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ollieofthebeholder · 18 days ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

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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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astro-inky · 8 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 · 10 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 · 5 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 ૮꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀི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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campbellsoupgansey · 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 · 9 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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arcadiii · 3 months ago

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okay my current amphibia thought of the day is this screenshot

listen. here me out. but something about these two facing their worst fear (losing each other) but respecting anne’s wishes. something about acceptance and denial.

look at the horror on marcy’s face. she doesn’t voice her fears, but it’s clear in her expression: she knows this is a death wish. but she accepts what anne wants. we’ve seen her do everything she can to not lose her friends but in this moment, marcy does nothing. it’s the acceptance of loss with a small hope that anne will come back safe and sound because this is anne, her anne. no matter the time or distance, nothing can break them apart. maybe not even the fate of the world.

and then the denial from sasha “you better come back boonchuy”. because this whole thing? it’s out of sasha’s control once again but this is anne’s choice, her control. so this is sasha allowing anne to make her own decision even if it’s something sasha wants to fight, scream, kick and cry against. and that in itself is acceptance, not of loss but in trust, because that’s what anne taught her right? to remember to have faith in the people around her. and sasha wants to be better, better for them all, so she places that faith in anne to see herself return back to them.

“now it’s your turn to follow my lead” and god, what an ask to make when faced with the destruction of the world you’ve come to love and the person you’ve loved since forever.

#idk they make me a little insane #amphibia #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #sashannarcy

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the-magnus-scrotocol · 3 months ago

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The Magnus fandom, still in denial over Sasha James: no Sams fine he’s just resting

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tma universe #sam khalid #tmagp 30 #tmagp 30 spoilers

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ollieofthebeholder · 22 days ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

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

Chapter 15: And yet we little understand or know

“Plain tie or patterned one?” Tim mused, holding one of each up and examining them critically.

“Show them what they’re really in for. Wear a bowtie,” Gerry called from the other room.

“I still need to decide if I want it to be plain or patterned.”

“Of fucking course you do.”

Tim sighed and lowered both ties. “This is stupid. Why am I so worried about making a good first impression? Whoever it is isn’t even going to be my boss forever.”

It had taken Elias a bit over a month to winnow down his choices, which seemed excessive to Tim, but he’d dropped by on Friday to inform him that the new archivist, as well as his two new assistants, would be starting on Monday. Tim had spent the remainder of the day tidying up, buttoning down, and generally getting things ready for the new staff…and by getting things ready, he meant that he was doing his best to make it look like he was making an effort to organize the Archives while actually confusing it more. He’d then handed the Archivist’s keys over to Elias, working very hard on the mental scrambling Gertrude and Gerry had taught him to keep Elias from knowing he had his own set, before heading home for the weekend.

“You don’t know who it is?” Gerry appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, frowning slightly. “You’d think he would want you to have some kind of warning.”

Tim shook his head. “No, not even a hint. I didn’t even get the person’s gender. Just ‘I have chosen a new archivist, who has already chosen your two new colleagues.’ I don’t even know who they are.”

Gerry came over to his side, studied him for a moment, then took both ties out of his hands and put them back in the drawer. “You look fine. Don’t overdo it. And if this new person hired his assistants internally, one of them is Martin Blackwood.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I suddenly understand how you feel all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you know that?”

Gerry laughed, then instantly sobered. “Gertrude told me. The day I met you. She’d told me she didn’t have the budget for an assistant…allegedly…and when I called her out on that for having hired you, she said it was that she didn’t have the budget for two assistants and there was some official policy that if she accepted someone’s transfer, she also had to take Martin Blackwood.”

“Well. The part about the budget was bullshit…probably…but if Elias does have that policy, it’s kind of a dick move.” Tim sighed and shut the drawer. “Because I’m betting he didn’t tell the temporary archivist that, one, and two, I’m betting Martin doesn’t know that. Someone’s going to be in for a nasty shock today.”

“Hey, you never know, maybe Martin’s the temporary archivist. Then Gertrude comes back and gets three new assistants.” Gerry paused. “Including the one she didn’t want, either way.”

“I get the feeling she didn’t want more assistants because she didn’t want that much risk, not because she doesn’t like him.” Tim undid the button at the neck of his shirt, since he wasn’t going to be wearing a tie. “Anyway, if it’s true that we’re—that I’m bound to the Archivist and not to the Institute, that kind of implies that only Gertrude can appoint her assistants. Maybe she has to, I don’t know, ratify the appointment for it to stick? Otherwise she can just send them all back to where they came from.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Gerry asked quietly. “About…you know. Everything.”

Tim bit his lip. On the one hand, if they were going to be in the Archives, they probably should have some kind of clue about the Fourteen. He hadn’t for almost six months, and he knew it rankled Gerry. On the other hand, Tim had been actively going into dangerous situations and investigating the Fourteen without knowing it. Tim could…probably mitigate that with the others. He wasn’t in charge, obviously, but he could…he wasn’t sure what. Hide the real statements from them? Do any visible investigation into those cases himself? He’d been the only one who worked closely with Gertrude Robinson, and he wasn’t stupid, his world travels had probably drawn attention from anyone after her or the Institute, or more specifically the Archives. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that most of what went on above the basement level was negligible, as far as the Fourteen were concerned, and existed largely to present a legitimate front for the academic community as a whole, and more specifically for those donors whose names were not Lukas or Fairchild. It was extremely unlikely that anyone coming down from Upstairs was going to have the slightest clue what was going on. They were going to treat it as just another job.

