#the second one is from the actual show in case that's not obvious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gabseyoo · 3 months ago

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DON'T WASTE THE NIGHT — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: college/university!au, halloween setting, female reader, virgin!kiyoomi, popular!reader, virginity loss, mutual pining, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, pretty vanilla but cute, mean girls references, kiyoomi might be a little occ, he’s shy :(, atsumu being atsumu. word count: 8,0k.

notes: yes i’m late to halloween but i don’t care :) it’s being so long since i posted a one shot and i had this idea for maybe a year, two (?), and i finally had the inspiration to write everythiiing. i’m happy with the result, i hope you like it too <3

Halloween parties were not Kiyoomi's thing. Rather, no party at all. He didn't like the crowds, the drunks, or the excessive noise. But thanks to his group of friends (which he doesn't even remember how he ended up being a part of), staying away from parties was almost impossible, so it was already a common thing for him to be dragged to one every weekend where he would be counting the minutes to leave and drive all his drunk friends home.

But, that was not the case tonight.

Surprisingly, it was the first time Kiyoomi didn't want to leave a party, and that was thanks to a certain someone who had shown up at the Miya's Halloween party.

"Just go talk to her."

Kiyoomi almost jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of his personal headache, also known as Atsumu.

"Who?" He asked, playing dumb because he knew perfectly well who the blond was referring to, and mentally slapped himself for not being more discreet.

Atsumu snorted, "Y/n. You're staring at her like a creep." He said, pointing his head in your direction across the room, where you were talking enthusiastically with your friend, dressed in a pink tracksuit. "I don't blame you. She's pretty."

Sakusa kept silent, trying to suppress his need to agree out loud, because of course you were pretty. More than pretty.

"You like her, don't you?"

Kiyoomi sighed heavily, obviously uncomfortable with the question. It was obvious he liked you. Very much. But he didn't trust Atsumu to be able to not make a big deal out of the fact that Sakusa liked someone, so he decided to answer his question with a dry: "No."

"Liar." The blond replied. "It's pretty obvious that you like her."

"I don't like her." He insisted, though he already knew it would be in vain, it wasn't for nothing he called Atsumu his headache.

"So you hate her and you're staring at her 'cause you're planning her murder?"

Jesuschrist.

"I'll be planning your murder if you don't shut up."

Atsumu pursed his lips and Kiyoomi thanked god in his head. But the fake threat seemed to work only for a limited time, because the twin spoke again seconds later, making him roll his eyes.

"Don't you even think she's pretty?"

He let out a sigh in frustration, but agreed with the question because, c’mon, it will be a very blatant lie to deny the obvious, "She is." He admitted, "But I don't like her."

"You do like her, there can't be any other reason why you were looking at her like that."

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, is there a way to shut this guy down?

"Like what?"

"Like you like her."

"If I say so, will you shut the fuck up?" He blurted, resigned.

"I knew it!" Atsumu exclaimed victoriously, and Kiyoomi just let out a sigh, cringing when the twin tapped him a little too hard on the shoulder as if he was congratulating him. "Wow. So Omi likes someone, huh, who knew."

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Omi, liking someone isn't a bad thing." He said in a more earnest manner, perhaps trying to show that he was actually serious and not joking about his friend’s situation.

Kiyoomi closed his eyes for a moment and sighed before replying, "I know it's not."

"Then why don't you go and talk to her? She's in your class, isn't she? It wouldn't be weird. Maybe she likes you back."

The twin had a point. Sakusa sat behind you for two hours straight five days a week during a very boring class. While you might not call yourselves the best of friends, you could say you got along well— you would usually turn around to ask him if he understood the subject so he could explain it to you, borrow a pen or offer him a gum. Occasionally you would randomly show him your phone with something you thought was funny and there were even times when you would ask his opinion on which item to buy or which selfie to post, you would often have small conversations and even followed each other on Instagram. And, as a bonus, lately you had started walking together to the classroom exit at the end of class where you would say goodbye with a 'see you tomorrow'.

But you liking him back? He didn't think he was that lucky.

Because, yes, maybe you weren't a stranger to Kiyoomi and he wasn't a stranger to you either, but contrary to what many believed, Sakusa Kiyoomi didn't have much experience with women, not even with having a crush on someone. The idea of talking to you outside the classroom made him nervous. You were too pretty and too charming and too popular and too hot and... out of his league.

There were times when he wondered if it was possible for you to like him? Okay, call him arrogant, but he knew he was nowhere near ugly, that was a point in his favor. But one point that was not in his favor was the fact that, yes, maybe he was good-looking, but the university was full of good-looking guys, who unlike him, were more... outgoing. Guys who smiled more and didn't have a grumpy attitude like he did, who weren't known for being rude, and who probably wouldn't think twice about asking for your number or inviting you on a date. And, honestly, he felt like one more in the very long list of men who have a crush on you.

"It's just..." He started, but the words were lost in his throat.

"Just what?"

"She doesn't see me that way. Just leave it at that, okay?" He finished his sentence, taking a sip from the bottle of water he'd been carrying since he arrived.

Atsumu folded his arms, glancing in your direction for a moment before making that smile that never meant anything good, "You know what? I have an idea."

Kiyoomi panicked. "Miya, what are you gonna do?"

"You'll thank me later."

And just like that, Atsumu pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and before Sakusa could stop him, he started walking in your direction.

No. No. No. No. Kiyoomi's heart was going to escape from his chest. Fuck. He knew it was a bad idea to be honest with Atsumu. A. Fucking. Bad. Idea.

He watched frozen from his spot in the corner of the room the moment the blond approached you, greeting you and your friend casually before saying who knows what that made you look at him with confusion for a moment as you exchanged more words, but after something that left the blond's mouth, your face lit up with a smile. The interaction seemed to be going well, until the twin pointed— really fucking pointed—over his shoulder, and then, you connected your eyes with Kiyoomi’s for a moment.

His feet began to move automatically.

Towards the exit.

He was so embarrassed. What did Atsumu say to you? What did you think? Fuck. He didn't even want to know. He was out of here, he'd move his seat to the other end of the classroom, or better yet, he'd never set foot in that class again, who cares if he had to repeat it next semester, that was better than looking you in the face after this.

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

Sakusa was halfway to his car when he heard the twin's voice call out to him.

"Home."

Atsumu trotted up in front of him. "Come on. Don't be like that, listen-"

"You fucking embarrassed me." He spat, pulling his keys out of his jacket roughly.

"I didn't. I just did you a favor." Atsumu replied, crossing his arms proudly, which only raised Kiyoomi's anger levels.

Don't punch him. Don't punch him. Don't punch him.

"Fuck you, don't talk to me ever again."

"C'mon Kiyoomi, trust me. You think I'm capable of making a fool of you?" The twin asked with confidence in his voice. Kiyoomi simply looked at him, his silence explaining his answer, which caused Atsumu's smile to disappear. "Ouch." The twin brought a hand to his chest dramatically and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes before pressing a button on the control, removing the lock and alarm.

He was barely about to open the car door when Atsumu spoke again. This time in a more serious tone, "Omi, I'm your friend. Just trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

Kiyoomi would never admit that those words made him feel a little bad about his attitude.

Without removing his hand from the door handle, he blurted out the question that was consuming him and that he needed an answer to.

"What did you tell her?"

For some reason, he expected Atsumu to answer with honesty, but he wasn't surprised when instead, the twin simply replied, "A wingman never reveals his secrets."

"Oh, fuck off." He mused, opening his car door just a few centimeters before the other man's hand closed it.

"Look, just go inside and talk to her. I swear I saw it in her face that she’s interested, of course, until you ran away like a chicken. I hope she's not offended and you've lost the opportunity of a lifetime."

Only a sentence of Atsumu's words caught his attention.

"What do you mean with 'she looked interested'?" He asked, his voice betraying him by not sounding as disinterested as he wanted it to.

Atsumu smirked. "It seems like she does see you that way."

You do?

The mere possibility of that being true, of you seeing him that way, was what prompted him to let out a last sigh and set the car alarm again before locking his keys in his hoodie. Although he wouldn't say this out loud and was still unhappy with Atsumu's actions, the twin was right in saying that this could be his chance. Maybe he should stop feeling self-conscious and just go for it.

"If you're lying, you forget I exist."

"Deal." Atsumu said, stretching out his hand, waiting for him to take it, but the black-haired simply brushed past him, to which the twin simply huffed in resignation before following his friend.

Kiyoomi's feet felt heavier with every step he took back to the twins' house, he was going to do it. He was actually going to do it. He was going to talk to you outside the classroom, after whatever Atsumu had told you, which opened the door to many possibilities. One, was that you liked him; the other, was that you didn't and that you only saw him as a friend, he longed too much for the first option but he wouldn't be dissatisfied with the second, it all depended on how things turned out when he walked through the door in front of him.

Kiyoomi inhaled and exhaled, filling himself with courage before placing his hand on the doorknob.

But that burst of bravery he was able to fill himself with was interrupted by the twin, who stopped him with a grip on the wrist.

"Don't touch m-" He didn't finish his sentence since Atsumu put something cold in the palm of his hand.

"Here." Atsumu whispered and Kiyoomi looked at the object, frowned in confusion when he realized it was a key. "It's the key to the guest room. Use it wisely."

Use it wisely? What did that mean?

"Why would I want to-" Kiyoomi started, but the twin interrupted him, raising a finger to silence him.

"Shh. Thank me when you're at the altar and I'm your best man. Let's go inside."

And just like that, Atsumu grabbed his arm to pull him inside the house.

Bruno Mars' voice was blaring from the speakers in the living room, people were singing at the top of their lungs, drinking and dancing, evidently having a good time. Sometimes Kiyoomi wondered how the twins knew so many people, there were so many guests that they had to push their way through the crowd to get to where you were still standing by the kitchen area, looking spectacular as ever as you talked to your friend.

As if you sensed his presence, you turned your face and your eyes met, causing Kiyoomi's heart to skip a beat. Damn, was this a good idea?

"Here he is." Atsumu announced their arrival excitedly. "The Kiyoomi I was telling you about. Does he look familiar?"

Sakusa almost rolled his eyes, but the chuckle you let out at Atsumu's humor stopped him, "Yes, I think I know him." You replied, your eyes still fixed on the tall black-haired man in front of you.

"Perfect!" He exclaimed, clasping his hands together enthusiastically. "Then, since there's no need for introductions, I'll leave you two alone." The twin said, patting him on the back before turning and leaving.

"Yeah, me too." Your friend said, throwing you a mischievous look and copying Atsumu's action, losing herself in the crowd.

Now that you were alone (if it could be considered "alone" in a room full of people), he wondered where the direct Kiyoomi was when he needed him. Say something, say something, say something, say something. He mentally shouted to himself, but he was so intimidated by your presence and the cute way you were looking at him that no words could formulate in his mouth.

"Uh—, hi." He said after a few awkward seconds of silence, trying to play it cool by leaning against the kitchen island.

"Hi." You replied with a smile and looked up at him, as if waiting for him to say something else, but at Kiyoomi's lack of response, you continued, "How are you?"

So fucking nervous, he wanted to say, but instead, a 'fine and you?' left his mouth.

"Me too." You said, and he noticed how you bit your lip lightly, as if you were thinking of what to say before speaking again: "Um… did you do the homework for Monday?"

"Yes, and you?"

"Yup."

Fuck. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. If he were someone else, someone like Atsumu perhaps, he might have already charmed you with words, made you laugh and you would be having a more enjoyable conversation.

After a sigh, you spoke again. "Are you drinking?"

"Yes." He said, raising his water bottle and feeling stupid a second later, obviously by that question you meant was he consuming alcohol. "Something like that. And you?"

"Something like that" You repeated his words, raising a glass goblet showing what appeared to be a cocktail. "It’s strawberry juice, goes with my costume, and I'm also driving tonight, so I can't drink too much."

"That's very responsible of you."

That's very responsible of you?!

Couldn't he think of something more stupid to say? Probably not.

But if you thought his answer was stupid, you didn't give it away, since you giggled before saying, "I think it is."

In an attempt to divert attention from his very stupid comment, he took advantage of the information you gave him about the drink to salvage this interaction. "So— why the drink goes with the costume?"

"You don't know who I am?" You asked, raising your arms to better show off your costume. It was very 2000s style. A pink tracksuit, a white blouse under it, also a necklace.

"Uh— Paris Hilton?" He guessed, inwardly hoping he was right.

You giggled again. "Almost. I'm Regina George's mom." You said, giving him a bump with your shoulder against his arm. And, amazingly, Kiyoomi for the first time did not find an unexpected physical contact upsetting. "What do you think? I didn't know who to dress up as and this was last minute."

"You look…" Divine. "Good."

"Thank you." As soon as your words were out of your mouth, he noticed how you stared at his outfit, squinting your eyes and making a tender gesture with your mouth that he had learned you did when you thought of something. "Come to think of it, you pretty much look like Damien in that hoodie. You should just add some sunglasses." You added after a few seconds, pointing to the blue fabric covering his body.

Kiyoomi frowned. Damien? Who the fuck was Damien and why he looked like him?

“Who?” He asked.

“Damien? The guy who shows up in the middle of the gym scene? With the blue hoodie and glasses? You haven't seen Mean Girls?”

The tone in which you said it made him regret having refused his cousin’s offer to see that damn movie a few months ago.

"No, I've only heard of it." He admitted with a shrug.

Surprisingly, you smiled at his response, "It's a classic. We should see it sometime."

We should. A half smile appeared on his face at the word we. "Yes, we should."

"Um, do you wanna go watch the beer pong game?"

—

Two hours later, Kiyoomi found himself having what was perhaps the longest conversation with a girl of his life, and the one he had enjoyed the most.

After awkwardly breaking the ice and watching Atsumu lose (two times in a row) in beer pong, you moved to the living room, where you luckily found space on the couch where you had been sitting since then.

Kiyoomi leaned back against the couch, his elbow resting on the armrest as he listened intently to you recount an embarrassing childhood memory that had him chuckling softly. The sight was rare, and his friends’ curious stares only made it rarer, he knew they were probably losing their minds right now, but he tried to ignore them, though, focusing instead on the way your eyes lit up when you spoke. You were magnetic in a way he hadn’t expected, and the realization only deepened the smile tugging at his lips. God, how much he regretted not having the self-confidence to talk to you in this way much earlier.

“Okay, your turn.” You said, nudging his knee lightly with yours.

“My turn?”

“To tell me something embarrassing. Come on, don’t hold out on me now.” You teased, leaning just a fraction closer.

Kiyoomi let out a low groan, feigning reluctance. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

As he started to recount a story about an unfortunate middle school haircut incident, his voice grew more animated, his laughter trying to break through every now and then, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room melted away.

The conversation flowed naturally, but there was an underlying tension, an awareness that neither of you could ignore. When he finished his story, you both fell into a comfortable silence, your knees still brushing against each other.

“Is it me or the twins keep staring at us?” You asked out of the blue, pointing with your head to a spot behind Kiyoomi, who didn't even want to bother turning around—because most likely no, it wasn't you—but still did, finding both twins pretending to look away before going their separate ways, Atsumu bumping into someone in the attempt.

He sighed deeply, his lips pressing into a line. “Ignore them. They’re just… nosy.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Nosy about what?”

His face turned a faint shade of red, and he leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Kiyoomi didn't want to, but he would tell you the truth. “Probably that I'm talking to a girl.”

You chuckled, maybe finding his bashfulness endearing. “Do you not talk to girls often or something?”

“No.” He said, pretending that the admission didn't make him feel a little embarrassed.

“And is there any special reason why I'm the lucky one?”

Kiyoomi hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours before dropping to where your knees touched. His mind raced for an answer, but nothing felt sufficient—not for what he was feeling, not for why you had captivated him so completely.

“You're… different.” He finally said, his voice quieter than before.

“Different how?” You asked, your tone teasing but your eyes soft with curiosity.

He let out a breath, his hand brushing against his neck again, “You're easy to talk to. Genuine. And you're…” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a self-conscious laugh.

“I'm what?” You prompted, leaning in slightly, your voice coaxing.

“You're just… you. And I like that.”

Your playful expression softened into something warmer, and the space between you felt even smaller. “That's probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Kiyoomi.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was charged, alive with a tension neither of you could deny anymore. His hand, resting between you on the couch, shifted slightly, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make you glance up at him.

In that moment, something unspoken passed between you—an understanding, a shared want that neither of you could ignore any longer.

Kiyoomi leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, as if savoring every second leading up to the moment his lips met yours. When they did, the kiss was soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepened as the world around you faded into the background. He wasn't an experienced kisser, he hadn't done it enough times in his life to consider himself one, but he let instinct guide him, following your rhythm. It was slow and even sweet, he could taste the flavor of your gloss. Strawberry. Maybe the same one he always saw you applying in the middle of class and now decided it was his new favorite flavor.

Kiyoomi doesn't know at what point the kiss became a little more intense. He could feel you pressing into him as you pulled one of your legs up onto his lap. He was so immersed in the kiss that he even forgot where he was, in the middle of a party, on an old couch surrounded by strangers and friends.

This same realization also seems to have reached you, because at that very moment you broke the kiss. And even though only seconds had passed, he already missed the feeling of your lips against his.

“Well—” You said, your voice light but still a little shaky. “I think your friends will definitely have something to talk about now.”

Kiyoomi chuckled softly, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Let them.”

You looked into his eyes and smiled at him, you looked very pretty with your slightly swollen lips and bright eyes. At that moment, Kiyoomi wondered if this was real or some dream, he was almost certain that his eyes betrayed how madly smitten he was by you.

“Kiyoomi,” You said, your voice breaking him out of his thoughts.

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in curiosity. “Yeah?”

Your next words, simple yet charged, left him momentarily stunned.

“Can we go somewhere else?”

—

When Atsumu gave him the key to the guest room, he never thought he would actually use it. But here he was, with a very excited you at his side waiting for him to open the door. He really hoped you wouldn't ask why he had that key, because he knew he didn't want to lie to you as he also knew he didn't want to give you the explanation.

After he opened the door, he stepped aside to let you in first before passing behind you. And something that caught him off guard was, when he barely closed the door behind him, you were quick to lock it before you put your hands on his cheeks to kiss him again. This time hungrier, more passionate.

You were a good kisser, too good. And that only made Sakusa more nervous than he already was, he knew what you wanted, he knew where this was headed. And even though he wanted it too, the reality is that he had no idea what the fuck to do.

His body was tensing up, overthinking the situation. He was not experienced in this area, not at all.

Still, he tried to keep up with you, walking backwards as you kissed him until he fell into a sitting position on the bed.

In a matter of seconds, Kiyoomi watched as you took off your pink sweater, staying only in your tank top which didn't cover you for long, since you took it off immediately, leaving a very nice white bra in sight.

It would be a lie to say that Kiyoomi was not hard. Because he was. Perhaps much harder than he had ever been in his life.

