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mothandpidgeon · 4 months

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Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

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pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you.

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller.

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely.

Her words still ring in your ears.

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life.

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said.

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you.

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart.

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder.

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says.

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask.

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room.

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid.

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you.

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better.

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now.

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say.

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture.

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say.

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh.

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles.

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her.

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there.

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time.

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face.

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy.

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen.

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself.

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze.

“Mercy?” Sarah asks.

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass.

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air.

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her.

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around.

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.”

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night.

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller.

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away.

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands.

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor.

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps.

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something.

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies.

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral.

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break.

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster.

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk.

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground.

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence.

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you.

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged.

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete.

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her.

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet.

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill.

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway.

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers.

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says.

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her.

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle.

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck.

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away.

You wait for a long time.

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now.

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes.

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine.

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare.

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you.

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family.

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope.

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning.

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday.

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt.

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you.

He left you to die but you just go on living.

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night.

You’re on your own.

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone.

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her.

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead.

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head.

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk.

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north.

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival.

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you.

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal.

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven.

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached.

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall.

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table.

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home.

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you.

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright.

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage.

“That really you?” he asks.

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope.

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife?

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner.

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller.

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up.

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become.

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up.

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel.

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival.

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago.

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath.

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall.

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened.

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks.

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out.

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes.

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says.

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you.

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious.

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself.

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder.

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark.

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back.

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say.

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing.

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall.

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel.

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today.

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine.

“You okay?” Ellie asks.

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much.

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall.

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers.

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken.

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says.

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out.

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache.

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted.

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you.

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded.

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves.

“Want some company?” you ask.

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in.

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him.

“Surprised you remember,” he says.

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.”

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living.

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything.

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck.

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down.

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.”

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him.

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says.

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says.

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear.

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him.

A thick knot forms in his throat.

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment.

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch.

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end.

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out.

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky.

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen.

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect.

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask.

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains.

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates.

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since.

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes.

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile.

“How’s she look?” you ask.

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods.

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair.

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library.

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor.

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all.

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”.

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved.

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly.

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink.

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy.

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing.

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet.

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago.

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek.

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours.

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it.

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say.

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went.

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night.

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning.

And then you kissed him.

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing.

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone.

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you.

That’s when he heard it.

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong.

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you.

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again.

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself.

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you.

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you.

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon.

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth.

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs.

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says.

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply.

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says.

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life.

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there.

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips.

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open.

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers.

“Stay,” you murmur.

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back.

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress.

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well.

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further.

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could.

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.

After a while, though, it happens.

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them.

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light.

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment.

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him.

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper.

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up.

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever.

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want.

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul.

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass.

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him.

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him.

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply.

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this.

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories.

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before.

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back.

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?”

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft.

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself.

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all.

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart.

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection.

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years.

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller fic #bfd!joel miller #jackson!joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic

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halemerry · 1 year

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So there's a lot to unpack here but I want to start by talking about the ending and specifically about the Metatron and the calculating moves made at the end of episode 6.

Every single piece of what happened there was a manipulation technique being employed against Aziraphale to an almost brilliant degree and I'm honestly a little obsessed with what this says about the Metatron in particular.

Let's go in order.

First of all. We see him order coffee. In a human body. Something sweet and sugary. He talks to Nina and asks her about her shop name. Does anyone ever ask for death? And when she tells him no they don't his response is to say "so predictable". Our introduction to him here even when everything about him reads like a sweet old man is presented to show us someone who reads the world in terms of being predictable to him.

He then shows up in the middle of Aziraphale's existence being threatened. He immediately cuts down the threat's authority (using outdated language like Az himself would favor) and reemphasizes his own connection to Heaven. When Michael doesn't recognize him and he puts her down and then directly engages Crowley. Crowley who, to Aziraphale, has for centuries at a minimum been someone he thinks is smarter, better, more Good than these other archangels. The Metatron validates these beliefs. Crowley is more Heavenly than these archangels who couldn't even recognize the voice of God when he was standing right in front of them.

The Metatron draws attention to the fact he's in a human body. The kind of body Aziraphale has been in and loved for nearly 6000 years. He then banishes the archangels, implying their morality is in a gray space, and validates Muriel someone we have seen Aziraphale react positively to and someone outside the current power structure. Look at me, he's saying. I see and validate the little guy.

He then tries to talk to Aziraphale. Aziraphale says "I've made my position quite clear." And then the Metatron offers Aziraphale the coffee. This bartering chip, consuming sustenance, is a thing that Aziraphale and Crowley have used as their connective tissue for centuries. It's an olive branch for them. It's giving Aziraphale bodily pleasure and the Metatron implies that he himself has partaken also - a thing we know that Aziraphale has struggled historically with moralizing. He is seen by the closest thing he has left to his parent and he is having old fears validated as safe and old habits being played upon to make him feel secure

He then REMOVES Aziraphale from his home turf. Not only does he remove Crowley from the equation but he takes Aziraphale from the place that has stood as a place of sanctuary throughout the entirety of the season. The shop is Safe and Aziraphale is leaving it and he is leaving the one person who might be able to smell the bullshit coming from the Metatron. The music notably turns absolutely dire here.

The next time we see them the Metatron tells Aziraphale that he doesn't need to answer instantly. He can take his time, if he likes. All the time he needs. And then tells him to go tell Crowley. Once again bringing Crowley in as a valid part of this while manufacturing a scenario where he can't possibly be.

Az ends up in a place where he's overwhelmed and confused and he wants so badly to believe what he's being told. It's an appealing thing from his perspective! He feels off kilter like he's made a mistake in judging the Metatron. He can't even fully articulate what happened to Crowley at first and he's had absolutely no real time to actually think it through. He's running on sheer reactive energy.

The Metatron starts their conversation by asking Aziraphale's opinion. Who should rule Heaven? This is once again playing into making Az feel validated and like he's a part of this decision making process. The Metatron corrects him, complimenting Aziraphale and making him feel capable and in control. He reassures Aziraphale's bafflement. And draws attention to some traits that, while true of Aziraphale around Crowley, are not his defining traits in the eyes of Heaven. You don't just tell people what they want to hear I find particularly notable in this regard given Aziraphale spent most of his time on earth actively lying to Heaven and doing just that. But it fits into the narrative Aziraphale has built around himself, especially post Apocalypse. The Metatron then says I need you (a phrase Az will use much more painfully here in a minute).

