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ollieofthebeholder · 1 month ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 25: Of labor you shall find the sum

“Did you know there’s a gym down the harbor?”

Tim paused in the act of stacking glasses in the cupboard and turned to frown at Gerry, who was busily engaged in scrubbing the remnants of breakfast out of their omelet pan. “What?”

“One of those bare bones things in an old warehouse,” Gerry clarified. “Caters to the dockworkers, I guess, so it doesn’t have a lot of fancy equipment. Lots of weightlifting stuff, chin-up bars, that sort of thing. Some kind of climbing structure, I think, not sure if it’s a rope or a wall or what, but that’s what I heard. There’s a bare knuckle boxing ring, too.”

This in no way, shape, or form had anything to do with what Tim was asking. “I—didn’t know that. What about it?”

Gerry shrugged. “It’s legitimate, I checked it out, so I thought it might be safer for you than, like, an underground fight club or one of those places you have to know someone who knows someone to get into. Less likely to wind up being a front for the Flesh or the Slaughter or whatever.”

“Why do you think I’m likely to get involved in an underground fight club?” Tim was getting more and more lost as the conversation progressed. “And why bring it up now?”

“Well, you need some way to vent that anger off, and there aren’t any academic conferences coming up for you to get into screaming matches about the orangutan in that Edgar Allen Poe story or the efficacy of EMP meters in paranormal detection,” Gerry said in a very matter of fact tone. “And the way you’re slamming those dishes around tells me you’re really, really close to taking a swing at the next person who pisses you off. While I’m perfectly happy to push your buttons until you pin me against the wall, I know you’ll feel guilty about that the second you come back to your senses and we’ll end up arguing for the rest of our lives about whether that counts as ‘consent’ or not, especially since both of us will be arguing that no, it doesn’t, but on behalf of the other person. And from the way you’ve described him, if you go into work giving off clear signals of ‘I will rip out the aorta of anyone who crosses me and keep it on my desk as a warning to others’, Martin will gladly take the brunt of what he perceives as his due punishment if it means you leave everyone else alone, and you’ll never forgive yourself for that, either.” He shut off the water and held out the omelet pan for Tim to dry. “So, you wanna bash me with this, or you wanna try the gym later?”

Tim stared at him for several seconds, mentally replaying the rest of the morning. He didn’t think he’d been particularly angry…but, okay, maybe he had been a bit forceful at putting the dishes away. Then his brain caught up to I checked it out and began reevaluating the last week or so.

“How long have you been putting up with me being like this?” he asked, taking the pan and then taking a step back, putting Gerry out of his reach, before he began to dry.

“Stop. I was joking about you hitting me. I know you’d never actually do that. You’re nothing like my mum.” Gerry crossed into Tim’s space, slipped under his arm, and kissed the tip of his nose before ducking back out of the way in the span of time it took Tim to process the casual way he flung that out there. “But you’ve been…let’s say annoyed since the night Sasha was attacked. At first I thought it was just that you weren’t getting enough sleep, but since you seemed okay in the mornings, I figured it was probably work related. This is the first day you haven’t slept it off, so I reckon whatever it is is starting to really get to you.” He took the pan from Tim’s suddenly nerveless fingers, hung it on the rack, then hitched himself onto the counter and pulled Tim closer by the lapels. “Talk to me, Stoker. What’s eating you? That’s my job.”

Tim couldn’t help but smile, even as he shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t even realize I was angry until you called me out on it. Although right now maybe I’m a little mad at Gertrude for destroying your mum before I had a chance to do it myself, but that’s definitely a ‘cherry on the shit sundae’ kind of situation.”

Gerry smiled back. “Well then. Do we have enough time before you need to leave for work to figure it out?”

“What’s Jon going to do? Fire me?”

“Aha, Watson. A clue.” Gerry cocked his head to one side and put on his best Basil Rathbone impersonation. “The shift in your tone of voice clearly indicates that at least some of your irritation is directed at one Mr. Jonathan Sims, as that was definitely not entirely jovial.” He dropped the persona. “What’s he done?”

“I—fuck.” Tim chewed his lip for a moment and thought, really thought, about it.

Ostensibly, nothing had really changed in the Archives. Sasha had returned to the Institute ten days after her encounter with the Distortion and resumed her research with, if anything, more fervor than before. Martin was still sleeping in Document Storage, and Jon had begun leaving less and less. Tim wanted to tell him to stop, to urge him to get out of there and just go home already, but Martin didn’t have that option right now; both he and Jon were convinced that Jane Prentiss was after him specifically, and although Tim was fairly certain it was the Archives she wanted, he kept his mouth shut about that. Elias was, unsurprisingly, still dragging his feet over upgrading the fire suppressant system but had at least provided them a few extra CO2 extinguishers, which at least made Martin feel a little better. Tim knew for a fact, because he’d sneaked into the Archives in the middle of the night to check on him at least once, that he slept clutching one like a teddy bear, or a security blanket. He’d found Jon passed out at his—the Archivist’s desk and tucked a spare blanket around him, but hadn’t said anything to either of them about it the next day.

They were…they were children. Tim couldn’t think of them any other way. Sasha had confided in him that she’d broken into Jon’s employment records and found out that Jon was actually ten weeks Martin’s junior, which meant both of them were twenty-seven. Tim would be thirty-four in three days, which was enough to make him feel a world older than them anyway, but more importantly, they were younger than Danny had been when he’d died. Sasha was probably about halfway between Danny and Tim in terms of age, but still young enough to count as a younger sibling sometimes and a playmate at others. And it was a bit disconcerting, because they were all adults and they didn’t need to be protected, but at the same time, they did. Maybe he was a little pissed by that because he hadn’t meant to get close to them, had been trying to think of them as temporary, but they were pretty much a part of the Archives now. Even Jon, even if he wasn’t going to be—

Oh, wait, hold on. Yep, there it was.

“He’s doing the Voice,” he said.

Gerry raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re going to have to explain that one. What voice?”

“Did you ever listen to Gertrude reading out a statement? She drops into this almost…trance state and gets this eerily calm, ominous tone to her voice. And you can feel the static, kind of.” Tim rolled his head back briefly. “I hadn’t been relistening to the tapes, Martin’s been mostly doing the transcriptions on the computer of Jon’s research, but I’ve been stalling him to keep him from relistening to the tapes. A few students doing dissertations came to me the other day about some issues with them, though, so I gave them a listen. And then I started listening to all of them.”

“And that explains why you came home tense and upset, because you drowned yourself in, what, twenty-odd real statements?” Gerry shook his head. “I should make you stay home today. That’s too much and you know it. Even if you aren’t the Archivist, you can’t do a ten-hour binge and expect to come out the other side unharmed.”

“I split it over a couple of days,” Tim said. “And I’m aware that’s not the point, but neither is what you said the point of what I said. My point is that Jon’s doing that exact same voice Gertrude does when he records the statements, and I can’t tell if it’s the Ceaseless Watcher influencing him and sinking him into the statements or if he’s just being dramatic.”

“Could be both,” Gerry pointed out. “They affect you, too, don’t they? You just…don’t get any energy from them, they drain you instead.”

“Debatable, but we’re not talking about that right now.”

“The fuck we aren’t—”

“But what if Jon’s starting to get energy from the statements?” Tim continued over top of Gerry’s (admittedly probably not unjustified) protests. “He’s not the Archivist, Gertrude is, and if he gets too locked into it…I still don’t know if the contracts they signed with Elias actually bound them to her or not, but if they didn’t, he can still walk away. Unless he’s at the point where it’s got its greedy little talons in him, in which case it’s too late either way.”

Gerry pursed his lips. Tim could see how hard he was struggling with the urge to circle back to the possibility of him getting energy from the statements. Finally, he said, “I could point out that it’s pretty likely he wouldn’t quit if he got the option, but I don’t think that’s your point either. So instead I’m going to do that thing you hate where I ask the question you’re avoiding admitting is the one you’re actually asking, which is, are you more concerned about the possibility of Jon getting bound to the Ceaseless Watcher, or are you more concerned about him becoming an Archivist and possibly usurping Gertrude’s position?”

“Jesus, Gerry,” Tim muttered, dropping his chin to his chest.

“No, you don’t get to avoid that question.” Gerry put two fingers under Tim’s chin and raised his head with a firmness that implied if Tim didn’t bend his neck voluntarily, it was likely to snap. “If that’s your fear, you have to at least address it. Are you worried he’s becoming an Archivist?”

