as he scratched the back of his neck, the material of the shirt he wore straining as his biceps tensed.

“Uh, I am, was, her step-dad,” he corrected as he gave the girl a small sad smile before offering his hand to you. “It’s just Max, or you can call me Maxie too, I guess, if you want.”

You smiled in amusement as you shook his hand, the touch lingering a little longer as neither of you made an effort to pull away.

“I’m Rapunzel,” you said as your eyes darted to Penelope.

“Right,” he chuckled and let his hand fall back to his side as he looked at her too. “Your cake might be waiting for you, P. Do you want to go check?”

“Can you come?” she asked you with big round eyes.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but Eugene has probably got himself into trouble without me, so I should really be going. But I must thank you, it was an absolute delight to celebrate your birthday with you. I love getting to spend time with a fellow princess.” You swung your braid over your shoulder and the sweet scent of the fresh flowers filled the air. “You can have as many as you like.”

It took all your concentration not to look at Max when that was what you really wanted to do, especially when he knelt beside you and helped Penelope to choose which flowers to take. His arm brushed against yours and you nearly lost your balance from the deep breath you took of his mouth watering cologne.

Eventually she was happy with the dozen bright blossoms she cradled in her arms and thanked you before rushing to take them back to her mother. “Come on, Maxie!” she called without looking back to see if he was following.

He rose with a sigh and you hissed as your head was tugged sharply by the pins. “Shit, sorry,” he murmured as he saw his watch had got caught in the braid. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, it actually happens more often than you would think.” You rubbed the back of your head where the pain was worst and double checked the birthday girl was gone. “I’m Y/N.”

He repeated it with a smile as he slipped the watch off his wrist to use both hands to untangle it from the golden threads. “Would you let me take you to dinner to apologise properly?”

If you were wearing your microphone it probably would have picked up the sound of your heart from how quickly it started pumping. There was no denying this attraction between you and you could see he was equally affected by it too.

“No, I told you it’s alright,” you started, taking his hand when his shoulder slumped crestfallen. “But, you can buy me dinner if you want to make it a date?”

A bright smile broke across his face and you couldn’t help smiling back knowing it was because of you. “Tonight?”

You nodded as you reached into the hidden pocket in the dress and passed him your phone to enter his number before he sent himself a message to get yours. “You might not recognise me without all this,” you joked as you started to pull the pins out of the wig and freed your natural hair.

He chuckled and shook his head as he found you even more beautiful than before. “There’s no mistaking those eyes, I would recognise them anywhere.”

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 imagine

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alottiegoingon · 6 months ago

Text

hc!friends to lovers

lottie matthews x fem!reader

summary: going from friends to lovers with lottie

warnings: lottie mentioned as lesbian once, pure fluff, nsfw at the bottom so MDNI there, not proofread

this was a request so i hope you enjoy it 🤞

@l0tt1emy this is me tagging youu

WHEN FRIENDS

୨୧ being friends with lottie matthews would include spend your saturday night on her huge house (more like a mansion to you) when her parents were out for work or just so busy that they wouldn't even notice you there

୨୧ you didn't know that, but she would spend the entire day thinking about you when it was a sleepover night

୨୧ sleepovers would be a casual thing for you and it was your favorite moment of the day cause lottie would turn it into a fashion show to model her new clothes for you

୨୧ speaking of it, you would constantly find yourself waiting in fitting rooms and their uncomfortable seats when lottie was trying on thousands of clothes just to buy (steal) one or two

୨୧ "do you think it looks too pink?" lottie comes out from behind the curtains to display the outfit she was trying on, featuring a fluffy pink cropped cardigan with short sleeves paired with a high-waisted, pink skirt that features vertical stripes

୨୧ "no, you look perfect," you say softly, eyes filled with affection while feeling a nervous flutter stirs in your stomach

୨୧ in parties, you would usually stick to her side and even though lottie wasn't extremely popular, people knew who she was. either because her parents had loads of money or cause, let's be honest, she fucking was stunning

୨୧ when offering to get her a drink and she would look at you with those pretty eyes and nod like "okay :)))"

୨୧ if you were part of the yellowjackets, during jackie's idea of telling the girls what you admire about them, you would DEF make her blush on purpose

୨୧ "lottie matthews..." you say lightheartedly and she's already screaming internally "you have the prettiest hair i’ve ever seen and a great fashion sense. and, yeah, you suck at french but you are so good at soccer and you have the biggest and kindest heart ever"

୨୧ and she's giggling and nervously rocking from side to side with her cheeks matching the color of her clothes

୨୧ lottie was a lonely kid and since her parents were always away, she would be taken care of by maids and housekeepers so she was easily anxious when speaking to people her age. luckyfor her, she would hide it quite well and the mean and cutesy lesbian in her would mask it greatly

୨୧ "does someone want to tell kelly kapowski to maybe worry less about prom and more about not fսcking up nationals?" lottie was mumbling in front of the mirror, fixing her bangs and makeup and you were ready to agree with anything she said

୨୧ "i know right?" but you didn't even know what kelly kapowski had said

୨୧ putting her money to good use, one of her favorite ways to show you how grateful she was for your friendship was to buy you things. not like once or twice but ALL. THE. TIME.

୨୧ books, vhs tapes of your favorite movies, vinyl, a cute dress you mentioned once, nice shoes, stuffed animals, things that reminded her of you. all you can possibly think of!!!

୨୧ "lot, you didn't have to. this must have cost a fortune!" and it's just her standing at your front door, hidden behind a huge teddy bear she bought for your birthday and a brand new walkman

୨୧ one night, when lottie's parents were home, she sneaked you in and you almost fell to your death when climbing the walls like fucking spider-man and getting to her room through the window but her perfume lingering around made everything worthy when she hugged you

୨୧ "thank you for coming, i know it's late," she lies in bed and tap the empty space beside her for you to join her. "it's okay, i was just watching a movie. i'm glad you called me"

୨୧ 'movie’ you said, but the flashback of you sleeping buried under the covers and snoring like an old guy comes to your mind...

୨୧ i feel like lottie would have a hard time opening up to people and letting them in but if they were genuine, she would trust them. but def insecure about telling you about her visits to the psychiatrist cause we all know she's just a silly girl with a few issues...

୨୧ but you were so respectful, reassuring and understanding to her that she doesn't feel ashamed or judged

୨୧ during that specific night when you were just hanging around together in her bed and talking about life, an accidental graze of her nose on yours led to an awkward moment that led to awkward giggles and an awkward and messy kiss and this was all you needed to call her your girlfriend

WHEN DATING

୨୧ even when dating, lottie would often feel insecure and ask you for help. reassuring her and telling her that there she wasn't broken and there was nothing wrong with her was something you always had to do but it didn't bother you at all. you were lottie's biggest worshiper and could spend hours just telling her how BADLY you loved her

୨୧ hear me out. lottie was a big fan of holding hands. you could be in class, watching a movie, reading together, talking with your group of friends, and even eating, but she was ALWAYS staring at you with pleading eyes and her palm facing up, extended in your direction, ready for you to hold her hand

୨୧ if you think she spoiled you too much already, you better take a seat cause that girl would show up at your place with presents all the time. "i know we agreed on saving money but i know how badly you wanted these..." you're speechless when she gives you something you really wanted

୨୧ but you can't get mad, you just thank her and kiss her adorable pout :(

୨୧ loves loves LOVES to give you small gifts as well like a pretty shell she found when going to the beach once or even her ENTIRE shell collection

୨୧ strongly believe that she would be the greatest big spoon ever and would love to cuddle you but doesn’t complain if you want to hold her

୨୧ lottie is TALL. a three would be afraid of her! im 100% convinced that she would put your stuff in a place you can't reach so you have to ask her for help. "baby, are you busy? can you get that for me?" and she's fighting demons to maintain her composure, resisting the urge to smile as she handles you the book she had just tucked away on the top shelf

୨୧ over protective lottie!!! she isn’t exactly jealous cause she trusted you a lot but is always around and keeping you in her sight. she has her arm around you all the time, drives you EVERYWHERE (makes her driver do that), and is always ready to defend you

୨୧ oh the many things that happened in the backseat that the poor driver had to ignore...