And even after all this Aziraphale says no. He says flat out he doesn't want to go back to Heaven. He says this!!! And then the Metatron sweetens the pot. He swaps tactics. Not once has this come up until Aziraphale pushes back against the idea. If the Metatron could've gotten him without using it I have no doubt he wouldn't have bothered with it. Come to Heaven and we can save Crowley. Aziraphale loves Crowley. Aziraphale thinks Crowley is better than any of the angels he's interacted with. Crowley is Good and Nice and Kind and always saving him and now he's being presented with a way to return that. He can Forgive Crowley - a thing Crowley has always presented to Aziraphale as something he struggles with. All of these things Aziraphale has watched Crowley react to in a way that belittles himself or distances them from one another. Of course he wouldn't consider that maybe what he was actually saying is "I'm unforgivable and I don't want that forgiveness."

The Metatron offers Aziraphale a Dream Offer for the pre Armageddon Aziraphale. You can keep your Crowley. You can heal him like you have always thought he deserved. You can have power and control the people who for your whole existence has beaten you down. It can go back to how it was but BETTER.

When Aziraphale leaves he still hasn't answered. He goes and has the conversation they have. It's intense and emotional and the Metatron comes in after the Moment all casual and asks how it goes, knowing fully well the shitstorm he had just set up to get created. And then he turns around and says "always did want to go his own way" which is not only true of Crowley but framed as a bad thing despite the fact that he has just spent twenty minutes or so telling Aziraphale that he's done his own thing and that is Good. He is playing both sides of this perspective as it suits him. And then he cuts down Crowley asking questions, pressuring Aziraphale to avoid doing the same. He then proceeds to ask Aziraphale not if he's made up his mind but if he's ready to get started. He is one by one closing off exit routes to this thing as Aziraphale starts to look more and more panicked and indecisive. He makes sure the bookshop is in good hands and asks Aziraphale if there's anything he needs to take with him. Letting Aziraphale have the illusion of choice while cutting down "I don't want to" as an option altogether.

And Az, as soon as the Metatron is out of shot, tries to express this. And then he falls back right on old coping methods. The Metatron pats him on the head. Reassures that he's the right one for this. That he is Good. That his particular skillset is needed here.

It is a masterstroke of manipulation. A very dark twist on what we see Crowley do time and time again with Aziraphale throughout the millennia. Familiar in a way that makes Aziraphale feel safe. Except this time this is being used to put him back in line. It's brilliant and painful and it fucking hurt and I need a season 3 to see the Metatron get what's coming to him stat.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #Metatron #Aziraphale #Episode 6 #Every Day #good omens meta

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ashherahh · 1 month

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your first date + first interactions with your future spouse

Note: Please take it if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. Meditate before making your decision. It's completely okay if you don't resonate with this reading. The collective is huge and I'm sure you'll receive the messages you need in due time.

pile 1

Cards: King of Wands, The Sun, Temperance, The Fool, Four of Wands

I literally giggled when the first card popped out! This is a very much a "When I see you, it's on sight" kinda situation.

I'm not saying you'll get hot and heavy on your first date (maybe), but I'm picking up that the attraction is very energetic and very, very strong. You feel like you met someone who matches your freak in every way.

I'm seeing a lot of smiling, giggling. They make you nervous, you'll probably not realise how much you're blushing until you decide to go to the restroom and see how absolutely down bad you look. You'll leave the date with your cheeks hurtin'!

I'm picking up a very chilled setting as a first date, the date itself is very low-key but damn, the vibes... The vibes are immaculate. Either you or your future spouse immediately know that you're it for each other. Maybe both of you realise it at the same time!

For some of you, you might be on a dating app or your friends put you on the dating up and you matched with your future spouse. The conversation was quite normal, no real fireworks and that's why your first date was at a very neutral place. But y'all, when you see each other and start talking and laughing, FIREWORKS!

For others, I see you apart of the same group of people. Like you might have mutual friends and see each other at parties and events or whatever. They always caught your eye and you always caught theirs but you never really spoke to each other. There's an image clearly in my mind for some of you, you're sitting on the couch with this person while a party is dying down (finally, sort of alone). There's sparks, connection, it's all so intimate.

I'm seeing New Year's might be significant for this pile. There's a lot of physical and spiritual attraction here. It's also very giddy. It's that feeling you get when you just can't stop laughing, an overwhelming joy.

pile 2

Cards: Two of Swords, Judgement, Five of Swords, Wheel of Fortune, Six of Cups, Three of Wands

Your future spouse plans your first date. They really wine and dine you actually. They're more of a romantic than you are. When you meet your future spouse, one of you is looking to settle down and be in an exclusive, proper relationship and one of you is on the fence.

My dear reader, I feel like you'll be the one on the fence.

For some of you, there's a person in your past you felt like should've been your end game but it seemed like there was something always missing. You might be in a state of right person, wrong time and it's left you feeling hopeless. You're sorting of still waiting on them...

When you meet your future spouse, it's like you're going on a series of dates to get this past lover out of your mind. Your future spouses energy is very gentle and understanding, but you're not really paying attention in the beginning. They are willing to wait for you.

This isn't an immediate knowing. You don't know this person is your future spouse when you meet them, you might be seeing a few people while seeing them. I'm not seeing cheating but I am seeing is that you two don't get exclusive immediately.

You're feeling out your options. Deep down you're afraid of making the wrong one and a part of you is like, is there even a wrong one? Do I believe in stuff like The One? Your past lover did a number on you, I can see.

I do see that everything eventually comes to a head and you need to make a decision, I see you making the right one for yourself in that space and time. Don't worry, your future spouse does stick around and I see you two smoothing all the rough patches.

pile 3

Cards: Strength, The Chariot, The Moon, Page of Pentacles, Two of Cups Rx, Ace of Swords Rx

Interactions with your future spouse leave you feeling like you're in a game of cat and mouse. Oh my goodness, they make you flustered! Oh, but you keep telling yourself they're not your type and you will not date someone like them.

You guys know of each other for a while. Maybe you went to the same schools or you even met them at uni and they just always left a sour taste in your mouth.

Hectic, I'm picking up strongly that you're turned off by them because they always have their foot in their mouth and they say dumb shit to you. That's hilarious! Be a little patient with them, you make them nervous.

Goodness, I see them treating you like royalty and they just want to be your loyal subject. Oooh, they literally just want to please you. If you ever do give them a chance just know that you're getting SPOILED.

They're going above and beyond for your first date and even though you have the impression of them that they're a bumbling oaf, you're surprised by how much attention to detail they put into everything. For some of you there's three parts to your first date, it'll last for hours actually and in that time, pile 3, they ended up cracking you open like a walnut!

You have to let your heart guide you in matters of the heart. Your mind will not be able to understand what your heart is telling you. This is especially the case as your future spouse challenges your idea of who you envisioned your future spouse to be. Good luck, babe!