“Nothing today, at any rate,” he said finally. “I need to kind of…get an idea of them before I do anything else. And, you know, if she comes back sooner rather than later…”

“Yeah,” Gerry agreed. “She’ll lose her mind if we give too much away. You never know who’s a spy.” He leaned over and gave Tim a quick kiss. “C’mon. I made breakfast.”

The morning was grey and rainy, so Tim decided to forgo the Tube and drive himself in; parking around the Institute was at something of a premium, especially on a day like this, but Tim arrived early and parked in a spot that was further from the front door than most people liked. It was, however, extremely convenient for the side door into the Archives, so he headed that way to go in.

It was locked, which wasn’t exactly a surprise but was a bit of a disappointment, as it meant Gertrude hadn’t returned yet. Tim automatically started to flip the key out of his ring before he caught himself. Right. New boss, at least for now. Can’t let on that you have those.

He swung his keys back into his hand, muttered to himself just in case someone was watching or listening, and trudged around to the front steps of the Institute.

Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who’d come in early; equally evidently, guessing from the puddles and footprints tracking off every which way, he was the only one who hadn’t been raised in a barn. Rosie wasn’t at her desk, which hopefully meant she was looking for the Caution—Wet Floor signs or the mats or the mop or all three. He carefully shook his umbrella outside the door to get the worst of the rain off of it, scraped his shoes briefly at the threshold, and then headed towards the steps to the Archives, careful to avoid the trail of water.

The door to the Archives, once again, stood open, but more haphazardly than when Tim had first returned after his travels—less like it had been deliberately propped open and more like someone had just been in too much of a hurry to close it properly. Tim stepped in and stuck his umbrella in the ring at the bottom of the coat rack, then shut the door carefully and made sure it was unlocked before venturing further in. The puddles and footprints continued into the Archives, and he suppressed a sigh. What a goddamned mess. Already.

He could hear what sounded like someone rummaging through the shelves. Taking it to be one of his new temporary colleagues, he called out, “It’s in the closet between the filing cabinets and Document Storage.”

There was a thump, and a curse, and a pair of feet appeared from behind the cluster of desks where the assistants sat, and then the figure of Martin from the library slowly rose up, rubbing the top of his head and looking worried. “S-sorry? You’re—o-oh. Oh, hi, um—it’s, it’s Tim, right?”

“That’s right. Tim Stoker. And you’re Martin—Blackwood?” Tim hazarded. Martin wasn’t exactly an uncommon name, but…

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s me.” Martin smiled, looking pleased that Tim knew him, but the smile quickly dropped off his face and he glanced towards the filing cabinet. A puzzled frown appeared on his face. “The—did you put it there, or…?”

“I mean, that’s where we keep it.” Tim crossed the floor and set his bag down on his chair. The climate control system was still compensating for the door that had been open, so he didn’t bother with the cardigan yet; time enough for that once he’d got the mess cleaned up. “I haven’t used it in a while, but that should be where Gertrude left it.”

The frown deepened. “The dog?”

Tim, who had been starting for the closet, stopped and turned back to look at Martin. “What dog?”

Martin’s face turned bright pink, and he bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “Um, a spaniel, I think? It…sort of followed me in. It’s loose in the Archives, and—”

“Oh. No, I was talking about the—” Tim stopped and mentally took a deep breath. If there was a dog loose in the Archives, a mop wouldn’t do much good, since they’d likely need to bring it out again after. “Okay. No problem. Are you sure it’s still in here? The door was open when I came in. Maybe it got out?”

“No, I—I would have seen it. I was looking.” Martin twisted his hands nervously. “Jesus. I’ve got to find it, or I’m dead. Or fired.”

“You’re not getting fired,” Tim assured him. He wasn’t sure how true that was, if he hadn’t been hired by the actual Archivist, but it was likely the case. Anyway, it was just the two of them, and Tim wasn’t tattling. “Look, there aren’t that many places it could be. It’s too big to fit under the shelves, and I know all the doors down here were closed when I left Friday, so unless someone’s been down here snooping, it’s got to be around here somewhere. You take that half, I’ll take this half, and we’ll work our way to the middle, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Martin managed a smile. He still looked equal parts terrified and miserable, but he was at least a little calmer as they separated to start looking.

Tim knew the Archives inside and out, and he was also able to spot which way the dog had gone by the spatters of water on the boxes on some of the shelves. It had obviously come into the building looking for a way to get out of the wet, and if it was someone’s pet it had probably just trailed the first human it had found, so it wouldn’t be hard to get out. After about five minutes of cursory searching while actually following a pretty clear trail, he found it exactly where he had expected—curled up under one of the cloth-covered chairs towards the back of the Archives, where he occasionally took his breaks when he didn’t feel like going up to the communal break room and where he and Gerry sometimes tossed theories around while they waited for Gertrude to tell them it was safe to come back towards the front. That was going to stop for a while, he thought, then pushed the idea out of his mind and concentrated on the dog.