୨୧ if the crash had happened, one single mumble of yours about how hungry you were was ENOUGH for her to call nat and travis out. "lottie, there's no food. we looked everywhere!" "look harder!"

NSFW (MDNI)

୨୧ lottie spoils you with cute gifts but she’s not innocent. she would buy you the prettiest lingerie in the store just to fuck you in those 🤭

୨୧ she would adore when you face ride her. she just can’t resist to your moans and soft noises or how you feel so shy and dirty about it but just can’t stop. she loves to feel your legs around her face

୨୧ in fact, i’m a strong believer that she could just cum by hearing you moan her name. you can’t believe your eyes when you feel her nails dig into your thighs and lottie desperately closing her legs and rubbing them together, groaning into your pussy :(

୨୧ big fan of overstimulating you!!! holding your hips to keep you riding her face or her strap if she’s under you or rubbing your clit even after you made a mess on her fingers just to watch you squirm and cry for her 🤓

୨୧ i’ve mentioned this before BUT fucking you against a mirror in dressing rooms? she’s all in. even better if she’s fucking you from behind with a strap AND forcing you look at your messy and humiliating reflection in the mirror

୨୧ now when it comes to her, she loves when you suck her but keep your eyes on hers. eye contact is!!!! her fingers go crazy in your hair, pulling and holding so tight that it hurts but you don’t give a damn about it

୨୧ she wouldn't ever say no but she prefers to have her time with you instead of quickies. im a lottie hopeless romantic truther!!!

୨୧ i feel like she's not really loud when you're eating her out or fucking her, she just moans your name and lets lots of soft, weak and breathy noises and whimpers out 😵‍💫

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader

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piastrirots · 5 months ago

Text

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ not ready to make nice !

pairing: armando aretas x howard!reader summary: all you’ve ever dreamed about since your granddad being killed was the son of a bitch who did it sharing the same fate. what you never expected was to have to work with your granddads killer to rescue your sister and especially not that you’d take a liking to him. word count: 3.7k warnings: typical bad boys violence (guns, blood, death...) read at your own caution <3 notes: thank you for my first request, i had so much fun writing it! feel free to comment down your thoughts, things you want to see etc.

YOU FELT SO HELPLESS AS YOU REPLAYED THE SCREAMS OF YOUR SISTER CALLIE, but it was nothing to what your sister must have been feeling. You felt so stupid - your mother entrusted you to look after your sister whilst she hunted down your grandads killer and like a fool you left her alone at the house when you got a message to go to Dorn's you just could not ignore.

You would have disregarded the message like you did the millions of texts of pity that people from the station have sent following your indefinite suspension. It was unfair, but since your granddad was under investigation for working with the cartel (which was absolutely bullshit), it was only procedure to have his protégé and granddaughter on leave until everything was cleared up.

Following this, your mother had you and your younger sister on house arrest. You understood your mothers concern and admired her grit and ability to separate her personal feelings from her work. You couldn't begin to imagine how she must be feeling and certainly wonder how she copes with everything.

You didn't really see much of your granddad growing up since he was always working and just like him, your mother followed in his footsteps. It only made sense to everyone when you joined the police academy straight out of high school and worked at the station your grandfather did.

You fiddled with the necklace clasped to your neck nervously as you watched the drone footage of the men who had captured Mike's wife and your sister from the safety of the AMMO van. You didn't deserve to be here - it should be your sister. The same Callie who was being held hostage by dangerous people she had no business being entwined with.

Kelly squeezed your shoulder reassuringly and you give her a forced smile she could see right through. "It's going to be alright," Kelly said, piercing through the silence that enveloped the trio that was Kelly, yourself and Dorn.

You wished you could be in the thick of the action, but knew you would be no help to anyone in your distressed state. Your eyes flickered from your sister and briefly landed on the man who arguably was the reason you were all here.

Armando Aretas. The man that had cursed her family and the name that once made your stomach churn. As you observed him in the water, gun poised, you couldn't summon hatred, only a detached indifference.

She couldn't stop reliving their first meeting, each detail etched in her mind like a broken record. She knew everything about his case: Armando, Mike's son, tied to the cartel, infamous for his role in her grandfather's and other officials' deaths, and locked away in maximum security for the past few years.

Her empathy, seen by her mother as a weakness in their line of work, blurred her objectivity. She resisted this notion, yet felt a pang of sympathy for Armando.

His life story was a tragedy in itself: manipulated by his mother, misled into dark deeds, and shattered by the revelation that his beloved father was actually the cop his mother had him hunt down. It was a complex web that stirred sympathy despite his crimes. The nature versus nurture debate, something she'd studied in school, fascinated her. She pondered how upbringing and genetics influenced choices, even in someone as troubled as Armando.

Despite his past, she sensed a glimmer of remorse in Armando, especially in his recent efforts to clear her grandfather's tainted name.

Urgency had drove her to burst into Dorn's house upon receiving a cryptic message warning of Mike, Marcus, and Armando's presence, and urging her not to call the police. She remembered her eyes scanning the room, and then her eyes met his: emerging from a file, unmistakable even dressed in a bud light shirt and a truckie cap.

His expression faltered briefly, something flickering in his eyes—recognition, perhaps regret? She swiftly looked away, her mind racing. She was quick to make a beeline for Dorn, who sat at his desk, scrutinizing security footage.

The sound of gunshots shattered her focus. "Shit, shit, shit," Dorn muttered as the footage flickered and went out.

Panic surged through her. They had been warned not to intervene, but with the situation unclear and no backup in sight, the three of them impulsively decided to join the action, Dorn pressing hard on the accelerator.

They arrived too slowly for her liking, but she was the first to kick open the van door and grab a gun, rushing towards the crumbling ruins where her sister and others were held. Dorn and Kelly followed closely, but soon they had to split up due to the overwhelming number of men on the other side.

Her sole focus was on rescuing her sister, ensuring she returned home safe and sound. The thought of anything happening to her sister was unbearable, a burden she couldn't bear to carry.

She moved through the abandoned building with caution, every sense on high alert for any sign of her sister or anyone really. The eerie silence enveloped her; the absence of gunshots and screams left a chilling void that unsettled her deeply.

Just as she was about to give up and retreat to regroup with Kelly and Dorn, she spotted her. A glimpse of straight brown hair caught her eye, unmistakably her sister. And she seemed to be alone as well.

"Callie!" she called out, quickly holstering her gun. In that moment, the danger and the looming threat of the hostile environment faded into insignificance. The girl turned around, and you couldn't help but release a laugh of relief, running her hands through her hair.

Callie spun around at the sound of her name, initially startled but then relieved when she realized it was only her sister. A smile broke across her face, and she rushed forward for a warm embrace. They held each other tightly, and she felt herself finally let go of the tension.

"I can't believe it's really you," she said, pulling back slightly to grip Callie's shoulders and study her face, as if fearing she might vanish into thin air.