“I really wanted to do this.” You said, and without even giving Kiyoomi time to process what you just confessed, you kissed him again, took both of his hands and brought them to your breasts as you straddled his lap.

Kiyoomi almost choked when he felt your soft breasts under his palms, but instead of doing something with his hands, he stayed still, afraid to make a move you might not like.

He was frustrated with himself. He literally had the girl of his dreams all over him, kissing him, letting him touch her after admitting that she wanted to do this and he just did nothing.

Just relax, he told himself. Let yourself go.

But his body seemed to betray him again the moment your hands went to his pants with the intention of unbuttoning them, because the first reaction he had was to stop you while from his mouth escaped a “Wait.”

“What happened?” You asked, your brow furrowed, obviously confused by his sudden reaction.

C'mon, Kiyoomi, just tell her. She's an angel, she will understand.

“I don't know how to say this.” He mumbled, almost to himself. Still, he took a deep breath, encouraging himself to speak. “I, uh- I don't-” He tried to explain himself, but before he could complete the sentence, you interrupted him.

“You don't want to do this, do you?” You spoke softly, Kiyoomi looked up, meeting your face which had an expression full of disappointment.

His stomach turned over, no, no, no, no. You had misunderstood. “Y/n, that wasn't what—”

You quickly got up from his lap and bent down to pick up your shirt, “It's okay, I just-” Your voice broke as tears escaped your eyes and Kiyoomi felt like he wanted to kill himself at that moment, “I just want you to know that I'm not usually like this, but, when Atsumu told me that you liked me I thought that— I'm sorry, this is embarrassing.” The words rushed out of your mouth as you put your clothes back on.

Kiyoomi would ignore (for now) that Atsumu really told you that he liked you literally only minutes after he admitted it, he would kill him later, now his main priority was you and clearing up this mess as soon as possible.

“Hey, wait.” He said, holding you by the wrist to keep you from turning around and leaving. “I'm sorry. This is a misunderstanding, just, listen to me for a minute.”

You looked at him silently before turning to face him again.

He took a deep breath before continuing, “I like you, too much. I've been for a long time. And believe me when I tell you I really want to do it.” He admitted, and before you could say anything, he continued, “It's just that, I’m really fucking nervous. I— I've never done this.” His last words came out in a lower tone due to nerves and perhaps some embarrassment. But there was no turning back now.

You looked at him for a few seconds, blinking at him before asking, “Done... what?”

“This.”

“Oh. Are you a…” You said, leaving the last word up in the air, but he mentally finished it for you, knowing full well what you were going to say.

A virgin.

“Yes.” He confirmed it.

You were silent, and although it was somewhat dark, Kiyoomi could tell the shock on your face. He understood. If he were you, he might have been surprised too, since it's a fact that not many people expect.

Kiyoomi was silent as well, silently mourning for himself. Thinking that maybe he ruined everything and a part of him was afraid that you would make fun of him. But the truth is that he was more worried if you left, how would he look at your face after that? He wouldn't be able to. It looked like he would have to take back the plan to leave that class and move to another country, which was a shame, because everything was going so well.

His thoughts were interrupted when out of nowhere you let out a chuckle.

“I'm kind of dramatic, don't you think?”

What?

“I rushed to think that the reason you were a little tense and decided to stop was because you didn't like me, I never imagined that it was because you were… nervous. I'm really sorry, Kiyoomi.”

“Hey, It's okay, don't apologize. ” He said before taking both of your hands in his, “I should do it for not saying it from the beginning.”

“I didn't even give you the time to do it, I rushed too much, I should have taken it slower. But, I was excited, I mean, I just found out that the guy I like, likes me too.”

Okay, this is the second time you've admitted that you liked Kiyoomi. And wow, it felt fantastic to hear it, it felt so good and surreal at the same time that after all, it seemed that his feelings were indeed reciprocal.

“I think I ruined the mood.” You said in a chuckle, making Kiyoomi frown. “It's okay if you want to stop.”

He didn't want to stop, in fact, he felt quite the opposite. He wanted to do it, with you and only you. So he didn't think much of it when he asked, “Do you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to stop?”

He watched you bite your lip lightly before responding in the most adorable voice ever, “No.”

“Me neither.”

You looked at each other for a few more seconds before you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring your lips together again. The kiss was slower, and for some reason it felt much more intimate.

Kiyoomi returned his hands to your waist, now feeling more comfortable enough to caress you with his thumbs before slowly moving down your hips to your thighs, you seemed to understand what he wanted, because you automatically straddled his lap again.

After the awkward moment you just spent, his erection had softened, but when he felt your center against his crotch, combined with the kiss becoming more passionate, his dick soon got hard again. You felt it, of course you felt it. That must have been why you began to move slowly over him, brushing your sex against his, which caused Kiyoomi to moan against your mouth.

Kiyoomi by this point felt more comfortable, perhaps more confident, so he dared to run his hands up your sides until he reached the hem of your blouse.

“Can I take it off?” He asked after breaking the kiss, and you looked so cute when you let out a giggle and nodded before raising your arms as Kiyoomi pulled up the fabric.

Your bra came back into view, but not for long, as you brought your hands behind your back to unfasten it to let it fall to the side—Kiyoomi thanked mentally for this because he was sure it would have taken him quite a while to remove it by himself—.

The light coming through the window was enough to appreciate you well, which he was grateful for, because he really didn't want to miss any detail of seeing you this way. His thumbs went up to caress your nipples, which were erect and looked too cute. It was a gentle touch first before cradling both breasts in his hands and squeezing them gently.

“Can I...?” The question was lost in his throat, somewhat shy even to speak during this moment.

“Kiyoomi,” You said his name, grabbing him by the cheeks to make him look at your face, perhaps so he would be a hundred percent sure you meant what you were about to say, “You can do anything you want to me. If I don't like something, I promise I'll tell you, okay?”

He looked at you for a few seconds before answering, appreciating your face completely, from your eyes to your lips. God, you were so beautiful. “Okay.”

Kiyoomi kissed your neck and left a small peck on your collarbone before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He took it slowly, running his tongue softly over it before sucking gently, and somehow he felt proud of himself when you let out a little moan and brought your hand to his black curls.

He took his time, enjoying the taste of your skin in his mouth as he switched from one nipple to the other and finding delight in the little sounds you made until he felt eager for more. When he parted his lips from you, it was to remove his hoodie and t-shirt in one motion, letting them fall to the floor.

“Wow,” The expression came out of you almost automatically at the sight of his body. Your delicate hands went to his biceps, making a path along his skin, past his shoulders to his chest. “How can you be so hot?”

Your words caught him off guard, so he couldn't help the laughter that came out of him. “You think?”

“Of course, just look at you.” Your hands followed their trail, down his abs to his v-line, at that moment he knew what you would do next. You settled on his thighs, leaving more space between his crotch and yours, then lowered your hand to the noticeable bulge in his pants.

Kiyoomi almost moaned when you stroked him and almost choked on his own saliva when your thumb circled the tip, god, he knew he was leaking and hoped it didn't feel in his pants.

It was the moment you squeezed him, that something changed inside him, he felt eager for more, and although he didn't want to rush this, he dared to bring your lips together again and, placing a hand on your lower back to keep you from falling, he turned around to lay you down on the bed.

When he felt your hands on the edge of your pants, he decided to break the kiss and positioned himself in the middle of your legs to help you complete the action, pulling the fabric gently down your legs to drop them on the floor. Fuck. He gave himself the pleasure of admiring for a moment your beautiful form in front of him, in nothing but underwear, and practically giving yourself to him. If he was dreaming, he will kill whoever wakes him up.

His hands went up your thighs until they reached the edge of your underwear to start pulling it down, you raised your hips to help him and that was the moment where Kiyoomi saw for the first time your pussy. He gulped when in top of that, you spread your legs just as he finished removing the garment, exposing you completely to him, letting him see all of you.

Now, what was he supposed to do? Sakusa was not completely uneducated on the subject, he knew where he was supposed to touch or even kiss. But he also knew that knowing it wasn't the same as doing it. So he preferred to be honest and let you guide him rather than try to do something he wasn't entirely sure you would like.

“I really want to make you feel good, but, can you just…” For some reason (embarrassment) the words were lost in his throat.

“Guide you?” You finished the sentence for him.

“Something like that.” He mumbled.

You smiled with what Kiyoomi guessed would be tenderness before taking his hand and guiding it to the middle of your legs.

The first touch almost knocked the wind out of him and made his erection press harder against his pants, fuck, you were so wet and he could hardly believe it was because of him.

Sakusa leaned forward with one arm by the side of your head, meeting your face a few inches from his as you whispered to him how to please you. He circled your clit at the speed you liked, thrusting his fingers in and out, hitting that sensitive spot inside you that you helped him find, enjoying the moans that came from your beautiful lips and the way one of your hands squeezed his shoulder with pleasure.

You kissed him the moment you started to cum on his fingers, your legs even trembled and Kiyoomi had never felt so proud of himself. He kissed you with the same desire, not ceasing to give you pleasure until you asked him to stop because of over stimulation.

“God… you're so beautiful.” The words came out of their own accord as he looked down at you.

“You think?” You smirked.

“Every day.”

“I never thought you'd see me that way, you know?” Those words were kind of funny coming from you. The girl who was the dream of many. Including his own.

“Why?”

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned slightly closer. “Because you’re you, Kiyoomi. Cold, composed, and…” You paused, pretending to think. “Kind of scary sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Scary?”

“You know what I mean.” You teased. “You’re just… untouchable. Like, you don’t even notice anyone half the time.”

Kiyoomi chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I notice you.”

Your smile faltered for a second, replaced by something softer, something real. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He said. “You’ve always stood out to me. Even when I tried to act like you didn’t.”

You tilted your head, your expression thoughtful. “Why did you try to hide it?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced away for a moment. “Because… I didn't think I'd ever have a chance. I thought you were way out of my league.”

Your laugh was soft, light, and you reached out to gently take his hand. “Kiyoomi, you're ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

“Absolutely.” You said, patting his bicep lightly. “Because if you had just talked to me sooner, you'd know I've been trying to get your attention for ages.”

His eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as he tried to process your words. “You… what?”

You grinned, leaning in just enough that your noses almost touched. “I've always liked you, Kiyoomi. I just didn't think you'd ever notice.”

Kiyoomi stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest, before his lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “Guess we're both ridiculous, then.”

“Guess we are.” You murmured, and this time, it was you who closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft and sweet, the total opposite of the words that came out of your mouth next, “Now, please fuck me before I lose my mind.”

Of course he would, his mind and his cock couldn't hold back any longer.

“Just. Let. Me. Take– Take these off.” He said between kisses as you wouldn't let go, insisting on keeping his lips on yours with your palms on his cheeks.

Kiyoomi did his best to remove his jeans and underwear in one go without breaking the kiss, but in the end, he had to do so (albeit unwillingly), when the last of his clothes were on the floor and the two of you were completely naked, to say something he remembered at the last minute.

“I don't have a condom.”

This was bad, unfortunately Kiyoomi didn't carry any with him right now. The only one he used to carry in his wallet (just in case), he ended up giving it to Atsumu two weeks ago at a party, since at the time, the twin needed more than he did. Now he regretted it.

You looked at him for a moment, processing his words before saying, “I don't care if you don't care.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, astonishment radiating from his face.

“Very sure.”

Kiyoomi gulped before nodding, nervous about what was coming next.

He took his cock in his palm, giving himself a few gentle strokes before lining himself up with your entrance. Your hand went to the middle of your bodies to replace his hand with yours and he heard you gasp at the feel of his shaft.

“God, how— Kiyoomi, are you telling me you're a virgin with a dick like this?”

Kiyoomi couldn't help but let out a laugh, this was one of the things he liked most about you, how you spoke your mind bluntly.

“I guess so.”

“Well, I wanted you to put it in in one go. But I guess we'll have to go slow.” You teased, adjusting your hips as you continued to slowly stroke his dick.

Kiyoomi moaned as he felt your wet entrance meeting his leaking tip. He already felt in heaven and he wasn't even inside you yet.

He placed both of his arms beside your head, looking down at you as he slowly thrust his hips forward, moving deeper into you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This felt so good. You felt so wet, so hot, so tight that he had to mentally beg his cock not to cum soon, he couldn't embarrass himself like that.

He pressed his lips against your forehead, kissing casually as he heard you moan as you took him in. “Does it hurt?” He asked, still with half of his dick out of you.

“A little.” You admitted and that worried Kiyoomi, who was about to pull out, but you spoke first. “But it feels so good, just keep going, it'll fade away.”

He nodded and continued to enter you until he was completely inside you. He had to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment at the new feeling he was experiencing.

“How does it feel?” He heard you ask after a minute, your sweet voice filling the silence where only your breaths could be heard.

“Too good. Fuck. I don't think I'll last long.” He admitted, somewhat embarrassed, but still eager for more. “Can I— fuck—can I move?”

“Yes, please.”

Slowly at first, he began to move his hips, enjoying the feel of your wet walls squeezing him. Kiyoomi couldn't believe he missed out on this pleasure for so long, but he was glad that the one he was experiencing it with for the first time was you.

He looked down at you, paying attention to your face and appreciating your expressions with adoration radiating from his eyes. How you bit your lower lip, how you opened your lips slightly, how you closed your eyes, how you smiled when you made eye contact.

You whispered in his ear to go faster, and without a second thought, he complied with your request. He slipped both of his arms under your armpits to hold on tighter and began to thrust so hard that even the bed began to hit the wall. Thank goodness there was a party going on downstairs and the sound of the bed along with the sound of your moans would not be heard by others.

“Kiyoomi…” You moaned his name, sounding like an angel as you did. Your hands went behind his back, holding him tightly against you and he even felt your nails digging lightly into his skin. He couldn't resist bringing your lips together again, kissing you sloppily as he moved in and out of you.

He felt you squeeze him as your moans increased before he brought one of his hands to the middle of your bodies, circling messily over your clit, bringing you to the edge. Your legs trembled and a cute moan left your mouth as you came. Kiyoomi also moaned against your lips, you squeezed him so deliciously that he was surprised he didn't explode at that moment, but he knew he wasn't far from it.

“I'm going to…” The words were lost in his throat as he felt his own orgasm so close. He was panting like crazy, holding you tighter against him as he settled his head in the crook of your neck and his thrusts became more intense.

“Don't pull out, please.”

His common sense told him that was irresponsible, but his desire along with how sexy it was to hear you say those words were stronger, because when he least realized it, he was cumming inside you— and it felt good, too good. Nothing compared to the orgasms his hand had so far provided. God, he might get addicted to you after this.

The room fell into a silence, where only your accelerated breathing and the music muffled by the door could be heard. You both refused to move for a few moments, enjoying the touch of your skin and the vital sounds of each other.

The dim light slipping through the windows painted faint shadows on the walls, highlighting the way your bodies pressed together. Your skin against his was warm, electric, like a spark neither of you wanted to break. Time felt like it slowed, stretching out as you both stayed perfectly still, caught in the pull of the moment. He could feel your heartbeat under his touch, steady and grounding, blending into the quiet rhythm of your breaths.

“So, how was it?” You broke the silence, stroking his back with your fingertips.

Kiyoomi couldn't help but let out a chuckle in the midst of his quickening breath, “Mind blowing.”

“I agree.”

Kiyoomi propped himself up on his forearms, his eyes meeting your adorable face, and he couldn't help but smile softly. He leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your lips before settling down beside you. With an easy, natural motion, he slid a hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Now, with your head resting on his chest, he held you with the kind of tenderness that made the moment feel too perfect to let go of.

As the quiet rhythm of his breathing filled the room, Kiyoomi looked down at you, nestled against his chest. He absentmindedly traced gentle circles on your back with his fingers, his mind lingering on the softness of the moment. The warmth of your presence and the steady rhythm of your breathing calmed him, but his mind refused to settle.

He couldn't stop replaying the events of the night—the way your presence had lit up the room, the way you spoke with such ease and authenticity, and how natural it felt to be by your side. For someone who usually kept people at a distance, you had somehow bypassed every barrier he'd carefully built.

The thought made his chest tighten, but not with unease. With something new. Something he wanted to hold onto.

He glanced down at you, his heart catching at the way your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked sleepily. He knew moments like this didn't come often—not for him. And he knew it— he wanted more.

But would you want that, too?

The doubt lingered for only a second before he pushed it aside. Tonight had been proof enough that whatever this was, it was mutual. And if he didn't take a chance, he'd regret it.

Gathering his courage, he took a breath, his voice low and steady as he broke the silence.

“Hey.” He began, the faintest hint of shyness lacing his tone. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

You smiled, your cheek still resting against his chest. “Not yet. Why?”

“I was thinking…” He hesitated for a beat, then pressed on. “Maybe we could go out. Just the two of us.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Are you asking me on a date, Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“Yeah.” He said. “I want to take you somewhere nice. Anywhere you want.”

You reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “I'd love that.”

His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, relief flickering across his expression. “Good. I'll make it worth your while.”

“You already are.”

spoiler: sakusa didn’t know it yet, but atsumu will actually be the best man a few years later.

#𐀔 — mar wrote this.#— hq #— one shots #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa smut #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #msby smut #msby x reader #hq x you #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #kiyoomi smut

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fairestwriting · 17 days ago

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Oooooooo I have a idea- what about Pomefiore with a cat beastman S/O who was given catnip?

i. swear i tried to make this sound like its not cat weed but i just couldnt escape that. it Is cat weed. also this turned out so long good god. lost in the sauce

Vil Schoenheit

It was an accident, he was working on a potion for one of his classes and you just happened to be in the laboratory at the first time. Since you had gotten together it became kind of a thing between you two. Since he can't always make time to see you, and your catlike traits make you sleepy often, the compromise you reach together is that he lets you sit around and nap while he's busy with other things. It's comforting for you both, and even helps him focus.

But, much to his own dismay, Vil isn't perfect, and even though slip-ups are rare, they do still happen. Maybe he was just tired that day, and unluckily (luckily?) it happened right when you opened your eyes — He was too focused on measuring a certain ingredient, the bottle was right next to something like a catnip extract, he knocks it over and hardly notices it. You very much do, though.

He can't really smell it the way you do for obvious reasons, but even when he's so focused on getting to the next ingredient, it's impossible to ignore you hazily walking up to him and nuzzling into his shoulder with big, dilated eyes, asking him how the project is going as soon as he puts the bottle down.

It startles him, he's about to scold you in that tone you've grown so familiar with, then he notices what actually happened. And you're just all lovey-dovey and giggly, and you two are alone right now, could anyone really stay cold and calculated in that situation? Needless to say, the project will have to be started over. You end up laying on his lap, purring while he pets you and exasperatedly sighs, embarrassed at the mishap. And easily swayed by how cozy you seem to be, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to take a break right now…

Rook Hunt

Unlike in Vil's case, Rook's "catnip incident" is very intentional. And not just that, it's thoroughly planned. Maybe way too thoroughly, but, well, you're dating Rook. You knew what you were signing up for, he was never quiet about his fascination about the habits you had that differ you from humans.