It wasn’t just damp, it was bedraggled, a skinny, half-starved bundle of fur and bones, looking out at him with huge brown eyes that looked almost as terrified as Martin’s. Tim gave it a smile and spoke in a low, soothing voice. “Hey there, buddy. Why don’t you come out, huh? It’s okay. C’mon, I won’t hurt you. We’re friends here.” He whistled a couple of times, then went back to coaxing it.

After a few moments, the dog came creeping out on its belly. Tim let it sniff his hand for a moment, then cautiously scratched it behind the ears. It seemed to like that and crawled the rest of the way out. It was filthy, probably full of fleas, and definitely smelled of wet dog, but Tim scooped it up anyway and carried it—him, he could see now—back towards the main part of the Archives. “Martin! Got him!”

Martin popped out of a row of shelves, relief all over his face. “Oh, thank God. Now what?”

Tim hesitated. The dog couldn’t stay in the Archives, of course he couldn’t. But…“There’s a sandwich in my bag. Grab it, would you? I’m going to set this little guy outside and we’ll give him some food.”

Martin hurried off to the desks, and Tim made his way over to the side door. It took a bit of maneuvering to throw back the lock while still holding onto the dog, but he managed it. The morning was still wet and drizzly, and the dog whined unhappily, but Tim edged under the overhang until he found a relatively dry corner and set the mutt down.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know this door was here.” Martin’s voice came from behind him. Tim glanced over his shoulder and saw him standing just inside the doorway, awkwardly holding the bag with the ham sandwich Tim had figured he would eat while working through his lunch break. Now he would have to run to the canteen.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for the sandwich He unwrapped it and placed it in front of the dog, then patted his head as he sniffed it. “There you go, little fella…uh, it’s how I usually get in most mornings, but it wasn’t unlocked today.” Getting to his feet, he brushed off the hem of the raincoat he’d had the foresight to keep on, then turned to Martin. “Come on. Let’s get back inside before he follows us.”

Obediently, Martin went back into the Archives. Tim followed, wiped his feet, and shut the door, then headed back to the front to hang up his raincoat. As he emerged into the front part, the door opened, and a woman stepped in, laptop bag dangling off her shoulder, cup of coffee in one hand and purple umbrella in the other. She looked up, saw Tim and Martin coming behind her, and stopped. “I’m not late, am I?”

Tim checked his watch. “No, it’s still a minute to go before eight. You’re good.”

The woman put her umbrella in the stand next to Tim’s before turning to look at Martin. “Hello, Martin, it’s good to see you again. You’re down here now, too?”

“Hi, Sasha.” Martin smiled and relaxed a little. “It’s good to see you, too…yeah, um, just got the job. For now, anyway.”

The woman—Sasha, Tim guessed—moved aside as Tim came over to drape his coat over the hook, then held out her hand to him. “I don’t think we’ve met. Sasha James. I’ve just come down from Research.”

“Tim Stoker. I’ve been here the whole time.” Tim gave Sasha a broad grin as he accepted her handshake.

Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you were Gertrude’s assistant, right?”

Still am, Tim wanted to say, but didn’t. He had to play along, had to at least pretend to respect the temporary archivist as his superior. And since she was the last to arrive on time, he assumed Sasha was it. “That’s right. Guess you’ve heard of me.”

Sasha nodded. She looked around the Archives for a moment. “Where’s Jon?”

As if on cue, the door to the Archivist’s office opened. Tim turned around, fully prepared to welcome Gertrude back to the Archives after all—it would be just like her to have that sense of dramatic timing—but the words died on his lips at the sight of the figure stepping out.

It was the weird guy from Research. He looked even more severely dressed than usual—a crisply pressed suit and tie that nevertheless clearly came off the rack, the collar of his shirt so starched and sharp you could probably cut cheese with the corners, his hair ruthlessly combed and plastered severely to his head, shoes so brightly polished you could practically see yourself in them. He held himself stiff and straight, like he had a rod in his spine—or jammed up his arse—and he was scowling in Martin’s direction.

“Martin,” Jon, if that’s who this was, said severely, “is it gone?”

“Yep, yep, it’s gone, it—uh, T-Tim found it.” Martin smoothed the front of his jumper nervously and looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

Jon turned his gaze to Tim and at least let the scowl disappear. “I assume you would be Tim Stoker?”

“You assume correctly.” Tim gave him the brightest grin he could muster. Internally, he was warring with himself on several fronts. “I assume you’re…in charge now?”

Jon swallowed, almost imperceptibly, but Tim caught it. He was nervous—no, he was scared—and he was covering it up by being a pompous ass. Or at least Tim hoped that was a front, because otherwise they were going to have a very difficult time of it for the next however long. “Jonathan Sims. Head Archivist.”

Head Archivist. Well, Tim supposed it made sense to have that be the official title; all the other departments called them Head Researcher or Head Librarian or Head Accountant. It was just that Gertrude had never referred to herself as anything other than the Archivist. Then again, Gertrude understood how all this worked. He kept his grin in place and defaulted back to his own early days in the Archives. “Good to meet you, Mr. Sims. Sasha already introduced herself, and I’ve met Martin before, so I guess we all know each other now, huh?”