#tarot #tarot readings #tarot community #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a card #tarot pac #tarot love reading #witchblr #witch community #intuitive messages #intuitive readings #ashherahh

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undreaming-fanfiction · 6 months

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My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #stranger things drabble #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #dustin henderson #lotr steddie #ish #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread we die like Boromir MY BOY #ahem this got long #Steve the redorkifier Harrington #Eddie the reemerging dork Munson

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icarusredwings · 21 days

Text

Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?

We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?

At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.

Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.

On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"

"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."

"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.

"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.

Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.

"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."

"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."

"Yes? And?"

"And.. what did you do to him?"

"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.

"Oh thank you. What is it?"

"It's you."

"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"

"Mhm!"

"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"

So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.

At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.

".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"

Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.

Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"

"About 2 hours or so."

"Why?"

"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."

"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"

"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."

"Theyre horses."

"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."

Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."

Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.

Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."

From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.

#logan howlett #wade wilson #Althea Anderson #blind al #mary puppins #dogpool #sfw regression #sfw interaction only #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadpool #deadpool 3 #worst wolverine #is the best wolverine #“He doesn't quite get it but he has the spirit” Caretaker Logan Howlett #colouring book #buttercup the horse

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vanteguccir · 8 months

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗚𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗪𝗛𝗢'𝗦 𝗪𝗛𝗢

　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N participates in the new Sturniolo Triplets tiktok, but doesn't actually appear in it.

WARNING: None.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N closed the door to her shared room with Chris, heading up the stairs as she hummed a Taylor Swift song under her breath, her eyes focused on the screen of the phone in her hands, where Twitter was open and she was reading the new Grammy's gossip.

The first thing the girl noticed when she arrived in the kitchen was the triplets all together, their backs to her and looking at the counter while laughing.

"What are you guys doing?" She asked, putting down her phone while locking the screen, putting it in her pocket, and focusing her attention on the three brothers.

Chris turned around quickly, having been startled by the sudden appearance of his girlfriend, placing his right hand on his own chest while calming his breathing.

"Hi Y/N!" Matt smiled, waving his left hand in a quick wave.

"Hi Matty." She replied with a soft smile, moving closer to the three and looking at the counter, her eyebrows furrowing when she saw several of the triplets' things scattered around the space. "What are you doing?" Y/N asked again, leaning her right shoulder against Chris's chest as she felt his left arm surround her, bringing her close.

"It's for a tiktok, it's a little game where the fans will have to guess what belongs to who." Nick explained, holding his phone with both hands in the air, the rear camera facing the table, ready to take a picture of the first items.

"But there are things of mine in there." Y/N commented, seeing some of her beauty items among the others.

"Yes, that's because Chris carries your stuff everywhere." Matt said with a shrug. "That part of the products are things that we carry in our backpack or in our pants pocket."

A sound of understanding left the girl's mouth as she snuggled closer against Chris, watching Nick take pictures of all the items separately.

It was true that Chris took a lot of her things with him, even if Y/N already stated that he didn't need to do it, it was the boy's habit since it had previously occurred to her that she needed something and felt frustrated for not having it with her at the moment. With that, Chris made it his little mission to always buy two of the girl's essential items and carry one of each with him too, either in his backpack or, depending on the size, in the pocket of his sweatpants or jeans.

Furthermore, Y/N's have also an habit to stick stickers on everything she owned (toiletry and make-up bag, purse, phone or tablet case, etc.), and after her relationship with Chris became something more serious and intimate over a year ago, the girl started sticking stickers on his things too.

It was something that amused her and that the boy loved, he said that when they weren't together, he just needed to look at his wallet or his laptop and he would see a little piece of her with him.

Y/N smiled warmly when she saw each of these things in each picture that was taken:

The first one with the laptops, in the middle of all the colorful stickers there was a teddy bear with a pink bow around its neck;

In the second, the wallets one, Chris's was decorated by the Prada brand and by an small sticker of a striped heart on the upper left;

In the third one, with the jewelry was a hair tie in the color of Y/N's hair;

In the fourth, the backpacks one, Chris's also had a pearlescent keychain hanging with a baby pink tube of hand sanitizer;

In the sixth one with the headphones, Chris's only had one little letter in pink, the initial of Y/N's name;

In the seventh, the care products one, in the middle of Chris's products was a lip gloss from Rhode and a small tube of hand cream from Sol de Janeiro.

Of course, if the girl were to look for her everyday bag right now, she would have a million of Chris's things too, since he was a guy who liked self-care. It was something personal for them, a way of taking care of each other and always carrying a little piece of their lover.

Chris lowered his head slightly, sniffing the scent of fresh shampoo from Y/N's hair before sealing his lips over the top of her head for a few seconds, hiding his smile as he noticed all the little parts of his girl among his things.

The boy shook his head slightly, the comments on that tiktok would go crazy, and he was all for it.

"Now, who's hungry?" The girl asked after Nick took the last picture, smiling when she heard the oldest shout that he was and Matt smiled, nodding his head while saying that he was too.

"Can you make mac and cheese in that way that I really like? Pretty please?" Chris asked, turning her so she was facing him and smiling big.

She nodded while laughing lowly, rising on her tiptoes and kissing Chris's lips quickly before walking over to the fridge, grabbing all the items to make the dinner requested.

A smile spread across her face when she turned around again and saw the triplets glued to each other, smiling as they looked at Nick's phone screen, probably reviewing the pictures he took.

She shook her head in amusement, placing the items in the sink before fishing her phone out of her pocket and taking a quick picture of the three, making a mental note to send it to Nick later, already knowing that it would probably be in the next photo dump.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"the fact that the tiktok was about guessing what belongs to who but it was obvious what was Chris's because of the little Y/N things he has in the middle of his own 😭"

"THIS IS SO CUTE OMG"

"the hair tie 😫"

"you know Y/N has good taste when she uses SOL DE JANEIRO hand cream"

"Y/N the biggest clean girl on this site"

"the teddy bear sticker 🥺"

"I'm sure there must be a picture of Y/N inside Chris's wallet"

~ "petition for Chris to make that trend "picture in my wallet" ✏️📄"

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after-witch · 4 months

Text

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?”

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words.

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting.

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again.

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all.

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes.

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances.

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly.

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him.

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug.

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you.

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book.

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach.

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter.

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.”

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own.

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant.

And you… you actually glare up at him.

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it.

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.”

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face.

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns.

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.”

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away.

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his.

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact.

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

#yandere mahito #yandere jjk #mahito x reader #smiling man #look two obsessions in one!#afterwitch writes

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humanpurposes · 10 months

Text

Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

#michael gavey #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey x ofc #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #my fics

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starryknight-tarot · 11 months

Text

𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴

pile 1 -- > pile 2 -- > pile 3 pile 4 -- > pile 5 -- > pile 6

my masterlist<3 . paid readings Hello beautiful souls ✨ I'm back! Today I will be looking into the compliments said behind your back. Remember to meditate, take a deep breath, and pick whatever pile calls to you the most. My readings are meant for everyone, no matter what sexuality or identity you are. Since this is a general reading, make sure to take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the artist of the pictures, but if you know please let me know in the replies!