You didn't think too much of it when he brought up catnip. He's already asked you so many questions related to your beastperson status. Really, you're almost surprised it never came up before. You shrug and tell him you wouldn't know how you'd react to it, you never really went anywhere near the thing. He smiles and you get the feeling that this will be changed soon. Your suspicions feel very confirmed when he asks you if you're not also curious about it, chuckling as he fawns over the way your cat ears twitch with his words.

Then it's just kind of a given that he'd eventually get you some to see how you react, it's just not a scheduled thing — at least not on your end, because he definitely had the timing in mind down to the exact second — and you're not exactly sure how he'd even manage to get the thing. It might even take long enough for you to forget the conversation until the day he finds you at the courtyard after class, all by yourself, and asks you to smell his wrist with the biggest smile on his face. One would easily assume he was just showing off some new perfume Vil made him try…

But, again, it's Rook. Intrigued, and suspicious or not, you can't resist getting closer, he's sly enough to have only gotten a tiny bit of the thing on himself, not enough for you to smell it from afar despite your sharp senses. Then, the effect hits you, and you'd think he was the catperson with how he seems to melt along with you, finding your reaction just so endearing. He doesn't shut up for the next half hour or so, going on and on about just how cute you are when you're so relaxed, scratching under your chin and behind your ears. He'll definitely never forget it, nor will he easily let you forget it, bringing it up to tease you whenever possible.

Epel Felmier

Also another one who might do it intentionally, but with a completely different approach. To Epel, it's a way simpler thing. He's curious about how it's like to be a catperson, definitely did not expect things like fangs or purring even though, in the near future, he thinks he was silly for being so surprised at them. Basically, every little quirk of yours is something new, kind of exciting even, and definitely really cute.

He's had cats back at his family's farms, not exactly owned animals, more like strays he would feed on his mom's request so they stuck around and took care of the rats. Catnip was something he heard about before, when they discussed about how to keep and care for the cats, but not really easy to access in that sleepy, rural town. He gets the idea when he learns about it being an ingredient in certain potions.

He asks you about it the next day a little nervously. You can probably tell he snuck the bottle out of the Pomefiore lab and has it in his hands just from his odd posture. He talks about the things he heard, how it could make cats really happy and relaxed, then asks if you knew whether the effect also worked on catpeople. Regardless if you just say you're not sure, or if you want to cut to the chase and ask what he's holding, he presents the bottle to you right next. Saying he was wondering if you'd like to maybe try it. Followed up with how he's not sure about whether it'd be allowed or not, so you two should probably find somewhere secluded or something—

Epel quickly realizes how that sounds, but can't take back the words. He swears he has no second intentions, he just thought you might like it (not mentioning if he really wanted to know if you'd get all cuddly like the cats from commercials he saw) and in one way or another, off you are to a supply closet or something like that. It does not help his case of looking like he has second intentions, but you do know him well enough. He's giggling from the mischief when he shows you the bottle, and almost drops it in surprise when you end up getting too close and taking a too strong whiff off the stuff—

…Your eyes get huge, and you're giggling too, blinking in surprise at how the world shifts in just a second. Epel asks you how it feels. You say it's actually pretty good, leaning into him cozily. He gets flustered and tries (fails) to not show it, staring at your tail while it sways. He reaches out to pet your head and you lean in. You get caught very quickly and lectured for an amount of time that you do not recall at all, and he has no intention of actually listening to it, because you were being cute and you two got interrupted… Next time will have to be actually planned, though.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #twst headcanons #twst imagines #lis writing

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reiderwriter · 9 months ago

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Hello there baby, are your parents bakers? Cause you're a cutie pie lol sorry couldn't resist the urge to flirt with my favorite writer💕How have you been? How was your day? I wish you a wonderful day and a lovely night💕

It's my first time here sending an ask but lately I've been thinking about shy!Spencer x flirty!reader, I just think is such a cute couple.

So if you're taking requests, I was thinking about early seasons Spencer completely falling for the reader and the way she's so flirty but sweet and kind, the way he'd be blushing hard at anything she says and how he'd like the way she's always touching him cause he felt cherised and desired.

It could be fluff or smut or both cause I can picture them going slow with the relationship but Spencer being eager to please her and show how much he loves everything about her.

You said about choosing a emoji, so can I be the 🐇anon?

A/N: Thanks for the request! Shy Spencer is the best because he's so dumb and silly and doesn't realize when people are attracted to him. I've said it before, but he's basically every nerdy main character in 00s romcoms that are "unattractive" because they wear glasses. I hope you enjoy the fic~♡

Warnings: mentions of case details, slight spoilers for upto s5

With a degree in law and a deep-rooted hatred of businessmen, you'd certainly found your calling in one of the FBI White Collar divisions. Putting away the sleazy bastards was easily one of the biggest perks of the job, but every coin had a second side, and yours was you actually had to interact with the cretins before you could take them down.

You'd dealt with bribes, dinner invites, and sexual propositions more than a time or two, and had to remind yourself that kicking anyone of them clean in the balls was most likely a firing offense, if not legally off the table.

The man in the case you were currently working - possibly Bill Hodges, possibly Daniel Brady, possibly so many more men - had been a typical white collar freak until he'd moved on to murder. And when you'd been so close to nailing his ass for fraud, too.

You'd had no choice but to call in whatever unit it was that actually got to put bullets in the bastards, sure that you were going to be strong-armed out of months of work for the glory of taking down a spree killer.

Instead, you got Spencer Reid, delivered freshly to your desk like a lamb to slaughter.

“Sorry, you're the agent from the BAU?” You asked, raking your eyes across his body, smiling at his obvious discomfort with the attention.

“Yes, Doctor Reid. I'm here for more information on the Hodges files.”

You dusted your skirt off as you stood, moving around the desk to grab the file. You held it out to him but pulled it back when he reached for it.

“I'm sorry, you're really in the BAU?” An embarrassed look fell across his face, and you instantly felt shitty.

“Do you want to see my credentials?”

“No, I'm sorry, it's just - I wasn't expecting someone so…pretty?”

The embarrassed look deepened to a flush, and you brightened at the sight. You weren't lying. He really was pretty, and you hoped your comment hadn't come off as patronizing.

“You're adorable. Here's the file, I’ll be at your team briefing in half an hour. Spencer, right?”

He nodded, finally waking up and taking the files as you pushed it against his chest, using the movement to step slightly closer.

“I'll see you later then,” you trailed your look down, getting a good look at all of him before meeting his eyes again. “Save me a seat?”

“I should… I'll, uh, go now. Thanks for the-” he stammered, pointing to the file, backing out of your space slowly, like an animal trying not to show its back to a predator.

Unlike the long line of scumbags filling the halls and case files of your floor, Spencer was without bravado or ego. His lack of both meant that you were interested. You were very interested.

Half an hour later, you practically sprinted to the 6th floor, bouncing up the stairs to the office where you'd take your meeting like a giddy school girl.

“Hello, sorry, I'm not late, am I?” You asked, quietly opening the door and letting yourself in.

“Agent Y/N, no, perfect timing, Penelope was just about to brief us on your case,” Hotch said, rising and giving your hand a firm shake. He looked around to find a seat to usher you into, but you quickly dropped yourself into the seat right beside Spencer Reid, grin deepening as he flushed and offered you an awkward yet endearing smile.

Unconsciously, you shifted closer, shooting him your own smile before the meeting officially began, and you were forced to keep a straight, serious face.

The entire case progressed in much the same way, with you doing everything you could to fluster Spencer Reid and him doing everything in his power to convince himself you were being friendly.

“Spencer, do you have a phone number?” You asked after slipping out of the meeting, trailing him back to his desk.

“Yeah, we have to keep connected for cases, so I have a phone.”

“Great. Your number - what is it?”

He rattled off the digital as you scribbled them down on a notepad.

“And Hotch's number is-”

“Oh, I won't need that. Thanks, Spencer.” You said waving as you left to slink back to your desk. You could hear him calling out behind you, confused.

“Y/N… Y/N, we split up on cases often, if there's an incident and you need to contact us it's better to have all of the team members numbers,” he panted, jogging to catch up with your focused pace.

“If I need to contact you, I'll take myself to Agent Garcia’s office and use her direct line,” you said, finally stopping yourself at the elevator and pressing the button.

He caught up, and stopped abruptly next to you.

“Oh… oh, yeah that's… that's efficient.”

You stepped onto the elevator when it arrived, leaving Spencer hesitating whether or not to climb in himself, desperately wondering why you'd ask for his number then.

“Goodbye, Doctor Reid,” you said, pressing the door close button and blowing him a kiss just before the doors blocked you from sight.

To tell the truth, you'd had a lot of fun flirting with Spencer on the phone from Penelope’s office during the case. The woman was an inspiration, even if her flirting had a completely different purpose and meaning than your own. Her friendship with Derek Morgan was admirable, but you didn't want to be friends with Spencer Reid.

“Hello, handsome, what can I do for you today?” You asked, picking up the phone and basking in the stammers that answered you down the line.

“D-Do you need me to get Morgan for you?” He said, his voice treading lightly.

“Unless Derek Morgan has, overnight, managed to turn into a 6’1 Doctor with a penchant for cardigans and leather satchels and an IQ of 187, then I am absolutely not looking for him. I have case details.”

He brushed past your comment, but he kept the slight stammer through the conversation, right until you signed off.

“Until next time, sexy.”

“Um, yeah… thanks…beautiful?” he signed off, and you guffawed in laughter even as Penelope stared wide-eyed in your direction, not believing her ears.

“Please forgive our little test tube genius. We forgot to add flirting skills to his childhood curriculum, and now, alas, the poor thing doesn't know a damn thing.”

He'd called back a few hours later, and you'd purred more compliments down the line, but this time with the team surrounding him as they closed in on your unsub.

“Hello, this is beautiful speaking. How may I help you?” You giggled down the line, picking up the call after only a single ring.

“Y/N,” he breathed, catching his breath awkwardly as he struggled to remember why it was you were needed.

“So… um, like… Hotch has a question about the files you sent earlier. He needs Penelope to… do something as well.”

You could almost see the awkward nod through the phone.

“Great. Pass me over to Hotch, then, hot stuff.”

You heard the tell-tale sound of Derek Morgan’s cackle in the background, and you couldn't help but let another giggle slip out. You were a gonner, and, hopefully, so was he.

The case wrapped quickly after that, spree killing being a quick game of cat and mouse out of necessity. You weren't happy with three bodies, but it sure as hell was preferable to more.

You greeted the BAU team at the jet hanger as they returned, reclaiming your fraud files for paperwork and using that simple chore as a reason to get close to Spencer again.

“Good work out there, Doctor Reid.”

“What, he's not hot stuff anymore now he's in front of you?” Emily Prentiss laughed, throwing her go bag onto her shoulder and trailing behind where you'd started strolling alongside Spencer.

“Oh, he's still hot stuff. He's just hot stuff with three PhDs that just stopped a spree killer,” you said, sighing dreamily. “How do you do it?”

“We were all there too, you know,” the other woman chuckled as you made it inside the building and to the elevator.

“Yeah, well,” you said, taking a second to reach out and straighten out Spencer's skewed tie, smoothing his jacket and generally just touching him in whatever way you could, respectfully.

You didn't even bother to finish your sentence, just leaning closer to his ears and whispering directly into them.

“You're very cute when you're flustered, Doctor Reid.”

You stepped away for a second while the rest of his team teased him, stepping to the back of the elevator to ascend to your floor while the others departed on theirs.

They filed out one by one and you sent them off with a smile and a wave, signing in defeat as you realized there was no longer a reason for you to interact with the good doctor ever again.

If you weren't so stupidly aware of him, you'd almost have missed the fact that Spencer didn't leave the elevator when his teammates did. He instead turned to you and, with the brightest red you'd seen on his face to date, stammered out half a sentence.

“I.. Y/N, I was just… curious, if you, by any chance…”

Your eyes widened in joy as you anticipated his question, silently begging him just to spit it out.

“I was wondering, i-if you had… a boyfriend?” By the end of his sentence, even he seemed unsure of whether that was a question he should really be asking.

You'd been throwing heart eyes at him for says, and he was asking if you were in a committed relationship.

“No,” you said slightly breathily, as if your body were trying to expel all the anticipation it had stupidly built up. “No, I don't have a boyfriend, Spencer.”

“Great okay,” he smiled, a boyish grin if you'd ever seen one, before backtracking quickly.

“Well not great for you, great for me. Not that you can't be happy alone, I don't know how you feel about…romantic entanglements and I-I-I’m not saying that your life isn't,” he searched for the words with his hands, as of he could grasp them as a life line while he was sinking fast. “-Great without a boyfriend or anything like that, I'm just - really - pleased that position is currently… vacant?”

“Spencer?” You said, feeling like a cat who got the cream as a smile twitched at your lips, pulling the corners up as you listened to him ramble.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend or are you asking for a friend?”

You'd meant the words as a joke but he stood contemplating for a second. You pushed a hand against your mouth to suppress the childish squeal from popping out.

“It would be a bit presumptuous to shoot straight for boyfriend, right? How about date ....partner?”

You couldn't stop yourself from closing in on him then, practically cornering him in the elevator as the floors passed you by.

“Presumptuous would be thinking I could have a boyfriend when I've been begging you to stick your tongue down my throat with my eyes for the last half hour. I thought they taught you body language at the BAU?”

“They teach us how to catch criminals, not how to see when someone is giving us…fuck me eyes, Y/N.” The curse left you a little dizzy - this was it, this was what you'd been trying to do all week, to get under his skin and get him to let his guard down so you could capture him.

“Doctor Reid, I'm a little scandalized! I didn't know you swore. What a dirty mouth you have.” You reached up with both hands, letting your thumb on his lips before pretending to wipe something away at the corner of his mouth. You were in the perfect position to notice his throat bob as he swallowed.

The elevator pinged at your floor, and you left him behind you with one last swipe of your fingers at his chin. You weren't expecting him to follow, but he did.

“Y/N…please, Y/N…. Can we just…?” You relished the awkwardness in his voice as he trailed you again, a satisfied smile settling onto your face.

You just kept walking. Or you did until you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist and pull you sideways into the nearest storage cupboard.

You gasped as he pinned you to the wall, close not, but his eyes still hesitant on what to do next.

“Spen-” He cut you off with his lips on yours, silencing you before you could get the final word. His lips were clumsy at first, but you felt hot under his touch arching yourself up into him. His tongue pushed into your mouth as he found his stride, your hands tangling in his hair as you held on for dear life.

This was it. This was what you'd been waiting for.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, both of you gasping for breath to fill your suddenly empty lungs.

“Was that….what… you wanted?” He panted, resting his head on yours.

There were no words. It was what you wanted but now you wanted more, needed more. You settled for a quick nod as your tongue flamed, unable to say anything helpful.

“Good. Great…” he removed his hands from you and scratched at the back of his neck, putting a more respectful distance between the two of you as he cleared his throat.

“I'll just-” he pointed to the door and started making his way out. You sighed again, watching him walk away down the hall, his hair a mess, his tie askew, and a whole lot of your lipstick staining his lips.

Surely, he'd notice by the time anyone else did. If not, you'd just effectively staked your claim on Doctor Spencer Reid, and you couldn't be happier about it.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #🐇 anon

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wheneverfeasible · 3 months ago

Note

I feel like Steve could be oblivious at first, catch on but still pretend to be oblivious to see how long it takes Edie to cut to the chase. Steve and Robin have a bet going on how long before Eddie asks Steve to court.

The post in question.

He hadn’t noticed at first, what Eddie had meant. He wasn’t stupid, or an idiot, no matter how much others might say he was. He just…didn’t get everything everyone said all the time, especially when they weren’t being straight forward. And let’s face it, some of Eddie’s puns were truly horrendous.

It was funny though, and honestly kind of endearing, not that he’d ever tell Robin that lest he never live it down. She was brutal about things like that, and she already made fun of himself for falling for Eddie Munson of all people.

“I thought you had standards, dingus,” she’d huffed after he’d broken down and confessed his growing feelings for their friend, absolutely certain that his feelings would never be returned and wanting to do nothing to risk that friendship.

How was he to know that Eddie’s lingering touches and trailing gaze meant the guy wanted to bone him? He wasn’t used to others making the first move. He might be omega, but he still was the one that had to seek out the others he had wanted to date. He wasn’t used to someone else taking the initiative.

Hell, he’d thought Eddie had been making fun of his moles the first few times he complimented them, like when he started talking about how he wished he were those same moles so that he could stay close to Steve’s beautiful neck. Steve could smack his own head for not understanding soon, but he did now.

Oh, he definitely did. And he was delirious with joy about it.

At first, when Steve first realized Eddie was interested in him, it had kind of bummed him out actually. He had thought Eddie actively enjoyed spending time with him, but then he’d began second guessing that. Began wondering if Eddie only put up with him because he wanted to hit it.

The thought that Eddie could ever like him the way he liked Eddie hadn’t even crossed his mind at first. At least not until he began noticing more and more of Eddie’s pickup lines were involving his neck. Until they exclusively consisted of his neck.

“Your beautiful neck must be tired, because it was running around in my dreams all night,” Eddie all but purred as he leaned on the counter at Family Video, looking up at Steve through his lashes with a grin that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. Not that he let any indication of that show in his expression.

“That must have been terrifying,” he said, sounding innocently confused. “Just my neck? What, did it have like little legs or something?” He shuddered. “Creepy, dude.”

He had to pinch himself beneath the counter so that he didn’t smile at the disappointed look on Eddie’s face. Robin dropped a stack of movies to cover her snort, not that it did it well. Eddie obviously didn’t suspect anything at least.

“Right,” Eddie said after a moment, and flashing Steve another quick but rueful grin, pushed off the counter to walk backwards towards the door. “Guess I’ll see you neck time, Stevie,” he said with a wink before slipping out the door with a soft jingle of the bells.

It was only when Eddie’s van was no longer visible through the glass panes of the windows at the front of the store that Steve let the absolutely besotted smile spread across his face. He dropped down on the counter where Eddie had just been leaning, feeling the afterimage of his body heat still radiating from the surface.

“You really picked a doofus there, dingus,” Robin dryly remarked as she began sorting through the stack of tapes, popping open the plastic cases to make certain they had all be rewound and removing the ones that hadn’t.

“I know,” Steve dreamily sighed.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t already asked you yet what with how obvious you are. I can smell your desperation from here.”

“You’re a beta!” Steve said, tone scandalized, as he jumped up from where he was collapsed against the counter to turn and point at Robin.

“Yeah, that’s how badly you stink,” she snorted. “Just remember, no cheating or I win,” she added with a smirk.

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his back to her with a huff to return to his own duties. He couldn’t help but smile a little again, because Eddie Munson wanted to court him. And, judging by how much Eddie talked about his neck, he wanted the official mating at the end as well.