“I suppose so. And…just Jon, please.” Jon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Right. I suppose we’re all here, so let’s get started. Our order of business is twofold—well, I suppose threefold. In the first place, none of these files look as though they are organized, so we need to get things straightened up. I also made the suggestion to Elias that it might be worth attempting to digitize the statements, and he seemed quite on board with that. In doing so, I want us to do as much follow-up research on any cases that have made their way down here as possible before we make the recordings, so that we can include that information.” He glanced at one of the shelves, a frown creasing his forehead, and then turned back to Tim. “I assume it will just be a matter of picking up where the previous investigations let off. I imagine most of these are older cases.”

“Not all of them. And some statements were made directly to the Archivist,” Tim said. “Uh, honestly, mostly what’s down here are just the statements. I think that’s all the original charter called for keeping.”

“What?” Jon scowled. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Well, I mean, the stuff that can be brought to a satisfactory conclusion gets bound and taken to the library, doesn’t it?” Tim glanced at Martin with a raised eyebrow, who nodded enthusiastically. “These are the ones that get dismissed as just…stories. Or that couldn’t be investigated thoroughly. Older statements, foreign statements, that kind of thing. Looking into them is a bit more of a challenge—doable, but harder to prove.”

Sasha scanned the shelves briefly before returning her attention to Tim. “Why’s it so chaotic?”

Careful, Tim thought to himself. He knew the answer, but couldn’t reveal that yet. “Well, it’s a lot for one person, you know. Even for two people. I’ve only been here a bit over a year and a half myself, and—you know I mentioned those foreign statements? Gertrude had a big travel budget specifically so she, well, we could investigate those in person. I’d guess there’s only been about six months out of the last twenty that both of us were here at the same time. We were working on an index—and, actually, we’ve been typing up some of the statements to put in the computer—but—”

“Have you been making audio files?” Jon interrupted. “That was the idea I gave Elias…it seemed novel to him, so I assume not, but if you are I would like to know what procedure you’re using.”

“Uh.” Tim thought fast. Technically, the answer was yes, kind of, but also no, but sort of, but not really. Gertrude used her tape recorder for some, but in the last six weeks, he hadn’t actually found any of them, which either meant she had destroyed them or taken them with her to keep them from falling in the wrong hands. “No, just the text files. Mister Megabytes over there isn’t really set up for audio.”

Sasha followed where Tim indicated, and the look of horror that crossed her face almost made him laugh. “What is that? Please tell me that’s not what Gertrude Robinson has been using for the last thirty years.”

“No, just the last one. Elias had it installed last May. Before that we did everything old school.” Tim gestured at the door near the filing cabinets. “There are a few crates of floppy disks in the closet there, so we should be set for a while, but each one only holds about one statement plus associated research. The ones with the database on it are in that plastic case there on the desk.”

Jon let out a breath that sounded somewhere between nervous and exasperated. “You’d better give us a tour of the place, I think.”

Tim spent most of the rest of the morning showing the other three around the Archives. He was careful to keep them from knowing too much about the details, but he was happy to explain the more mundane details. To his credit, Jon didn’t seem to be the kind of manager to come in and immediately mark his territory by pissing on everything his predecessor had done, although he seemed skeptical of Tim’s assurance that there was actually a system. Sasha, for her part, seemed equal parts dismayed by the age of the computer and its system and thrilled by the inherent challenge in getting it functioning; Jon immediately appointed her in charge of the task, and Tim held his tongue and his smile as he, ostensibly, ceded the task. He’d have to come in early—or stay late—and handle the more…important stuff.

“Right,” Jon said finally on a sigh. “I think that’s enough for the morning…ah, I don’t believe we should all go to lunch at once, but—”

“I’ll stay back,” Tim volunteered immediately. He could at least get started obfuscating a few things, maybe work a bit on looking into the Unknowing while he had the place to himself. “We forgot to mop up before I showed you around, so I’ll take care of that, and then I can pull a few files off the shelves for the afternoon? I know which ones we’ve already worked.”

Jon pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Sasha…Martin, you two go now. Tim and I will go when you get back.”

Bang goes that plan. Maybe Jon was more aware than he looked. Tim nodded. “Sounds great. You two have fun. I’m going to get this cleaned up.”

The puddles had dried, as had the dirt tracked in, so Tim hurried to the closet and fetched the dustpan and broom. When he got back, he found Jon standing where he had left him, toeing at a smudge of dirt and looking…conflicted. He raised his head and schooled his expression as Tim approached. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Someone’s got to. Cleaning crew doesn’t come down here.” Tim shrugged at the startled look in Jon’s eyes. “Those orders come from higher up. I learned not to question them. But yeah, we’re responsible for cleaning up down here, which is why there’s a mop and a broom and even a jar of furniture polish back there, although we’re going to need more of that. I used about half of it Friday getting this place spruced up for today. Wouldn’t want you getting a bad impression of this place.”