For a moment, they were enveloped in their own little world, a bubble that felt impenetrable. It was just the two of them.

But then Callie's screams shattered the moment, snapping you back to reality. You whirled around, but it was already too late.

A stranger had grabbed Callie, and instinct took over as you lunged forward, gripping the man's arms to pry him away from your sister. In his other hand, a knife sliced into your shoulder. Adrenaline dulled the worst of the pain, but you winced as he withdrew the blade.

Positioning yourself between the man and your sister, you shielded Callie instinctively. You swore you wouldn't let anything happen to your sister again, not on your watch.

Preparing to confront the assailant, you adopted a fighter's stance, your shoulder throbbing but ignored in the heat of the moment.

Before the man could strike again, you glimpsed Armando over his shoulder, gun trained on the back of the man's head.

Their eyes met, and in that instant, they shared an unspoken understanding. She saw trust in his gaze—at least for this crucial moment.

Wrapping her arms protectively around Callie, they both dropped to the ground just as Armando squeezed the trigger. The deafening silence that followed was broken only by the thud of the man's body hitting the ground.

Your eyes remained fixed on Armando as he swiftly approached. There was a hesitation in his movement, a conflict evident in his expression, before he went against his instincts and extended his hand towards you. Part of you wanted to rebuff the gesture, to stand on your own, but you couldn't deny that he had just saved both you and Callie's lives. Reluctantly, you reached out and grasped his hand, allowing him to help you up.

As they stood face to face, you realized just how much taller he was, which added to the lingering tension between them.

Their eyes locked in a silent exchange—yours clouded with confusion and a whirlwind of thoughts, his dark and intense. You cleared your throat, breaking the moment that felt like it stretched on for an eternity.

Helping Callie to her feet, you felt your sister's arm wrap around your waist, a comforting embrace amidst the chaos. Together, the three of them navigated through the abandoned building, searching for an exit. It took some time, but finally, Callie spotted a glimmer of light cutting through the darkness—a way out.

You felt a brief surge of relief, quickly snuffed out by the sudden emergence of danger. Three assailants descended upon Armando with lethal intent, their knives flashing in the dim light. Despite taking a few hits, Armando fought back with fierce determination. His movements were swift and calculated, deflecting blows and retaliating with precision.

Beside you, Callie clung to you in fear, her wide eyes darting between the unfolding violence and your uncertain face. Should you intervene? Part of you wanted to let justice play out, to see if these men would finally meet their comeuppance. But Callie's presence reminded you of innocence untouched by the darkness that surrounded Armando.

"Run!" Armando's command pierced through the chaos, directed at both you and Callie. Callie wasted no time, obeying without question as she sought safety. You hesitated for a moment longer, torn between curiosity and caution. In the end, the instinct to protect prevailed, and you guided Callie to a secluded spot, instructing her to hide and close her eyes until it was safe.

Returning to the fray, you joined Armando just as another assailant attempted a sneak attack. With swift reflexes, you seized the attacker by the neck, swiftly incapacitating him with a forceful chokehold. As he slumped unconscious, you brushed off the dirt and debris, refocusing on the ongoing struggle.

Armando had managed to evade most of their attacks and had already neutralized one of the attackers. But the sudden, deafening blast shattered the night, signaling the arrival of an unexpected adversary. A helicopter descended violently from above, crashing through the glass roof of the building. Smoke billowed, obscuring vision as its menacing blades sliced through the air with deadly intent.

Caught off guard, one of Armando's assailants faltered, his footing lost in the confusion. The helicopter's blades found their mark, hurling him away with a sickening thud.

"Let's go," Armando's urgent voice cut through the chaos, and he extended his hand towards you. Without hesitation, you grasped it tightly, knowing that in this moment, trusting him was your only option. He started to move in one direction, but you tugged gently on his hand, indicating the opposite direction. Confusion flickered across his face, silently questioning your choice.

"My sister," you explained quietly, nodding towards where you had left Callie. Understanding immediately, his expression softening, You hurried towards where Callie was hiding, Armando following your lead without protest.

When you reached Callie, you gently released Armando's hand and cupped your sister's face, relieved to find her unharmed but visibly shaken. Her eyes, wide with fear, met yours briefly before you focused on reassuring her.

"Let's get out of here, Callie," you murmured softly, helping her to her feet. Armando remained close by, a silent pillar of strength amidst the chaos. With Callie beside you, you navigated through the debris-strewn building, every step a cautious move towards safety.

The sound of sirens grew louder, their wail promising help and rescue drawing nearer by the moment. But as the cacophony echoed through the shattered building, Armando's presence beside you felt heavy with unspoken tension. The sirens, usually a beacon of hope, now cast a shadow of unease.

You glanced at Armando, catching the furrow of his brow and the distant look in his eyes. The sirens weren't a comfort to him; they were a haunting echo of the prison cell waiting for him when this was finished.

They had found themselves deep in the forest, the uncertainty of their surroundings providing a little more safety than the building they had just left.

Armando, who had been their steadfast protector through the chaos, now showed signs of weariness that had gone unnoticed in the heat of the escape. As he slowed to a stop and slumped against a nearby tree, it became painfully clear just how dire his situation was.

You had been laser-focused on guiding Callie to safety, shielding her from the danger that had threatened their lives moments before. Now, as you turned your attention to Armando, your heart sank at the sight of him clutching his shoulder, his face contorted with pain. The urgency of the escape had overshadowed his injuries, and guilt gnawed at you for not noticing sooner.

"Hey," you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern and regret. Crouching beside him, you carefully inspected the wound, your eyes tracing every line of pain etched across his features.

Callie hovered nearby, her own worry mirrored in her eyes as she watched silently.

With gentle hands, you lifted his hand to examine the injury. The sight made you wince; it was clear this was no ordinary cut or scrape. Blood seeped through torn fabric, evidence of the violence that had unfolded only moments ago.

His eyes followed your every movement, studying your reaction with a hint of amusement. Despite the pain etched on his face, a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed your subtle grimace.

"You squeamish?" His voice, husky with pain yet laced with a hint of playful teasing, caught you off guard. His ability to crack a joke in such a dire situation surprised you, momentarily breaking the tension that hung heavily in the air.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. "That obvious?" you replied softly.

With practiced efficiency, you tore a strip of fabric from your shirt and began to wrap it tightly around his arm, applying pressure to stem the flow of blood. Your hands moved swiftly, guided by a combination of urgency and careful precision, your focus unwavering despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Armando watched you work in silence, his eyes hooded with a mix of pain and something else—something you couldn't quite decipher. The forest around you seemed to fade into the background as you tended to him, the rustling leaves and distant sounds of wildlife a distant backdrop to the moment.

As you worked to stabilize his condition, you couldn't shake the feeling of his gaze upon you, the weight of his silent observation palpable. The atmosphere between you shifted subtly, a current of unspoken emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Armando's breathing was shallow, his complexion growing paler beneath the layer of sweat that glistened on his brow. You noticed the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, the signs of light-headedness and erratic heartbeat becoming more apparent.

"Stay with me, Armando," you murmured softly, your voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty. Your fingers continued their careful work, applying pressure and adjusting the makeshift bandage as needed. Each touch was gentle yet purposeful.

The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you worked, the rustling of leaves serving as a stark reminder of the isolation that surrounded you. But then, the snap of a branch shattered the fragile calm, jolting you back to the present.

