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soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Summary: It can't be a coincidence anymore.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,411 words

Warnings: ANGST, emotional turmoil, panic and panic attacks, anxiety, drugs used for drugging, very brief mention of predatory behavior, author can't write call of duty missions for shit, withholding the truth, hints at betrayal, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, very much leaning into that AU now, brief mention of guns and bullets

A/N: Ummm...yeah. You'll see. Bit shorter than normal but my obsessive need for cliffhangers prevents me from shoving it all into one chapter.

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Her head is spinning. There’s a steady throbbing behind her eyes, her blood pumping in her ears. Her shoulder aches from the cold tile floor under her. She can’t quite bring herself to move yet, the deep ache in her bones still lingering. She pushes through the haze in her mind, trying to bring up the memories of what happened.

Someone had entered her office. She hadn’t even had time to turn around when she was hit from behind. That explains the throbbing in the back of her head. Likely concussed, though it hadn’t been a hard hit. Not hard enough to do serious damage, not even hard enough to make her see stars. Just enough to incapacitate her so she couldn’t fight back. There had been a sting of a needle in her neck. Whatever it was, it was fast acting, maybe a minute before she lost consciousness.

Ketamine...maybe fentanyl.

She pushes herself up to sit, blinking back the dizziness and the nausea. Whoever attacked her wanted her out of the way, incapacitated for long enough to do something.

A horrifying thought flashes through her mind as she comes back to reality. She’s one of the few on base that knows you’re completely alone. She’s likely the only one who would care if you went missing. She tries to keep herself calm, tries to slow her breathing as she feels her pockets, pulling herself up onto her knees, gripping the side of her desk as she fights the nausea and pounding in her head that nearly blinds her.

Her phone is gone.

Her legs shake as she forces them under her, pulling herself up. She needs to get to the barracks, needs to check on you. She stumbles to the door, pushing it open as she tries to keep her breathing under control. You’re smart. You’re going to hide, or run, from any threat. You’ve learned your lesson from the last time. You won’t go easily again.

The walk to the barracks feels like it takes forever as she half stumbles her way across the base, fighting the wind still whipping through the open areas between the buildings. Her head is throbbing, the haze of the drug still lingering. It’s the terror in her mind, the horrible thoughts of what might have happened keeping her moving forward. She only gets glances as she crosses to the 141’s barracks. None of them even think to ask her if she’s alright.

There’s no help from the others.

She pushes open the door to the barracks, blinking through the burning of the bright fluorescents. She feels for you, having to exist in such a bright, clinical space.

Dread begins to fill her as she reaches your door, finding it open. The door jam is broken, the wood around the lock splintered. Your dresser had been pushed behind the door, but it hadn’t stopped whoever wanted to get in. The window is open, and she can only hope you crawled your way through to safety. She steps up to your desk, books and snacks in disarray, some having fallen to the floor. She swallows thickly as she stares down at the wood, her fingers shaking.

Her phone is sitting on the desk.

She picks it up, the screen flashing on. There’s a missed call from you. Whoever had broken in must have made it look like she was the one responsible. She goes through her contacts, finding your number before calling. She doesn’t have hope that you’ll answer, but she has to try for her own sanity.

The phone doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail.

She steps out of your door, going through every room she can in the barracks, shouting your name. She doesn't have hope, except maybe that you doubled back and barricaded yourself somewhere. It’s not likely you would answer to her anyway, if you thought she was the one behind all of this.

She heads outside, trying to catch any lingering hint of your scent, but the wind has dispersed it completely. There’s soldiers milling around, likely on their afternoon breaks. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches them, asking every soldier she sees in the area if they’ve seen you.

“I saw her.” One finally says. Allen, his patch reads. “Running towards the trees.”

“Was anyone following her?” She asks.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t stay long enough to see.”

She feels the urge to punch him, to yell at him for not helping, but she knows they have strict orders to keep away from you. They might have not known any better, or wanted to risk a reprimanding if they disobeyed orders.

She continues to take deep breaths as she glances towards the trees. It won’t do her much good to try to go looking by herself. You wouldn’t have followed the trail. You’re too smart for that. She’d need a whole army to search the base for you.

Her hands shake as she searches through her contacts. She’s not expecting an answer. She’s probably busy with the 141 away on a mission. No one will know. No one will know until it’s too late. She’s not sure what to do. Would the commanders on base believe her? Would they organize a search based on her word alone? By then it might be too late. It might be too late now.

“Laswell.”

“Kate, Kate I can’t find her.” She gasps out, spinning around in the middle of the road, as if you might come popping out of thin air, or creeping out from behind a building. She’s panicking, speaking the words aloud feeling like an absolute truth, as if she’s speaking it into existence.