Jon scowled, but stood silent as Tim began sweeping up the dried mud and silt. He did take the dustpan and hold it steady, which Tim had to admit he appreciated; at least he didn’t think he was better than them just because he had higher pay. When Tim took the dustpan with a quiet thanks and moved to drop it in the wastepaper basket, he finally spoke. “Did…when you were cleaning the Archivist’s office, did you happen to find any…instructions? Manuals? Anything like that?”

Tim took a good look at Jon. Behind the professional facade, the starch and the neat folds and the stiff posture, he recognized the look of a man who was truly out of his depth. A man who had got in line for a ride he thought would be the bumper cars but turned out to be the roller coaster. He was lost, and he was scared, and he was taking it out on everyone else, particularly Martin.

Tim sympathized.

“She left me some the first time she went out of town,” he said. He leaned the dustpan and broom against the wall. “They’re still in my desk. Hang on, let me get that for you.”

“Ah—thank you. The job description was a bit vague, and Elias seemed certain I could handle it—especially with your assistance, he said—but I still don’t know exactly what needs to be done here,” Jon admitted. “Obviously we’ll have to adapt and streamline processes a bit so that things get done, not that I’m accusing you of slacking off, but…” He waved a hand at the shelves. “How did you stand this?”

“Like I said, there’s a system. Just not an obvious one.” Tim headed over to his desk and opened his drawer, then pulled out the folder Gertrude had left him before she and Gerry jetted off to France. God, that had been a year ago, hadn’t it? He checked quickly to make sure it was the mundane, obvious one, even though he knew he had the detailed one in the leather folio, which still never left him. “I think because she’d been down here on her own for so long, she didn’t really feel the need to worry about how anyone else would find anything. She knew where it was—and eventually I knew where it was, too—so if someone else needed it, one of us could get it.”

Jon took the folder and flipped it open, skimmed the page, then closed it. “Well. Thank you. This should be enough to get started, at least. While it’s just us, talk me through her routine. As I said, I’m not going to just change everything, but in order to make the transition as smooth as possible for you, I ought to stick to what you’re familiar with.”

Tim did his best to describe Gertrude’s movements during the first couple of months he’d worked for her, before she’d sent him to the Night Market and changed his understanding, when she’d still been pretending this was a normal job. It was hard, because he didn’t want to admit just how much she’d left him to his own devices, even then. He must have done a fairly good job of it, though, because Jon was nodding along and seemed to be making mental notes. When Martin came back—a few minutes early—and Jon dismissed him for his own lunch, Tim was cautiously optimistic.

Since he’d given up his sandwich, he decided to go down to the curry shop a few blocks away and headed for the side door, nearer where he’d parked his car. Scarcely had he opened the door when something furry and dark tried to push past him. He lunged down and managed to catch it. “Nice try, boy, but you can’t go in there.”

The dog whined. No, the dog whimpered, looking up at Tim with big, wet, pathetic brown eyes. He was little more than a puppy, still long awkward limbs and big paws, and he looked absolutely miserable. Tim ran through his options and realized there was only one, in the end.

Sighing, he scooped up the dog and headed for his car to take it to the nearest vet’s office.

He managed to find a place, explained the situation, and handed the dog over to the tech. The dog whined again and strained his neck, then extended his tongue and gave Tim’s hand a desperate, pathetic lick. The tech smiled. “So you’ll be back for your friend later, yeah?”

“I don’t…it’s not my call,” Tim said sheepishly. “But I’ll at least be back to pay for his shots and whatnot.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty confident the tech winked at the dog on their way to the back.

Heading back out to the car, Tim checked the time, then placed a call. Gerry’s voice came over the line, sounding distracted. “Pinhole Books.”

“Hey, babe, it’s me.” Tim glanced back at the vet’s office, already aware of what he was about to say. “How do you feel about having a dog?”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #and if thou wilt forget #tim stoker #gerard keay #martin blackwood #sasha james #jonathan sims #denial #dog #anxiety #minor workplace bullying

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nanaminsmoon · 1 year ago

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hiii again 🫶🏾 boom girls night vs guys night (reader is dating connie/ony) and the girls are playing truth or dare— reader and one other friend get dared to make a vid of them shaking ass or something w the caption “anyone can take me from my nigga rn” chaos ensues, the guys are like hell no n go snatch up the girls

- 🪩

heyyyy so i remixed this a little but i hope it’s okay. and i was thinking about doing a little pt.2…🤭

cw: orgasm denial, ony records it but there's prior consent obvi, n word usage, ony calls reader; 'mama', 'baby', 'slut', reader calls ony 'daddy'

wc: 3638

the friday night you had originally planned to be a girls’ night, was currently being spent bouncing on ony’s dick on the couch of your shared apartment. muscular thighs rested beneath you—covered in a mix of their owner’s first release of the night, and the wetness produced by your denied ones. albeit a tease, and rough at the best of times, ony had never been cruel to you. until right now—watching his nut leak out of you, even lifting you up to collect some of it on two fingers before shoving them in your mouth, and having you taste the fruits of your labour. flavours usually decadent enough to send you into delirium, made your nose scrunch in frustration. because, for ony, revenge was never sweet and you’d learn that tonight.

what started off as an innocent night with your girls took a nasty turn once mikasa suggested a game of truth or dare. even though she had called mikasa juvenile for her suggestion, ymir was the first to collect the drinks for the forfeits. and the loudest when it came to asking people out of pocket questions if they picked ‘truth’. as well as even dumber dares; like when she asked your friend, ella, to ‘accidentally’ send her ex an ass pic…(she obviously didn’t do it). but, knowing what ony was like and how he was with you, you thought she’d go easy on you. key word: ‘thought’.