Pile 1 Cards: Page of Swords rx, Ten of Swords rx, Eight of Wands rx, Knight of Wands rx, Strength, Eight of Pentacles, The Star, Two of Cups Back of the Deck: The Hierophant

One of the first things I picked up for this pile is that someone finds you hot as hell. While I was shuffling I heard something like, "damn pile 1 is so sexy". So for sure, there are some people out there biting their lips for you Pile 1. I am also picking up that people may not tell you this directly cause you may come off as kind of intimidating to some people. But people also find this intimidating side of you very attractive. I am picking up that people find you to have a very strong presence, they see you as a very powerful being. Some people even think of you as a sort of god. That's so fun Pile 1, you got worshipers lmao. For some of y'all, you are a lot of people's boss and your co-workers find you SO COOl. You might be really fun to work with or the people you work with see you as very efficient and responsible. People see you as the master of your craft, the best of the best. There is something that y'all are really good at and people are always in awe by your talent. You may also just have a lot of talents in general. I am picking up for a specific group of y'all, you are a really good rapper and people find your rapping skills to be flawless and so satisfying to listen to. You may also just be extremely musically gifted and there are so many people that find you so talented. Y'all have strong Soyeon of (G)i-dle vibes. Like we got the Star, in other's eyes, you are a shining star, ready to show the world all the talent and beauty you have to offer. People also really appreciate the time and effort you put into the things you are passionate about, you make sure to add such small details that add to everything you do. People notice and love the way you don't rush yourself and it always has the best end result. I am getting this may be my Latino/Hispanic pile (not for everyone ofc) and I am getting that if you do speak Spanish, people find it SO SEXY when you do, like people just can't help but MELT. Although spirit is telling me you may actually hear people say this to you. There are plenty of people who are in love with you but are scared to confess. I am picking that some of y'all actually don't hear too many compliments and it makes you think lowly of yourself, but Pile 1, people love you and find you so amazing. Spirit really wants you to know that you do more than just take up space in this world and that you are more than worthy of all the things you want in this world. If you want it, then it's yours.

Advice Cards: Reflect on the state and use of your personal energy A change in attitude toward the greater good could be beneficial Remember that in universal law, all is well and fair It's time to challenge old beliefs Release what you do not need. Let go of some extraneous aspect of your life You are intuitively gifted. Trust your guidance

Channeled Song:

Pile 2 Cards: Three of Pentacles, The Magician rx, Two of Pentacles rx, Seven of Cups, The World, Nine of Cups rx, Four of Swords, Ten of Pentacles Back of the Deck: Knight of Pentacles

One of the first things that spirit wants me to mention is that you get A LOT of compliments. I think people overall enjoy spending time with you, I feel like your energy is almost addicting to some people. You have the kind of vibe that people will talk about how much they liked you, years into the future. You are the kind of person someone would mention in their speech about how they made it through a tough situation if that makes sense lol. I feel like when people think back on you, they can't help but smile. You also have a very bright smile, it makes others want to smile with you. Spirit is telling me you might have unique teeth that are memorable like a snaggle tooth or a gap in your teeth and people that think it makes you look super cute. Some people out there are talking about how sweet and kind you are, you have shown a lot of kindness in the past and it has made an impression on people. I am also getting that people are always talking about how smart and capable you are, for example, in group projects at work or school people hope they can work with you. You get your work done efficiently and people think you make tasks look easy. People think you are very independent and easy to talk to. People think you have everything you could ever ask for, it just comes to you. It's like you don't even need to work for the things you want because your manifestations naturally fall into your lap. For example, if you want a promotion at work, everyone knows you are the best for the promotion like it was made for you. People think they will never find you slacking. People also find you very physically attractive, some of y'all have had a glow-up and people can't help but admire your beauty. A lot of people admire and appreciate your body, especially if y'all are one of my curvy, big-bodied baddies. Some people even think you have the potential to be a model. Someone is comparing you to a mermaid. I am hearing "They are majestic and almost like a princess/prince" and I was even picking on sleeping beauty vibes. Overall, I think people compliment your kindness, good looks, and attitude towards life. People also just find you really cute.

Advice Cards:

This challenge is intended to promote your growth

Awareness opens a field of possibility in your life

Be bold! It's time to leap forward!

You may need to take a break from the situation or simply take rest

Your spirit wings are unfolding. It is time to take flight!

It is time to unclutter your body, mind and spirit

Channeled Song:

Pile 3 Cards: The Wheel of Fortune, The Sun, Eight of Swords rx, Two of Swords rx, The Emperor rx, Eight of Wands rx, Ten of Pentacles, Four of Cups Back of the Deck: Five of Cups

I love your energy so much Pile 3! People find you very fun and bright. People find you really funny, like absolutely hilarious. You have a very comfortable vibe. You might be the kind of person that makes you feel like you could tell anything. You make people feel heard and important and people remember the words of encouragement you have told them and they will remember them years later. There are many people who see you as family. I am getting some people may feel more comfortable around you than their own family. I heard "Being with you is like being home" and for some people, home is wherever you are. They talk about how you are able to light up a room with just your presence. A room can go from awkward and tense to fun and full of smiles with just one word from you. Strong extrovert vibes from y'all, you could be the type of person to collect a bunch of introverts and make them your friends. I'm hearing you are a safe place for introverts lol. I'm even getting a certain amount of you are introverts, but tend to be more sociable than most. You are an open communicator Pile 3. People appreciate your honesty and your way of communicating, it might be something certain people haven't experienced much of in their life but you offer very healthy conversations and everyone loves that about you. I am also getting people really like how blunt you are, you aren't afraid of saying it how it is and standing up for things you don't think are right. For example, if a teacher or professor is saying some bullshit and being disrespectful to their students, you aren't afraid to call them out on their shit. You are a person of action and motivation and people are so envious. I am also picking up some of y'all might be dancers or like to dance and people LOVE your dances.