Tim thought, really thought about it, as best as he could with Rowlf loudly drinking water in the corner. Finally, he said slowly, “Yes. But not because I think he’s going to supplant Gertrude. It’s not a Highlander ‘there can be only one’ kind of situation. Maybe we won’t all go as far as she has, but I think eventually everyone who works down there gets some of the Ceaseless Watcher’s power. I’m just…worried about him. I don’t think it’s been long enough that he should be doing that.”

Gerry gave him a faint smile and shook his head. “It’s been almost a year, Stoker.”

“Yeah, I know. And that’s how long it usually takes in fairy stories to earn your reward or your freedom or whatever. It’s either seven years or a year and a day.”

“This year was a leap year, so does that make it the eighteenth or the nineteenth that marks the end of the period of service?”

“The nineteenth. Most of the stories predate the Gregorian calendar, and a lot of them predate standard calendars, so it would have gone from, like, the first day of summer to the second day of the next summer.” Tim sighed. “If he’s getting that bad that fast, though—I mean, I didn’t.”

“You weren’t reading statements, either,” Gerry pointed out. “Not out loud. Sasha and Martin aren’t like that, are they? Jon’s doing the work, he’s going to get the brunt of the punishment.”

Tim chewed his lip for a moment. “Fuck. I need to figure out how bad it is, and stop him if he’s doing too much.”

“Any ideas on how to do that?”

“I’ll…get back to you on that,” Tim admitted. “I’m heading to work. Call me if you get any good ideas. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Gerry caught Tim by the shirt again and pulled him in for one last kiss before he let him go.

It had started raining, not hard, but Tim needed to walk. He bought a newspaper from a stand on the corner and unfolded it over his head as he made his way to the Tube stop, then shook it out and at least skimmed the headlines. On a whim, he got off at Stockwell, changed to the Victoria line, and got off at Victoria, just to see what the walk was like for Sasha every day. To his surprise, she was standing just outside the entrance to the station when he exited, hovering in the slight protection afforded from the rain by the roof’s overhang and clutching her umbrella like a sword. The explanation was just on the corner, a tangled rainbow that erupted from the hand of a woman talking to a muscular person with red platform stiletto heels and a buzz cut and fractured out to terminate in eight or nine dogs of varying sizes and degrees of wetness. Sasha was eyeballing them as if one of them was likely to attack her at any moment, and to be fair, the chihuahua in its little white jumper did in fact look like it was considering it.

Still clutching his newspaper, he stepped up to her shoulder and put on his best schoolboy voice. “Carry your books, miss?”

Sasha started and turned. “Oh! Tim—I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I come up the Northern line usually, same as Martin.” Tim interposed himself between Sasha and the dogs. “Decided today I’d see what the fuss was all about with this walk of yours.”

“I mean, I would have thought you’d drive on a day like this.”

Tim shrugged. “This rain isn’t going to last all morning, let alone all day. Come on, though, I don’t want to have to rush the last bit and risk slipping. Imagine the paperwork.”

Sasha unfurled her umbrella, then nudged Tim when he held up his newspaper. “I’ll share. Why didn’t you bring an umbrella if you were so set on walking?”

“Don’t have one,” Tim admitted sheepishly. “I usually just turn up the collar of my coat and wear a good hat.”

“You’re nuts, Stoker.”

“So I’ve been told. Mind the puddle.”

She insisted on stopping at her favorite café for her usual coffee, so Tim waited outside with the umbrella, idly scanning the faces of the people passing by and keeping an eye—no pun intended—out for anyone with distorted proportions. He hadn’t found any Michaels in her past so far in his digging, so maybe that was really what the Distortion was calling itself these days, but that didn’t mean he trusted it any further than he could throw it. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, everyone walking past seemed normal. Key word was seemed.

Sasha emerged from the café with two cups of coffee, one of which she handed to Tim; he took it in surprise. “Uh, thanks. For me?”

“For you. I still owe you from…you know, that night. And you saved me from that vicious pack of ravenous hounds.” Sasha grinned, but the flash of fear in her eyes belied her joking expression—she was well and truly scared.

Tim bowed theatrically. “I live to serve, milady.”

“My knight in shining armor.” Sasha laughed as they set off.

Martin was just coming back into the Archives with two mugs of tea when Sasha and Tim arrived. He gave them a wan smile, looking like he hadn’t slept in a month. “Morning. How’s the weather out there?”

“Wet, but it’s tapering off.” Tim tossed his newspaper in the bin and crossed over to give Martin a one-armed hug. “Jon’s here already, I take it?”

Martin’s cheeks turned faintly pink, but he nodded. “He, um, he got in about an hour ago. I-I think he was going to do some recording.”

“Great, I wanted to talk to him about that,” Tim said, setting his coffee on his desk and unslinging the laptop bag from his shoulder. “What have you got going on for research?”

“I haven’t looked yet. I just finished all the ones Jon gave me last week, I think that’s what he’s got in there now, and he gave me a new stack.”

Tim tried—and failed—to remember if Martin had had anything he was taking point on that was real. He’d have to catch Jon before he hit that point. “Here—let me take that into him. Maybe he’ll be more receptive with some tea in him.”

“Receptive to what?” Martin asked, handing over Jon’s mug with—if Tim was any judge—considerable reluctance.

“Re-recording a few of those statements.” The sentence popped out of Tim’s mouth without conscious thought. He tried not to let his surprise show on his face, though. “You know, to get them up to the standards expected of so august an institution as the Magnus Institute.”

Sasha giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Tim, shh, he’ll hear you.”

Tim winked at Martin, who looked torn between amusement and mortification, and headed for the Archivist’s office. As he pulled the door open, he heard a very clear, exasperated, “Oh, goddammit.”

“Sorry, I’ve already been absolved for this week, you’ll have to ask again later,” Tim said, deadpan.

Jon looked up in the act of reaching over his laptop for something, a flash of panic running through his eyes. For just a second, Tim felt bad as he realized Jon—who tried so hard to be professional, and was probably just as terrified as Martin of getting fired—hadn’t even heard the door open and had had a moment of thinking Elias was the one who’d come in, or had come in behind Tim. It was written on his face plain as day. He recovered quickly, though. “Tim. What…?”

Tim decided to let him believe he hadn’t noticed the panic as he stepped fully into the office and shut the door. “Morning. Martin made your tea, and since I wanted to come in here and talk to you anyway, I said I’d bring it to you.” He came over and set it on the desk. “Hard at work already, I see.”

“I’ll never finish if I don’t get a head start,” Jon grumbled. He adjusted his glasses and took a sip of his tea, then set it to one side. “What did you need?”

Tim hesitated for a split second. He could see what Jon was reaching for now—the tape recorder, which meant he’d found a real one, tried recording it, come up on the issues, and had to start over, which was probably what he’d been swearing at. That was a plus, it meant he wasn’t so deep into it that he could just tell…like you can, a voice whispered in the back of his mind…but it also meant he’d started one of the real ones.

Well. He’d wanted to do a test of some kind, hadn’t he?

“It’s about some of the recordings,” he said, smoothly enough he was pretty sure Jon hadn’t noticed the hesitation. “There are some that need to be redone.”

Jon scowled. “Did the digital files get corrupted?”

“No, they’re not digital. But some of the ones that are on tape—”

That was as far as he got. Jon’s scowl deepened. “If the tapes aren’t working now either, I don’t know what else you want me to do. Engrave them on wax cylinders?”

“Easy there, Dr. Seward. The recordings themselves are fine. There are just some issues, little errors. If they’re going to be on a permanent record, or a semipermanent record anyway, they ought to be the best quality they can, shouldn’t they?”

The conversation did not noticeably improve from there. Jon was visibly irritated at the idea of redoing the taped statements, which Tim was secretly relieved by. It meant he wasn’t too terribly far gone; there was still hope for him. And he understood Jon not wanting to rerecord them.

He also knew, which Jon and the others did not, that these weren’t simple errors—well, maybe the switching names around in Von Closen’s statement, although that was debatable, Tim hadn’t tried reading the letter himself. The others, though…Tim knew Gertrude’s filing system inside out and backwards, and despite Jon’s snide remark she was always consistent with them; the numbers around Hill Top Road were a mess all right, but it wasn’t because of anything Jon had done, and that was something he needed to investigate, or ask her about when she got back, which had damn well better be sooner rather than later. And she’d doctored the dates in the dustman’s statement herself, he’d seen the signs on the original and kept his mouth shut. There were plenty of other things he’d noticed that he didn’t bring up, but it was wrong for a reason.

He kept pushing, though, for one very simple reason. He had to see if Jon would do it. Had to see if he could. That was probably the first test, the first…milestone, maybe? He wasn’t sure. Martin had interrupted him, so had Sasha, in the middle of recordings, but he’d gone straight back to them. Tim didn’t think Jon had stopped for more than the length of time it took to put a tape in the recorder since then, though.