Armando stirred beside you, a reflexive movement to rise, but you placed a firm hand on his uninjured shoulder, commanding Callie to keep him still. Instinct took over as you swiftly drew your gun from its holster, your training kicking in as you flicked off the safety and aimed towards the source of the sound.

Tension coiled in the air as seconds stretched into eternity, your senses heightened and focused on the approaching threat. Then, emerging from the shadows with an air of nonchalance that belied the danger of the situation, was Mike.

"Woah," Mike exclaimed, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I've had way too many of those pointed at me today."

Relief flooded through you, dissipating the tension like a punctured balloon. You rolled your eyes at Mike's antics, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the moment. Slowly, you returned your gun to its holster.

"Nice to see you too, Mike," you replied, your voice laced with a mix of gratitude and amusement. The bond between you and Mike was one forged through shared dangers and trust, a connection that transcended the chaos that had brought the two of them together in the first place.

Callie, sensing the shift in atmosphere, dashed towards Mike and enveloped him in a tight hug. "I missed you too, kiddo," Mike chuckled warmly, ruffling Callie's hair affectionately. His gaze shifted beyond her, settling on Armando who now seemed to be regaining some color despite his injuries.

Mike wasted no time after his affectionate exchange with Callie. With a sense of urgency, he made his way to Armando's side, offering him a steadying hand and helping him to his feet. You followed closely behind, observing with a mix of relief and concern as Mike scanned Armando's body, his brow furrowed with worry.

"You alright, man?" Mike's voice was filled with genuine concern as he assessed Armando's condition. Armando managed a silent nod in response, his exhaustion evident in every line of his face and posture.

The moment of quiet reassurance was abruptly shattered by the distinct click of a gun being cocked. Instinctively, all four of you spun around, eyes scanning the shadows and underbrush that surrounded you. The forest, once serene and tranquil, now seemed to bristle with unseen threats.

Your hand instinctively went to your holster, fingers curling around the grip of your weapon. Mike's stance shifted subtly, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he positioned himself between you, Callie, and the direction of the ominous sound. Adrenaline surged through your veins, sharpening your senses and heightening your awareness.

"Who's there?" Mike's voice rang out, firm and commanding. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement or threat. Your grip tightened on your weapon, prepared for whatever might emerge from the shadows.

Minutes stretched into eternity before a figure finally emerged from the dense foliage.

The tension in the forest thickened to a suffocating level as my mother emerged from the shadows, a gun leveled directly at Armando. My initial shock at seeing her dissolved into confusion and concern as her serious expression betrayed no hint of recognition or relief.

"Mum?" I managed to utter, my voice wavering with a mix of emotions. I instinctively released my grip on my own gun, hopeful that her appearance meant salvation rather than further danger. But her unwavering aim at Armando shattered any illusions of safety.

My gaze followed hers to where Mike stood defensively in front of Armando, his posture protective yet tense. Callie's distress was palpable as she clung to Mike, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. You stood frozen, torn between the desire to protect Armando and the urge to comfort your mother.

Mike attempted to reason with her, his voice calm yet urgent, but the anger and betrayal radiating from my mother were unmistakable. It was clear that words alone would not sway her resolve. As the standoff intensified, I knew there was only one path forward.

With hesitant steps, you moved to stand between your mother and the trio —Mike, Armando, and Callie. Your hand stretched out in a silent plea, a gesture laden with unspoken desperation and determination.

"Mum, please," You implored softly, my voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of a plea for reason. "Put the gun down."

My mother's gaze flickered between me and the men behind me, emotions warring within her. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the sounds of rustling leaves and sirens fading into insignificance.

"Move away from him," your mother commanded, placing emphasis on every word, gripping her gun tightly. "And take your sister with you."

Callie ran towards you and with a burst of bravery, challenged her mother. "He saved my life," she let out, looking between Armando who was watching the scene unfold, unsure of his fate and her mother who stood rock solid.

"He saved our lives," you joined in, turning to Armando with a look of determination.

For a moment that stretched agonizingly, she hesitated. The gun trembled imperceptibly in her grip, her resolve faltering under the weight of you and your sisters plea and the truth that stood before her.

Finally, with a shuddering exhale, she lowered the gun. With the gun lowered, the confrontation over, you should be happy, and yet a new wave of unease washed over you. Your mother's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Go, before I change my mind," she finally uttered, her voice strained but resolute. Callie wasted no time, rushing to envelop your mother in a tight, reassuring hug. You stood apart, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, wondering if you should go to your mother and Callie, or help Mike and Armando.

Turning away from the tender moment between mother and daughter, you approached Armando and Mike at the edge of the dock. Together, you helped guide Armando onto the boat, Mike offering last-minute fatherly advice that echoed softly against the backdrop of the lapping waves.

Watching them, you couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for Mike—a man who had spent so little time with his son now bidding him farewell under such dire circumstances. It was a scene that tugged at your heartstrings and made you glance away, the ache in your chest growing more palpable by the second.

Instinctively, you reached for your necklace, fingers searching for the familiar weight against your skin. Panic fluttered as your touch met empty space. Looking down, you realized with a sinking feeling that the chain must have snapped during the chaos. It was a simple necklace, a gift from Callie—a token of your bond, adorned with the initial of your first name.

Before the full weight of loss could settle in, a voice cut through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the boat now drifting further into the horizon. Armando's smirk was unmistakable as he held up the shimmering necklace in his hand.

"Thanks for the necklace," he called out, his tone carrying a mix of mockery and triumph. "Until next time cariño."

The engine roared to life, drowning out everything around it as Armando steered the boat away, disappearing into the vastness of the sea.

"Callie is going to kill me."

the request:: Y/n attend Armando wounded as they was against the tree. Y/n were much more hurt than him didn't tell anyone your breathing was heavy but well y/n didn't care, he was the only thing that mattered. She stopped her mother from killing him.

#piastri rots #⋆˚࿔ lovemymeninorange 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#armando aretas #bad boys #bad boys ride or die #jacob scipio #armando x reader #armando armas

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scoobydoodean · 8 months ago

Note

would love to hear more about the “chuck was the one who brainwashed cas and kelly actually” theory, thank you :)

Okay so I'm going to sound like I'm not addressing your question at all at first but just bear with me.

One of the primary reasons that the baby brainwashing incident fascinates me is that Cas's actions are a betrayal of his and Dean's bond on a foundational level. I'm not talking about The Colt or the mixtape (though they're related).

Dean and Cas's relationship as handler and charge was shed and a real, genuine bond bloomed in 4.22, after this exchange:

DEAN Destiny? Don't give me that "holy" crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families -- that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn? CASTIEL What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam. DEAN You can take your peace... and shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise.

These are the words that convince Cas to rebel. These are the words that dissolve Cas's doubts in doubt, and convince him to follow his convictions instead of act on blind faith. Shortly after this conversation, Cas flies Dean to Chuck, who tells them what they're up to isn't supposed to happen. This becomes a theme of Dean and Cas's relationship.

Together, Dean and Cas do things that aren't supposed to happen—that aren't part of God's plan. They do something Chuck explicitly says isn't supposed to happen in 4.18. They do something that Chuck explicitly says isn't supposed to happen in 4.22. They do something that Chuck explicitly says isn't supposed to happen in 5.22.

Dean and Cas's relationship, at its very core, is built upon the rejection of two things: 1) Destiny and 2) Paradise—and by the end of "The Future", Cas explicitly (in the production draft) embraces destiny and paradise... and that screams Chuck.

This is what Cas says to Kelly right after the devil baby brainwashing at the very end of "The Future". The "Paradise" part doesn't make it to the final cut—just the "future" part... but the Paradise part is implied by the "future" part anyway.