”okay, y/n, you’re next”, mikasa nodded in your direction.

”um…truth”, in the interests of not upsetting your man, you decided to just choose something calm.

”boring…”, ymir shook her head at you, before speaking, ”but~ i’ve got a question for you. if you could have a threesome with ony and one of his friends, who you picking?”,

”the fuck kinda question is that?!”, you had your fingertips already firmly set on your shot glass, before you paused at all the girls encouraging you to answer. that momentary lapse was enough of a gap for mikasa to swoop her hand in, and grab your glass from you.

”a good one. now, answer it”, she pressed.

”i can’t answer that”, you narrowed your eyes at your friends, as they accused you of lying. a voice you couldn’t decipher due to your genuine shock, even voicing how you had to have an answer because of how fine ony’s friends were.

”you can. just tell us.”, sasha said.

”we won’t tell ony. if that’s what you’re worried about”, ymir held her pinkie up. but your brain power was so geared at the question at hand, that it couldn’t transcend far enough to will your hand to move.

”i’ve never thought about it, so i don’t know”, a part of your mind still didn’t believe that you were about to answer this question. there weren’t many ways to go about it; you either picked his closest friend, or the one you thought was most attractive.

”well think about it now.”, mikasa pushed. they weren’t going to give up until they got an answer, so you just conceded.

”fine! if i had to pick, then…”, you paused, ”it’d probably be eren”, the room went silent before different variations of ”eren?!” filled ymir’s living space.

”okay next!”, your deflections immediately began, and you hoped that the game would just end before shit got any worse. but hopes can only go so far.

when he overheard you talking to your friends about a girls night at ymir’s, ony automatically called his friends and suggested they had a boys night. the main reason being that he hated being at home when you weren’t there, so there was no way he was staying at that apartment while you were gone for the night. sat beside you, ‘helping you pack’ (aka feeling you up whenever you bent over to pick some stuff up), ony had asked you what you guys would spend the night doing. and your answer had been ‘girl stuff’,

”the fuck is girl stuff?”, his fingers wrapped around those words in confusion.

”shit that girls do”, you had laughed back. obviously he had no idea what that meant either but, now that he had seen your ass cheeks plastered on his best friend’s phone screen, he had been enlightened. connie had just been sat scrolling on his phone before a low ’shit’ left his mouth. no one thought anything of it until he leaned over to ony, who was just peacefully vibing with a blunt between his lips, and asked him,

”you seen this?”,

ony’s hand rose, wafting away the smoke he had blown out his mouth to see clearer. and, as soon as he saw, he knew exactly who it was. no matter the picture, angle, and video resolution, ony knew those cheeks like the back of his hand. this man could recognise them in a detective’s line-up of fat asses. even with the poor attempt to hide it with the phrase: ‘anyone can take me from my nigga rn’.

”hm.”, was all he said, before he picked his phone up, and pulled up your contact. his features remained frozen; unimaginable anger coated in feigned nonchalance, as he messaged you and said his goodbyes to his friends.

”pack your shit up and be at ymirs door in 5 minutes”.

that notification rested on your phone screen for a second before you shot up, rushing around to pack your bags. the woman behind the idea, ymir, sat in bewilderment as you asked her what the fuck she thought would happen when she posted a video of you and your friend shaking ass, in barely there shorts. although it was your idea to fold over the waistband of said shorts so they sat up higher on your ass, you didn’t think the bitch would post it???

through the help of the furious blood rapidly running through ony’s veins, and the empty night-time roads, he arrived at ymir’s quicker than you had anticipated. the force with which he closed his car door was enough to turn every window in that vehicle to dust—the sound being so loud that it forcefully pushed itself through the gaps in the opened windows, and bounced off every solid surface in ymir’s living room. the girls looked up at you, but even you couldn’t calm ony when he was like this. especially when it was you that had made him that way. three heavy knocks resounded from ymir’s door before sasha got up to open it. and, as if your night couldn’t get any worse, ony wasn’t alone.

”hey, eren”, sasha greeted, looking back towards you before she was slightly nudged by ony walking past her into the house. your eyes met for a few seconds, before you made your way over to him, bags in hand. the proprietorial hands that usually can’t be torn from you whenever you’re in ony’s vicinity, remained in the pockets of his joggers. they wouldn’t move, even as he dodged the kiss you intended to place on his lips; ony was pissed.

you couldn’t remember how much alcohol sasha had consumed, but it was obviously enough to wash away all her tact, because this girl could not read the fucking room.

”y/n said she wants to fuck you”, you heard her titter from beside the front door. ony never let anyone see him sweat, so you couldn’t see how he was feeling, and you weren’t sure you would want do.