He sighed dreamily once more, not even bothering to do more than lazily flip Robin off when she threw a bag of sunflower seeds at his head.

And that was how things went. Eddie would tell Steve terrible pickup lines involving his neck, Steve would play at being oblivious, and secretly he and Robin would bet on how long it would take for Eddie to just give up and ask him straight out. You know. Like a normal person.

Not that Eddie Munson could ever be accused of being normal. Which was one of the things Steve loved most about the man. He just wished Eddie would hurry up and get the picture.

Until then, he would have to put up with these godawful pickup lines and puns and continue pretending like he didn’t know what the ridiculous alpha meant.

“Did you get a driving ticket from a vampire, because your neck has fine written all over it.”

“You know sometimes I still get nightmares about being turned into a vampire by the demobats. Being a vampire wasn’t the nightmare part though. It was the fact that I couldn’t have garlic bread ever again.”

“…”

“You’d have to die first to become a vampire, dingus. Munson’s the only one that died here.”

“Only temporarily!”

“Yeah! I gave him CPR.”

“What I wouldn’t give to remember the resuscitation process there, Stevie.”

“What I wouldn’t give to forget it.”

“Robin! Eddie could have become a vampire! He’d never be able to have garlic bread again!”

“…” A defeated sigh.

And then a week later.

“Is your neck a map? Because I think I just found some treasure.”

“One time Robin wanted to use a marker to see if she could draw a pattern with my moles. But she accidentally used a sharpie. Do you know how hard it is to wash sharpie off your own back?”

“…” Then: “I could help you out in the shower next time, Stevie.”

“Oh it’s fine, that was months ago so it’s all gone now.”

Steve thought Eddie might bash his head against the table then, but he merely muttered something under his breath with a shake of his head and continued eating his meal. Too bad Eddie wouldn’t just come out and say it was a date, because Steve would really love to kiss him.

But the pickup lines just kept coming. Never ending. Robin cackled each time she witnessed one, though obviously after Eddie left after Steve’s continued oblivious act, but Steve was getting impatient. He really wished Eddie would just hurry up and ask him.

“If I said you had a beautiful neck, would you hold it against me?”

“Aw, thanks, man. I love getting compliments from friends. If only I could find an alpha like you.”

And okay, maybe Steve was *slightly* cheating with that one. But Robin wasn’t around and Eddie, lord help him, just gave him a look that totally said that he was silently screaming. But he still…

Didn’t.

Ask.

Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He really, really couldn’t.

At all.

“Are we in a museum, because your neck is a work of ar—”

“If I was a guitar, would you grab me by the neck while fingering me from behind to see what noises I can make?”

Steve didn’t react at all when coffee sprayed from Robin’s mouth, simply staring Eddie straight in the eyes as the other man choked on his words, Eddie’s eyes wide and face turning rapidly pink.

When Eddie still made no response besides staring at him while Robin let out a slew of curses as she tried to clean herself up, Steve just raised an imperious brow.

“Well?”

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath, snapping out of his frozen state to begin nodding his head rapidly like a puppet with loose strings. “Uh. Yup. Uh huh. Yes. Yup.”

Steve smirked, leaning in towards Eddie and lightly arching his neck to the side. “I’ve been told my neck smells like candy. Why don’t you taste it and find out.”

As Eddie spluttered, Steve reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out the crisp $20 bill there and sliding it over to Robin without bothering to look her way. They could always make another bet later.

Like how long until Eddie asked to put his pups in him.

Judging by the slowly growing, manic smile on his face as he seemed to finally catch on to the situation, Steve figured it wouldn’t be long.

Which was just fine by him.

Maybe he’d ask Eddie first again.

Or maybe they’d do it together neck-and-neck.

Thank you, @foulwitchknight, for that fantastic initial post. I just couldn’t help but do a little something with it after you answered my musings. 😉

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere

#based on a post #steddie #omegaverse steddie #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #pickup lines and puns as flirting #mpreg referenced #answered asks #plot thots

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sanguineterrain · 10 months ago

Note

Hi Sanne! I'm not sure if requests are open, but if you're up to it I'd like to request red hood x reporter! Maybe reporter reader is getting too close to a case and is starting to become a target and hood takes her protection into his own hands? ((Including lots of midnight rendezvous and rooftop bump ins))

i love this prompt sm! i've been thinking about a reporter reader ever since i read task force z :) thanks for requesting!

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. tw: reader is attacked (but they're okay), guns, violence, fighting, jason being both a force to be reckoned with and a big softie. 2.5k words

****

"I don't need protection."

The Red Hood crosses his arms. You cross yours right back.

"Yes, you do," he says.

"No, I don't. I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I can take care of myself."

"Living around and being in the thick of violence are very different. You're already chasing this story; they will come after you."

And what a story it is. The story of the decade, at the very least. A task force of formerly-dead Arkham patients wielded against Gotham by a mysterious benefactor.

It's terrifying. It's dangerous. It's sure to win you your first Pulitzer.

And it all means absolutely nothing if the Red Hood keeps wrapping you in red tape.

Your jaw ticks. "This is my story, Hood. You can't turn it in, so I will. And I won't be scared off by some slimeball."

"Oh, please. You wouldn't even have known about this story if it wasn't for me, smarty."

Smarty. His favorite moniker for you because, according to him, you think you know everything.

Working with the Red Hood has been an unfortunate side effect of chasing your prize-winning story. Not only is he wanted in twenty-six countries (you Googled it) and is a ruthless crime lord (supposedly formerly, but you're doubtful), but worst of all, he's got an attitude to match yours.

He's also built like a tank, which is why you can't just. Outrun him.

"I can't just not publish the story," you say.

"I don't want to stop you from publishing the story. Hence the protection."

"I can't afford a bodyguard."

"Well, it's a good thing I already paid my rent this month."

You scoff. "The Gotham Gazette has a strict 'no armed and dangerous' policy. I'm afraid we all have to leave our gun-toting vigilantes at home."

You open the driver's door of your car, ready to end the conversation here and now. Hood calmly closes the door with his hip and leans.

You glare. "Get off of my car."

"Fact." He holds up a finger. "These kinds of people always strike before the story comes out. They know you're scared and stressed, and they wanna do it before the story gets out. Otherwise, it's obvious who killed who."

"And where did you read this fact? Crime Lord's Digest? We don't even know if they know I'm the reporter who broke into the lab."

"Listen, smarty, I've been in this game a lot longer than you. I know how they operate," he says, finally getting off of your car, only to lean on the hood. Jerk. "It's only a matter of time before whoever's behind this snuffs you out."

"I am not letting a wanted criminal nest in my apartment!"

"That's why I'd be there."

"I was talking about you, Hood."

"Funny."

"I'm not joking. Look, I appreciate your... help." You try not to show your exasperation. "But there's no way I'm inviting you over to my apartment. That'll set off more alarms. If anything happens, I'll call you. Until then, stay away. Deal?"

Hood looks you over.

"Hm. You're awfully comfortable with giving me orders, smarty."

Your adrenaline spikes for a second. But it quickly calms. You've worked with Hood for a month now. Sure, you were petrified the first week, but it quickly dissipated. You've fallen into an odd camaraderie with him.

It's actually kind of nice, having him on your side. No one at the Gazette gives you the time of day. You've become used to having a partner. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

"You take orders so well, I can't help but dole them out," you say, only a little smirky.

"Watch it," Hood rumbles, only half-serious. Probably.

You beam and wrench open your car door, sliding into the seat.

"See?" you say, turning the ignition. "No snipers waiting to take me out. I'll be fine."

He shakes his head and slides off the hood. "Ten bucks says they'll try by the end of the week."

You close your door. "You're on."

****

As it turns out, Hood doesn't need the end of the week to earn his tenner. Trouble breaks down your door the very same night.

You're on your couch with some well-earned Lebanese takeout when your door is ripped off of your hinges. You shoot up from the couch, chest immediately tight.

Your assailant is masked and isn't that typical, giving masked men everywhere a bad name.

You run to the kitchen, hoping you can grab a knife. But you're grabbed before you can get there. You slip on the carpet and trip further into your assailant's arms.

"Keep still so I won't make a mess," is all he says.

You start screaming. He covers your mouth and you bite his hand. That earns you a thump on your cheek, so hard your vision blurs.

Bang!

You freeze, expecting the warm drip of blood and the excruciating pain to accompany it. Instead, your assailant falls to the floor, clutching his ribs. You stumble backwards and see Hood at your door, gun still aimed. He stalks over and kicks the assailant in the chest as he does. The assailant groans.

"You okay?"

You're still staring at the man who very nearly killed you a minute ago. Blood roars in your ears. You think you might be close to fainting.

"Hey." Big, gloved hands hold your face. You flinch and hold the owner's wrists. Hood comes into view once more.

"Are you okay?" he asks firmly. "Look at me, look at me, sweet. Breathe. 'S okay. Does anything hurt? Did he—"

Hood cuts himself off as he touches your cheek, where you were hit. He lightly runs a thumb over what is probably a budding bruise.

Hood lets you go and whirls onto your attacker. He hauls him up and presses a gun to his stomach.

"Go ahead, shoot me!" the attacker shouts.

"If I shoot you, it won't be out of mercy. You won't get a quick death. You don't deserve it," Hood snarls, and you suddenly remember all of your good reasons for fearing the Red Hood.

"I ain't telling ya shit!"

"I don't expect you to," Hood says, and fires again.

The man crumples to the ground, but he's clearly still breathing. Still alive. Hood drags him to the door by his collar.

"You go back to your boss. And you tell 'em that they're fucking with the Red Hood now. And, in case I'm not being perfectly fucking clear through all that blood loss—" Hood grabs the man by his hair and wrenches his head back. "If you come for my reporter again, you'll wish I was kind enough to put a bullet in your head."

Hood hauls your attacker outside. You hear a car start a minute later, and it tears down the street.

You look at your guardian angel, spattered in blood.

Not nearly as much blood as I expected, you think manically.

Your body aches and shakes with adrenaline. You can't even get enough control to move to the couch.

"How–how did you get here so fast?" you ask, staring at your now cracked coffee table.

"I've been monitoring your apartment since you got home. One of the traffic cameras picked up a stolen vehicle turning onto your block, so I came here."

You look at Hood. He seems very collected, all things considered.

"You—how did you find my apartment? Have you been stalking me?"

"Please. Lend me a little credit, smarty. I don't need to stalk you to find where you live," he says, holstering his gun.

"Are you insane?!" you burst. "That is such a gross invasion of privacy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hood looks at you.

"What's wrong with me is I just saved your life," he says evenly. "And on that note, you owe me ten bucks. Maybe even fifteen, considering it took less than a day for them to do exactly what I said they would."

Your lip wobbles. You don't know what triggers it; maybe it's your scratched up door or torn sofa or the fact that the Red Hood is in your living room right now with blood on his suit.

The tears form quickly. You can't stop them.

You cover your face but a sob claws out of your throat. Soon, you fall into big, heaving cries.

"Whoa, hey." The floorboards creak under Hood's unsure footsteps. "Hey, I didn't mean that. Shit. I was just kidding about the bet part. Aw, don't cry, smarty."

A hand lightly touches your shoulder. You lean in, but don't dare to initiate more contact. So Hood eases you into a side hug, awkwardly patting your other arm. He's extremely warm and solid with muscle, but his chest is soft enough to rest your head on. He unclips his holster so it doesn't dig into your body.

"I was just kidding," Hood says quietly in your ear. He rubs your arm. "'M sorry. Didn't mean to make y'cry."

You sniff and shake your head. "No, it–it's not that, I'm just—God, I'm t-terrified, Hood. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? They're gonna kill me! I'm gonna die before I win my first Pulitzer!"

You try to suck in deep breath but it's not working. Hood leads your unsteady feet to the couch. You sit, fingers gripping his jacket. Hood carefully loosens your grip.

"They're not gonna kill ya, smarty. I won't let 'em. C'mon, let's have a seat. Where's your kitchen?"

You point, lashes still thick with tears. Hood leaves and returns shortly. A glass of water is held to your lips. You drink it, breathing stilted.

"'S okay. Take it easy. Breathe. That's right."

You swallow half of the water, and he sets the glass down on the coffee table. Hood hands you a wad of tissues.

"This is pathetic," you say, wiping your tears. "Can't believe I'm being nursed by the Red Hood."

"I think nursed is a strong word. But it's more than I usually do for my informants. Then again, they don't usually burst into tears."

"Don't make fun of me. I'm fragile."

"I wasn't making fun of you," Hood says, gentler than you've ever heard him. He puts the tissues aside and rests a hand on your shoulder. You turn into it, appreciative of the weight. "You handled this better than most people would. You didn't even pass out. Hell, I've passed out."

You're sure that Hood is leaving out important details behind that anecdote, like fighting off a hundred men or being swallowed by a whale beforehand. You're grateful nonetheless.

You turn to him, fresh tears in your eyes. "They're gonna kill me, Red."

He shakes his head. "No. Listen to me. Nobody is gonna do anything to you, okay? I'm not gonna let 'em hurt you, smarty pie."

"That's an impossible promise," you say. "One of these days, something will happen. You can't be everywhere at once. Especially not while I'm at home."

Hood tilts his head. "Well..."

"Well, what?"

He rubs his throat. An old injury, he'd once told you. The pain flares up sometimes.

"I could call in a favor. Get you into a safehouse."

"You would do that for me?" you ask. You probably shouldn't ask. Shouldn't look a generous vigilante in the mouth. But you can't help it.

"I can't very well publish the story myself, can I?"

You shrug. "I doubt that. You have your ways. Once you have the evidence, you don't need me."

"That's not true," Hood says fiercely. "I do need you."

Your eyes widen. Hood fumbles for a moment.

"That—I mean for the case. Obviously. I don't have any journalistic links besides you. And I wouldn't want the story to fall into the wrong hands."

"Oh." You have a strong urge to wrap your arms around him. Weird. "Well, um, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me yet. It'll take me a few days to get the safehouse," he says.

You deflate. "Oh. So I have to stay here until then?"

Hood is quiet for a long time. So long, you briefly revisit your original theory that the Red Hood is actually an AI remotely controlled by a billionaire.

"Hood?"

You reach to touch him. He flinches, a tiny movement. You immediately draw back.

Nope. Still a man.

"Sorry," he says, hand slipping from your shoulder. "I was, uh, going over options. No, your place is toast until we find whoever's behind this. But, um, it would be possible for you to—if you want to, 'cause if you don't, y'know, I understand, but I—it would be doable for you to, uh, stay with me. Until I get the safehouse."

"Stay... in your apartment?"

"'S not far from here. And it's a hell of a lot better protected than your place. And, y'know, I'd be there most of the time, so like..." Hood clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. It'd be safe. I promise."

"I wouldn't want to impose," you say, nervously scratching your arm.

"Mm. If you're scared of staying with me, y'can just say so. I won't take it personal."

He does kind of sound like he's taking it personally.

"No, Hood, it's not that. I don't... I'm not afraid of you. That, uh, went away a while back," you say. "I just... I don't want to burden you. After all, it's your space."

He makes a sound that tells you he's rolling his eyes behind his helmet.

"Saving your life is important, smarty. Why you don't think so, I'll never know."

You make a soft, pleased sound. "Got a real bleeding heart there, Red."

He sighs. "Yeah. I'm working on it."

You grin. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Part of the job. If you don't wanna stay with me, I could..." Hood hesitates. "With your permission... I could get the Bats involved. Ask one of them to house you."

"You mean Batman?"

Hood grunts. "Preferably anyone but him, but yeah, if it comes to that. He'll probably get involved anyway. Fuckin' busybody."

"The Bats would protect me? But they don't know me."

"Don't matter. If I asked them to, they would. If that's something you want."

You think. Is it something you want?

Sure, any reasonable person would prefer Nightwing or Batman to protect them.

"I don't want to stay with them," you say. "I'd rather stay with you."

He jerks like you've told him the sky is falling.

"You do?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I know you, Red. And I know you'll keep me safe."

"At any cost," he says.

That simultaneously frightens and thrills you.

"Then I'd like to go home with you," you say. "If you'll have me."

"'Course, smarty. Anything to keep you safe. Go pack some stuff. I'll be out here. You're okay?"

"I'm okay." You stand and turn before he can see what he does to you.

Yes, it's an odd thing, being partners with the Red Hood.

You're starting to fear that you can't have it any other way.

(pt 2)

#jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Red Hood x reader #Red Hood x you #Red Hood fanfiction #Jason todd fanfiction #Jason todd imagine #Red Hood imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc imagine #Jason todd x gn reader #inbox #blurb

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thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

Text

body language

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel shows up at your place in the middle of the night with a camcorder and an idea

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, soft-dom!joel, soft!joel, sex tape, established relationship, smut, unprotected piv, size kink, praise kink, overstimulation, fingering, rough sex, mild camera anxiety, moodboard for aesthetics only

word count: 7.4k

“Joel? It’s two o’clock in the morning, you alright?”

He never calls this late. He’s never even up this late. Joel’s a creature of habit—asleep by midnight and up, bright and early, at seven. Yet, it’s still his name lighting up your phone and illuminating the pitch black of your bedroom, waking you out of a near-dead sleep.

It takes him a moment to reply and, for a second, you think maybe he’s been out drinking with his contractor buddies. But that’s not like him, especially on a weeknight.

When his voice finally filters through the speaker, he sounds…off. His deep drawl is lower than usual, thick with something syrupy and heady that you’d probably be able to place if you weren’t teetering on the cusp of consciousness.

“Be better if I was there with ya.”

Oh.

Now, you’re awake. The barely concealed intention in his tone and words is unmistakable, and now you know exactly why he’s calling you at two in the morning on a weeknight. Because he hasn’t seen you in weeks, and he’s horny.

Heat licks at the base of your spine, and you get it. It's been a while since he’s been in your bed, and you're horny, too. You lean over to retrieve your phone from the nightstand, and your pilling flannel sheets slip down to your bare thighs, exposing your feverish skin to the brisk autumn air drifting in through a cracked window. It feels like the sweetest relief—you usually run hot when you sleep, but it’s nothing like this.

Switching the call off speaker, you unconsciously lean into the small screen as if it were him. A photo of Joel, soaked and covered in sand at the beach last year, flashes up at you and your lips brush against it as you murmur into the mic.

"If you wanted it bad enough, then you would be," you tease, your voice sultry and still heavy with sleep. You settle onto your back, kicking the sheets further down the bed so you can splay your fingers low on your stomach. They dip just slightly under the waistband of your underwear, closer to where you hope you'll need them soon. "So? Tell me how bad you want it."

You've never done the phone sex thing with Joel before, but if that's what he's looking for, then you're more than happy to play along. Every hushed sigh and bit-back groan, you want to hear it all. To let the gentle vibration of it in your ear reverberate through your body, feeding your arousal until it’s humming between your legs.