And from the way he got progressively angrier, until Tim’s soft whoa recalled him to his professionalism, he wasn’t going to stop now, either.

Finally, Tim tried a desperate Hail Mary and brought up Martin’s concern from the other day about if his tongue looked infested. And for a minute, it seemed like it had broken Jon’s concentration, like he might set the statement aside and come back to it later, or—if Tim was lucky—not at all. But then he recovered, looking extremely tired, and more or less dismissed Tim.

He decided to bow out gracefully, if sadly.

“What did he say?” Martin asked as soon as Tim had come out and closed the door behind him again.

“Eh. He says they’re fine.” Tim shrugged one shoulder. “Actually, he said to put a sticky note on them or something and that he doesn’t actually care, so I guess that’s that. Maybe I’ll take a crack at fixing them myself.”

“I’ve got a spare recorder,” Martin offered. “If you want to borrow it.”

“I’ve got my own, but thanks, Martin.” Tim gave Martin a genuine grin and rumpled his hair, causing Martin to duck and swat halfheartedly at his hand. “Let’s get the regular work done first, then I can start thinking about taking on extra. Stick around after hours or something.”

Sasha swiveled around from Mister Megabytes. “Speaking of after hours. According to our files, someone has a birthday on Friday. We should all go out for a pint or something after work. Get you out of the Archives for a bit, Martin, and celebrate. Maybe your partner would like to come along.”

Tim knew a fishing expedition when he heard it and shook his head with a smile. “He’s not exactly a people person, but I’ll pass on the invitation. Actually, how about sushi? You like sushi?”

“I’ve…never had it, actually.”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

Tim grinned broadly. “Well then, that sounds like exactly what I want to do for my birthday. Which is actually Saturday, by the way, Miss James, but I’ll celebrate it Friday with you and keep Saturday for me.”

Hopefully they’d be able to get Jon out, he thought as he started setting up his laptop for the day’s work. He didn’t need to spend all his time in the Archives. Fear of leaving Martin alone or otherwise, the more time he spent here the worse he was going to get. The statements might not have been fueling him yet, but they were starting to irritate him if he tried to leave them unfinished, and that was how it started.

Gertrude needed to get back. Before it got any worse for him.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #and if thou wilt forget #the magnus archives #tim stoker #gerard keay #sasha james #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #anger #mention of past abuse #innuendo #grief #loss #denial #canon-typical Eye content #absolutely no unfortunate foreshadowing whatsoever #I can't imagine why you would think that

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astro-inky · 10 months ago

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i finally got the energy to start the magnus archives and im on episode 76. jon is the funniest character ever.

#the magnus archives #i love it so far btw #but jon...JON PLEASE #the start of the series was hilarious too #'heres a story about someone being haunted by paranormal horrors where my job is to read them while being surrounded by paranormal horrors'#'ITS FAKE obviously'#JON. LOOK AT YOUR JOB. BE FOR REAL #lol i like how long it took him to stope stalking his comcerned colleagues and just. LOOK at sasha.#hes the smartest guy except for when he isnt. love that guy.#trauma incarnate tbh #ALSO i get that his whole thing is denial but. still.#come on man #hes so funny #tma

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clumsy-klutzy-faller · 11 months ago

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Oh hey! It's Valentine's Day!

Love you Marcy and Sasha 💖 you're great friends :)

-Anne

LOVE YOU SASHA, ANNE <33333 /p

-Marcy

love ya guyssss, friends forever

-Sasha

#anne posts #marcy posts #sasha posts #// oh they are in such denial :)

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pynkfairyheart · 7 months ago

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Hii I was wondering if you could do an collage au armin arlert oneshot, imagine or Drabble (totally up to you) where armin is a very popular soccer player at the college and since he’s so popular that causes him not have as much time for his gf so she catches an attitude and ignores him and he fixes it ifykyk. I was thinking more of like a dominant or switch armin for this yk?

pairings: soccer!player Armin x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, a lil angsty, orgasm denial, car sex

a/n: i love this request, armin is just so ��꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀིა

Ms. Attitude

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll make it up later. I love you, bye” The monotone beep of the phone soon followed his hurried voice informing you he ended the call before you could even breathe.

“Yep, I love you too” You mumbled. Glossy eyes scanning the hair and makeup you spent hours on.

This was the second time Armin failed to show up for your date.

Soccer season was picking up and with Armin being the captain you understood you'd no longer be able to spend as much time due to practice, but the frequent outings with his team members were becoming infuriating.

Was it that hard for him to plan around your date nights?

With a deep breath, you soaked a cotton pad in makeup remover. Too exhausted to even take pictures before the excess liquid on the pad mixed with your stray tears. It was rare for you to cry over a guy, even rarer to cry over Armin, but the disappointment was turning into frustration that was too overbearing to contain.

What made things worse is that you felt it wasn't fair to Armin you were having these feelings.

You knew what you were entering into when you said yes to being his girlfriend. He told you his goals from the start; become captain, graduate with a 4.0, play professionally, and ultimately make it to the World Cup.

Of course, you knew achieving all he wanted would take time, and you wholeheartedly supported him.

To maintain a healthy relationship you two had a system. Once a week, you would set aside time for a date. It didn't need to be elaborate or fancy; the simple goal was for you to spend time alone. Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Something Armin didn’t take into account with the new season was the influx of freshmen on the team. This meant lots of bonding time with the team and less time with you.

°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a week before you saw Armin. Granted it wasn't on purpose and you just happened to catch a glimpse of him from across the crowded room, but you saw him nonetheless.

The events on how you approached him are a little cloudy, your actions encouraged by the shots you took and your anger. The only true remembrance was Sasha’s attempt to make you stay and the snickers from certain teammates who could predict what was about to happen.

“What the actual fuck, Armin.” You huffed

“Baby? What’s wrong?” His smile disappearing at the pout settled onto your face

You were baffled, was he actually serious?

“What’s wrong is that I haven't seen you in three weeks all because of your little bonding outings. Which this does not seem like bonding” A mixture of frustration and hurt fueling your emotions as you motioned to the party

“I know how this looks, baby but I swear we just got caught up after practice, sit with us I promise to make it up to you- Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Nothing pissed Armin off more than when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yes! You've said the same thing every week Armin, you're like a fucking broken record and it's actually pissing me off”

“I'm pissing you off?” The indifferent tone of his voice and minuscule smirk on his face should have told you to stop and think but you were just too upset to think.

“Isn't that what I just said” Your iris slightly disappearing as you rolled your eyes once again.

He’d been waiting for it.

Many people knew Armin to be the passionate sweetheart he was. It was rare to see him upset. That emotion reserved for whenever his team got a foul and occasionally whenever you gave him attitude.

Before you could even register what he was doing he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the party

That little eye roll ended up with you in the backseat of his car, legs on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

“Minniee, pleaseee” You whined, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the pleasure building in your lower stomach

“You wanted my attention right? So stop fucking complaining and hold it like I said” His hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep inside you with every thrust.

You were certain stars were blurring your vision. He was just stretching you out so well, the girth and the angle he was at leaving no spot along your walls untouched with how deep he was.

Just looking and hearing the whines that slipped passed your lips made him want to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Just looking at you had him on the brink of a second orgasm.

You just looked so pretty to him. Bouncing breasts no longer confined by the tight shirt you wore, hardened nipples glossy from his previous sucking. Don't even get him started with your teary eyes and glossy lips.

What really got him though was the way your puffy cunt surrounded him. Folds so warm and wet with your slick and his cum that your walls failed to contain.

Armin however didn’t reward bad behavior, especially yours. Maybe he’d let you cum if you whined enough, but who knows. For now, he’d continue to use you for his own pleasure as he pounded into you.

“What's wrong princess? Isn't this what you wanted? Caught an attitude just to get fucked like a slut” He hissed, blonde strands sticking to his forehead as he increased his pace.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, please. I just missed you” You spoke through your broken moans and cries

Leaning down he encaptured your lips, his pace slowing as the guilt seeped into him, oh how he wanted nothing but to go back and spend that time with you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make time for us, I mean it this time” His voice coming out in a whisper as he kissed along your neck

“Y-yeah? “ Speech broken by the newfound pleasure as he applied pressure to your clit

“Mhm, as long as you stop with that fucking attitude” Within that second the soft and caring Armin was gone and now replaced with the Armin whose only goal was to make you feel pleasure

You were so close, every rock of his hips hitting your spot so perfectly you were seeing stars and begging to cum but he kept denying you over and over. His responses consisting of “Be my good girl and hold it” or “You want it so badly don’t you?” a condescending pout resting on his pink lips every time

It was only when he grabbed your ankles and pushed your legs up against your chest that he allowed you to cum, pace becoming sloppy as he watched you cream around him, basking in the way every contraction of your cunt added to the milky ring around his base.

The feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of your closed eyes and slightly agape mouth as you came, it was too much for him to handle as spurts of his milky cum forced its way into your stuffed cunt.

“That's my girl” He mumbled. Smirking at the cum spilling from your hole the moment he pulled out

It was only when you felt his hands spreading your legs apart and his tongue plunging into you that you opened your eyes.

“Armin” You shrieked

“Mmm, relax, baby. I've got three weeks' worth of orgasms to get from you.”

#aot x black reader #black reader #anime x black!reader #aot x reader #attack on titan #chubby reader #aot smut #aot armin #armin x black reader #armin arlert #armin x reader #armin x black y/n #armin smut #attack on titan smut

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phealingit · 2 years ago

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would beat elias bouchard to death with his own bloody pipe

#sorry i'm special i do not simp for him #do not listen to the uquiz that said that i'm an elias fucker in denial #sasha speaks

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itgetsdark-x · 11 months ago

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Something In Your Mouth

Summary: what’s a little night out if not for a bit of teasing fun with your dad’s best-friend?

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of alcohol, age gap (Joel’s age unspecified), oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v (do better!!), edging, orgasm denial, forced orgasm (kinda), use of good girl etc, mild humiliation / degrading. idk i feel a lil unhinged with this one besties.

Characters: dbf!joel miller x (f) reader

Word Count: 5.3k

You pressed your glossy lips together to ensure that the hot pink covered every area of your pout and you smiled at your friend in the reflection of your bedroom mirror.

“Girl, I’m telling you… Tonight is the night that I finally fuck Joel Miller.” You smirked, taking the bottle from your friend, Sasha’s hands and taking a long swig of the warming liquor.

“Ha! Yeah right… Are we on about the same Joel Miller here? Your dad’s friend, the single father himself and what’s that? Oh yeah, he’s ancient, old enough to be your own dad! He won’t touch you, jailbait, give up.” She laughed again as your flipped her off.

“Sash, I am in my mid-twenties, closer to thirty than I am twenty. Not to mention, I’m hot okay?! There are worse women Joel could sleep with. I’m just saying… I think it’s a good idea. I just get big dick energy from him y’know? I mean, have you seen his hands?! His fingers. I actually feel like if I don’t have him soon, I’m gonna go legally insane.” You huffed.

Sasha shook her head as you stood from your bed to get changed. You flung your comfy t-shirt and shorts into your friend’s direction and grabbed the outfit you had hung on your door. Tonight’s attire was an ensemble of a black leather skirt, hot pink tank top and your trusty platform Doc Marten boots.

“Be fucking real right now, that is not your underwear of choice for the evening!” Sasha all but screeched as she caught a glimpse of your undergarments as you began changing your outfit.

“What?!” You asked with feign innocence.

“You’re wearing a hot pink thong with matching bra. Please tell me this is not for Miller.” She sighed with exasperation, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe it is… but hey, if Joel doesn’t want some tonight I’m sure some other lucky guy will appreciate the efforts I have gone to.” You shrugged, winking at your friend. “Now, how ‘bout you quit your judging and get changed so we can get to the bar! The girls are meeting us there.”

Sasha groaned with effort as she stood and joined you in getting changed.

———

The bar was busy, you were meeting your friends there to celebrate your upcoming birthday which meant your father was going to be there and in turn, so was Joel. You weren’t a complete idiot, you knew that trying to get with Joel was a huge risk for you both; if your father ever found out, you would most likely be forbidden to ever leave your apartment ever again and well, you couldn’t even imagine what your dad would do to Joel.

Which also meant you had to be calculated with how you went about it; no blatant flirting or teasing in front of your dad, you had to play your cards right, keep them close to your chest.

As soon as you and Sasha arrived into the dimly lit bar, your friends herded over to you and enveloped you in a big hug. You squealed with delight and greeted them all individually before your dad walked over, with the older Miller in tow close behind.

“There’s my princess, happy early birthday, sweetheart.” Your dad beamed, hugging you and kissing your temple.

“Thanks dad, and thanks for actually showing up! I know hanging out with us girls isn’t at the top of your Friday night agenda. Same for you Joel, thanks for coming.” You smiled bashfully at him before he closed the space between you both and gave you a quick squeeze.

Your head span and you could feel your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest, his heady cologne drowning your senses and driving you mad. It was an immediate effect and you couldn’t stop the way your core throbbed at the contact.

“Gotcha a drink darlin’. Happy early birthday.” He flashed a smile in your direction and gave you a glass filled with amber-coloured liquid. “Yes, it’s our favourite. Southern Comfort and lemonade.”

You grinned at him and took a swig of the drink gratefully, just as you turned to talk to your father again, you were almost certain you could feel Joel’s eyes raking over your body with hunger.

———

As the night wore on, the drinks flowed and the laughter grew rowdier and louder as the music in the bar was turned up. You were dancing with a couple of your friends, every now and then your eyes would catch Joel’s; he sat at the bar talking to your dad and nursing his whiskey.

“Sash, did you see the way he keeps looking at me? And earlier? Please tell me you saw that!” You whined.

“Ugh. God. I hate to feed your delusions but I did see it and I see it now. Even with your back turned, he’s watching you. Fuckin’ weird and intense, it’s like a predator with his prey. Waiting to strike.” She huffed, voice just loud enough for you to catch over the pop music playing.

“Okay… But why is that hot as fuck?” You laughed, throwing your head back as your danced. “I just need my dad to clear off, I love him but I can’t hit on his friend when he right there. That would be weird.”

You carried on dancing, with your friends and even with a couple of men when they tried it; you couldn’t help but notice the way Joel’s stare seemed to intensify when any man came near you, it made you smile to know that he was watching you.

One particular man caught your attention, he was similar to you in age, as far as you assumed and he was handsome, definitely easy on the eyes but nowhere near anywhere as good as Joel. He smirked at you from the bar and closed the distance between you until his hand was on your hip and he was dancing with you. You smiled sweetly at him, peering up at him through your lashes as you brought your thumb up to your glossy lips to suck on it seductively. You flashed a glance over to Joel who looked like he was ready to kill.

Bingo. You thought to yourself and danced with the handsome male in front of you, the music boomed and you swayed your hips against him, you span yourself around so you could press your ass to his crotch and you smirked over at Joel once again who was now alone at the bar. Your fingers clutched your glass as you wrapped your lips around the thin, red straw and sucked up the cool drink.

Joel quirked a brow at you, with a look that you couldn’t quite place, it seemed to settle somewhere between lust and utter disdain for you. You gave him a little wave and turned back to face the man you were dancing with, you looped your arms loosely around his neck and continued to dance along to the loud music.

The nameless man leant down and whispered into your ear, the music distorted his voice but he said something about leaving with him which caused you to giggle. You got up onto your tiptoes to whisper back into his ear but felt a foreign hand pressed against the small of your back. The guy you were just dancing with backed away with his hands held up in innocence.

“Hey!” You turned around with a deep frown. “Oh… hey, Joel.” You smiled.

“Your daddy left a little while ago, he saw you dancing and didn’t want to… disturb since you seemed busy…” He scoffed.

“Well I was a lil busy, and now he’s gone. Whatcha want?” You huffed.

“Don’t fuck around, little girl. We both know what you’re playin’ at.”

“What?!” You asked with feigned innocence.

“Darlin’” he warned lowly in your ear, his voice sending shivers through you. “You’re out here, shakin’ your ass for everyone.”

“And? Last time I checked, I’m single, of age and having a bit of fun. Is that not allowed, Mr Miller? Not even on my birthday?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.

Joel scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, this fake-innocence crap wasn’t getting anywhere with him and he knew you were doing it to get a reaction from him.

“You’re being a little tease, darlin’ and I think you know it.” He growled, his voice low in your ear.

You swallowed roughly, even with the drinks you had, your mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry with nerves. You shook your head to Joel and he just chuckled.

“No, no… You know what you’re doing, I know you’ve been trying to get my attention all night and well, congrats. You’ve got my attention. So what now? What do you want, hm?” He asked, leaning back to gauge your reaction.

“I — I, I want -“ You stumbled over your words dumbly, without a coherent sentence forming.

“Hm?” He hummed, he took your hand and trailed it down his hard chest, down his stomach and let it graze across his crotch.