What else happens in "The Future"? Kelly says the line.

It's not supposed to happen this way.

She says the line that Chuck said every time Dean and Cas defied the writing during the first apocalypse by doing something Chuck couldn't or didn't anticipate. Kelly says this after Sam and Dean catch up to Castiel—after Sam and Dean convince Cas to just talk through all of this with them and not jump to the nuclear option of murdering Kelly—to consider an alternative plan where Kelly and Jack's lives are both preserved because Jack is born a regular baby. The moment Cas begins to agree to talk, Kelly says "It's not supposed to happen this way."

Now let's talk about Kelly. Her behavior this entire episode is insane. She begins the episode despairing because giving birth to Jack will kill her. She then tries to kill herself, but Jack won't let her die—and this throws Kelly into a sort of religious fervor—convincing her that Jack is actually good and could revolutionize the world. Her belief in this is so powerful that when Sam and Dean arrive, she immediately rejects the plan they've come up with that will spare her and Jack's lives:

Sam: No, Kelly, if you go with Cass, you die. Your baby dies. Kelly: I go with you, you take away the thing that makes him special.

She sounds nuts. Like. Imagine saying you'd rather you and your baby DIE than have a "normal" baby. Your baby HAS to be a special baby or you'd rather be dead? Uh... ew—and to a point that screams supernatural brainwashing.

Of course—Kelly's actions aren't quite as irrational as they seem because right before Sam and Dean arrived, Kelly was shown something by "Jack". She got Cas to lay his palm on her belly, and "Jack" showed her a vision of the future. After she takes off with Cas in the impala, she says,

When you put your hand on my stomach, I heard him. He spoke to me. He told me that even if it seems scary, if I just went to the gate, if I just followed your plan, that you would make sure he was born.

So even as she's driving herself straight into Cas's plan to kill her and her baby, Kelly believes everything will be fine—because "Jack" showed her the future... and the thing is? She's... not wrong. "Jack" did show her the future. "Jack" showed her a tiny moment that actually does happen at the end of the episode—Cas standing between her and Dagon and saying "You stay away from her".

Why do I keep putting "Jack" in quotes here? Because Jack never displays the ability to see the future after his birth, and yet "Jack" did have this power from the womb... only? Yeah... I'm not so sure. I'm wondering if it was someone else—someone who showed Kelly what they had already written.

I'll also note in 13.01, that Jack doesn't seem to remember... any of this happening—at least not in the same way. In fact, he recalls very little leading up to his birth. The way he describes it, his sole knowledge of the world prior to his birth came from Kelly speaking to him while he was in the womb... but also... not? Because he says he was Kelly?

SAM: How do you speak English? JACK: My mother taught me. SAM: So you talked to her. JACK: I was her. JACK: My mother, she said Castiel, he would keep me safe. She said the world was a dangerous place. That's -- that's why I couldn't be a baby or a child. I... That's why I had to grow up fast. That's why I chose him to be my father. Where is he?

It's all pretty confusing, but something blinks at me here: Jack says Kelly told him Castiel would keep him safe and indicates that he chose Castiel as his father based on Kelly's assessment. However, Kelly told us Jack showed her the future which told her that Castiel would keep Jack safe back in 12.19. These are two contradictory stories. What if a third party sowed both?

Two other little bits:

First:

Kelly: Maybe – maybe everything that I've been through, everything that I still have to go through, is happening for a reason. Maybe it's part of some plan. Castiel: No, it isn't. I used to believe in a plan. I used to believe that I had some mission. But I have been through enough now to know that everyone is just winging it.

Castiel does a 180 on this by the end of the episode and it screams Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck.

Second:

If you go to the 12.19 production draft (graciously provided to the fandom through @/spnscripthunt) on page 45, you'll see something that never made it to screen—Cas's vision of paradise.

Only—these visions don't seem to come to fruition unlike Kelly's vision of Cas protecting her. The bits with Dean and Castiel's wings don't feel like the future anyway—they... just feel like what Cas wants most desperately at that time—to be a protector and provider who can handle everything on his own—who needs a "win". This is another theme of the episode. Cas stole The Colt in a misguided attempt to protect his family from having to be directly involved in the ruthless murder Cas had determined would be necessary. He didn't believe there was any other choice, and he wanted to spare Sam and Dean the pain of being involved in the dirty work.

Sam: Then – Then why didn't you call us? Cas, we could've helped you. Castiel: I know. I wanted to keep you out of this. I-I was trying to keep you safe. Dean: You're not our babysitter, Cas, okay? That is not your job. And when in our whole lives have we ever been safe?

This probably stings for Cas because he knows they aren't, and he wants them to be—he wants his family to be safe... all without having to discard his conscience by killing Kelly. He wants her to be safe too! The stuff he sees gives him what he wants--Sam and Dean and Kelly happy and safe—Dean thanking him—Cas once more a fully powered angel who doesn't need anybody's help.

But all of this stuff he sees? It's a lie. It's a lie because it never happens, but it's also a lie because destiny is always a lie. Paradise is always a lie. God's plan is just a way to keep them all in line... and Cas is trying to secure paradise for someone who said they'd take the pain and the guilt over someone else's vision of their paradise.

#mail #no one can control you but you #12.19 #13.01 #jack #kelly #and cas is my best friend #spn and causality #chuck #cas and power #castiels motivations

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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

Text

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Dubious Consent; Dark Fic; Doctor/Patient Relationship; Forced Orgasm; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Power Imbalance; Exploration of Power Dynamics; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say. I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too.

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date.

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died.

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as.

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now.

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream.

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait.

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here.

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else.

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him.

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence.

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too.

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.”

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch.

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?”

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come.

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately.

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red.

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that.

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it.

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.”

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go.

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself.

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical.

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–”

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat.

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know.

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad.

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.”

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess.

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either.

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you.

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested.

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking– “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum.

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room.

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing.

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever.

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak.

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready.

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter, trail off, voice small and unsure.

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted.

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl.

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel.

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day.

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought.

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs.

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you.

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.”

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know.

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them.

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now.

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life.

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless.

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips.

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it.

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver.

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him.

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with.

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.”

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you.

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be.

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.”

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear.

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him.

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.”

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel.

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan.

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more.

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this.

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give.

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him.

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this.

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him.

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.”

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself.

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking.

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you.

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us au #Joel miller smut #dark joel miller #dark fic #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal characters

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themultifandomgal · 5 months ago

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Kelly Severide- One Hell Of A Day

Thank you for the request @maximeseveridecasey I changed it slightly. Also I wrote it then lost half of it! So I’m sorry if the ending seems a little rushed. I’m also no expert at medical situations so if I get something wrong I’m really sorry. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

The day started out as any other. Kelly and I woke up in our shared bed, the smell of the fresh linen hits my nose and I had put on fresh sheets the night before. Kelly and I started our usual routine I made coffee while he showered, then he made breakfast while I showered. Just like any other morning when we’re on shift together.

Early on in the morning we arrived at firehouse 51 together and everything was going well, that is until 2 hours into our shift. I started to feel uncomfortable in my stomach, thinking it could be just my period on its way I took some pain killers which helped. Yes, painkillers helped until they didn’t anymore.

I stand leaning over the sink having an awful pain shoot through my side when the alarm goes off. Groaning I stand up feeling a hand on my back

“You ok Maxime?” my boyfriend asks worriedly

“Yeah just my period coming” I tell him trying not to worry him, but that fails because I can see the worry creeping over his face already

“Sure?”