Advice Cards:

Allow rituals to give meaning to your spiritual life Remember that in the universal law, all is well and fair Physically and/or mentally, shape up Stand your ground Change is being introduced into your life Practice the pause

Channeled Song:

Pile 4 (yall get an extra card sshhh) Cards: Ten of Swords, Nine of Wands rx, Knight of Pentacles, The Wheel of Fortune, Four of Swords, King of Wands, Ten of Wands, Ten of Cups, Queen of Cups Back of the Deck: The Chariot

One of the first things I heard while shuffling was "They won the genetic lottery", I definitely see y'all getting a lot of compliments about your appearance. I just saw some people may feel almost blinded by your beauty. Damn Pile 4, you got some simps. Some people like to admire your body, you may be really into sports or have a very conventionally attractive body. I am getting some of y'all might be pretty insecure about your body but trust me Pile 4, people are envious of your body and may even find themselves staring, especially if you wear tight clothes or just something that compliments you well. I seriously feel like some people feel like they are under your spell. Your fashion in general is really pretty too, like people notice how well you dress yourself and I am even getting some of you inspire others to dress like you. I also feel like people love the conversations and words you offer. You are genuine and real, people don't feel like you are faking yourself to be liked or anything like that, and they really like that about you. I heard, "I mean, Pile 4 is just so cool", you are the kind of person people get one look at and think "Man I wanna be their friend", people also really want to form a connection with you that lasts a long time, they want you in their future. People are also saying you are an INCREDIBLY hard worker, you are really wise and push yourself to be the best at your craft and people really admire that about you. You are a very passionate person and people take notice. I keep hearing something I've heard some people throw around "It's not fair for someone to be hot and nice." and that's how people feel about you lol. People see you moving far in life, you have so much potential and people can't imagine you doing anything less than top-tier in the future. Man, I really feel like a lot of people fall in love with you at first sight. They see you as someone that got unspoken rizz, you attract people without even trying. (Kind side note, but I have known a lot of people who have the same energy as you, and if you ever feel like people only care about your looks and their interest in you is face level, trust me Pile 4, you have such a beautiful and loving energy and there are people who want to be around you for who you are. I don't know how many people needed that message but I was getting that it needed to reach some of you)

Advice Cards:

Get clear about what you want

Your acts of love, kindness, and unlimited forgiveness bestow grace upon you

The Universe supports your stance and decision

Yes, you can . . . Set it in motion!

Issues of balance are at hand

It is important to ask for help

Channeled Song:

Pile 5 Cards: Four of Cups rx, Six of Wands, Five of Swords rx, Three of Cups, Nine of Swords rx, Queen of Pentacles, The Sun rx, Nine of Pentacles Back of the Deck: Seven of Pentacles

People around you feel like you make the room. The group isn't complete without you. You radiate such a nurturing and healing energy Pile 5. I think the company you offer people is rare amongst the people around you and they really appreciate your presence You might be an empath because people think you always know what to say to make them feel comfortable and safe, I heard being around you feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket with hot coco next to a fireplace during a nice snowy day. I think some people see you almost as a parental figure in the way that you have been there for their highs and lows and help the people close to you grow into stronger and independent people. People have SUCH STRONG respect and admiration for you and the things you do for the people around you. You are the biggest fan of the people close to you and there is nothing that means more to them than to know that they have your full support for the things that they aim to achieve in their life. Your friendship and companionship is means so much to the people around you, they can't imagine life without you. You have helped people through some of the hard experiences of their life and now they feel like they owe their life to you. Even if you drift apart from some people, they will never forget the things you have done for them. To kind of move away from the soft vibes, Spirit is telling me some people think you have a beautiful butt, like the perfect butt lol. Like, you got some people staring Pile 5. People also see you as very successful, you have made a name for yourself and have a only good things coming towards you. People are happy because they feel like you are filled with good karma and everything you want will be attracted to you easily. I would also suggest yall to pick other piles cause 1. of course yall are getting all types of compliments 2. I kept picking up on other piles energies during this reading in particular so please pick another pile if you feel called.

Advice Cards:

It is time to take appropriate action

You can manifest your heart's desire

Release all that keeps you in the past. Forgive and liberate yourself!

You are moving beyond your old form. Congratulations!

Yes, you can . . . Set it in motion!

Allow rituals to give meaning to your spiritual life

Channeled Songs:

Pile 6 Cards: Three of Cups, The Hermit, Four of Wands rx, Knight of Wands, Eight of Pentacles, Six of Swords rx, The Tower, The Devil Back of the Deck: The Fool

One of the first things I was picking up on is that yall give such strong Marceline/Marshall Lee from Adventure Time vibes, in both fashion and personality which people think is really hot about you. If yall don't know, they are vampires and are some of the coolest characters in the whole show. So for some of yall, you give vampire vibes but in the best way, the way everyone loves. You may even like to dress a little more alternative or you have a more unique style that people really like. There is also something about your hair, especially if you have long hair, people think your hair looks really healthy and shiny. You may also play the guitar or bass and everyone thinks you are so good and they find it hot that you even play an instrument. You also may be very trendy or maybe people think you start trends. But you are also so mysterious and people just want to get to know you. Wow Pile 6, you are very interesting and eye-catching to other people like, you are definitely running through someone's mind rent free. Like I am seeing someone staring at their roof late at night being like, fuck I can't get Pile 6 out of my mind. I heard people find you very enticing. I am also getting for the people that do know you, they find you very silly and really fun to be around. You may put up a front to most people because you want people to think about you in a certain way, but the people close to you see that you are actually quite a soft and innocent soul on the inside and they all love you for who you are. People like the moments when you let your guard down and get real for a minute. People also really admire how you handle conflict, you are calm and collected in scary moments, or at least that's how you appear to the people around you and people are in awe of how you manage to deal with these conflicts. While for some of you, people may not like to admit it in person, they see you as quite the dependable and responsible individual. I am also getting for some of yall, you are a role model for the people around you and inspire people to try new things. I am also getting that people really appreciate how you are able to admit when you were wrong and be the bigger person in most situations.

Advice Cards:

You are moving beyond your old form. Congratulations!

Allow for old memories to come up and be released

A change in attitude toward the greater good could be beneficial

Reflect on the state and use of your personal energy

Be bold. It's time to leap forward

Things might not be as they seem

Channeled Song:

Thanks for tuning in₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

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cosmic-expressions · 4 months

Text

⋮ ♯; ⤷ hypnotized .ᐟ

i can't escape you, i'm hypnotized ―୨୧⋆˚

dan heng x fem!reader; smut, fluff, no plot; first time, emotional, awkward, a bit vanilla(?); multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, missionary, cowgirl; needy & whiney dan heng agenda; unprotected sex (but wrap it up irl); praise, marking, pet names, groping and touching and in general lots of smooching; overstimulation if you squint;

wc: 4.4k

a/n: hello on a new acc and idk what else to say except prepare for lots of nasty thoughts in the future. peace out. and quick taglist: @kuniihoonii @hoonieswhore (sorry if you didn't want to, I thought you'd like some more dan heng content by yours truly)

the night isn't so early, but it's not extremely late either; or at least you think so, since it's kind of hard to tell time while traveling through space.