Even with barely touching him, you could feel the hard length of his cock through the rough material of his worn jeans. You pushed your legs together in the vain hope of staving off the throbbing between them, you could feel your panties get slick as you imagined sinking to your knees and sucking Joel.

“Funny, you seemed to be playing the big girl earlier, princess. Dancing with anyone, swinging your ass and hips for them. What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue now?” He smirked, his voice a soft coo in your ear.

“I want you to fuck me.” You blurted out, unceremoniously and immediately, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I mean, I uh — ignore me. I’m gonna go find my friends.” You muttered.

Joel shook his head and held onto your elbow roughly. “Come home with me then, darlin’. My truck is parked out back.”

“You’ve been drinking, I’ve had some drinks. One, I don’t wanna die in your rust-bucket truck and two, this is stupid. I’m being stupid.” You spoke quickly.

“Firstly, I’m gonna ignore you just called my truck a rust-bucket, that’s a whole other conversation and two, I’ve had two drinks, perfectly fine to drive. And as long as you’re sober enough to consent, and you do wanna do this. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Maybe just don’t tell your daddy.” He laughed.

You nodded dumbly, words failing you once again and let yourself be led out of the bar by Joel; you briefly shot a look behind you and for a second, you caught eyes with Sasha who just smirked at you as you left.

—

Joel opened the truck door for you to climb in, you grabbed the handle on the side and hauled yourself in; knowing your skirt would rise and give Joel a quick glimpse of your skimpy fabric.

Joel had to all but bite back a groan as he saw the flash hot pink, the curve of your ass just enveloping the lace as you sat down.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed as he closed the door to his truck and went to the drivers side. “You really are a naughty little tease, aren’t you?” He laughed.

You shrugged at him with a sheepish smile; in truth you weren’t always this bad but tonight it got you exactly what you wanted and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Joel started his truck and within seconds of driving down the road, you reached your hand across the bench to palm at his cock; your delicate fingers wrapped around his half hard length through his jeans and you couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation.

He felt thick, even when only half hard and your mouth watered at the thought of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Impatient much?” Joel laughed, flashing a quick smirk in your direction.

“I need to taste you, like, immediately.” You hummed, you knew it sounded cringey and cliche but you needed it more than you could comprehend.

“Maybe let’s wait until we are back at mine — fuck —.” Joel cursed as your fingers quickly undid his jeans and dipped into the waistband of his boxers, albeit a little awkwardly.

“I’m sat here, and I’m wet. I’m talking, on the verge of dripping onto my thighs. I want you. In a way I’ve never wanted a man before so… how about you let me get you warmed up so when we get back to yours, you can have your way with me.” You reasoned, your voice blunt.

Joel couldn’t argue with that reasoning so he gently lifted his ass off the seat to allow you easier access to pull his thick cock out from his boxers. Your fingers expertly wrapped around his length and you marvelled at the fact your finger tips barely met. You stroked his shaft a few times as you felt him fully harden under your touch.

You couldn’t help but giggle; it was immature and girlish but in this moment, you felt giddy. You awkwardly repositioned yourself so you could duck your head down and suck the tip of his cock into your wet mouth.

Joel’s fingers tensed on his steering wheel, you could hear the squeak of the leather protest under his grasp as you wrapped your mouth around the male fully and sank your head down, enveloping him further.

You kept a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and bobbed your head slowly, a soft moan being muffled by the fullness in your mouth.

Above you, Joel groaned deeply as your tongue swirled around the tip and you grazed your teeth gently against his frenulum.

“Oh fuck!” Joel cursed out, one hand coming down to grip into your hair tightly; he couldn’t help the way his hand pushed your head down further. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth. Fuck.” He praised, brushing some hair away so he could catch a better glimpse of the sight below him.

You hummed in appreciation as you bobbed your head, your hand moving in perfect synchronicity with your skilled mouth. You removed Joel’s cock with a loud pop and you smirked at the male. You moved to kiss at his neck and your teeth grazed over his ear.

“Tastes better than any sucker I’ve ever had.” You purred, your voice low and sultry.

“You’re trouble.” Joel stated with a soft groan as your lips continued to kiss down his neck and your head travelled down south once more. “But you look so much cuter with something in your mouth, that’s its princess.” He cooed as your mouth sank around his cock once more.

The drive back to Joel’s was a short one, even if he did contemplate driving around the block a couple more times just so he could feel your mouth around him for longer.

Joel pulled into his drive, by this point you were sat up right and running a thumb along your bottom lip to tidy up your lip gloss. Joel tucked himself back into his jeans haphazardly before turning off the ignition to his truck.

“Inside, quickly. I don’t need the neighbours seeing me bringing you home. You know how rumours spread ‘round here.” He mumbled and it was true, most people knew Joel and they in turn, knew your father. You could almost heard the whispers that would spread around this part of town if they caught wind of what you were doing with Joel.

You hopped out his truck and walked to his front door ahead of him, making sure to keep a clear distance from the older male; no matter how hard your fingers were itching to explore his body.

Joel held onto the small of your back as he quickly unlocked his front door and ushered you into the familiar space.

“Upstairs. You know where my room is.” He stated bluntly as he removed his boots.

You nodded without another word and silently went up the stairs; you may have been playing the confident card in the truck but now that you were here, now that you were in his house, your hands were shaking with nerves and anticipation.

Joel entered the room a mere few seconds later and he smiled at you.

“So you’re not that much of a little brat that you can follow basic instructions.” He cooed.

You nodded, biting on your lip as you watched Joel effortlessly remove his t-shirt. Just as you pictured it; his chest was tanned and peppered with soft white hair. Further down his stomach as a groomed line of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband.

“What’s the matter, little girl? Not so brave now?” He smirked, closing the distance between you to hold your chin roughly between his finger and thumb.

He ducked his head down and kissed you roughly; it was an unceremonious clash of tongues as you kissed him back with intense fervour.

“That’s what I thought.” He whispered against your lips and let go of your face. “Take off your clothes. Leave on your underwear, I wanna be the one to remove that from you.” He commanded, kicking off his own jeans and sitting on the edge of his bed.

You suddenly felt self conscious, you could feel the burn of his gaze as you stood in front of him. You turned your back to him as you slowly undid the zip on your skirt and bent down to remove it.

Behind you, Joel had pulled his cock from his boxers and was stroking himself as you removed your clothes. Once your shirt was removed, you span back round to face the male and gently crossed your legs as you watched him.

“Fucking look at you.” He groaned, as his cock gently fucked into his fist. “Thought about your body so many times, knew I shouldn’t. Knew it was wrong but look at you, c’mhere.” He mumbled.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment at his confession; it soothed your nerves as you realised the attraction was mutual between you both. Joel sat back a little and tapped his lap; you got the idea quickly and straddled him.

You cock feel his swollen cock rub against your clothes heat and you whined weakly at the contact.

“Please don’t tease me.” You whispered, looping your arms around his neck as Joel’s hands settled onto your soft hips.

“‘M not gonna tease you…” he smirked, his eyes lit with mischievous intent. “But I bet you could cum just from rubbing yourself on my cock. Since you seemed to want it so bad at the bar, trying to get my attention. Well guess what, little girl, you got it. Now keep it.” He hummed.

“Joel —“ you protested, to which he raised a brow at you in question.

You pushed your hips forward so the tip of Joel’s cock nudged your damp panties, it nudged your clit and you gasp as you began to rut your hips back and forth.

“Such a needy little girl, aren’t you? So needy for your daddy’s best friend that you’ll rub against his cock like a good little bitch.” He cooed, holding your cheek tenderly as his condescending words fuelled your hips to move faster.

“Not enough.” You whimpered, your hands scratching at Joel’s back for more leverage. “Need you in me, please. I need to feel your fingers inside of me.”

Joel smirked and pressed two digits into your mouth without warning; you quickly sucked them in, your tongue swirled around them until they were coated with your saliva.

“Is that what you mean, princess? My fingers are inside of you.”

You shook your head no as your hips moved desperately, the hot pink fabric of your lace thong was ruined; it was dark in colour as your arousal soaked the fabric.

“Then what is it you mean? Tell me what you want.” Joel said quietly, removing his fingers from your mouth. A long ling of spittle keeping you connected to the older male.

“Need your fingers in my pussy; need to feel them inside of me as I cum. P-please.” You whined, your voice sounded wrecked already as your hips stuttered against Joel’s cock.

Joel dipped his fingers into the front of your lace panties, they were slick from your spit and they glided through your wetness with ease.

He let out a moan as he felt your wetness soak his fingers further; his fingers circled around your clit with skill and your mouth fell agape with intense pleasure.

You screwed your eyes shut as his fingers sped up to rub over your clit.