It’s been way too long. This might hold you over for now, but after tonight, you're going to need the real thing. Your boyfriend, close enough to touch, instead of a crackling, disembodied voice.

But, before you can even begin, your call is abruptly halted by a hard knock at the door. You shoot up, ripping your hand out of your underwear to rest over your racing heart.

No one’s ever at your door at this hour, and the fact that someone is either spells trouble or a mistake. Part of you is relieved that you’re on the phone with Joel in case there’s actual danger out there, but another nagging part really wants to ignore the interruption. You’ve got better things to do.

But you investigate, anyway. Better safe than sorry, right? Then, you can enjoy whatever Joel’s got planned for you to the fullest.

"Jesus, what...hold on, I think there’s someone outside," you whisper harshly into the phone as you slide out of bed, creeping as quietly as you can to the front door. "I'll be right back, I’m gonna go—“

To your surprise, Joel continues on anyway, undeterred by the commotion and the obvious alarm in your voice. But he sounds strange again, almost like he’s echoing.

“Want it real bad."

You grip your phone tighter as you struggle to hear what he's saying, but you’re too distracted by the chaos unfolding around you to focus. He’s acting so out of character. Seriously, what the hell is going on? You have no idea why this night’s been so out of wack, but it's starting to get a little too weird for your liking.

“Uh, say that again?"

The call drops and you're left staring at your home screen, feeling confused as hell. That is, until you hear those same words in that familiar, deep drawl coming from the other side of the door.

There's no way.

You unlock it without bothering to look through the peephole, opening it to find a very disheveled Joel leaning against the doorframe. His face is already so close to yours like he’s been waiting for you to come to him, eagerly. Impatiently.

The scent of his favorite spearmint gum fans over your face, and you subconsciously drag your tongue along your bottom lip in anticipation. His eyes follow the action, captivated by every minute movement you make, and you can tell how much just being in your presence is affecting him. The intensity in his gaze would make you feel nervous if it wasn’t for the obvious want simmering below the surface.

God, why does all of this feel so potent? You’re panting...when did that even start? It’s suddenly hotter than the stifling warmth under your sheets, despite being half-naked in your open doorway, but it feels good. Right. Because he’s breathing as heavily as you are.

There’s no traces of beer or whiskey on his breath. So, he's completely sober, then. Whatever you were hearing in his voice, that wild look in his eyes, completely overtaken by his blown pupils—he’s not drunk on any of that. Only on thoughts of you. Your breath hitches when he speaks again, in person this time.

"Don't think I need to repeat myself, do I?"

Your eyes drop to the intimidating tent in his sweatpants before darting up to meet his.

"No, I believe you," you breathe out.

And, god, do you.

Adrenaline floods your veins as he lurches forward to kiss you, and, finally, you get to taste that dizzying combination of mint and Joel. The coolness of it on your tongue does little to quell the heat spreading from your lips down to where you need him most.

His hands immediately find purchase where yours were just moments before, sliding up your sides under your oversized sleep shirt—his shirt. He cups the soft skin of your breasts, and you moan wantonly into his mouth, suddenly desperate to be bare in front of him.

But he ignores the bunched-up fabric shielding you from his view. He actually seems pleased by the sight of it on your body and the scent of himself still lingering on your skin. You haven't washed it since he left it here, and you can tell it’s stoking something primal in him. Something he's left unchecked since the last time he was with you that threatens to consume him. Shit, you can hear it in his voice.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about ya,” he mumbles against your lips, heavy lines marring his brow as if the thought of not being able to have you for so long physically pained him. “Been up all damn night…haven’t been able to think about anything else all goddamn night.”

He thumbs over a nipple while he tweaks the other, hard enough to startle a gasp out of you, and, oh, he likes that. The blunt outline of his hardening cock is insistent against your hip, but he holds himself back from grinding into you. Even as his body reacts without his permission, he’s still choosing to prioritize your pleasure first.

“You got no idea, the things m’gonna do to you tonight. Gonna treat you right, pretty girl, give ya everything you deserve.”

Your heart stutters, and you practically preen at his praise. This fucking man. You swallow his words greedily, pressing your lips into his hard enough to bruise, and the kiss descends into desperation and an unexpected need to hear more. You want more of those sweet, filthy words, to see what they really mean when he finally delivers on them. And all you have to do is ask.

“Then, give it to me.”

He parts from you with a lewd smack, a string of saliva hanging between you. You use the brief respite to take him in, your eyes roving over his tousled curls and the flush that’s quickly traveling down his neck and spreading across his chest.

He’s so fucking beautiful, and…and why aren’t your hands on him right now? He’s been standing there for minutes, or hours, you can’t even tell anymore. Yet, when you reach out to touch him, he catches your hand in midair. His grip is gentle yet firm, the side of his mouth quirking down as he raises an eyebrow, and you feel like you’re being scolded.

"Oh, honey. I know you can ask nicer than that,” he mutters, lifting it to his lips and softly kissing your palm.

There's a sense of authority in the way he says it, contradictory to the saccharine nature of his words. You're starting to realize you're not in control—that, tonight, what he says goes—but it feels safe. You know he'll take good care of you.

He gives your breast an encouraging squeeze as his other hand snakes further down to palm your ass, pulling your hips into his so you can feel all of him. This is what you'll get if you're a good girl, he's telling you.

You bite back a whine, gazing up at him through your lashes, wetting your lips before you try again. His way.

"Please."

Your voice quivers around the singular syllable that guarantees you’ll get what you need.

“There's my sweet girl. Just need’ta be reminded sometimes, don’t ya?”

He nods his head slowly, commandingly, while he asks the question, and you mimic him. You can feel yourself slipping, drowning in him and this feeling of security. You can’t help it, and you don’t want to.

He leans in to press his lips against yours again, devouring you in a way that feels less hungry and more exploratory, like he’s mapping you out. Filing away everything that makes your breath hitch and your eyelids flutter. He’s not immune to you, though. That much is obvious.

There's a growing wet patch on the front of his sweatpants, and you belatedly realize he didn’t bother putting on boxers before he left his house. He rubs damply against your stomach, just below your belly button, but he’s still not nearly close enough to where you need him. You don’t even know why his pants are still on. They really shouldn’t be.

Then, that same cool breeze and the delicate sound of crunchy, autumn leaves blowing along the sidewalk reminds you why. The front door is still wide open, leaving you standing in your underwear, and Joel with his hand up your shirt, in full view of anyone passing by. Not that they would at this time of night, but the thought is still a little thrilling. But not enough for Joel to leave it open any longer.

He pushes you further into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind him, and leads you backward to your bedroom. God, you can’t wait to see him—his tanned, sun-weathered skin and sparse smattering of freckles.

There’s too many layers between you and if your body isn’t pressed against his soon, you might actually lose your mind. You’ve never been this desperate for him before, but there’s something about the way he’s acting tonight.

This unfamiliar headspace you’re in…fuck, it feels good. You’re trusting him to make up for those weeks apart and, even more so, to dictate your pleasure in ways that are totally new to your relationship. You’ll do what he tells you, you’ll moan for him, you’ll cum for him. He knows what’s best for you.

Your clothes come off first. Your shirt is pulled up and over your head, and then he bends to tug down your underwear, letting it drop soundlessly to the floor. Next go his shoes, then his socks, leaving a trail of fabric from the living room, all the way to your bed.

It’s so sensual—surprisingly so—even though it’s something you do all the time. But tonight, he’s handling you with such rapt attention. His eyes never leave yours as each article of clothing falls to the plush, blue-patterned carpet beneath your feet.

You’re so naked. Compared to him, still clad in his jacket, t-shirt, and pants, you feel…exposed. Vulnerable. Maybe that’s the point. You approach him carefully, waiting for his permission to touch him, and he smiles softly.

“C’mere, baby. Could use a little help here,” he reassures you, reaching out to take your hand. But instead of letting you undress him, he guides it over the thick bulge in his sweatpants.

His fingers close around yours and, together, you squeeze him. Your eyes shoot up to gauge his reaction, but other than a nearly inaudible sigh and pinched brows, he’s not showing any other signs of being affected at all.

Craving more, you grind the palm of your hand into him, relishing the warmth of his cock as it pulses the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat in your grasp. He hisses out a breath, his hand tensing over yours, and a flash of pride lances through you.

Yes. Gotcha.

But your satisfaction is short-lived. To your disappointment, he tugs your hand away, but he doesn't separate from you completely. Instead, he slides it up past the softness of his stomach to rest on his chest. It rumbles softly under your touch as he speaks, except, they’re not necessarily the words you want to hear.

“No more of that. S’about you right now,” he drops his forehead to yours, fixing you with a stern look. “Later, alright? When I’m fuckin’ ya, you can touch me as much as you want.”

Shit. You clench down hard, suddenly hyperaware of the wetness between your legs and the feeling of devastating emptiness. You want it now, but you still have no idea what his plans are.

If you’re a brat about it, he’ll probably make you wait even longer, and, anyway, that’s not what you want to be tonight. You want to be good for him.

His broad hands spread across your waist as he tilts his head to kiss your cheek, then the underside of your jaw. Without warning, he sucks hard, likely leaving a mark you’ll have to cover up tomorrow before work. You hope he leaves more.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble remorsefully, shivering in his arms as his thumbs begin to rub soothing circles into your skin. “I can wait—I…I’ll be better.”

“S’okay, baby, I know ya will,“ he replies, dragging his lips down to your shoulder. “Just keep goin’. You’re doin’ so good.”

Finally, you push his jacket off his shoulders and it joins the rest of your clothes, hitting the floor with a solid thunk. The noise startles you enough to clear some of that comfortable haze, and you slowly pull back, eyeing him curiously.

That’s…way louder than it should’ve been. It’s his fall coat so it barely weighs a thing, even with his phone and wallet in his pockets.

But he doesn’t seem surprised at all. His face is unreadable except for the hint of a smirk, and he doesn’t look like he’s about to talk anytime soon.

You bend down to pick it up, your eyes still on his, and you were right. It’s heavier than it should be by a long shot, and you’re honestly a little taken aback that you didn’t notice it earlier. But, in all fairness, you weren’t noticing much of anything earlier, save for Joel’s hands and lips on your body.

Reaching into his pocket, your fingers brush against something clunky and metallic. It’s not his phone. There’s too many moving pieces, and it’s at least three times its size.

When the mystery item is finally revealed, your jaw drops. Joel can be a pretty spontaneous guy when he wants to be, but this? You never saw this coming.

In your hand sits a goddamn camcorder. An honest-to-god video camera that was just sitting in his pocket with no discernible reason for being there.

While you wait for him to explain, the gadget begins to feel heavier by the second, just the idea of it burning a hole right through your palm. But you know you don’t need him to. You’re not a child, and, in the back of your mind, you already know exactly why it’s there. This is the reason he came here.

That pretty, hazy brain fog halts briefly, just long enough for you to get some answers. You want to hear him say it.

“You said you’d give me everything I deserve, right? I think I deserve an explanation,” you say, forgoing the pleasantries he asked of you earlier.

You’re fighting not to sound weak, to emulate his authoritative tone, but your heart is pounding and you already sound out of breath. Fucking hell, this man. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life, and he knew this would happen.

Judging by the way his eyes darken and rove over your naked curves, he’s painfully aware of it. You watch dumbfounded as his patience runs out, and he discards his shirt and sweatpants. Now that his secret’s out, he doesn’t want to wait anymore, either.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, and your hands clench into fists at your sides to keep yourself from reaching out and touching him, but it feels impossible. It’s right there—his cock, leaking and flushed red at the tip from neglect.

It jerks under your heated gaze, and he exhales sharply through his nose, wrapping his hand tightly around the base. He's clearly struggling as much as you are. Then, he moves closer, all but crowding you into the edge of the bed, and you can feel it pulsing against your bare skin.

“Here’s the deal, pretty girl—you’re gonna cum s’many times as I want you to, and this here’s gonna record it all,” he drawls, holding out his hand for the camera. You acquiesce without any more questions. “Waited too damn long to see you like this and that ain’t happenin’ again.”

His other hand cups your cheek to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part around an almost imperceptible gasp. To anyone else but him, at least.

“You gonna let me?”

You nod quickly, praying your eyes convey all of the want you’re feeling and none of the nerves.

“Yeah,” you answer, breathlessly. “I’ll let you.”

But he sees right through you. The apprehension in your voice is too apparent, and he clocks it on the spot. His eyes instantly soften. He tugs you into his arms and holds you close, nosing into the hair just above your ear. Relieved, you sag into his familiar embrace.

“If this ain’t okay with you, we stop right here. Alright? We don’t do anythin’ you're not a hundred percent sure you want,” and he sounds attentive and so earnest.

His bare skin feels so warm against yours, and you allow it to remind you of everything he promised you. Of all of the things he’s about to do to you, for you, and the tape that’ll capture it all. For yours and Joel’s eyes only, whenever you need it. And you know you will eventually.

Rubbing your cheek into his chest, you close your eyes and take a minute to let the calming beat of his heart make you feel less nervous. This is an entirely different kind of reminder, one that reassures you that you trust this man with everything you’ve got. You’re sure of your answer.

“I want this, Joel,” you murmur, slowly opening your eyes to meet his, commanding his full attention. “I promise you, I want this so fucking badly.”

That flips the switch. He swaps your positions in the blink of an eye, looping his arm around your middle to drag you up the bed until his back is against the headboard with you between his legs.

“Don't need'ta be shy. You’re beautiful, baby, that’s all it’s gonna see,” he breathes out, his voice thick with affection and want.

He bends you both forward, his chest solid against your back, to set the camcorder onto the sheets, and tosses a few pillows behind it to prop it up. Something intimidating clicks just as Joel tilts the preview screen toward you.

It’s on. Brightly lit and reflecting back a depraved mirror image of you and Joel, naked and panting and needy.

Okay. Okay, here we go. Another click, and then a red light blips next to the lens.

It’s recording.

The light flashes steadily, and you can feel your body tensing with every strobe. Come on, loosen up. It’s just a piece of metal. A very…scary piece of metal that’s watching your every move. Your thighs tremble from a confusing mix of arousal and nerves, and you start to feel embarrassed.

You can see yourself on the little screen, feeling small yet secure in Joel’s arms, but you’re too focused on the camera’s attention on you to relax. As if he can tell you’re about to shrink into yourself, Joel distracts you. You haven’t told him to stop or asked him to turn it off, and he knows you would if this became too much.

"See what I mean?" He smoothes his hands down your thighs, carefully parting your legs. He gives you every chance to close them, but you don’t. "Fuckin' perfect, just like I told ya."

You try harder to see what he sees, what you're praying the camera sees. He's so free with his compliments and praise, you want to believe you deserve them.

"Prettiest pussy I've ever seen," he mutters tightly under his breath, his fingers massaging the tense muscles in your thighs. "From now on, m'gonna get to see this whenever I want. See myself fuckin' you whenever I can't."

Once you catch sight of your glistening heat reflected back at you, you help him spread your legs even further, watching as your cunt visibly clenches in response.

Oh. Oh...look at you.

You get it now, why he wants this on film. You’re captivated by yourself, by the way Joel bites back a groan and his body seizes up as he fights not to rut into you. You’d love to be able to see that again.

But then his fingers finally press deliciously into your clit and any lingering anxiety completely fades away. You barely even register his lips brushing against your ear, checking in before he continues with everything he’s about to put you through.

“Doin’ alright?” he murmurs between damp kisses against your neck. That tranquil haze begins to settle in again as he mouths wetly at your skin, the coarse drag of his beard a familiar comfort.

“Mhm,” you hum before your head lolls back onto his shoulder, and you slip completely. “S'good...feels good.”

“That's my girl,” he breathes tenderly, rewarding you with more pressure, pressing down harder on your clit.

The slick friction is heady and so effective that all you can do is give in as your hips swivel into his touch of their own accord. He's taking such good care of you, attuned to every gasp, the quickening rise and fall of your breasts.

You tilt your head to observe his expression. It's your only indication of what he’s feeling since he’s still refusing to allow himself to react to you physically.

He's breathtaking, looking like a man starved with his parted lips and pitch-black eyes, locked on where his fingers are slipping through the mess he’s making of your pussy. He must feel you watching him because he suddenly smirks, snaking a hand up your body to cup your breast.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you mewl, pretty and perfect for the camera, your hips bucking clear off his lap when he begins to languidly massage the soft curve. You're getting so close already and your entire body quakes with it, your thighs trembling violently against his as he swirls tighter, faster circles into your swollen clit.

“Joel…ngh—Joel, I’m...fuck, m’gonna cum,” you whimper into his neck, grabbing his thighs to anchor yourself. "C-can I? Please."

“I know, baby, I can feel it. C’mon, give it to me,” he rasps, your demand from earlier falling raggedly from his lips. "Show the camera how hard ya cum for me."

Then, he pinches your nipple hard between his thumb and calloused middle finger, and you’re gone. Your orgasm crashes over you in a blissful wave, your stomach tensing intermittently with every gushing pulse of your cunt, and he doesn’t let up. Not until you’ve ridden his hand through your aftershocks, and slump into his chest, completely spent.

“That’s one, pretty girl.”

That’s…one? He’s counting them? You’re struggling to understand, to even focus on what he’s saying, but he doesn’t leave you wondering for long.

"You're gonna give me four, alright?” His fingers shift from your chest to your chin, tilting your head up to face him. The look in his eyes tells you to listen because he means this. “Want ya to cum on my fingers three times before you cum on my cock. Can ya do that for me?"

Christ. Your eyes dart from the attentive device, still recording every move and reaction you make, back to his. Can you? You’re not even sure if that’s possible, and your bottom lip trembles as you start to overthink it.

You’ve never orgasmed that many times in a row, not with him or by yourself, and yet, he sounds so sure that you can. That he can make you. His thumb gently strokes your chin, and you believe him. You will.

"Yes, Joel," you find yourself nodding obediently, and you're thrilled at how pleased he looks.

He leans down to kiss away your worries, swallowing your surprised squeal as his fingers waste no time starting up those insistent swirls on your clit again. Your hips jerk away from his hand, but he only smiles against your lips, his strong arms holding you in place.

It’s way too much, nearly overwhelming you, and you whimper into his mouth at the oversensitivity. Your floor muscles clench painfully as you continue to try and recover from your last one, but you don’t stop him. You give into him so easily, letting his adoration and sheer desire fuel you.

“That's it. You can take it, I know ya can,” he encourages, pulling away from your lips to gaze down at you in awe. "Look at my girl...so damn responsive tonight. Listenin' so well."

You can’t help the satisfaction blooming in your chest, gasping in relief as the sensitivity begins to subside into intense pleasure. His eyes drop between your legs as your hips start to chase his touch, and yours quickly follow.

“Shit,” he mutters, his voice tighter than it has been all night. “You get so fuckin’ wet when ya cum. Makin' the prettiest mess.”