”i never said that.”, you placed a gentle hand on ony’s forearm, taking notice of how it tensed under your touch, ”they asked me to pick one of your friends to have a threesome with and i just picked him because i didn’t know who else to say. you know it doesn’t mean anything”, your words were only loud enough for ony’s ears to hear, but that didn’t stop anyone else from inserting themselves into your conversation.

”i’m down”, eren laughed, placing his arm around ony’s shoulders to slap one of them. the air in that room was suffocating, and travelled in and out of your lungs at an excruciating pace; every eye observing the two that wouldn’t remove themselves from you.

”ony, i didn’t mean it like tha—”, your explanations were cut short by ony reaching down to take your bag from your hand. nothing was said, he just made his way to the door.

”you comin’ or what?”, he spoke, one foot already out of the door. hugs were exchanged between you and your girls, as they giggled somehow already aware of what was about to go down. on your way out, you smacked sasha upside her head, and rolled your eyes at her subsequent complaint. because how was she crying, when she was the one who had picked you up and dropped you right in it??

librarians would watch the scene playing out in ony’s car with green eyes, and notepads in their hands—you could practically hear the blood rushing through your boyfriends body because of how quiet it was in there. every glance you stole at him twisted the hand toying with your internal organs more, and more. but ony’s pupils hadn’t left the road once since he had gotten in the car. usually he would have a hand on your thigh as he drove, squeezing ever so slightly or stroking his thumb against it. but, today, your thigh had been replaced by his stick shift; the thumb he would caress you with, tapping at it furiously. it was obvious he had no intentions of talking, so you took the chance to explain yourself now before he took you home and fucked you dumb.

”you okay, baby?”, sweet words were met with a salty reception; nothing.

”don’t listen to sasha, you know she was just being annoying, and she was just trying to get under your skin.”, you reasoned, your hand rubbing his thigh gently.

”d’you mean it?”, he finally spoke, and the split second his eyes met yours scrambled your thoughts. making it hard to even understand the question presented to you.

”mean what?”, your head tilted in confusion.

”you wanna fuck eren?”, ony’s eyes lingered on yours for a millisecond too long before they returned to the road.

”of course not. i only want you, but th—”, ony didn’t even want to hear you out, because he knew all words after that one ’but’ would be blurred out nonsense to his ears.

”but”, he scoffed, ”you only want me but you still wanna fuck eren?”,

”no, ony—”,

”you posting your ass for him too?”, he cracked his neck at the memory of the look on his friend’s face at the clip of your ass jiggling all up in the camera. flash on and all. the mere thought was enough for his dick to react in his joggers, twitching slightly at the replaying image of your ass shaking.

”baby, no it was just a game”, that defense sounded ridiculous, even to your own ears. but it was the only one you had.

”so you disrespected me for a game?”, the stick shift was abandoned, ony’s hand moving on its own to reach over to you, and slip a finger under the waistband of your shorts. after scoffing at it being rolled up so the shorts would be shorter, ony would move his finger alongside it before putting his hand down your shorts. the cold of his finger hitting your warm stomach made your body shiver. and, in a lousy attempt to stabilise yourself, your hand landed on his wrist as the cogs in your brain slowly began working again. remembering that he had asked you a question,

”…no.”, your whispers barely reached his ears.

”what would you call it then?”, his fingers then rubbed circles on your clothed clit, and your hips automatically sought his touch. despite his clenched jaw, ony tried to maintain an unbothered front—even when his question went unanswered because your mouth could barely produce anything that wasn’t a quiet moan.

that would continue until you guys got home. and, once you did, getting out of the car was needlessly uncomfortable because of the thin fabric between your legs—soaked, and sticking to you. not caused by an orgasm, but by the pettiness of the man that sat beside you; adroitly toying with what he knew you wanted most, but never fully giving it to you. because ony’s hands hadn’t found your body seeking your pleasure. instead, they were vengeful and sought nothing more than to lead you towards the edge, only to leave you there so he could push you off whenever you felt ready. you didn’t know it yet, but that 20 minute drive back to your shared apartment had been the last bit of grace ony offered you. disrespecting him over a stupid game was incomprehensible, but if you wanted to play so bad then ony would join you. but, this game would have only one winner. and it wasn’t going to be you.

as soon as he opened the door, ony’s keys had landed wherever his hand had flung them—staying there until he cared to move them. for now, he turned on the light and walked you over to the couch. his hands hadn’t been connected to yours, but you knew to follow him, and that led you to the space in between his legs. stood, waiting for his next command like a soldier awaiting disciplinary action. on any other day, you would’ve only been stood for a few seconds before you were on your knees, using your mouth to pull words of forgiveness from your man’s parted lips. but today, ony just gave you one look up and down, thoughts of ’what the fuck am i gonna do with her?’ rampant in his mind.

”off.”, was all he said, referring to your shorts and you quickly scrambled to get them off. he waited for you to stand up straight again before leaning forward, feigned contemplation evident in the meeting of his elbow and knee. as well as the finger on his chin.

”now, what did this?”, he pointed his index finger, eyes flying up to your face as he observed the effects of his breath fanning against the wet patch in front of him, ”was it me? or was it the thought of eren fucking you?”, he started sliding your underwear down, and guided you out of it once it reached your ankles.