“Oh that’s it, good girl. So wet for me, aren’t you? This all for me?” He hummed.

You nodded, as your back arched away from the man so he could gain better access to your front. Joel continued to speed his fingers up; he watched your every movement; every heave of your chest, every gasp or twitch of your arm and he knew you were getting close.

“Tell me when you’re going to cum.” Joel whispered, dropping his head down to kiss at your bra-clad chest.

“I’m close, Joel. So fucking close.” You whimpered, you were barely making a noise.

“That’s it, atta a girl.” Joel praised.

“I — I’m gonna, I’m gonna, fuck!” You screeched, the raw noise ripping from your throat as Joel removed his fingers from your panties at precisely the wrong moment.

He smirked at you, his mannerism teasing and cruel.

“What the fuck?” You squeaked, your eyes wide and your chest still heaving.

“Well I didn’t say you were going to cum, did I?” Joel stated.

“Please.” You pleaded, your eyes searching for mercy in him.

“Lay down on the bed for me.” Joel whispered, tapping your ass gently.

You felt dumb, your body was tingling all over from the overstimulation and lack of orgasm and you moved without knowing how you were doing it. You laid down onto Joel’s bed, your back resting up against his pillows.

It took everything in you to not turn your head into the soft pillows, breathe in his scent and fuck yourself right there. You felt like a horny teenager who couldn’t ever satisfy themself.

Joel fully kicked off his boxers and knelt beside you, he motioned his finger in an upwards movement and you sat up for him. Quickly, he removed your bra and your chest gently fell from the hot pink fabric. He gently pushed you back onto the bed and then worked to remove your panties, they too were discarded with the rest of your clothes on the floor.

“Now, where were we?” Joel smirked before he trailed his fingers back between your legs.

Instinctively, you spread them for him as he worked over your clit again; within seconds, the pressure was there once again and you tightly gripped at the sheets below you.

“Joel —“ you whined. “Please. Please, I am begging you, please let me cum.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, little girl?” He murmured menacingly.

You closed your eyes and willed yourself to not burst into tears there and then; the pleasure you were feeling was intense, Joel’s fingers moved expertly to bring you close to your orgasm and then there was the humiliation of him denying you the thing you wanted most.

Joel was watching you intensely, he was picking up on every little micro movement your body made or didn’t make, he was calculating when to stop his movements or when to speed them up. Bringing you right up to the edge, almost letting you peer over it but then pulling you right back again; never quite letting you topple into ecstasy.

He had done this three or four times now and the noises that left your body no longer sounded like your own; they were wrecked sobs of desperation as your arousal coated your thighs and left a wet spot behind in your wake. You could barely remember your own name or where you were anymore; Joel had messed with your mind.

“Please.” You pleaded to Joel, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please let me cum, I can’t — I can’t take anymore.” Your eyes were glassy with tears at the intensity of Joel’s actions and your own frustration as you experienced another ruined orgasm.

You knew if you really wanted this to stop, you could stand up, get dressed and walk away but you didn’t want that. Joel Miller had rotted your brain and you were fixated under him, completely at his will.

Joel smirked at you again, that same look he kept giving you; it was smug, it was infuriating and it turned you on even more.

“Look at you, princess. You’re a mess.” He whispered, his spare hand brushing a strand of hair away from your features. “So wet and messy for me, hm? Are you sure you can even cum now? Do you know what to do?”

You nodded eagerly at the older male, your eyes pleading silently as your mouth was hung open in constant pleasure.

Joel didn’t say a word, instead he sunk two fingers into your hole without warning; his thumb circled your clit with intense pressure. It was like a million sparks erupted throughout your body; your back arched off the bed, your thighs fell open even further and your walls clenched around Joel tightly.

You could feel yourself flutter and pulsate around the man’s digits as you came. Your eyes were screwed shut and your mouth was open, not a single sound fell from your parted lips apart from the start of a strangled moan. The pleasure, the pure ecstasy, was too intense for you to make a single sound.

Joel pumped his fingers quickly, watching as you came on them.

“That’s it, fuck. So good. Give me another one.” He growled, his arm shaking as he pumped his fingers even faster inside of you; his thumb pass over your clit with each thrust of his digits.

You honestly didn’t know if you could give him another; your body was shaking as you laid there and took what Joel was giving to you. It was intense and never before had you had such a strong orgasm; there were still white flecks dancing around in your vision as your body built up to another orgasm.

Your fingers were clawing at Joel’s arm and you were sure that you had broken his skin as you came on his fingers; there was no telling what would happen when he ripped another orgasm from you.

“Be a good girl and then I’ll give you my cock, come on, princess. I know you can give me another one. I know you’re good enough for that.” He whispered. “Look at what you’re doing to me, baby girl. Look at my cock, it’s leaking for you. So good.”

You peered between your bodies and saw the head of Joel’s cock, it was flushed and there was a dribble of precum falling from the tip and collecting onto the sheets below.

“Ki-kiss me.” You managed to squeak out, your voice shaking as you looked at the older male.

He smiled and happily obliged, your lips met in a sloppy kiss as you felt your body shake more intensely. The tight coil in the pit of your stomach snapped once more and another intense orgasm rippled through you like a shockwave.

“Good. Good girl.” Joel praised against your lips as he worked you through your orgasm.

He pulled his fingers from your hole and rubbed them speedily across your clit, you let out a yelp at the overstimulation and gripped Joel’s arm tightly for leverage.

“I’m gonna —“ you managed to call out before he felt yourself gush onto the sheets below you.

“Oh fuck.” Joel moaned, his cock jumping with arousal as you squirted onto his hand.

“I’m so, fuck —“ you breathed shakily and held yourself up onto your elbows, tears staining your cheeks from the intense pleasure. “Joel, I’m so sorry. Fuck, let me clean up. Fuck.” You cursed, your body shaking as you went to sit up.

Joel chuckled and gently pushed your shoulder back onto the bed with a shake of his head.

“So sexy. Have you ever squirted before?” He asked, finally removing his hand from your throbbing pussy.

You shook your head and he just grinned at you boyishly.

“That’s even hotter, how did it feel, princess? Did you like it?” He asked softly, his fingers tracing soft patterns across your tummy.

You blushed at his words and gently cleared your throat. “I did like it, I didn’t… well I didn’t know I could actually cum that hard. It was intense but amazing.” You said softly, looking up at Joel through your lashes.

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Look, we don’t have to — well, y’know, we don’t have to have sex. If you’re too stimulated or whatever. I can sort myself out.”

You quickly shook your head and pulled him closer to your naked body.

“No!” You said quickly. “I mean, I am a little over stimulated right now but please, I need to feel your cock in me.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice and he roughly flipped your body over so your face was against the bed. You gasped under the male, surprised by his strength. Behind yourself, you could feel Joel moving, positioning himself so his cock was nudging against your entrance.

He thrust forward, filling you once again; you were all-consumed with just Joel. The heady scent of him lingered on the bellows below your face, you cunt ached with lingering pleasure of your orgasms and now, you could feel his large hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucked into you with fervour.

“That’s it, sweet girl, taking me so well. So good.” Joel mewled, the praise sending heat through your body once more.

Your fingers clung to the soft fabric of the sheets below you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans that escaped your lips as Joel fucked you.

“So good. F-faster.” You whimpered.

Joel obliged, he sped his hips up and dug his fingers into your hips so hard you felt as if you were going to have bruises there for days.

Joel’s hips began to stutter, his groans grew deeper and you clenched around him, trying to bring him closer to filling you.

“Such. A. Good. Little. Girl.” Joel groaned, each word accentuated by a deep thrust. “This is my cunt now, got it? Hm. All mine. Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

You nodded under him with a soft moan as he bottomed himself out in you, his cock impossibly deep as you felt it twitch before he coated your insides with his hot cum. You whined at the sensation and felt yourself flutter around his pulsing cock instinctively.

“Shit.” He groaned, giving one final sloppy thrust before we collapsed down onto the bed beside you with his chest heaving deeply.

You followed suit, your body finally giving out from under yourself; you grimaced as your body touched the soaked patch on the bed and you began to feel Joel leak from inside of you.

“‘M a mess but so tired.” You yawned, scrunching your face in disgust.

“Let me clean you up.” Joel whispered, stroking your cheek.

He let out a grunt as he climbed off the bed, his limbs aching from the effort. He scooped your body from the mattress and carried you to the bathroom where he sat you in the bath. He turned the shower on and you hummed as the warm water hit your body, not caring your hair and makeup would be a mess.

Joel climbed behind you and gently rubbed your shoulders as the warm water washed away the messes you both made.