His middle and ring fingers abruptly slip from rubbing merciless circles into your clit down to your entrance, plunging inside you, and god, it's exactly what you need. His fingertips drag against your sensitive walls, stroking something repeatedly that steals your breath away, and your pussy flutters around him.

He mimics the soft sound but it trails off, dropping to something deeper that rumbles in his chest, and his slow, purposeful thrusts turn aggressive. His fingers hook inside you, and your eyes roll back, lips parting around desperate, choked-out words he'll watch back and probably cum to.

"...t-there, there. Please...don't stop—," you keen, your voice catching every time your hips buck to meet his hand. "—n-need more. Please, Joel, I...c-can you...?"

That gorgeous smirk returns, his face alight with pride. He's so proud of you.

“Beautiful and polite, Christ. Whatever you want,” his fingers don’t let up, and he looks mesmerized by how slick and easy he slides in and out. “Keep askin’ nice like that and I’ll give ya anything.”

Adding a third finger, he starts to fuck into you in earnest, ramming against something deep inside you as his palm slaps repeatedly against your clit. You see stars. Your vision begins to blur, and you’re positive you’re moaning louder than you should be this late at night, but you can’t focus on anything else but the wet squelching of your pussy around him.

You should probably feel at least a little ashamed, but your warming cheeks have nothing to do with the noise and everything to do with the wrecked, stuttered moans in your ear, and Joel’s cock rutting into your ass in time with his fingers.

He's finally losing his composure. That careful self-restraint he's tried so hard to maintain, slowly but surely being dismantled. He clearly doesn’t care anymore, and he wants you to know it.

"Feel that? S'what ya do to me,” he grits through his teeth, his head dropping to your shoulder to watch as he smears precum messily across your skin. You unintentionally squeeze his fingers at his words, and he groans raggedly. "Fuckin'...tight—Christ, ya just keep gettin' tighter. Think m’gonna fit?"

You shake your head furiously, already feeling too full around his fingers, but your body betrays you, grinding down onto his cock before you can stop yourself. He exhales sharply at your reaction, bucking into you a little harder than he means to, and for a moment, you think maybe he likes the idea that he's too big for you. That your pussy's just too tight to take him right now.

That little red light still gleaming next to the ever-observant mechanical eye in front of you would probably love to witness that. A filthy, intimate image of you caught between intense pleasure and pain, forever preserved.

"No?” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “S'okay, baby, we'll make it fit. Don't'chu worry."

It hits you like a freight train, your second orgasm catching both of you by surprise and knocking the wind completely out of you. He wrenches his fingers out of your heat so he can wrap his arms tightly around you, keeping you from knocking over the camera as you writhe in his lap. It's overwhelming, somehow even more intense than the first, but the sensitivity sets in quicker.

Your nails dig sharply into his arms, and he hisses in a breath behind you. You're scared you might be hurting him, but you're having trouble controlling your limbs as immense amounts of dopamine flood your system, so you scrabble against the damp sheets instead.

Fuck, you can’t. It's too much. He’s still moving beneath you, the slide of his cock against your skin made easier by the slick dripping between your legs, and you’re not even sure he realizes he’s doing it. You want to do this for him so badly, but you're not sure how much more you can take.

One more. You can take one more. Then, he's yours.

Sensing your discomfort, he holds you through it, lets you ride it out until you’re whimpering softly in his arms. But all he offers is a brief, sweet moment of respite before his fingers return to your cunt. He mindfully avoids your clit as he slowly sinks two fingers back inside you, and, now, even you can feel how tight you are. Each one of his knuckles catches on your entrance and rubs you purposefully, if not a little painfully.

"How's that feel, baby? Talk to me.”

It aches. It’s so much. It’s not enough. The warring sensations between your legs intensify the deeper he plunges into you, but, this time, the sensitivity doesn’t ebb. Instead, it amplifies everything. You can feel him keenly, sweat and oppressive heat pooling everywhere your bodies connect, and you melt into it. Into him.

"S'good...keep—," you accidentally clench around him, and your breath hitches at the dull throb that wracks your lower half, "—k-keep going. Want more.”

“Fuck. Such a good girl...so fuckin' good,” he breathes heavily behind you, grunting his pleasure into your shoulder every time your hips try to escape insistent strokes. It's not just the steady grind of his cock between your ass cheeks that’s getting him off. You can see the playful sparkle in his eyes on the screen, regardless of how small his image is. He's enjoying the chase.

You think he could even cum like this, playing this dangerous game with you. It's then that you realize you like it, too. You both know how close you are to earning your reward, so agonizingly near, you can taste it. And he can feel you around his fingers, tensing and relaxing, beginning to adapt to the unbearable soreness as your orgasm quickly approaches.

"Almost there, baby. S'a lot, I know, but you're takin' it so well,” he groans encouragingly. You can hear the subtle anticipation in his voice. He’s a wreck behind you, all but fucking into your skin as he adds a third finger and increases his speed. You let out a pained moan together at the resistance. "Hurts, huh? Lemme make it better, pretty girl. Tell me what ya need."

“M-my clit, please…please,” you beg him. Politely, nicely, kindly, whatever he wants. It’s still swollen and rubbed raw despite how wet you’ve been all night, but, fuck, you need it. Just a gentle touch would be enough to send you over the edge. That’s all it’ll take.

And that’s exactly what he gives you. Three barely-there swirls with his thumb, and you’re screaming, cumming around him so hard, you’re almost worried you’ll break his fingers. Your spasming floor muscles are unforgiving, convulsing violently as you cream into the palm of his hand, but this time he doesn’t wait for it to subside.

The internal pressure suddenly disappears and everything tilts on its axis. You’re being shifted, lifted higher by two strong arms encircling your waist, and something big—god, it feels huge—nudges at your abused hole. Joel’s speaking, but whatever he’s saying is too difficult to make out over the blood roaring in your ears. It sounds urgent. Impatient. He sounds needy.

He lowers you just a hair, and the stretch around his tip feels impossible. You were right. He's not going to fit, and the thought makes you want to cry. He has to. You need him to.

"...baby...baby," his voice finally cuts through the fog. He's shaking, trembling like a leaf all around you, but refusing to move until you can hear him. You realize he's been asking you a question, and he needs your answer now. "Need'ta be inside you. Christ, I—m'not gonna be gentle. I...can't, I can't anymore. Gonna fuck you hard, s'that okay? Can ya take me?"

He gives you a little more, a preview of what's to come before you make your decision, and it fucking hurts. It's also the most incredible thing you've ever felt.

More. You said you wanted more, and you meant it. You nod frantically, whining your assent, but it's not enough. He needs you to say it.

"Need'ya to use your words, baby. Yes?"

"Yes," you choke out around a sob, wriggling in his arms to get him to move faster. He exhales sharply through his nose, the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat pulsing in his chest and cock.

"Yes."

It's the last warning you get before he drives into you in a single, earth-shattering thrust, burying himself to the hilt. It feels like he's splitting you in half, tearing you right down the middle, and replacing every part of you with Joel, Joel, Joel.

And he doesn't stop there, or give either of you time to adjust. He pistons into you, a wet thock-thock-thock of drenched skin against skin, and you accept it gratefully. You're delirious with the feeling of him stretching you past your limit. So full, you're so fucking full of him. It's the only thing grounding you to the present, your unyielding walls fighting to mold around him.

After hours of giving, he finally takes. He's all but snarling into your ear like a starved apex predator feasting on his prey, biting and sucking and bruising every inch of skin he can reach. Yet, he's still so full of praise for his girl.

"Look at us, baby. Y'see that?" he growls, just loud enough for the mic to pick up the wrecked reverence in his voice. He takes your hand and guides it down until both sets of fingers are wrapped around where he's breaching your swollen cunt. You cry out at the thickness of him, the unimaginable sight of you stretched around him, gripping him. "Takin' me so well. Knew you could. Goddamn perfect woman, s'like you were made for it."

You're starting to believe it. That you were shaped in his image, created just for him. You want to return his affection, even a fraction of the praise he's given you this entire night, but you're past the capacity for speech.

The tension in your chest is making it hard to breathe, and every attempted reply is forced from your body as an incoherent string of stuttered moans and broken sobs. Nearly every other thrust punches your cervix, and you can already feel that telltale heat flooding between your legs.

You can't tell him all of the things you want to. So, you show him, instead. Your entire body goes lax in his arms except your hips and hands, and you rock forward on every upstroke, caressing his inner thighs with your thumbs.

His lips press against the underside of your jaw as he whines desperately into your skin, subtle groans rising in frequency and volume the longer you continue your ministrations. You can feel his stomach tensing behind you, and his grip tightens like he's either trying to stave off his release or anchor himself for when he inevitably erupts. He's so fucking close to the edge, now, you can tell.

He can, too. But he needs you to get there first.

Your hips are already starting to buck into his, and he takes that as the go-ahead to give you more. A sign that your body can handle everything he has left. His arms unravel from around you, and he slows his pace to a deep, heady grind that sets your body ablaze.

He snakes one hand up your stomach to cup a breast while the other drops to rub sloppy circles into your overstimulated bundle of nerves, and you cry out at the sudden onslaught of sensations. Your eyes dart to the camcorder as it builds and builds, in your chest, at the base of your spine, and against that spot deep inside you that has you fluttering around him. You promised one more, and you're ready to put on a show it'll never forget.

But that's the opposite of what Joel wants. He delivers a sharp slap to your clit to get your attention.

"Look at me, baby. Don't look at the camera," he grits out. You whine, turning your head to face him, your expression pleading with him to keep doing that. He acquiesces with a smirk, slapping it again, purposefully and repeatedly to punctuate his demands.

"Ya look at me when you cum, alright?"

Slap.

"Nowhere."

Slap.

"Else."

His hand collides with your cunt a little harder, and even he moans at the contact.

Slap.

"Ya don't close your eyes, ya don't look away. Wanna see those pretty eyes when I fill you up."

He releases your breast to grip your chin between his thumb and index finger, holding you in place.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Cum for me."

Then, his assault really begins. He jerks into motion, his hips slamming into yours frantically, matching the sweet, torturous pace of his fingers' rough touch.

Everything goes fuzzy. You feel its steady approach, a surprisingly gentle wave that trickles from where the head of his cock meets your depths, past every sensitive pressure point to where you're gushing onto his coarse curls. But, as it peaks, you barely feel anything at all. A beat of numbness that makes you believe maybe that was all you had left in you.

A moment later, there's euphoria. You're cumming so hard, your vision blacks out, and all you can sense is your bottom half locking down and Joel sobbing into your shoulder while he empties into you, just like he promised.

He fucks you through it, quiet whimpers and murmured praise flowing uncontrollably from his lips. He tells you how tight you are, how your pussy's choking his cock and milking him dry. How good you've been and how perfect you are. He says all of it just for you, but the camera hears it, too.

For a while, he thrusts into you lazily, savoring his sensitivity and sighing through your final aftershocks. Maybe it's punishment for everything he put you through. Or maybe he just likes the syrupy pain of it. Either way, his girth nestled inside you is comforting now that you're both loose-limbed and pleasantly sticky with each other's release.

He lets out a disappointed grunt when he eventually softens and slips out, right around the time your vision returns and the brain fog starts to clear. The flashing red light at the foot of the bed catches your attention again, and you're struck with a sudden idea. One last thing you want him to have on tape.

Sliding haphazardly off his lap, you position yourself on your hands and knees, the camera situated with the perfect view of your core. You peek behind you, shooting a sly smile at the lens before you part your folds, allowing a thick glob of cum to leak out of your swollen cunt and drip down to your clit. Before it can fall to the sheets below, you gather up the mess with your fingers and shove it right back inside you, where it belongs.

Joel groans heavily in response, and his body finally gives out, collapsing against the headboard. You can't help but laugh, exhausted and sated, close to collapsing, yourself. Crawling back on top of him, you wrap your limbs around his neck and waist, and crash your lips messily into his.

As he returns your kiss with sleepy enthusiasm, he tugs you down flush against his chest. His hands slide down your sides to teasingly squeeze your ass, and you pull away with a gasp, intent on teasing him right back, but the bright grin on his face gives you pause.

Now that your head is clear and you're starting to recover, you remember everything that led to this. That, after too many agonizing weeks, you finally got to have him again, in the flesh and in ways you never have before or thought you ever could. And you'll get to relive it over and over, as many times as you need on those lonely nights when he's not there to take care of you.

"I'm glad you came over," you smile softly, unwinding an arm from around his shoulders to brush back his messy curls. "I really missed you."

His grin widens, and he melts into your touch. God, he's...baffling. A total enigma. You wonder how you'll ever reconcile this man with the one on film, but, then, his eyes soften and it becomes clear. Both men love you. Both are Joel.

"Missed you, too, baby. Y'got no idea how much," he says earnestly and with so much tenderness.

"I think I got the picture," you snort affectionately, leaning down to brush your lips against his.

You kiss him again, and your tangling bodies knock over the camera just as the dead battery indicator flashes twice on the screen, then cuts to black.

thanks for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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badscienceman · 4 months ago

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I saw someone ask what "I hope this hurts" means beyond the obvious, and I started to respond only for it to turn into an essay... Because I don't feel like dumping something so long in some unsuspecting person's notifs, I'm just going to post it here instead.

I started writing this after playing the game, but ended up watching a playthrough because I couldn't remember exactly where "I hope this hurts" was repeated. I think I caught the only few times it was mentioned, but I wouldn't be surprised if I missed something, so feel free to correct me on that or anything else I might have gotten wrong.

Spoilers for the full game and CWs for everything you would expect from discussing Mouthwashing apply.

Edited 10/16/2024 for clarity and some minor issues with formatting. I added sections in hopes of making it more readable, as well as a few more screenshots that I hope will support my points better. *Indicates where I made potentially significant additions to my original analysis.

Part One: Jimmy

Jimmy is someone who has a delicate ego. This means that he's very concerned with how he's perceived by those around him. We see this in how he responds to Curly and the news of the company's closure, which he takes it as a personal attack in spite of it very clearly having nothing to do with him on a personal level.

For people like Jimmy, a threat to one's image (whether it's a matter of their perception of themselves or, maybe worse, the perception others have of them) brings intense emotional pain. Even though it's clear that Curly meant no personal offense, and likely saw more good in Jimmy than was actually there, Jimmy sees this as a great threat to his own image, and thus identity.

To be clear, it's not just that Jimmy thinks Curly is looking down on him. It's also that Jimmy needs his role in the company to maintain his image, and he needs to eventually become captain. This is his ultimate goal because the respect and control that someone like Curly has, in Jimmy's mind, is tied to the title he possesses. And Jimmy wants that. He wants respect, he wants to be listened to, he wants power over others. (This is also why Swansea's final speech is so important, in relation to the belief that if one just reaches this next goal, they might feel a little more human, a little more in control, a little more fulfilled, but as Swansea shows us, that's just not the case. And it's true for Jimmy, too. Jimmy isn't magically fulfilled by obtaining the title of captain.)

But in the beginning, Jimmy has yet to realize that just getting the role of captain won't magically make him a man who is respected, or even a man who is truly in control. He sees no opportunities for himself on earth. The only option is to stay in this company and become a little lord of his own ship... and suddenly that's ripped out from under him. He will never reach the goal he's been chasing for all of this time.

Anya telling him about her pregnancy is the final push he needs to go over the edge.

Part Two: Captain

Returning to the initial reveal that the company is shutting down for a second, I think it's important to keep in mind a few things:

1. The importance of the title of captain in Jimmy's mind.

2. How this extends to his perception of Curly, him being the current captain.

3. Jimmy's self-centeredness preventing him from understanding the feelings and perceptions of those around him.

When Curly says what he does, Jimmy immediately jumps to the conclusion that Curly sees himself as above everyone else (and most importantly, as above Jimmy), to the point of considering them "dirt." I don't think Jimmy is just projecting his greatest fear (being seen as lesser) onto Curly. I think he's projecting his own perceptions.

He's placed all of this importance on the title of captain, and thus Curly. The captain is above Jimmy. Jimmy is beneath him, is lesser. And we know how Jimmy treats those he sees as lesser (first Anya, and then the rest of the crew once he's captain, *manipulating Daisuke into putting his life at risk because Daisuke, who is just an intern after all, just isn't important to Jimmy being an example).

I think this is a fair reading because Jimmy does something similar with Swansea when he insists that Swansea is keeping the last cryostasis pod for himself. I understand some might say that this is just Jimmy's attempt to manipulate Daisuke and Jimmy doesn't actually believe it, which is a fair interpretation, but I sincerely think he believes what he's saying in this instance. And I think that because Jimmy sees selfishness as common sense. It's what he would do were he in Swansea's position, and what makes him giving the pod to Curly significant.

Part Three: Anya

So, Jimmy is already hurt and panicking. He sees his chance at power and thus fulfillment slipping away. And then Anya tells him that she's pregnant.

Anya, who he has shown time and time again that he thinks little of.

Anya, who he clearly sees as beneath him.

Any mention of the pregnancy, no matter how gently it was worded, would immediately feel like a threat to him on multiple levels. And not only that, but a threat from someone lesser than him. His image, his status, his control, his power—it's already slipping from his fingertips. *It's happening right then, in that moment. It's not just a potential future where he's held accountable in a real way (maybe if Anya involved authorities, or if Jimmy was legally responsible for supporting a child once they returned to earth). It's happening now, because his image is crumbling.

For this reason, I believe I hope this hurts to be directed at anyone and everyone that he sees as "threatening" him.

Anya and Curly have made him hurt. He wants to make them hurt.

He doesn't care about Daisuke and Swansea. If anything, he's so caught up in himself and this contorted vision of reality, I wouldn't be shocked if he convinced himself in the moment that they, too, were looking down on him for some reason. (See again, "I know what everyone is thinking. The way they look at me." Obviously this is said in the midst of his spiral, after the crash, but I wouldn't doubt the paranoia was there before that moment.)

He wants to make them hurt as they've hurt him. He may also want to make himself hurt in order to vent out his emotional pain. If not, death may simply be the easiest way to escape pain and the threat the future holds in his mind.

*Part Four: Without the Guilt

In addition to all of this, I think crashing the ship (making them hurt) is his vision of what Curly has done or is doing to him. This is how he "leave(s) the dirt behind."

To understand this, I'm going to include the birthday conversation and the conversation between Jimmy and Curly about crashing the ship.

Jimmy: ... So I guess you got what you wanted. Without the guilt. Curly: Jim... If I had known... Jimmy: I can go back to my, how'd you put it? "Struggle of a life?" Jimmy: Anya never got into medical school because she's... well, let's be real. Jimmy: And how many employment years Swansea got left in him? Jimmy: Daisuke will be fine, mommy and daddy have him covered. So there's that at least. Jimmy: But you. Headed for bigger and better, right? Curly: I'm just... I'm just working on my life being a place I don't have to fucking escape! That's what I was trying to tell you, nothing mor- Jimmy: We're the ones you're trying to escape! Leave the dirt behind now that your boots are clean! Curly: That's not what I meant. Jimmy: It is what you meant. Jimmy: You just couldn't frame it to yourself in a way that kept you as the hero. Jimmy: Abandon the crew but remain the model captain.