but despite that, you're not sleepy; it's actually surprising because you're laying on the pile of bedsheets dan heng calls his bed. granted, the pile is comfortable... sometimes too comfortable, but a proper mattress wouldn't hurt... especially wouldn't hurt his back. and yours, by the way.

prepped on your elbows, you're laying on your stomach with legs up in the air, wiggling them back and forth, while you read a random novel you found in the pits of the archives. you had no idea the bookshelves would contain normal books, let alone such a genre: erotica.

despite its lack of logic or laws of physics, the plot is surprisingly good... or at least good enough to kill the boredom that's washing over you. the silence, at first calming and comforting, soon became too loud, as loud as silence can get. especially when one misses their beloved.

sighing, you close the book and look around the room again. dimly lit, enough to read comfortably, seems... empty. well, no wonder why, because there's only you in there. but usually... usually, even at such hour, dan heng is back, rummaging through the piles of sacred and not texts, books, and other papers he sorts. even if he's quiet, no music is playing, it's still not complete silence. the sheets of paper sweetly swoosh over each other, the pen smoothly traces letters, and the overall atmosphere is... comforting. but without him, no matter how many books you'll go through just to make some noise, it's still empty.

"here you are..."

when dan heng sees you on his... so-called bed, he can't help but sigh in relief. something about seeing you so comfortable in his room makes his heart flutter, even if it's him who had to get comfortable with this. when he lets you in in his little cave, you're a part of it; it's not his room without you around.

"where else should i be?" you frown slightly, confused by his words, features softening the second you hear his melodic voice.

"in my arms, obviously."

you laugh in disbelief, not expecting such a cheesy line from him. but when you see how one corner of his lips curves millimeters up in a snug expression, you can guess he was taking lessons from march and caelus.

"then come here. i've been waiting for you..." you throw the book aside and roll on your side with open arms. that smile of yours, one who could fight the sun with its brightness and warmth, is enough for him to cave in.

but he stops when he notices the title of the book you were reading.

he averts his gaze immediately, but the way his ears redden tell you everything. it wasn't a book from the express's archives. it was from his own collection.

you say nothing; instead, you cuddle with dan heng, limbs tangled and bodies squeezed together in a tight embrace. the moment is serene for a second, with your bodies tangled together and warming each other, being vulnerable and protective at the same time. with closed eyes, both of you relish in this moment of silence; not the empty one, but loud, loud, and intense with all the feelings you two have for each other.

dan heng tries, he really does; he doesn't want to put silent pressure on you, so he bottles up all the need for you. it gets to the point where every single one of his nerves is on fire, every muscle gets tense, and his body gets really warm. warm to the point that even you can feel it.

"is it about that book?"

"what?" he's doomed. he's so over. he's so-

"i know it's a book from your collection. but i don't know why you read such stuff... do you gather intel for... our first time?"

your giggle is cute and innocent, but dan heng can't take it anymore. he's intoxicated by you, swooned over you... straight-up horny for you and he can't keep it in his pants any longer.

"yes." he breathes out, heart thumping in his chest like a ticking bomb. taking a deep breath doesn't help him one bit, and when you look at him with lustful sparkles in your big, lovely eyes while you speak... he feels physical pain.

"are you ready, then? i know i am."

apparently, dan heng wasn't the brightest one, because all the signs, all the teasing you treated him with, were not enough for him to notice. but now it's the time. and both of you know that.

maybe he is horny to the point where he's like a ticking bomb, but he's still a clueless gentleman. his lips clash with yours, intertwining in a slow yet passionate manner while he lays you down on the sheets. your hands cupping his face, the soft skin of your palms, and the sweet taste of your lips make dan heng breath even heavier, coming in ragged pants.

he wants you so bad; to taste you, explore you, praise and worship you, just like you deserve. dan heng never caught feelings that caliber for anyone but you, and this? this is testing his limits. he's so close to cumming in his pants at the mere thought of your naked body, and yet here he is, hands under your t-shirt, reaching for the hem to take it off. he's excited, he's needy, he's so eager; aeons, he loves you so much. and he wants to show you how much he loves you.

"d-dan heng... give me a second."

your voice rips him out of his thoughts. then he realizes your top is off; you're left in a bra and shorts, while he's still fully dressed. that is not fair, he thinks.

"i'll- i'll take mine off, too-" he trails off, reaching for the zippers, quickly getting out of the upper part of his clothing.

"that's not- that wasn't the matter, but- thank you nonetheless," you chuckle and breathe heavily, the sight of your boyfriend's torso, making you only more aroused. trying to reassure yourself, you smile at him softly, hesitating a little to say anything.

"i love you. i love you so much. you know that, right? there's no one else for me but you."

you almost tear up; it's the first time he said it out loud. he told you at the beginning that it's hard for him, and yet... here he is. vulnerable with his emotions, ready to be vulnerable with you.

dan heng is fully aware of how this moment affects you; how it must be hard to feel so... exposed after years of trying to cover up. yes, he's in literal pain still, but he's ready to take it slow and eventually fuck his fist rather than hurt you in any way.

the way his eyes glimmer in the dim light, how they sparkle and glow with nothing but love and devotion while he speaks... that's it. you know he's not lying. you know he's genuine with you, and that he's ready to sacrifice himself for you...

you unclasp your bra and put it aside, getting rid of your shorts too. and when he notices the confidence, love, and commitment, he unzips his pants in seconds.

"may i- kiss you again?" dan heng breathes out, looking you in the eyes and getting lost in them immediately. when you grab his face in your palms and kiss him with urgency he never felt from you, he gives in.

"touch me. everywhere you want, but not there, yet."

"your wish is my command, princess," he mutters back, kissing you again and moving one of his hands to your waist, caressing the soft skin and curves of your body.

you feel his leaking cock against your thigh and by aeons, is it intoxicating. the thoughts to jump on him and fuck him until you pass out are loud, but, surprisingly, you can compose yourself for now. just savor this moment, feel it, and prepare by the way, you say to yourself.

and aeons, do you feel things.

his hands, big yet calloused, touch you so gently, almost as if it's a little fluffy cloud tickling your skin. he continues to spread his warmth across your body, placing his hands everywhere he can; waist, hips, thighs, belly – you name it, he touches it. but he doesn't dare to even think about touching your pussy yet, even if he feels how wet it already is.

dan heng growls quietly, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on yours with eyes closed, trying to compose himself again. it's hard, with his thoughts racing and spiraling down to his cock, he can't do this anymore, the battles persists and he's not the bravest soldier...

"dan heng? dan heng, can you look at-"

"no, i- i can't. i'm losing control already and- admiring your beauty like that is too much- i'll go to the bathroom and-"

"dan heng!"

the slight bonk you give his head with your hand gets him out of his thoughts, and he finally looks at you with the pain he's trying to suppress. you reassure him with a soft smile before continuing what you wanted to say.