“Yeah. I’m fine” I dismiss him with a weak smile

“Max let’s go!” Dawson shouts for me hanging her body out of the drivers side of the ambulance

“Coming” I give Kelly a kiss on the cheek before jumping into the passenger side. The drive to the house fire feels like it’s very slow. The whole time I am shifting about trying to relive the discomfort in my right side which causes Gabby to notice

“What’s up with you today? You look like your about to puke, cry and scream all at once”

“Just my period on its way making me feel like crap. Let’s just get this over with so I can crawl into a bed and go to sleep”

“You mean a certain lieutenants bed” I glance over to look at Gabby who’s giving me quick look wiggling her eyebrows. I roll my eyes in response at her making her laugh.

Once arriving to the fire I can see smoke pooling out of the windows. Jumping down I walk round the side of the ambulance as I watch Kelly run into the building with no fear. Pulling the stretcher out the pain in my side gets worse and now I feel like I could throw up any minute

“Max you don’t look good” Gabby tells me with a worried expression. Knowing there’s no point in lying to her I sigh

“Just don’t feel good today. As soon as we get back I’m just going to nap”

“We’ve got a victim here fallen down the stairs. She unconscious and has possible spinal injuries” Gabby and I look at one another before quickly running into the burning building.

Immediately I can see a woman lying on the floor with a nasty looking gash on her forehead. Between the both of us we get her on the stretcher. Suddenly there’s a huge blast that throws me across the room. My ears ring and the pain in my side almost becomes unbearable. I look around and notice smoke and fire all around us. Coughing I wait for my hearing to come back. When it finally does I can hear both mine and Gabby’s alarms going off

“Gabs?” I groan

“I’m here. You ok?”

“My legs trapped”

“Severide, Casey do you copy”

“We’re ok. How are you and Max?” I hear Casey radio to Gabby

“I’m fine. Max has a cut on her head and her legs trapped under a beam”

“We’re on our way stay put”

“Wasn’t planning on it” I try to joke but start coughing. In no time at all Matt and Kelly are here helping Gabby pull the beam off my leg making me scream and cough

“Let’s get your leg checked out” Kelly says picking me up and carrying me out of the building

“Kel, my side hurts. Like really hurts it’s not my period”

“Ok when did it get worse?”

“Just has throughout the day”

“Ok let’s get you in the ambo and to hospital”

At some point I fell asleep, because as I come to and try to open my eyes everything feels way to bright so close my eyes again

“Hey” I hear Kelly’s voice. I try opening my eyes again “do you want a drink?” Only now do I notice that my voice feels scratchy and dry. I slowly nod my head yes and Kelly is quick to grab me a cup of water. He places the cup against my lips that immediately feel less dry, and take a sip. The cool water soothes my throat. After drinking the small cup Kelly places it down “how do you feel”

“Like I’ve been throw about a room” I attempted to joke but can see Kelly doesn’t quite find it funny

“Babe why didn’t you tell me the true extent of the pain you were in. You had appendicitis. They burst when you passed out before we got you in the ambulance”

“It only got really bad when we go to the scene. I was going to relax when we got back”

“Ok” Kelly bends down and kisses my forehead then smooths any loose hair “the others are waiting outside to see you. Want me to let them in?”

“Sure” I give Kelly a smile and watch him get up before leaving the room. I’ve loved that man for a long time now, but as soon as I’m better I’ll be proposing to him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

#one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago fire #chicago fire imagine #kelly severide x oc #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide x yn#kelly severide imagine #kelly severide

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 7 months ago

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Alternate Series Finale - Protective Lillian AU

When Lex takes Lena, he's quick to lock the anti-magic device around her wrist. Lena immediately feels the effect-- a weight on her chest, her energy sapping away. But she pushes through it, refusing to let her brother see any weakness. Thus contained, he's confident enough to thrust her into the chamber where he's stowed Esme without further restraint.

"Lena!"

Esme flies into Lena's arms the moment she lays eyes on her aunt. Lena bundles her close, carrying her to sit on the bed as Esme sobs. She soothes her, closing her eyes against the drain of the device on her wrist.

"It's okay," she promises. "I won't let anything happen."

In that moment, Esme's relief is so great, and she feels so loved, that the love totem transfers to Lena. Neither of them notice the change, until Lex comes to check on it, and finds the totem is no longer on the back of Esme's neck. He quickly puts the pieces together.

"You will always fall into the light," he echoes, smirking at his sister.

When it comes time to make the trade for the allstone, Lex does bind Lena's hands, lest she try anything foolish. Regardless, Lena still hoists Esme into her arms, whispering for the girl to hold onto her, and not let go.

At the rendezvous point, Lena stands with Lex and Nyxly, watching the rest of the team gather at the far end of the bridge.

"Release them," Kara orders, her voice stern and fierce as Supergirl.

Lex smirks. "You can have the girl," he allows. "As a show of good faith."

He nods at Lena, who regards him for a long moment before deciding that chances were good he'll honor his word. After all, Esme is no longer of any value to him, now that the totem has chosen Lena.

Lena crouches, setting Esme on her feet. "Go on, sweetheart. Your moms will keep you safe."

"What about you?" Esme asks, her chin wobbling.

Lena gives a reassuring smile. "I'll be okay. I promise."

She presses a kiss to Esme's head, before giving her a gentle push towards the center of the bridge where Alex and Kelly wait. Esme walks hesitantly towards them, then sprints the rest of the way until she's swept up in Kelly's arms and shuffled to the back of the group, out of the line of fire.

"Now the allstone."

"Lena first," Kara demands.

"I don't think so." Lex lifts a small remote in his hand, and clicks a button. In an instant, electric fire arcs through Lena's body, making her scream as she falls to her knees. When it passes, Lena is left gasping, and nearly rolling her eyes.

Of course the device on her wrist would serve a dual purpose.

"The allstone," Lex repeats.

"Supergirl, don't--" Lena's plea comes too late.

Kara reluctantly opens her fist, and the moment it comes into view it flies through the air to settle into Nyxly's palm. She and Lex share a mutual grin of triumph. With a twist of Lex's watch, a portal opens behind them.

When Lex hauls Lena back to her feet, Kara cries out. "You have what you want! Let her go!"

"And let you have her?" Lex tsks. "You should know me better than that, Supergirl."

With that, Lex and Nyxly step back through the portal, dragging Lena with them. The last thing Kara sees before the portal winks out is the fear in Lena's eyes.

----

They shove Lena back in the same room as before, but this time, without Esme to put on a brave face for, Lena falls into the bed, exhausted. With her magic dampened, part of her life force is no longer accessible, and she declines quickly.

By the time Lillian comes to speak with her, she finds Lena feverish and pallid, her sallow skin slicked with clammy sweat. Her eyes barely flicker open when Lillian cups her cheek, smoothing the damp hair from her face.

Lillian is livid. She takes Lex to task when he comes in to visit, but he remains unfazed. "You should know better than anyone how dangerous magic can be," he says. "Isn't that why you hid all those talismans around the house?"

"She's your sister," Lillian reminds her son.

He shrugs. "And my murderer, remember."

When he leaves, Lillian remains. Because what Lex doesn't know is that his mother has pilfered Lena's signal watch. Gazing at her daughter for a long moment, she makes her decision.

She activates the signal.