To me, this is one of the most important and revealing sections of the game. Jimmy is not only projecting onto Curly, he's telling us exactly what he's going to go on to do (or attempt to do) when he becomes captain.

In addition to this, we see his manipulation on full display as he twists Curly's words and won't allow him even a moment to truly speak beyond a few lines he manages to get in between Jimmy's ranting.

That's not to mention we see the beginning of yet another pattern in Jimmy's behavior: getting a person to admit their weakness, then using it against them and/or using it to hurt them (he does this with Daisuke, for example, when he hears Daisuke's fears/desire for approval and proceeds to use it to get Daisuke in the vent). Here, Curly speaks about feeling trapped. Jimmy will soon trap him in a crashed ship just as much as he traps him in his own body, which Jimmy will proceed to drug. But I'll return to that.

Curly: Jim. I can fix this. Jimmy: What do you think will happen when we get back? Hm? Curly: We can figure all of this out. You and me. Take care of it. Kills ninety nine percent. Jimmy: All I ever hear is how great of a leader you are. God, it's so annoying. Jimmy: But, now... What do you think will happen now when we get back? Curly: We'll fix this together. Jimmy: Everything you and I worked for in our lives. Accomplishments, changes. Jimmy: None of it will matter. Curly: You've gotten through difficult situations before. This time won't be any different. Work through it, one day at a time. Jimmy: It's not just me, is it? Jimmy: You were supposed to be the one who had everything under control. You said so yourself. Jimmy: The ship, this crew, everything that happened here... Jimmy: This was your responsibility, Captain. Jimmy: That is what you'll be hearing the rest of your life. Take responsibility. Jimmy: Or this can all be remembered as a tragedy. Jimmy: Despite what must have been the best efforts of its acclaimed captain. Jimmy: The Tulpar crew was never found. Jimmy: No one survived to tell the tale. Take responsibility. Jimmy: You're standing at the top. Jimmy: Feet in cement. Jimmy: I get it now. Right? Curly: ... Curly: ... Right.

This is an important moment, because aside from the scene in which Jimmy is approaching Curly while he's on fire, it's the only other time that I can recall the game separating from their perspectives to allow us to see them both, standing together.

We see a flash of Take care of it. Kills ninety nine percent. Jimmy begins to pull away. Another flash. He continues to draw back. Another. He turns towards the cockpit.

Jimmy sees through Curly. He sees Curly's worst where Curly sees only Jimmy's best, and he's more that willing to use that against Curly.

He sees a man who is not going to do what's hard. He sees a man who is going to try to "fix it" only in the most superficial sense. A man who confuses the appearance of cohesion and peace with the reality of it. Someone who sees the rocking of the boat as a manifestation of taking action against a wrong rather than the wrong itself.

In the end, it seems they're both ruled by appearances. And Jimmy will soon rip appearances in every sense from Curly's fingertips. He will make him hurt. He will get his revenge. He'll turn Curly into the villain, taking away his title, his respect, and his very face.

For daring to look down on him, Jimmy will turn Curly into dust.

But I think these words—I hope it hurts—come back to haunt him.

Part Five: The Eye as a Mirror

Like I said, I went back to try to find each time the phrase is used. There's the beginning, of course, but then there's the pregnancy sequence, for lack of a better name.

When the Polle monstrosity emerges from the giant uterus (?), we see these words:

In this sequence, we see a lot of different images and concepts connected: Anya's pregnancy and thus her sexual assault by Jimmy are tied to Polle and the company. The emergence of the Polle monster from the giant uterus (and the idea of the removal of the pregnancy) is tied to the mouthwash, as it's an act of "cleansing." This is all then tied to the phrase I hope this hurts.

Unless I missed something, these are the only two moments when the phrase is used: When Jimmy crashes the ship, and when he's experiencing this hallucination.

All clean! Really gets rid of that bad taste in your mouth, huh? Through wreckage! Through silence! Wash it away! All day fire fresh!

"Clean" is important immediately. "Leave the dirt behind you now that your boots are clean," Jimmy says. Because in this accusation is Jimmy's actual intentions himself. He wants to rise above others and clean himself from their filth. Now, he wants to clean himself of his sins.

I think "Really gets rid of that bad taste in your mouth" is mocking him. A direct challenge to the thought that he could ever truly be "cleaned," at least in the ways he's so desperately trying to go about it. *Not to mention how this connects to the mouthwash, as it might get that 99%, but there's always going to be 1% left.

"Through wreckage" obviously refers to the wrecking of the ship, but also of their lives. All by Jimmy. Though I wouldn't doubt in his mind it connects to the wreckage of consequences (ie. Anya's pregnancy resulting from Jimmy's actions).

"Through silence" I feel connects back to Jimmy's attempts to keep everything quiet, both literally and figuratively.

"Wash it away" also has a mocking edge, as if stressing the foolishness of Jimmy's attempts to treat these very serious events as if it's all just "dirt" he can wipe off.

Finally, we see "All day fire fresh!" This line stresses the connection to the mouthwash, of course. It also calls to mind the concept of cleansing by fire. Important considering Curly.

And after each, I hope it hurts. Jimmy's statement of pure, childish rage. His desperate desire to make others hurt as he hurts. To lash out, to get revenge. To have control until the very end.

This is also why Polle haunts him. Because he, as a man desperate for control, will always be under the thumb of the company even with that title of captain. That hurts him. And maybe the closest thing to ever recognizing the evil he's done to Anya is envisioning it as similar to the company's control, but even that feels like a mockery because he's so horrifically incapable of seeing her as a human being that she's been reduced to her womb. That's what he's really afraid of, in the end, and the fear feels like something else is in control. It makes the organ feel giant, larger than him, capable of hurting him.

When I was watching the playthrough, I thought that there was going to be four or five "I hope it hurts." I thought it would represent each person Jimmy hurts, or all of them, because he hurts himself too. When the sixth came, I thought so much for that theory. But then, I thought about it and there's the fetus. That makes six.

So, I hope this hurts means "I want to hurt you the way I've been hurt. The way you've hurt me." It's Jimmy saying that if his life has been wrecked, he'll wreck yours. It's Jimmy saying he'll shut you up. It's Jimmy saying he'll burn everything down if it means he can maintain control, or even just the illusion of it.

Part Six: Pain

But I think there's another side to this. Like some of the other lines I said feel are mocking him, I think I hope this hurts turns against Jimmy, especially here. And more than that, pain (and by extension, pain medication) plays a massive role in the game, after all. So I hope this hurts feels as if it haunts every moment where it's involved.

Jimmy says this the first time he gives Curly his pills. Pain is how we know we're still living.

The pills are clearly connected to death from the start. If "pain is how we know we're still living" then pain is connected to life and freedom from it is connected to death. That's saying nothing of Anya's use of the pills to kill herself. I think this connects back to the crash, as well. If life is pain, death is an escape from it.

I think it's also significant that the act of swallowing the pain pills is in and of itself painful.

The pills that are meant to take the pain away become a method of torturing Curly. It's a way to make him hurt, and to exert control over him. Even something that should take away his suffering is just an extension of it.

At one point, Jimmy says "Once these are out, we'll have nothing to keep him quiet." In this sense, the pain pills are meant to suppress, not to heal (Through silence!). They're supposed to shut Curly up and keep him from expressing his anguish in the only way he has left (the noises that disturb Jimmy's sleep).

Others have compared this, or Curly's state, to how Anya has been forced to bottle up her own suffering. Jimmy is keeping them both quiet, or at least attempting to. The ultimate form of keeping them quiet would be to, of course, kill them all.

The pills can also be seen as an attempt to hide or conceal the hurt that has been caused rather than to actually heal. In this way, they're like the mouthwash: something that's not really helping, just covering up an issue (and thus making it worse). And the mouthwash represents Jimmy's attempts to "fix" things. He doesn't actually want to make things right, because that would mean taking accountability. He wants to protect his own ego by "fixing" things in a mimicry of Curly "fixing" things in which he wants to create a sense of "rightness" without actually adressing what (or who) has been wronged. Jimmy can't stand to look at himself, because he would see that he really is constructed of his worst moments, or at least, that's what I suspect he would see.

Conclusion

Considering all of this, I hope this hurts can then become a mantra about living in spite of everything. I hope this hurts means "I hope I'm alive in the end. I hope we're all alive in the end." It could mean "I hope I'm allowed to hurt, because I am hurt, and the harm that's been done to me must be seen rather than suppressed and hidden." It could mean "You can't keep me quiet. You can't ignore or hide what you've done to me."

Maybe most of all, I think it means I hope you reap what you sow. When it's turned back on Jimmy, when it's almost mocking or haunting him, it becomes in part about his emotional weakness. About his inability to look at himself and his reality without experiencing the pain of humiliation. I don't think he ever experiences half of the pain he's inflicted on those around him. Still, he has to deal with the fact that his attempt to hurt others instead of facing himself has caused him more pain rather than taken it away as he'd hoped.

And I think that's why he suddenly decides to make Curly a "hero" instead of a "villain." There's a tipping point where he's pushed into a corner. The pain is too much. He hasn't confronted his own actions in any real way, but he's done enough that he can't stand to save himself anymore. It hurts too badly to live with what he's done. It sends him into another stage of fantasy/delusion. The only thing left to do is what he intended to from the start: kill himself to escape and damn Curly to a slow death. Because to go on living in spite of the pain would be the right thing to do, in a sense. To live in the hell of his own creation. To face what he's done. But instead, he'll entrust those heroics to Curly.

This feels barely coherent in the end, so I might come back in a few days and say wow what the fuck was I talking about? But hopefully there's something here that captures some truth. Again, please feel free to correct me if I'm misremembering anything or if I missed something.

#mouthwashing #spoilers #tw #cw #most of the fucked up mouthwashing shit is mentioned here #idk how ppl are handling tws because are some considered spoilers?#idk

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storieswithvenus · 6 months ago

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Babygirl - Tyler Owens x Fem!Storm Chaser!Preg Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! i felt in the mood to write something somewhat wholesome so here we are! i’m really sorry if this doesn’t make sense x

Word count; 1096

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Growing up you had always wanted to chase storms, after experiencing your first tornado at the age of 7 with your mum the second month of you living in tornado alley.

Living in England before that you had never been exposed to the world of storms and what dangers come with it. As you grew up you watched many different storms and the havoc they caused. your senior year at school you had been out on lockdown due to an EF4 heading straight to your high school, that’s when you met Lillie.

You and Lillie have been the only two out of a group of 40 teenagers taking shelter in the hallway that wasn’t scared, frankly - you two were always ordered to put your head down in case the tornado hit because you two were trying to get a glimpse of the storm.

You two quickly became friends after that day, finding comfort in someone else who loved storms just as much as the other. while Lillie heading to college to get a degree in technology which you two could use to get close-ups of future storms - you went into meteorology. That's where you met your now husband and the tornado wrangler, Tyler Owens.

Tyler has caught your attention from the first time you walked into that lecture hall. His tall and muscular frame, dirty blonde hair, and green eyes caught the attention of all the girls in the class, many even tried their shot with him but were turned down and never showed their faces in that class again. Tyler quickly became the face of the class, everyone wanted to be him or be with him. which is why you were shocked when he asked you to be his partner for a project.

During that project you and him grew closer, you two learned about each other and what they could bring to the table in an actual storm-chasing group. At the time, it was a dream, the two of you were going into your last year. The thought of being in a team chasing storms all over was something you would have only dreamed about, because it couldn’t be a reality… or could it?

You and Tyler had graduated top of your class, and this led to getting the attention of many different investors who would’ve loved to work with the pair of you and build an empire. However, you and Tyler wanted to create this dream by yourselves.

You two worked endless jobs, bouncing from city to city to save up for starting this team. You were lucky that Lillie immediately nominated herself to join the group when you first brought the idea up to her when you two were studying together for a final. Along with Tyler's good friend Boone who wanted to be his right-hand man, along with the person getting all the good footage for the viewers.

After many years of working your absolute hardest and saving up all the money you could, you were able to buy your equipment. At first, you were live streaming to nobody, it was obvious the team was slightly disheartened by this and after months of nobody viewing the streams - you had all actually spoken of leaving the group and going separate ways. That was until one livestream someone joined, and coincidentally that’s when you got the first-ever footage of Tyler and Boone driving into a tornado and sitting through it.

In hours the clip blew up all over social media, and thousands upon thousands of people were tuning into the channel and subscribing. the next time you streamed the view count was at 16k. After a time, the team expanded adding in the valuable members Dexter and Dani, viewers, and sponsors pooling into the channel and eventually, you and Tyler confirmed your relationship.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Bringing you to now, 4 months pregnant and barely showing. After telling Tyler the news of the pregnancy, he never left your side. Always getting anything you needed even if he had to drive hours for it and miss several big storms. For a while he let you join in the back of the jeep when he and Boone were driving into a tornado, now that you were pregnant however - you had to be miles away so he knew you and your baby were safe.

“Dani, this is the biggest storm of the season and he is planning on driving into it?” your voice was full of concern as you, her, and Dexter all watched the live stream on her laptop from the campervan. Watching the father of your baby drive head-on into a storm really made you anxious. You knew he knew what he was doing, but what if something went wrong?

Grabbing the walker from the front of the dashboard, “Ty? Can you hear me? Please stay safe, our baby needs her daddy home." Dexter and Dani's heads quickly turn to you, mouths dropped as they realize what you just said. Paying no attention to them you watched as the message went through to Tyler on the livestream, and watching his reaction was the best thing.

From when you first told him about the baby he said it would be a baby girl, and that he would be the ‘world's best girl dad’. So, when he heard the sex of your baby on the walkie-talkie, you watched as he and Boone went absolutely mental. You swear the jeep nearly tipped over from the amount of jumping and punching the roof of the car there was, Dani even had to lower the volume due to all of their screaming.

You didn’t have time to join in on the excitement before the tornado hit them head-on, leaning forward in your seat with anxiety, picking at the skin on your fingers as you watched two of the most important people in your life get shaken around while being struck inside a tornado. It felt like hours they were stuck in that position, not being able to move due to them having to be drilled into the ground beneath the car.

When the storm finally passed, you all had let out a sigh of relief. even after years of doing this - you still didn’t know when today was going to be the day it didn’t work and something bad happened to one of you.

As tyler started up the jeep again to drive away and join the rest of you back at the meeting point, he turns up to the camera facing him and points,

“That’s for you babygirl.”

#x reader #fem reader #glen powell #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #twisters #pregnant #pregnancy #tornado #fluff #i love him

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splonk-fox · 2 months ago

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The Chosen One's actions in Animator vs. Animation 11: A Mini Analysis

Recently, with the release of the latest Animator vs. Animation episode, I have seen many people begin to view Chosen's character in a more negative light. Now I can't lie and say that this episode doesn't exactly do him any favors, however I think people need to hold their horses a bit when it comes to assuming how he actually feels about the Newgrounds rampage.

First off, the big one, Mitsi's death. Chosen is framed to have been the one who killed her, and it's clear that Agent, and the narrative, believe it was him who did it. But if there's anything I've learned about red herrings, it's the fact that what seems like the obvious answer might not be so obvious after all. We don't actually know if Chosen was the one who killed her, all we see is a a flurry of fireballs raining from the sky, one of which hits Mitsi and completely incinerates her, then we see Chosen flying down from above. Considering that Dark is also shown to have flown in from above, it could've just as easily been him who killed her.

As a matter of fact, Dark would probably make more sense seeing as his most common form of attack is fireballs. Regardless of who did it or not, I do think it's important to remember that Chosen isn't the only culprit and that we shouldn't immediately assume it was him.

But let's say, for a moment, that Chosen was the one who did it, I still don't think that frames him in as negative of a light as the fandom portrays.

For starters I should say that we don't know how Chosen feels about what he has just done, at least not in this episode. However we see the exact same Newgrounds rampage from his perspective in Season 2, and there it's pretty clear that this is the point where he starts having second thoughts, and his body language in this episode actually reflects this.

When we first see him, Chosen is just sort of... calmly descending upon the destruction, there's no indication of what emotions he is feeling at this moment, but I honestly don't look at this and see "yeah, he definitely enjoys this"

His movements are slow and non-aggressive, there's no real energy in his actions, no sign of pride or enjoyment, he just sort of flies over the the Newgrounds tank and lands on top of it. To me this doesn't come off as someone who is enjoying this, this is coming off as someone who is taking in all the destruction around him and simply trying to process it. It's not positive, nor is it negative.

But I think the most telling thing about it is how his body language contrasts Dark, take a look at this shot. Notice anything?

For one, Dark is centered while Chosen is the one standing off to the side, portraying him as almost a secondary threat, a person standing alongside his much worse partner.

Moreso than this however, look at their poses. Dark has his hands on his hips, clearly taking pride in his much destruction he and Chosen have caused. Chosen by comparison is just sort of... standing there, there is no clear show of pride in his posture, as a matter of fact, this shot here almost reminds me of this one.

In both cases, Chosen is seen off to the side, staring down at the destruction while not showing any real emotion, and in this case, it was clearly trying to communicate that Chosen was not enjoying this as much as Dark was.

He's even seen seemingly pleading with Dark to stop what he is doing, and you wanna know something really interesting about this shot?

Chosen and Dark are both shown on top of a tank, just like we saw in AvA 11. I'm not saying this is the same scene, but I am saying that the parallels here are likely not meant to be a coincidence. In both cases Dark is clearly taking pride in the destruction, Chosen meanwhile looks a lot more unsure.

Now for the high-five scene. People have already pointed this out but Chosen almost seems to hesitate before giving Dark a high-five, as if he's unsure about it.

Another detail I also wanted to bring attention to is how Dark initiates the high-five. It may seem small at first until you remember that this isn't the first time we have seen such a gesture between the two characters.

We all see this happen in The Flashback, and ya wanna know the interesting thing? Chosen was the one who initiated it. Keep in mind that the context of this seen was that Chosen finally escaped Alan's abuse and was clearly happy about it. It should also be worth noting that unlike Chosen, who took a few seconds to reciprocate the high-five in AvA 11, Dark does it almost instantly.

This is all to say, while this episode does not portray Chosen in the most favorable light, I don't think this is as simple as "he killed Mitsi and enjoyed it".

I want to make it clear that I do not think Chosen is innocent in this scenario, whether he enjoyed it or not, he still actively took part in this rampage, all I'm saying is that we don't really know Chosen's feelings during this moment or if he was even the one who killed Mitsi in the first place, and with how he was previously portrayed during this exact same rampage, I have more reason to believe that he didn't actually enjoy this at all. So before you raise your pitchforks and call Chosen the worst person ever, consider that maybe, there is more nuance to this story than first meets the eye.