A/N: my requests are open again, I can’t promise I’ll always write them really quickly but please send me any ideas of stuff u wanna read <3 love u all <3

#dbf!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #dbf!joel #joel x reader #joel miller

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clownmoder · 2 months ago

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I became alive once more. At the dances I was one of the most untiring and gayest. One evening a cousin of Sasha, a young boy, took me aside. With a grave face, as if he were about to announce the death of a dear comrade, he whispered to me that it did not behoove an agitator to dance. Certainly not with such reckless abandon, anyway. It was undignified for one who was on the way to become a force in the anarchist movement. My frivolity would only hurt the Cause.

I grew furious at the impudent interference of the boy. I told him to mind his own business, I was tired of having the Cause constantly thrown into my face. I did not believe that a Cause which stood for a beautiful ideal, for anarchism, for release and freedom from conventions and prejudice, should demand the denial of life and joy. I insisted that our Cause could not expect me to became a nun and that the movement should not be turned into a cloister. If it meant that, I did not want it. “I want freedom, the right to self-expression, everybody’s right to beautiful, radiant things.” Anarchism meant that to me, and I would live it in spite of the whole world — prisons, persecution, everything. Yes, even in spite of the condemnation of my own closest comrades I would live my beautiful ideal.

Living my life, Emma Goldman

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ollieofthebeholder · 2 months ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 16: One round monotonous of change

Tim knew before the week was out that he was right not to clue the new Archives crew into everything. Or anything, for that matter.

He’d learned very quickly not to attempt to help Jon, at least not when the others were around. Actually, dealing with Jon was a delicate balance of being helpful without being too helpful, keeping things running without making it obvious that he was anticipating orders at best and doing what he’d always done regardless of said orders at worst. The man was obviously insecure, completely unprepared for his position, and despite what he’d said the first day about Elias telling him he’d be fine with Tim there, he didn’t seem particularly keen to take advice or suggestions. Tim gave him the simplistic, obvious notes Gertrude had left him, smiled and joked his way around the edges of the workday, and metaphorically washed his hands of the situation.

Sasha, now, Sasha was interesting. She was definitely more aware of what archiving entailed than Jon was, and a bit of conversation had revealed she’d been in academia longer than he had, which made Tim wonder how come Elias hadn’t appointed her the temporary archivist instead. She was, however, largely focused on the computer work. She’d come in the third day with a whole suite of books on MS-DOS and Windows 95 that she’d scrounged somewhere—and sworn a blue streak when she realized the computer’s operating system was Windows 3.11—and, like Jon, stubbornly refused assistance. Tim made a token offer of help, accepted her refusal with seeming grace, and left her to it.

Martin was actually the only one willing to accept Tim’s help, although he always waited until they were alone to ask for it. Tim assumed he was embarrassed that he needed help—he’d been with the Institute ten years—but honestly, it was kind of a relief to be able to help someone. Still…there was something off about him. Tim couldn’t quite put his finger on what, just that he didn’t seem like an almost forty-year-old academic with a master’s degree in parapsychology. Among other things, he seemed really not to be at home with the sorts of research they did, even if it wasn’t as…traditional as the kind most academia did. He’d also been very vague on what he’d done his master’s thesis on. Tim chose not to press him and just made sure the work, cursory though it may have been, was getting done.

Coming in to do his…independent research was harder than he’d thought initially, too. Jon was so paranoid about being seen not doing his job that he came in before eight and left well after five, and Tim hadn’t yet figured out his schedule well enough that he could get in early and get out before he was noticed, or for that matter be sure that if he came in after hours he wouldn’t get caught. He was doing what he could at home with Gerry, but for the first time, he fully appreciated what Gertrude had meant when she’d said she needed the Archives to progress her research. There were statements there that would help, he knew it, and he needed the free time to really explore the shelves and find the ones he needed.

Friday seemed like his best bet; he lingered over the (admittedly totally bullshit) statement he was researching, told Martin and Sasha not to worry about him, and kept an eye on the Archivist’s door. Jon came out eventually, looking tired, then froze when he saw Tim. He cleared his throat and straightened. Tim almost felt bad. Almost. “Tim. What are you still doing here?”

“Just finishing up some notes on the Cook case,” Tim lied cheerfully. Everything he needed had come in well ahead of time and was organized. “Monday being the spring bank holiday and all, I didn’t want to let it linger. You go ahead, I’ll close up shop when I’m done.”

“No need. I’m going to do one last sweep to make sure everything is put away properly while you get that finished.” Jon turned and walked away before Tim could come up with an appropriate response.

He supposed he could hastily gather his things, pretend to leave, and lock himself in a closet until Jon left, but a glance out of the corner of his eye told him that would be for nothing. Jon was extremely thorough in checking to make sure things were ready to leave. Oh, well, maybe he could come in over the weekend—the extra day would afford him a bit of protection. He’d still have to be careful, though. They weren’t doing enough that Jon might want to come in on days the Institute was nominally closed, but you never knew.

Tim was just packing up his laptop when Jon returned, looking faintly annoyed. “That back corner looks dreadful, there were statements every which way. If Martin can’t be bothered to put things back properly, I swear—”

“Martin hasn’t been back there all week, boss. Not since I gave you guys the tour, anyway. It was probably the ghost.” Tim slung his bag over his shoulder and felt for his keys.

“The ghost,” Jon said flatly.

Tim shrugged. “I used to come in some mornings—especially Mondays—and find stuff moved around. Thought it was Gertrude for a while because she worked odd hours sometimes, but it happened while she was out of town, too. ‘S why I make sure everything is cleared off my desk before I leave.”

“And you think it’s a ghost,” Jon said in the same flat, unemotional voice as before.

Actually, no, he didn’t. Tim was fairly certain it was Elias, but there was also a possibility that it was someone else—Gerry hadn’t been the only person who helped Gertrude out from time to time, there was that fussy old man he’d spotted a time or two when he got back sooner than previously anticipated, and it was entirely possible that one of them had a key. Either way, it was why the notebook Tim and Gertrude had used for the computer was in code and why he usually made a careful sweep first thing upon arriving and last thing upon leaving. Whoever or whatever was getting in here, they didn’t need to know anything Gertrude wasn’t ready to share.

And if it wasn’t somebody on their side, at least nominally, it wasn’t likely to be a ghost.

“Well,” he said instead, giving Jon a teasing grin, “the cleaning staff doesn’t come down here, so if it’s not a ghost, it’s an extremely weird and specific burglar.”

Jon’s lips flattened briefly. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re making sure everything is cleaned up, then, if you’re worried about that,” he muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Come on, then. Best to walk out before Rosie locks the front door.”

“We can go out the side door,” Tim pointed out.

“I don’t have the key to lock or unlock it from the outside.”

Since Tim knew that key had been on the bunch he gave Elias, he bit his tongue and filed that away for further use. Either Jon was lying in an attempt to catch Tim out on something, or Elias had held it back for unspecified purposes. Maybe he’d just got tired of not knowing when Tim and Gertrude were in the Archives.

They headed up the stairs together. Rosie was, in fact, just getting ready to lock the front door, but she held it for them and wished them a good weekend before shutting it behind them. Tim had taken the Tube rather than drive in because Gerry had an appointment in Penzance and needed the car, so they ended up walking together to Sloane Square before parting. Tim watched Jon head towards the opposite platform—thankfully he lived in the other direction—then turned. He was just considering backtracking and heading back to the Institute now when his gaze fell on a figure seated on one of the far benches.

Martin.

Tim’s intentions to keep his relations with his new (temporary) colleagues superficial, at least until Gertrude came back and decided if she was keeping them, were wavering in the face of Martin Blackwood. Partly—mostly—it was the fact that he kept asking for Tim’s help, but more importantly, he had at least attracted the attention of the Lonely. Tim wasn’t as good as Gerry was at spotting marks on people, not yet anyway, unless it was the Eye or the Stranger, but Martin practically wore it on his sleeve, or at least in his eyes. It may not have fully marked him yet, but he’d definitely drawn its interest. Tim had two—well, three, really—good reasons to do something about that. The first was, quite simply, that letting any of the Fourteen get hold of a person unwillingly was kind of not okay; it had been done to him, to Gerry, and in a way to Gertrude, and while he couldn’t save anyone at the Institute from the Eye, he could at least do something about any of the others, or at the very least try. The second, more serious one was that if the Lonely did get hold of Martin, it might use him to get into the Archives, and Tim wasn’t having any of that either. Attacks weren’t uncommon, and Gertrude had always been ruthless in keeping them out—one of the first things she’d taught Tim, once she clued him in, was how to ward off the Stranger so they could control whether or not it noticed him—and would never allow it to take root. If Martin succumbed to it, or it got hold of him too deeply, Tim didn’t doubt for a minute that Gertrude would throw out the baby, the bathwater, and burn the whole damn house down for good measure to be sure the Lonely didn’t have a way in. At some point it would be a kindness, but right now it would just be cruel.