”you.”, you breathed out lightly, and he nodded in approval, before standing up to pull his joggers and boxers to his ankles. his dick practically jumped out of his calvin’s, slapping his clothed abdomen. he noticed your gulp at the sight of it, but he just sat back down.

”sit on it. and don’t cum until i tell you to”, he ordered. and, when all you gave him was a meek nod, his hand rose to grab your chin, the metal bands decorating his digits digging into your skin. squinted eyes traced your every feature before he spat out,

”the fuck does that mean?”, through gritted teeth.

”yes, daddy”, you spoke up, and he let go of you.

”good girl. because we both know what happens when you don’t use your words”, you nodded as your brain referred back to the time he had fucked your mouth in an attempt to show you how useful it is—a lesson designed to teach you to use it more often.

and now, you had been riding him for who knows how long. you really weren’t sure, but the aching in your thighs told you that it had been far too long. but time was no concern for the man underneath you—big hands sat on your ass cheeks, rubbing and slapping them each time that video popped into his mind. they would pause there for a few seconds, fingers digging into you as ony felt his abs, and thighs twitch. signalling his second orgasm,

”can’t believe you pulled that dumb shit”, he moaned out, his head falling back onto the sofa.

”y-ymir, dared me t-to”, your legs weren’t working with you the way they were when you first started riding ony, and it was probably because he had denied you of your own release far too many times. but, your boyfriend didn’t care what your reasoning was, all that he cared about was that nut you were denying him with your slow movements.

”she needa dare you to move faster or what?”, was all the encouragement you needed to pick up your pace, french tips digging deeper into his shoulders as he fucked up into you. whether it was on purpose or not, ony was hitting that spongy spot inside you, building you up for the nth time. but you knew that would only build to topple over, because a familiar warmth spread inside you. but you didn’t stop, because you didn’t want to do something that could deprive you of your relief. again.

”daddy, can i p-please cum n-now?”, you stammered, and ony looked up at you, holding your hips to still them. then his lips pressed against yours for the first time since he dropped you off at ymir’s house. the kiss was sweet until his tongue entering your mouth told you that he wanted more.

”don’t ever pull some like that ever again, okay?”, he whispered against your lips. and when he pulled back, you could see that his eyes had softened considerably. his lips would soon latch onto your neck, and jaw, before he lifted you off him.

the anger from earlier had seemingly subsided, your past actions diminished as ony fucked into you from behind, hand wrapped around your torso to toy with your sore clit. your face was pushed into the couch cushions, and you had gone from him denying you, to overstimulation. the white ring at the base of his dick, making him nut in you one more time before he picked his phone up.

”look back at it, baby”, he asked you, but the strength in your body was non-existent. although you could barely lift it, you shook your head against the material underneath you, and ony tsked,

”you can do it for the gram but not for me?”, his hand made harsh contact with your ass cheek, the flash on his phone illuminating the moisture connecting you two. the device captured everything, down to the smacking noises the flesh surrounding your hips made each time it made contact with ony’s hip bone. his frustration at that video came from the fact that a picture reserved for his eyes only had been hung in a public gallery, and now everyone knew what he was seeing right now.

”d-daddy, i’m s-sorry”, you cried out, lifting yourself up to look back at him. immediately, your eyes were met with the flash from his phone; blinding you to the hand that would soon land on your flesh again. and a small part of ony did feel bad for you. but the parts of him that didn’t, were significantly louder than the former. although seeing your face contort due to the pleasure caused by his ministrations was ony’s favourite part of sex, the circumstances meant that such romantic sentiments held no merit,

”you know i don’t like fucking you like a slut, mama. but when you act like one, fuck else am i supposed to do?”, it infuriated him how seeing your cheeks clap right in front of his eyes, just triggered thoughts of that fucking video—your friends’ laughs and words of encouragement ringing in his ears. and, he would attempt to hush them by fucking into you harder; hoping that the raucous caused by your skin meeting, and the pleasure it brought you, would drown them out. that was aided by the wetness jumping from in between your legs, to coat his thighs and stomach. once you came for the nth time, ony’s focused diverted,

”think you can take her from her nigga? come get her then”, enveloped in a smug chuckle, were ony’s words directed to the brunette who thought he could even joke about ever fucking you.

”you think eren can fuck you like this?”, he asked you, and you just shook your head, ”answer me, baby”, ony’s hand wrapped around your throat to pull you up slightly.

”no, d-daddy”, you stammered out before ony dropped you back onto the couch.

”damn fucking right he can’t”, ony’s hand played with your ass cheek for a few seconds, wobbling it in his hand like it was damn pizza dough, before he spread you open so he could give eren a clearer view of exactly what he was missing. and that was only the beginning because, at some point during the night, ony would move you to your bedroom, where he’d send eren random videos every few positions just to show him how you didn’t need a third. because he gave you everything two men could give you and more. didn’t matter how many niggas saw your ass cheeks on the gram, they would never know the feeling of nutting on them time and time again.

#nanaminsmooninc #aot x black reader #aot x black y/n #ony x black reader #ony x black y/n #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon smut

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