#animator vs animation #alan becker #ava the chosen one #ava the dark lord #ava mitsi #ava victim

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noaestheticacademic · 1 year ago

Text

On the Identity of "Chat"

Like all the linguistics folks on Tumblr, I've been sent the "chat is a fourth person pronoun" post by a bunch of well-meaning people and and I've been thinking waaay too much about it. @hbmmaster made a wonderful post explaining exactly why "chat" ISN'T a fourth person pronoun, and after reading it I wanted to go a little deeper on what it might actually be doing linguistically, because it is a really interesting phenomenon. Here's a little proposal on what might be going on, with the caveat that it's not backed up by a sociolinguistic survey (which would be fun but more than I could throw together this morning).

On Pronouns

Studying linguistics has been really beneficial for me because understanding that language is constantly changing helped me to become comfortable with using they/them pronouns for myself. I've since done a decent amount of work with pronouns, and here are some basic ideas.

A basic substitution test shows that "chat" is not syntactically a pronoun: it can't be replaced with a pronoun in a sentence.

"Chat, what do we think about that?"

"He*, what do we think about that?" (* = ungrammatical, a native speaker of English would think it sounds wrong)

Linguists identify pronouns as bundles of features identifying the speaker, addressee, and/or someone outside the current discourse. So, a first person pronoun refers to the speaker, a second person pronoun refers to the addressee, and a third person pronoun refers to someone who is neither the speaker nor the addressee (but who is still known to the speaker and addressee). This configuration doesn't leave a lot of room for a "fourth" person. But the intuition people have that "chat" refers to something external to the discourse is worth exploring.

Hypothesis 1: Chat is a fourth-person pronoun.

We've knocked this one right out.

Hypothesis 2: Chat is an address term.

So what's an address term? These are words like "dude, bro, girl, sir" that we use to talk to people. In the original context where "chat" appears - streamers addressing their viewers - it is absolutely an address term. We can easily replace "chat" with any of these address terms in the example sentence above. It's clear that the speaker is referring to a specific group (viewers) who are observing and commenting on (but not fully participating in) the discourse of the stream. The distinction between OBSERVATION and PARTICIPATION is a secret tool that will come in handy later.

But when a student in a classroom says "wow chat, I hate this," is that student referring to their peers as a chat? In other words, is the student expecting any sort of participation or observation by the other students of their utterance? Could "chat" be replaced with "guys" in this instance and retain its nuance? My intuition as a zillenial (which could be way off, please drop your intuitions in the comments) is that the relationship between a streamer and chat is not exactly what the speaker in this case expects out of their peers. Which brings me to...

Hypothesis 3: chat is a stylistic index.

What's an index in linguistics? To put it very simply, it's anything that has acquired a social meaning based on the context in which it's said. In its original streaming context, it's an address term. But it can be used in contexts where there is not a chat, or even any group of people that could be abstracted into being a chat. Instead, people use this linguistic structure to explicitly mimic the style which streamers use.

And that much seems obvious, right? Of course people are mimicking streamers. It doesn't take a graduate degree to figure that out. What's interesting to me is why people choose to employ streaming language in certain scenarios. How is it different from the same sentence, minus the streamer style?

This all comes down to the indexicality, or social meaning, of streamer speak. This is where I ask you all to take over: what sorts of attitudes and qualities do you associate with that kind of person and that kind of speech? I think it has to do with (here it comes!) the PARTICIPANT/OBSERVER distinction. By framing speech as having observers, a speaker takes on the persona of someone who is observed - a self-styled celebrity. To use "chat" is to position oneself as a celebrity, and in some cases even to mock the notion of such a position. We can see a logical path from how streamers use "chat" as an address term to how it is co-opted to reference streamer culture and that celebrity/observer relationship in non-streaming mediated discourse. If we think about it that way, then it's easy to see why the "fourth person pronoun" post is so appealing. It highlights a discourse relationship that is being invoked wherein "chat" is not a group but a style.

#chat #linguistics #pronouns #discourse

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violenteconomics · 2 months ago

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I am in dire need of more of that AU that The First years get The upperclassmen toxic traits,i realy want more of It,like;

A way to include octavinelle and scarabia,maybe like,3 First years(Ace,deuce,Jack) get some of azul's toxic traits,other Three(epel,ortho and sebek) get Jamil toxic traits and yuu get both

Second thing

More reactings please,i NEED The staff,ALL The dorms and even the relatives seeing The First years developing those toxic traits,the overblots+Trey and cater for deuce getting their toxic traits right back at their face i beg you🙏🙏

anything 4 u, baby.

(but for real, though, this is an AMAZING idea, love you so much for tilling the ground for my brainwormies, mwah mwah 😘)

(also, this might get REALLY long, so hang tight!)

it was just a seed at first — a tiny idea that stuck around despite the first-years not even realizing it was there. but as the poison from their actual housewardens starts to develop into something truly deadly, so does that seed. it shows up later... but it makes itself known nevertheless.

ace, deuce, and jack have all worked for azul at the mostro lounge at one point, and though it was a very brief moment in time, it was just long enough to worm its way into their heads.

it starts with ace trappola, who's already pretty slippery with his words. but working at the mostro lounge, taking subconscious note of all the underhanded deals azul is making, he starts to pick up new... skills, let's say.

it starts small, with ace starting to give out certain favors to his fellow freshmen to earn some money. if you give him ten thaumarks, he'll do one of your everyday chores for you — dusting your room, cleaning your bathroom, making dinner, what have you. if you give him fifteen thaumarks, he'll do your homework if you don't feel like doing it, or take class notes for you if you don't feel like showing up. if you give him forty, he'll help you with something less-than-moral and definitely against the rules (he did it once back at the atlantica memorial museum — he can do it again).

there's an obvious power imbalance in all of these scenarios, but ace effortlessly words in a way that makes it seem like it's a win-win situation, when in reality, it's more like a zero-sum game.

it gets to the point where ace builds a black-market sort of reputation, and all of the freshmen know that if you need something done, ace is the person to go to.

...but then, something shifts.

at some point, ace starts a black-mailing campaign for the people who paid for the forty-thaumark favor. if you don't want your secret — one that might get you expelled, suspended, or worse — getting out, then you can pay for ace's silence with a favor or more money.

the worst part is: there's no way out. if you try attacking ace, it'll seem like you assaulted him for no reason, since if you try to explain he was blackmailing you, you'll have to tell them what he was blackmailing you with, which you obviously can't do — or else what was even the point? the same rule applies if you try tattling on him to one of the teachers or the housewardens or anybody else. and ace is a better liar than most people will ever be in their lifetime, so it's a losing battle even if you do manage to get someone to take your side.

so if you want to cross the bridge, my sweet, you've got to pay the toll.

(it's not even about the money anymore, really. riddle's thirst for control and azul's desire for recognition have clashed inside of ace in the most violent way, and now, it's all about the power it gives him over other people. and after how powerless he's felt this entire school year, being thrown left and right by overblot after overblot with no say at all, this is a power trip he never wants to come back down from.)

but ace realizes he's making quite a few enemies with his little money-making strategy, and he needs someone to help him just in case someone does come up with a plan to wipe him out. i mean, just look at azul — even with all of the loopholes and leverages in the world, even he was taken down eventually without outside help. if he wants this to last as long as possible, he needs... incentive for people to listen to him.

his own jade and floyd.

his own red-and-black collar.

using his riddle rosehearts-born dominance, and taking advantage of deuce's trey-and-cater-born passiveness, ace convinces deuce spade — one of the strongest people he knows — to help him in his economic ventures.

and deuce, seeing this as a way for ace to vent some frustration and unwilling to be on the other end of ace's ire, hesitantly agrees.

he doesn't piece together that ace is acting suspiciously like azul, but he still recognizes his own role in this whole scheme. ace is running a business, right? and deuce has only ever worked in one business before. he remembers what jade and floyd were like back when he worked under them, and so he uses that experience to inform his new position.

deuce becomes known as ace's right-hand man. he'll hunt you down if you don't pay, and he's not afraid to use force to "compel" you to. there have been stories about cat beastmen getting thrown up into trees and being left there for hours. about students getting forks "accidentally" thrown at them in the cafeteria with such precision, it doesn't really feel like an accident. about a student with a spade on his face who can throw back any attack sent his way with just as much force.

and there's nothing you can do about it, because he's in service to someone who has made himself pretty powerful. ace's silver-tongue gets deuce out of any and all trouble he inevitably finds himself in — and is ace is so brutally honest, why wouldn't people believe him? so even if you try to do something to deuce, ace has his back no matter what — and he'll win almost every time.

you mess with deuce, you mess with ace, which is already bad enough. but if you fuck around with ace, you better be prepared to find out with deuce.

they're a pair — that's always been true. but never before has that fact been so threatening.

jack howl comes next. we all know how much jack despises octavinelle's business model. but, begrudgingly, he will admit there are a lot of things he can learn from octavinelle. and more knowledge is never bad. as long as he doesn't actually use it, it should be fine.

(jack is more dangerous than ace and deuce, in a way — his toxicity is insidious in a way it just couldn't ever be with them.)

with excellent hearing, eyesight, and memory, he silently keeps note of every bribe he hears being taken. every lie he knows is being told. every mistake that gets swept under the rug. it's not long before he starts actively looking for it. it's not long before jack's uncovered dirt on almost every freshmen in school. it reminds him a bit of his time working at the mostro lounge. but instead of memorizing orders from customers, he's memorizing all their dirty secrets.

it's to protect himself, jack reasons. after all, it was only his input that put a stop to leona and ruggie's plans back during the spelldrive exhibition. he's just... preparing for another disastrous event, that's all. it's just precaution. insurance.

if it's not, then he'll have to accept that leona's overblot bothered him more than he thought. that he was weak enough to let it.

(and jack can't face that yet.)

and if, once in a while, ace comes to him looking for a little bit of information, then well, that's just lending a friend some advice. nothing wrong with that.

epel, ortho, and sebek don't have any direct ties to jamil, but they are certainly... impressionable, aren't they?

sebek zigvolt is a bit dense, certainly, but even he can see how well jamil takes care of his master. and with a master that's as ditzy and forgetful and all-over-the-place as kalim, that can't be easy. even if they are merely humans, and their experiences can't even begin to compare when it comes to serving a fae prince, sebek reckons that he can learn a thing or two by observing them. so that's exactly what he does.

one day, when kalim spills food on the floor in a hilariously ridiculous move, sebek notices something few others ever would. jamil gives the tiniest twitch of annoyance — the same way silver, in all his stoicism, often does when sebek gets too loud — but then he's back to being perfectly dutiful and polite and says "i'll go get a napkin."

it's... admirable, honestly. sebek doesn't put it into practice right away, but it stays in his mind long after he first sees it.

and then, after malleus's overblot, sebek's emotions feel like they're on fire. after being stuck in a world where it took just the tiniest crack to shatter a perfect illusion, he's wary of nearly everything that disrupts his day. now every single slight against him, no matter how unintentional it may be, feels like a personal attack on his very life. but sebek can't show these ugly emotions so outwardly — that would be dishonorable behavior that could damage malleus's reputation. instead, he resorts to subtle methods that can't be easily traced back to him like putting in frogs in schoolbags and setting brooms on fire or replacing shampoo bottles with tar.

but his repressed feelings of anger start to build to the point where he's now feeling unprecedented resentment towards... well, almost everybody.

when sebek has very first negative thought about malleus in history class — "reckless bastard" — he instantly hates himself for it and throws up then and there because how dare he.

he tries to shut them out, but the more he does, the more these intrusive thoughts start to bombard him with their uncharacteristic cynicism.

he looks at lilia from across the breakfast table, and his first thought is: heartless liar.

he spots leona lying in the botanical garden and he thinks: brainless cretin.

he even sees jamil, walking through the halls, and his mind screams: manipulative bitch.

but sebek shoves it all down because he's in no position to say that. it gets to the point where he's walking around as a silent, unfeeling husk, because to be anything else would be like inviting his inner demons to visit him on the outside. he pushes his emotions down as far as they'll go, and that's just going to have to be enough to get him through the day.

ortho shroud begins to follow a similar principle. his idia-inspired pessimism has led ortho to see others as less like people and more like characters. it's easier to think of every school day as a dungeon in an rpg. it's easier to convince himself that the other students are taunting him because they're programmed to be that way than face the reality that they just don't like him.

but the problem with seeing life as a video game is that you start seeing others as just ways to complete your objectives. like npcs or maps.

and when it comes to using people, jamil viper is king. or, for ortho's purposes, the ultimate survival guide.

ortho shapes himself into a model night raven college student — kind, charming, and sweet for the teachers, but just mischievous and rude enough to still fit in with the students.

he goes to housewarden meetings with idia to "gain leadership experience", taking notes and hearing out of every single little idea he can get his hands on (these are the people who have not just survived, but thrived. they must be doing something right). one time, riddle even pats his head and praises him for his proactiveness.

his classmates adore him for always been willing to help and being so calm about even the worst outcomes.

ortho makes himself as available as possible to the rest of ignihyde, brushing off homework or studying to help them with whatever they need — fixing game consoles, wiring in controllers, checking the internet connection, et cetera.

eventually, everyone believes in him almost as fiercely as scarabia believed in jamil, once upon a time.

ortho doesn't like telling all of these lies, but it's necessary to protect himself. it's like grinding to earn coins until you have enough money to buy that special armor in the shopkeeper's store.

...or maybe it's more like those cheesy dress-up flash games ortho used to play all the time — fleshing out the perfect outfit and hairstyle and makeup that'll earn you the most points.

if people feel like they need him, he'll be able to breeze through school without any more problems. he's put the whole system on easy mode! it feels a bit like cheating, almost.

it is like a game, isn't it? it's fun.

(at some point, ortho forgets how to stop.)

as for epel... well, he knows that his sudden snappish behavior towards the other pomefiore students won't go unnoticed for too long. but this is one of his only ways of venting, so he needs it to go under the radar long enough for him to... to squeeze out all of this sudden venom that's built up in him.

epel's not oblivious. he knows how sebek and ortho have changed over the weeks, and he knows why. but epel can't pull off "repressed" like sebek, and neither can he suddenly turn into the best person ever like ortho. but they do have the right idea about taking inspiration from jamil, so epel can fall back on what there is left: gaslighting.

every time kalim blacked out, jamil blamed it on him being sick. every time someone thought kalim was being awfully uncharacteristic, jamil called it a "mood swing". every time someone asked jamil about why kalim was acting so weird, jamil claimed ignorance.

at least, that's what yuu tells epel.

and it's perfect.

so now, every time someone confronts epel about his overly critical behavior, he lies and says he's doing it for their own good. you need pressure to make a diamond, after all. and besides — vil won't settle for anything less than absolutely perfect.

("i'm just trying to catch your mistakes before he does. and i think you and i can both agree that i'm a lot nicer than he is about it.")

every time vil confronts epel about all of the complaints he's been hearing from the other students about how epel's been tearing down their ideas for outfits and hairstyles with no mercy, and disregarding all of their achievements as "not good enough" to be proud over, epel dons a confused face.

("vil, between studying for tests and the crazy physical regiment you have me do, i barely have time for myself. you honestly think i have the energy to criticize other people?")

epel even starts turning people against each other so they won't focus on him. epel subtly threatens to take away the upperclassmen's position in the hierarchy, which sets up the other underclassmen as a threat, and epel grouses to the underclassmen that the upperclassmen look down on them for not living up to pomefiore standards, under the guise of regular teenage bitching.

but all of this, combined with their self-entitlement, leads to a mini-war in pomefiore. but since this is, well, pomefiore, where being perfect and poised is the standard, the others make sure never make it obvious in front of vil or rook.

epel plays everybody like a fiddle, and ensures that none of it can be traced back to him. it's a good way to get out his frustration. and hey — it seems like everybody's upped their game along the way. vil seems pretty happy that everybody's improving in their efforts so greatly, practically overnight!

epel wakes up with a feeling of accomplishment everyday. for once, it seems he did something right.

now if only rook could stop looking so somber...

then we come to yuu, whose inner darkness has been left to fester all year. if people think they can treat them like a ragdoll, it's only fair they do the same.

there's a lot yuu doesn't have, but one thing they're really lacking is a bit of respect. that's what it means to be magicless in an arcane academy. you're at the bottom of the food chain.

and look at what a bit of self-interest can do for you! yuu studies in the library until late into the night, burning the metaphorical candle at both ends, learning everything they can about magic until they're more well-versed in it than most students in the school. yuu starts making potions that aren't nearly as good as azul's, but they're cheap and work well enough. they start making study guides for others with their new-found knowledge, even if they do bristle with the fact that a damned study guide is what caught them in azul's tentacles in the first place. they start learning anything and everything, clinging to whatever scraps of knowledge they can write down.

with this, they successfully make their case for why they should join ace and deuce's business. eventually, they're just as feared as they are among the other first-years.

but that's not enough for yuu. the power of fear is nice, but the power of controlling other people would be much more cathartic.

so that's what they do. while ace is more focused on monetary gain, yuu uses their mountains of blackmail to convince others to do whatever they want.

if crowley throws another ridiculous task at them, yuu simply hoists it off to somebody else to do. if ramshackle dorm needs a few repairs, it's only a matter of contacting a few people before a whole construction crew paid off by somebody else comes knocking at their door. and they'll do it, if they don't want to get kicked out of the school or have their reputation ruined.

but somehow, even with all of this, yuu sets themself up as the nicest out of their little trio. they're willing to let payments slide from time to time. they listen to their clients' problems. they take constructive criticism and always seem to improve in their potions and study guides based on feedback. and if you do do yuu a favor, they'll give you certain favors right back.

so even when yuu is a covetous, greedy, all-consuming shark, the students still think they're so very, very nice. because compared to ace and deuce, what else is there to think?

but this can only go on for so long. and yuu knows that.

one day, they get called to the headmage's office. yuu is already going through their contact list — a list that's quadrupled ever since they joined forces with ace and deuce — to see who'd be willing to do them a teensy little favor for them, but when they step through the door, they pause.

inside the office are all the housewardens, their vices, the teachers, and everybody else yuu has grown to know over the past year.

yuu narrows their eyes as riddle steps forward.

"yuu," riddle starts sternly, "from one housewarden to another, i believe we need to talk."

(i will address everyone's reactions in a reblog, because this is honestly getting really, really long, lol. but don't worry, the reactions are coming! 🥺)

(but i should mention that there is already a good reblog of the original post by @thenumberhuntress which addresses the upperclassmen's reactions that you can find here. go read it. it's peak.)

(once again, thank you for the great ask! this was fun to make!)

#anything 4 u baby #twisted wonderland #twst #twst first years #sebek zigvolt #jack howl #ace trappola #deuce spade #ortho shroud #epel felmier #twst yuu #the following are all just #(mentioned)#azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #a few others that appear so briefly it's not worth it to give them tags #generational trauma #i went a little off the rails with this one but i hope you enjoy it nevertheless lol #trying a new format

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