"you can put it in... but slowly. you're- you're quite big and i'm not sure if it fits-"

"i'll make it fit, baby. it'll fit and it'll feel so good- but that's for another time."

the eagerness audible in his voice is adorable, making you chuckle and flustered. he kisses you lips again, exchanging saliva in such a needy and sloppy way. all you can do in such sudden moment is gasp and melt, letting his tongue explore your mouth.

you can feel how his cock is twitching in anticipation and need against your thigh, and the thought of finally feeling it inside makes you dizzy and wet; not in your wettest dreams you imagined his cock to be so... delightful.

"ready?" dan heng suddenly pulls away and breaks the kiss, looking into your eyes for consent. the way you stare at him with excitement, lust, and trust sends him into overdrive. he's not going bonkers thanks to the last thin strings of self-control.

"ready."

he almost drools and cums on the spot when he feels your dripping wet pussy. smearing the precum and your arousal over your entrance, dan heng lets out a few moans and whimpers; his cock is already so sensitive and the warmth of your folds inviting him almost make him cry.

"i love you so much, baby." he's mumbling into your ear while pushing his cock into your pussy, slowly but surely filling you up. the whimpers you two make mingle in the air, making a new sonata that's meant only for you, for this moment, never played again. this is it, this is the moment of pure bliss, where the usually closed heart of your boyfriend is pouring out all the love he has for you. only for you.

dan heng groans and whimpers in suffering, trying his best not to push himself all in at once. he breathes in and out, warm air getting out of his lungs is tickling your neck and ear, making you even more aroused.

"more."

he stops existing for a second, taking in your word. it's only one word and yet it's like a spark to the dynamite of need inside him.

"i need- more of you, you feel so- good," you start babbling, also getting lost in the pleasure. the soft yet demanding stare you give him says a lot; you're sure of what you say, you're sure what you want, and you're sure you want him.

"just a second, baby- i want to stretch you, not rip you in two."

the quiet whine you let out makes him whimper and throb inside you. he's so close to cumming, so close to giving it up... but he needs to wait a little more.

he can't do that when you suddenly cup his face and place a set of sloppy kisses all over his lips and jaw, whimpering and moaning softly.

you relax further, the reactions you get out of him with your little teasing are so cute that you can't help and giggle softly. rolling your hips a little, you help him push his cock further, slowly stretching you in such a delicious way.

"baby, no- i'm gonna-!"

dan heng tries to stop you and your greedy pussy, but he's helpless when his cock is hugged by your tight, velvety walls. with closed eyes, he shudders and rests his forehead on your forehead while he cums, his cock twitching and painting your inner walls already.

"fuck- i'm sorry, baby," he starts, his body still shaking as he speaks. "i couldn't help it- it won't happen again, i promise, baby-"

"you may think i'm crazy or twisted, but i find it hot."

his skin is warm under your palms as you soothe his shoulders and arms, trying to calm him down. with his head still resting on your shoulder, dan heng pants and tries to catch his breath, kissing your skin softly.

"it happens. it's normal and it's fine. i didn't mind it," you continue to comfort him, your soft fingertips brushing over his skin. your breathing is steady, heart beats only a little faster in the excitement as you want him to breathe with you. and he does after a short while, his thoughts also halting to a stop. "if you want, we can stop it here-"

"no. i want to make you feel so good like you never felt before- i want to fuck you so good that you'll get wet when thinking about it again."

such a bold statement makes your eyes widen in surprise, especially when you can hear how determined he is for it to happen. your breath gets stuck in your lungs as you try to pry your inner whore away.

"as long as- as you'll be careful and loving... then i don't- i don't mind."

a consensus has been made between your voice of reason and inner whore, both sides getting what they want; a good and sweet lovemaking session with the only man that there is for you.

dan heng chuckles and lifts his head, looking you in the eyes with undying devotion and utmost adoration as he seeks the confirmation in your stare. seeing your flushed skin, body shivering in anticipation, and lips slightly parted, he doesn't need to be told twice. placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he rests his own on yours and stares right into you eyes, stare piercing right into your soul.

"i'll make you feel so good, baby- you'll feel amazing, i promise-" he continues his ramblings, at this rate getting delirious at the mere thought of how cute you'll look when cumming around him and because of him.

his cock slides out and inside you again with ease, stretching and filling your tight pussy to the brim, knocking the air out of your lungs. gasping and moaning, you reach for his hand, needing to hold it through the whole session.

you two are so needy for each other's body, soul, mind, and heart and it's showing in every little move. dan heng quickly intertwines your hand with his, holding it gently yet in a firm grip. you put your other palm at the back of his head, and with fingers fidgeting with his hair, you pull him closer for a heated and full of devotion kiss.

he's waiting patiently for your walls to adjust to his size, but when they squeeze him so deliciously, it's hard to resist. his kisses and touches get impatient, more needy, and more possessive. taking a handful of one of your breasts, he squeezes the soft flesh and brushes his fingers across you nipple just to tease you and elicit more of those cute sounds from you.

"f-fuck, dan heng-" you whimper softly right into his lips, the stretch being overwhelmingly amazing. your breathing is ragged and shaky, thoughts race out of your mind at the feeling of his cock inside you.

"baby, you're so- so tight, aeons-" he starts grunting and moaning, finally rolling his hips further into your core. "your pussy is so good i- i can't control myself anymore, baby-"

the heated kisses you two exchange while mingled together make you both even more sweaty, smell of sex filling the room, soaking into the walls, bedsheets, everywhere where it can, just to remind you later how fiery and passionate your love is.

dan heng explores your body further with his free hand, the warm palm hovering over your skin sets your senses aflame further. his soft touch is addicting, paired with his throbbing cock thrusting in and out of your pussy makes such a dangerous mix. his hand roams over your breasts, stomach, sides, everywhere he can reach. when he reaches your hips and thighs, you react immediately, making his heart flutter and mind fuzzy with excitement.

"you like being touched here?" he asks softly, fingers brushing over your thighs, from the inner part to the outer, up and down, repeat. you don't say anything, yet he knows the answer to his question right after; the way your pussy flutters around his length, how your legs shake, how you moan louder – all of it makes his head spin and causes a wicked grin to appear on his face.

you squeeze his hand and pull him closer, hand on the back of his head pulling him in for another sloppy kiss. but you trail off your lips to the side, kissing and licking your way from the corner of his lips to his jaw, neck, shoulder, and collarbone, leaving soft marks with almost every kiss. moaning into his skin, you nibble on the sensitive parts of his neck, the need to claim him and show everyone who he belongs to being too alluring to resist.