#supercorp #protective lillian au #alternate series finale #love totem #total brainworn #just know i havent seen the finale since it aired #so i dont even remember why they needed the allstone and the totems both #oh well

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anikaluv · 1 year ago

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I'LL BE THERE —

❤︎︎ pairing: Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw: stalking , Miles being a barbie kinnie, reader realizing there’s no escape lmao

❤︎︎ summary: Miles was your ex from a year ago, and you had completely moved on, blooming in your new life. So, why was he just now popping up everywhere?

❤︎︎ w/c: 800

❤︎︎ a/n: Was thinking about how Barbie has a million different jobs and went like, “What if that was Miles?”

E!42 MILES getting so frustrated in an argument you two were having; looked you dead in the eyes and spat, "If you don't like that shit, you can get up and leave."

E!42 MILES being genuinely shocked when that is precisely what you did, thinking this was just gonna be another one of the little squabbles you two were used to having

E!42 MILES realizing in the next following months that you could live perfectly without him and move on, while he, on the other hand, was going through the worst turmoil of his life

E!42 MILES deciding that whether or not you wanted him in your life, he needed you in his. So he was going to get you back no matter what

E!42 MILES turning around to greet you with a cheeky grin on his face at the cafe you’ve been a regular for the past 6 years as the barista going, “Hello precious, ¿Qué será para ti hoy? (What will it be for you today?)”

E!42 MILES ignoring your look of surprise as he jots down your usual order that he already has memorized and then has the audacity to look back into your eyes and ask, “Can I get a name for the order, please?”

E!42 MILES a few days later watching as you pull in your cart full of groceries to checkout and couldn't help but laugh mischievously when your jaw dropped when seeing that he was the cashier. (He made sure to scan your items very slowly)

E!42 MILES becoming the bus driver of the bus you took every day to work. Pulling up to your bus stop, opening the doors, tipping his hat, and greeting you with a playful smile. "Mornin', mi vida (my life), pretty day, ain't it?", ignoring your eye roll as you stepped onto the bus.

E!42 MILES who “coincidently” ditches the home gym he’s been using since he started being the prowler and starts going to the exact same gym as you, sucking in his breath when he sees you squat in those tight seamless shorts

E!42 MILES who’s happy to treat you and your niece to some ice-cream at the park inside of the ice cream truck he now works at, playfully chuckling at you as you arrogantly shoved the money into his chest.

E!42 MILES sitting comfortably in a salon chair at your normal nail salon as a nail tech, ready to paint whatever design you desire on your delicate fingers

E!42 MILES who types into his computer at your local bank as your bank teller, prepared to enter in your weekly / monthly checks when you walk in. Taking your check out of your hand to observe it, acting shocked like it’s not its about the same amount every time. “Woah, cariño (darlin’) , did’nt know my girl worked this hard.” (He was proud of you, he knew his girl could achieve anything she wanted on her own )

E!42 MILES who welcomes you openly to his salon chair at your favorite hair salon when your usual stylist “happens” to be out of town going, “Hey mami, you want the usual?”

E!42 MILES at your library organizing books loudly while you’re studying for a important exam, holding his finger at your lips when you’re about to explode and scream and whispers, “Baby, this is a quiet environment, quiet your lips f’me aight?”

E!42 MILES clocking in as your yoga instructor at your yoga studio only on the one day of the week you go, wearing a purple headband with a tight tank top and yoga pants that showed the ass you didn’t know he had. You groaning as he does doggy style shouts, “Thats it ladies! You want to really arch your back like this!” while smirking. (Kelly Clarkson’s “What doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” is playing in the back)

E!42 MILES who works at your local mall at Nike on one knee in front of you happily assisting you put on one of the pairs of shoes, locking eyes with you the whole time wearing that smug grin he always got. (When he was finished you kicked him in the face before he got up, but lets be honest, he probably fell in love more)

E!42 MILES being on the plane you were taking to move and get away from him. Wearing his flight attendant uniform and slowly making his way down the aisles. Finally getting to you and turning to you as that cute scowl appears on your face while nonchalantly saying, “Would you like some pretzels, ma? They gluten-free.”

E!42 MILES chuckling loudly when you downright ask him why was he following you everywhere like a stalking creep, amused that you haven’t gotten the message yet

E!42 MILES picking up your chin to make you give him all of your attention, leaning down to where your lips brushed against each other, and spoke in a quiet tone no one else heard,

“Doesn’t matter where you go or what you do conejita (bunny), I’ll be there."

ENDING A/N: Is this really extra and extremely unrealistic, damn right. But its funny.

TAGLIST: @janaeby @bellstwd @nmgstuff @axeoverblade @zaddyskye69 @agstuffsworld @spidrstar @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @popeheywardssecretgf @lumineliax @fukingsad @wisteriaflowersss @crxss01 @joliety @fiannee @sylisan

TAGS:

#anika❤︎︎writes #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles fluff #prowler miles #atsv miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader

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bellewintersroe · 1 year ago

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Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter!

Part 1, ahh yes my fav trope to write about, Leni is Christian’s daughter and has practically grown up with Max. It’s fair to say her feelings are more so than platonic, but after years of repression, and Max drunkly opening up about his sour relationship, can something become of them? Here is Part 2.

here I am writing another series when I can’t even finish my other ten 🙄- also no disrespect to real life Kelly im just using her for my story rn lmao. Warnings: mention of skinny dipping, alcohol consumption, no cheating (hell no) but Max goes on a rant about his unhappy relationship to an unsuspecting Leni…

“Are you going in?” Max questioned, fisting at the dry sand below. We were lazing on the dark beach, several of our friends had stripped and run into the Monegasque sea, others were dotted around, snogging their partners or random people that they’d picked up from the bar. It seemed like it was just Max and I weren’t fancying the water so much.

“In the water? I don’t think so.” He laughed as I attempted to spot the several people in the water, the darkness made it too difficult and I shuddered at the idea of getting lost out there. I glanced back over to Max, scanning over his face that was lit up by his I phone torch.

“Are you?” The Dutchman asked, drunkly swaying as he sat in the sand like a child. “In the dark, in my clothes, nuh uh.” “Just take your dress off.” My teeth sunk into my bottom lip with a gentle breath of laughter. The only thing being friends with Max was that I’d had an unwavering crush on him since 2014, when he signed up to Red Bull and started working with my dad, Christian Horner.

We’d been close. We always were close friends, a little awkward when we were younger, the three year gap made that teenage stage feel uncomfortably tense between us, but now we were on the other side we’d come out even closer.

“I can’t.” My cheeks warmed, as I hiccuped, taking a sip of the champagne bottle I’d taken secretively out of the bar. Max reached over, fingers swiping over mine as he took the bottle, taking a few sips of the bubbly alcohol.

“I’ll go in if you do.” He shrugged as I picked up some sand, letting it fall out of my fist, piling up below. “No I don’t… I don’t have a bra.” I awkwardly admitted, it was a good thing he couldn’t see me blushing. “Oh!” Max exclaimed, that familiar tension growing between us. I always felt unbearably guilty when I felt it, especially now I was single. Max had a girlfriend, they’d been together a year, but I couldn’t intercept their relationship. Morally it wasn’t right.

“Max, where’s Kelly?” I then inhaled, turning the conversation back to his girlfriend. I prodded at my thigh with my acrylic nail uncomfortably. “She’s at home.” He simply answered. “She should’ve come.” I twisted my acrylic further against my skin.

Max hummed, nudging me with the bottle. I didn’t realise he’d been holding it out for me. “Oh.” I took it again, taking a few more swigs.