The third was, quite simply, that Tim didn’t want to end up like that himself. He was only four or five years younger than Martin, and he had anchors, but…well. He remembered something Gerry had said once when talking about a woman he’d encountered in Italy: Sometimes the loneliest place in the world is in the middle of a thousand people knowing not one of them gives a damn whether you live or die.

Tim had stopped him in the middle of the palazzo and kissed him hard, in front of God and everybody, and nobody had blinked an eye, but they’d both understood what it meant. That wouldn’t work with Martin, but he could try something.

“Hey, Marto.”

Martin, who had been concentrating on a knitting project, jumped and dropped one of his needles, which clattered to the platform floor. “Oh! Tim, I d—I didn’t see you there. Did I forget something?”

“No, I just saw you when I got here and thought I’d come sit with you.” Tim bent to retrieve the fallen needle, then sat down next to Martin with a sigh. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No! N-no, I just…” Martin’s eyes darted around the platform. “I didn’t know you took the Tube. I’ve, um, I’ve never seen you. I thought you drove?”

“Have been, this week anyway. It rained on Monday and I hate dealing with the walk from here in the rain if I can help it. But my partner needed the car today.” Tim flashed Martin a grin. “Tube doesn’t run outside London.”

“Oh.” Martin looked a little flustered. “It’s—I just, I don’t remember seeing you on the line before. You’ve, you’ve been with the Institute two years, right?”

“Twenty months, but who’s counting? And I just moved a couple months ago.” Tim hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Used to live out in Hounslow, so the other direction. Which line are you waiting on, the Circle or the District?”

Martin shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed. “Um, doesn’t matter, actually. I live on the Northern line.”

“You’re joking!” Tim studied Martin’s face. “You’re serious. Which end?”

“Stockwell.”

“No kidding. I’m Morden.” Tim hesitated, then made an offer he normally wouldn’t have worried about. Maybe a little because he suspected Martin would rather chew his own leg off than actually accept it, so it wouldn’t matter, but mostly because a sincere offer would go a long way towards combating the Lonely. “Remind me to give you my number, and if I’m driving in, I can swing by and give you a ride.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s—that’s very kind of you. Thank you.” Martin’s face turned pink.

The next scheduled train pulled into the platform, and Tim and Martin managed to find seats, rare enough for rush hour on the London Underground. As they settled in, Tim asked, “So what are you making there?”

“Just socks. I, um, there was a whole load of knitting wool that went up for sale cheap a couple weeks back, and I managed to get hold of it. I’ve been sort of going through it and trying plan stuff out, but there was this sock yarn, so…” Martin shrugged a little. He looked uncomfortable.

“I’m always impressed by people who can knit. I never could get the hang of it…how long have you been knitting?”

Martin, unexpectedly, blushed again. “Since I was little…seven or eight, maybe? Um, my mum, she was—she was sick a lot, so I spent a lot of time in waiting rooms, you know, and, well, it was hard to carry enough books to keep me occupied and she really didn’t like me fidgeting, so…” He flapped the half-finished sock helplessly.

Tim winced inwardly in sympathy, but kept the smile in place. A picture was forming in his mind of Martin’s childhood, and it wasn’t one that made him feel any better about the incursion of the Lonely. Best not to let that show, though. “So, what, thirty years? You must have quite a stash.”

The blush got deeper, and Martin looked surprisingly uncomfortable. The approach of the stop where they would have to switch trains meant talking went on hold—especially when the Northern pulled in just as they were getting off and they had to sprint to catch it—and while Tim had a pretty strong constitution from all the walking he’d done recently, he was not a sprinter, so it took him almost as long to catch his breath once they dropped into their seats as it did Martin. Once they were back on an even keel, though, he went back to encouraging Martin to open up a bit. “You know I’m not making fun of you about the knitting, yeah? I really want to know. I mean, it’s got to be worthwhile if you’ve been doing it for thirty years.”

Martin fidgeted slightly, worrying at his lower lip and shooting nervous glances at Tim. He’d either be a lousy poker player or a really, really good one, if this was a bluff. Tim let his own smile slip slightly and a bit of concern pop into his eyes.

That was apparently all it took. “Tim, I—l-look, look, if I…just, don’t tell Jon. Please? O-or Elias, but…I’m more worried about Jon right now.”

Okay, now Tim was actually worried. He licked his lips, but nodded. “I promise,” he said. Unconsciously, he spun the black ring around his finger to loosen it. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he never willingly shared things with Elias anyway, and that he hadn’t got to the level of trusting Jon enough to gossip to him yet…and Martin hadn’t forbidden him to tell anyone whatever this was, so he could still hash it out with Gerry later.

Martin hesitated a moment longer, gaze darting around the car. Tim guessed he was checking to make sure Jon—or possibly anyone else familiar from the Institute—wasn’t within earshot. Just before Tim prompted him, he blurted out, “I’m only twenty-six.”

Tim blinked, and mentally counted back, and then counted again. “You had your master’s degree at sixteen?”

“N-no. No, I don’t—” Martin swallowed hard. “I d-don’t have a master’s. I don’t even have a degree. I, my mum, she—I told you she was sick? Well, she, um, she got really bad about ten years back and—and I had to drop out of school and get a job. Nobody was hiring, so I—you know, I just, I started making stuff up. Anything to get my foot in the door. I lied about having a master’s degree in parapsychology and it got me in the door and…I-I mean, it didn’t, it didn’t matter so much up in the library, but now I’m in the Archives and it’s a big deal and J-Jon thinks I have all these credentials and…I-I’m toast. I’m going to get fired. I’m definitely going to get fired.”

“You’re not going to get fired,” Tim assured him. In the first place, he wasn’t sure Jon actually had the authority to fire—or hire, for that matter—anyone to begin with, and even if he did…well, he still wasn’t entirely sure Martin or Sasha were bound too the Archives if Gertrude hadn’t appointed them or affirmed their appointment, but it would at least be a comfort. “An appointment to the Archives is an appointment for life, after all. Didn’t Elias tell you that? Or Jon?”

“No?” Martin looked confused, but he also looked a bit less stressed. “Jon’s barely said two words to me, honestly, and all Elias said when he sent me down to the Archives was that someone had finally decided to give me an opportunity to move on. I thought he meant Jon, but Jon seemed like he had no idea I’d been hired, so…”

Tim twisted the ring again—it was really stuck tonight, he’d been doing a lot of writing and his hand must’ve swollen—but held his tongue. Martin didn’t need to know about Elias’s unnecessarily cruel policy. All he said was, “Well, it’s true. You’re here forever—you, me, Sasha, even Jon. No matter how mad he gets at you, he’s not going to be able to fire you.” He nudged Martin lightly. “Besides, you’re a good asset to the Archives.”

Martin blushed again. “You’re just saying that.”

“Hey, I’m the one who knew Gertrude Robinson, remember? She’d have loved to have you on the team if she’d put up an internal posting.” And you’ll probably be the only one who sticks around when she gets back, he added to himself. At least if she came back in the next few weeks. Jon was ill-suited to the Archives, at least so far, and Sasha was almost too curious for her own damned good. More to the point, Martin was the only one willing to learn. No way would Gertrude pass that up.

Martin smiled, then glanced up at the window as the train slowed. “Um, this is my stop. See you Monday, Tim.”

“Tuesday,” Tim reminded him. “Monday’s the spring bank holiday.”

“Oh! Oh, right, I forgot. Yeah, see you Tuesday.”

“See you, Martin.” Tim flashed Martin a smile and a wave as he got off the train. Martin waved back just before the doors closed.

Alone again, Tim relaxed against the seat and turned his thoughts towards the weekend. He would definitely need to go in sometime this weekend and have a look around. Maybe he’d take Gerry with him and the two of them could pull a few relevant statements. A second pair of eyes would be useful in making sure he didn’t put anything out of order and raise Jon’s suspicions…or worse, his ire.

Meanwhile, though, he thought he’d take tonight to relax. Maybe see if Gerry was up for a walk, and they could take their new shaggy overlord up to one of the parks and let him chase sticks for a bit. There would be time enough for research later.

After all…it wasn’t like it was the end of the world. Yet.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #And If Thou Wilt Forget #tim stoker #jonathan sims #sasha james #martin blackwood #slight manipulation #minor workplace hostility #anxiety #lying #mention of chronic illness #denial

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