"oh, fuck-!" dan heng is not prepared for you marking him up but aeons does he love it. tilting his head to the side, he gives you easier access to all the places he wants- no, he needs- to be marked. his breath gets shallow and ragged, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you because of how much he loves this; the marks that he will show with pride, announcing to everyone that he's yours and yours only.

his quiet whimpers and moans sound so pretty, paired with the squelching noises of his cock pumping itself into your pussy give a lovely one-of-a-kind concerto meant only for the two of you; a concerto about desire, love, and trust, a tribute to love you two hold for each other.

"d-dan heng! ah-! you feel- so good- ah!" crying out in pleasure, you arch your back with a loud moan when the tip of his cock nudges at that one sweet spot, having you sob and scream his name further.

it's like the more you scream his name, the more dan heng goes insane. with his eyes closed, he's panting into your neck, sliding inside you with ease and need; he needs you to cream around him, he needs to feel your cum coating his already sensitive length, he needs to hear you more, even if your throat is already dry because of the constant screams.

"mmh- baby, you're doing so good for me, fuck- keep going, moan my name- you're such a good- good fucking girl-"

your thighs shake and squeeze around his waist while your hips stutter, your whole body being lit on fire when you cum, gushing around him and squeezing his cock deeper inside. crying out, your whole body stiffens as you lose control, pussy throbbing, creaming, and milking him with need of his load.

seeing you like this, body flushed, pleasure written all over your face, with one hand holding his and the other one gripping the sheets... dan heng can't take it anymore. he's cumming right after, thick load after load filling your greedy little pussy up to the brim, as it milks his length further.

he rests his head in the crook of your neck, panting and smiling, placing soft and lazy kisses over your neck and shoulder. you still squeeze his hand, placing the other around him, soothing his back with your light and gentle touch. nuzzling your cheeks against his, you try to calm your labored breathing.

"mmm- you did so well, darling," dan heng muses quietly, finally lifting his head and looking at you, eyes full of love and adoration. he grips your hip softly, caressing your skin with his fingers. "are you tired, baby?"

"not that much," you answer, voice quiet and ragged with heavy breaths, as you try to calm down. the intensity of the moment got to you, and now you need a little more time to come back to your senses.

"then- can we go another round?"

you freeze, confused yet... enticed by the offer. you can feel how his cock is still hard, twitching and throbbing, waiting for you. aeons, it feels so good.

with one, swift motion, you pull him closer, kissing him with newly-found intensity, one he never imagined you could even feel for him, boring loser dan heng.

"let's go."

letting out a small chuckle of relief, dan heng looks at you for a second, admiring your sparkling eyes, flushed face, beautiful features. he can't help it; he dives in for another kiss, sloppy and messy, whimpering softly into your lips. the feeling of his breath on your face, how he tries to compose himself further, it's so extremely hot and tempting.

"are you really so needy? for me?" you tease him, knowing smirk glued to your face when dan heng pulls away for a second, his head quickly turning back to you, completely forgetting what he was looking for.

"y-yes..."

chuckling and cooing, you grab his chin, firmly but not strong enough to hurt; turning his red face to yours, lips millimeters away, you smirk again. as you look into his eyes, your fingers graze over his chin.

"do you want me to take care of you, then?"

his heart stops for a second, mind disappearing right after. with lips slightly parted, he's looking you in the eyes, stare hazed with desire devotion, and everything he's holding for you.

"yes, please."

quickly yet clumsily, you switch positions, with you now straddling his lap, dan heng sitting on his pile of blankets, staring at you with his pretty, pleading eyes. his hard cock nestled between your thighs is leaking precum again, the essence bubbling at the tip, smearing over your skin.

dan heng, the usually composed and collected archivist, is now getting putty in your hands, melting under you, mewling and whimpering for you to take care of him and his length that's aching for you. this mess of horny, insatiable, and devoted nerd that wasn't touched by anyone else is for you and you only. and it's an incredible sight.

"baby-" he's whining, quiet moans slipping past his slightly parted, swollen from all the kisses lips, covered in spit and sweat; the glistening and plump lips you love to devour.

"what is it?" your eyes wander from his lips to his slowly teary eyes, eyelashes sweetly batting the tears and sweat away; but it's his lips that's your weakness. in seconds if not less, you press a sweet yet passionate kiss, tongues dancing with each other as dan heng lets you devour his mouth, whimpering and almost cumming at the mere taste of your sweet lips.

"please, baby- i need you- i need you so bad," he's mumbling, whining and losing everything, ready to cry; all he needs is you and your sweet pussy, yet you keep it all away from him, like a big meanie!

he's kissing the corner of your lips, your cheeks, neck, everywhere he can reach, softly pecking your silky skin while maintaining eye contact, his big, puppy eyes pleading for you to ease his needs. "please baby, i need to- i need to be inside- i need your pussy so bad-"

"i got you, i got you-" you mumble out, needy for him as well. it's a rare occasion to have dan heng all for yourself, so you decide to use this opportunity.

slowly, you guide his tip inside your slick entrance, sucking him inside bit by bit. you need to take deep breaths to calm down and not straight-up impale yourself, but aeons, his cock just feels so good...

finally, you take his length all inside, moaning out loud with a little cry, his throbbing cock finally nestled deep where it belongs.

"mmh- fuck! d-dan heng, you feel- so good-" breathing out, you shiver and throw your head back, chest moving up and down rapidly as you try to continue breathing. with hands on his shoulders, you start to bounce on him, his cock easily sliding in and out as you ride both of your brains out.

you can't even focus on how pretty he looks in his fucked-out state, you yourself giving in to the pleasure. eyes rolled back, mouth parted – the stimulation and overall experience being quite intense, lots of emotions, need, and urgency make you two go non-verbal for a while; only deep panting and whimpers audible throughout the room.

"d-darling, oh fuck! so good-" dan heng lets out slurred words, eyes back in his skull as he starts to drool. quickly wiping his lips, he lets out another pretty moan, pulling your face closer to his own, and kissing you with urgency. his big hands, one on the back of your head and the other one on your thigh, hold you with care, not pushing, not pulling that roughly. he's powerless, too vulnerable, and hazy with lust to even think.

with your pussy hugging his cock so tight he's close again, legs shaking and hips jerking up to meet yours mid-way. you're close too, body shaking slightly, jolts of pleasure coursing through you as you pick up your pace. the need washes over you two, mingling your bodies together as you stay nestled in each other's embrace, fucking your brains out and confessing all the pent-up emotions.

your whimpers, his moans, and screams of each other's name echo through the archives for few hours straight, as you two just can't get enough, ready to pass out then stop. the few short breaks you two take are long enough for yearning to build up again, the whole cycle repeating again.

thank aeons the rest of the crew was out, as march and caelus would complain for the next week again.

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@ cosmic-expressions / @ deka-dent 2024, do not repost pls

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