“Take it slow on that.” Max laughed as I giggled, digging it into the sand. “Sorry…” I then glanced back to where our friends were screaming and laughing from. “Maybe I’ll… maybe I’ll go in.” I began pushing myself up, phone stuffed in my bag.

“Oh, you are?” Maybe his comment prior stirred something up inside of me, I felt all hot and bothered, like I needed to rid the adrenaline from my body. “Yeah.” Standing up, I watched Max stand up too, tossing his phone under my back as I slipped out my heels, shaking my head in amusement. “Fuck it.” Clearly I didn’t think it through, putting this tight dress back on when I was wet and sandy would feel vile. I reached back, attempting to unbutton myself, but I felt Max’s warm hands brush over the fabric, unfastening the clip for me, bringing my zipper down so I could reach with my own hands. My lower stomach warmed and flipped, my core tightened and I felt an undeniable sense of becoming aroused at his touch.

“Thanks.” I swallowed, unzipping myself fully. “Just- don’t look.” I warned, part of me wanted him to watch- no Leni that was wrong. I stripped without turning back, hearing him do the same before I covered my breasts with my arms, hurrying towards the water.

As soon as my toes hit the water I was numb to the cold, the alcohol warmed me and I stumbled in, hearing cheers from further out in the water.

“Max! Hurry!” I gasped, roaming deep enough to where my nipples were covered. The swell of my breasts were still dangerously close to being exposed, when I turned around he was a few feet away, cringing at the cold of the waves, rolling against his exposed skin. “Can you even swim?!” He questioned out with a gasp. “Can I swim? Of course I can swim!” Did he think I looked like I couldn’t swim? Because that was offensive.

“Let’s go deeper then.” He swim past me, wading out to where our friends was. “Nuh uh, I’m too scared I’ll drown!” “Leni, you won’t drown!” He exclaimed. “Yeah, why would you?” Our friend, James made his way over, I knew he was trying to tug me out. “James no! I’ve got no top on, don’t!” I panicked out a laugh, spinning around in circles like I was being surrounded by a shark. We must’ve been in the water for a good half an hour before I got too cold and the motion was making me feel sick. When I’d got back to the shore I sat for a while on my phone, kept warm by the sticky night hair. “Are you cold?” A voice approached and I held my dress tighter over my chest. Stand was clinging to every crevice, and it was taking a lot longer to dry than I hoped. “Im just too wet to put my dress back on.” I cringed at the sensation.

“Here.” He handed over his shirt, holding it out. His torch was switched back on as he glanced over my bare body. The only thing covering me was a tiny pair of white thongs.

“Oh, no, it’s okay.”

“No, no take it, you’re naked… almost.” Max glanced down again as I tensed my jaw. “What will you wear?” I took it from his grasp, fingers sliding over his wet ones.

“I’ll be fine.” He adjusted his boxers slightly, clinging to him from being so wet. He flopped to the floor, groaning as the sand covered him before grabbing at the bottle that was still half buried into the sand below.

“Thank you.” I slipped the shirt on, kneeling up as I buttoned it up twice, the material covering my perfectly. The scent of Max’s cologne filled my nostrils and I hugged the large too tighter around myself. “You suit it.” He nodded in amusement as I spun around, dropping my phone back onto my bag. “You think?” I giggled, sitting across from him once again. “Yeah.” He rasped, nodding as I snickered to myself. Max took another swig of the bottle, holding it out for me. When I had a mouthful of the alcohol, Max spoke again.

“How’s it being single again?” I almost choked, swallowing a rather large mouthful of champagne before dropping the bottle back down. “Um…” I felt a smirk growing. “Interesting.”

“Because you were with him for quite some time? Right?”

“Four years.” I nodded, my eyebrows perking. “Wow.” Max hummed. “Mmm, I just grew out of it. He was my first everything when I was, what? 17? I loved the boy but… things just didn’t feel so- the same.” “The same as in how?” Max gently asked as my gaze landed on his. “Well, I just… things changed, I didn’t feel as close to him, my feelings went- I think I hung around with him for a whole year because of guilt.” I admitted, the alcohol spurring on my thoughts.

“A year?” Max asked as I sadly laughed. “Yeah… but I’m happy being single, I mean I have been for what? 4 months? I’m really happy.” My voice faded as Max smiled gently.

“He wasn’t so nice to you was he?” He then blurted out as my head snapped up. “What?”

“Nothing- just, well your dad- he mentioned a couple things.” Max stammered as a slight embarrassment filled me.

“I didn’t realise he told you about all that stuff.”

“He doesn’t really. It was just a passing comment.” Max shrugged, gaze falling down to the sand below. “He just got a little controlling, you know? Didn’t like what I was wearing or who I was friends- ah, anyway, I got the ick effectively.” I straight up admitted.

“Great.” Max laughed as I smiled to myself. “Besides all that- how did you- how did you know it was… you know.” He awkwardly spoke as I rested my chin on the back of my hand. He sounded vulnerable, like he was about to open up, maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it made my heart beat faster. Max and I always had conversations, rarely those that were deep. “Know what?” I softly asked, sensing his tension. “How did you know it was fully over?”

“Well, the idea of his friends and family was more appealing than him- as in I was scared to lose them not him.” I spoke. “I didn’t have that attraction anymore, he wasn’t my priority, like, what used to be fun felt like… it felt like a task almost.”

“Yeah.” Max responded. “And- and I never think I truly was into the relationship. I was so young when we got together, I don’t think I knew what I want.” I giggled, but his lips only reached into a crooked, half smile.

“To completely honest I didn’t want to have sex with him.” This comment made him smile a little more, something I enjoyed to see knowing I’d made him smile. It fell quiet between us once again. “How’s your relationship going?” I then asked, hoping it wasn’t too personal. Max took a sharp inhale, sitting up straighter. “It’s okay, yeah.” I winced at the insincerity in his voice. The two of us sat there in a second of awkward silence.

“Good.” My voice barely reached above a whisper. “Yeah.” Max’s head dropped once more. His next words startled me into a speechless shock. “I don’t think I love her, Leni.” My heart felt like it exploded, my eyebrows perked and he could see my shock openly on my face.

“What? You don’t think? Maybe that’s just a stage though, maybe it’s too early-” “No, no. I know.” Max cut me off. It was like he’d just gotten something off his chest that he’d been holding for a real long time.

“How do you know?” I was dumbfounded, I felt an uncomfortable sense of guilt that I knew all of this about Kelly, before she did. “Everything that you’ve just said. I love P, I don’t really like her family that much- god we just… we don’t click.” Max ranted as I tightened my jaw, staring down to the glow of his torch.

“How can I be with somebody for a year and tell them this?” Max asked as I winced. “How long have you known?”

“Leni.” Max drunkly sighed into his hands. My heart continued thumping furiously in my chest. “I just know this feelings been there after she lived with me.” Max rubbed his face, looking back up to me again. “That was six months ago.” “Yes.”

“Oh, Max.” I sighed. “You just… you should just tell her.”

“She put herself on the mortgage which doesn’t end for another year.” He groaned again as I felt my lips stretch in an ‘oh shit’ manner.

“That’s…” I glanced around back to where all the houses were, searching for something to say. I was just riddled with a sense of guilt for feeling oddly happy about the admission, it was a horrible way to feel- I hated myself for it.

“Shit.” He answered for me as I looked back to him with a sad smile. “You need to tell her. You can’t keep it going, for both your sakes.”

“I know.” He nodded as I smiled gently, offering the bottle back to him. “Here, Max. You’re gonna need it…”

#max verstappen angst #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #HornerDaughter

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