“Who?” Kate asks, sounding confused.

She chokes out your name, her hand pressed to her chest to try and calm the panic quickly rising in her. “She’s gone.”

Kate takes a deep breath to keep her head clear and calm. It’s far too much of a coincidence to deny it now. The cameras, the sudden deployment, the call from Shepherd for the whole team, the discovery of the files.

Now this.

“Kate?”

She’s never heard Christine so emotional, so uncomposed before. “I’m here.” She says, composing herself. One of them needs to be clear-headed and logical. “I’m going to contact command, alert base security. You look everywhere you think she might possibly be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Christine lets out a breath. “I can do that.”

“I’ll call back as soon as I can.” She says. “If you find anything, I need to know immediately.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Kate knows she’s trying to calm herself, get her head on straight again. “Christine? We’ll find her. No matter what it takes.”

“You don’t....you don’t think she’s...” She can’t manage to finish the sentence.

“No.” Kate says, not even having to ask what she means. It’s not a lie, though. If the conspiracy that’s been brewing in her head is true, you’re more valuable to them alive. “If what I think is happening is actually happening, she has to be alive. She’s no use to anyone dead.” She says, speaking the thoughts aloud for the first time since the delivery of the cameras into her hands.

“I hope you’re right.”

Kate holds her phone in her hand, taking a breath. She’s not sure how it happened, how you managed to disappear out from under Christine’s watchful eye. Something must have happened that separated the two of you long enough for you to disappear. Christine wouldn’t just leave you like that unless it was something important, or if she sensed something wrong, something that might put you at risk. You wouldn’t have left the barracks on your own, not unless something forced the two of you apart.

She should call them, make them aware.

She can’t bring herself to. Not yet. She can’t distract them. The job comes first. She’s always hated those words in the context of the initiative. Why would they put an omega through this? What was the real reason? The idea of the initiative always left a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it too much. She’ll know soon. She’ll get her answers as soon as her team finishes combing through those files.

She won’t call them until they know for sure. Not until they’re positive, not until there’s proof. They’re not in a place they could easily leave, either.

Sometimes the greater good has to come first.

Her hands are shaking as she dials the number for the base commander. They have an omega to find.

Christine’s heart is pounding as she races around the base, checking everywhere she can think of. She’d gotten looks as she combed through the mess, wide eyed and nearly shaking with fear. Her scent must have been projecting, all the control she’d mastered slipping away. She’s never felt panic like this before, not even in the toughest situations with omegas. This is different though. You’re her only patient. She had been tasked with keeping watch over you, they had trusted her enough to take care of you in their absence again, even after everything had happened.

Your mental state scared her. Seeing you like that wasn’t a surprise after everything you’ve gone through these last few weeks, but that doesn’t stop the worry, the concern as your doctor. Sure, whoever took you, if they took you, might want you alive...but can your mind keep itself alive for that long?

She asks everyone she can in the mess, the kitchen staff and everyone sitting near the doors if they’ve seen you.

No one. Not a single soul saw you. It was unlikely you’d run to the mess, but that would have been the logical move. Run where there’s a crowd, though if you thought they wouldn’t help you, you might have avoided it.

She checks the med center next, combing every inch of it she can. She’s not sure you would have risked running there if you thought she was behind it. Did you see your assailant’s face? You must have, if they drugged you too. You wouldn’t go quietly, so they would have had to reveal themselves to you.

You know it’s not her behind it.

She tells herself that to make herself feel better.

Would you think she was, even if evidence pointed to it? Would you think she would betray you like that? They would have taught you not to trust anyone, but why now? Why would she strike now when she’s been with you in your weakest moments over the last two weeks? There were plenty of times she could have done something, yet she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have. There was no amount of money in this world that would have convinced her to turn against you, betray you and your pack.

She had been willing to fight tooth and nail to avoid sending those files to Shepherd if John hadn’t told her to do it. He trusted her.

That trust will be broken now.

She left you alone, and now you’re gone.

Or dead.

There would be no escaping their retribution. They’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth. Alex would never forgive her. Hell, he’d probably join them.

She checks the gym, even though she doubts you’d run there of all places. She combs every corner she can, getting one of the soldiers to unlock the training rooms just in case, even though it was illogical to think you’d be able to get in with them locked. She can’t be too careful, though. Maybe they taught you how to pick locks.

She even checks the pool, looking at every inch just to be sure.

She’s not sure if it’s a relief she can’t find you compared to the alternative, or if it’s almost worse. At least if she found a body there would be closure. The panic could ease for a moment and she’d know. She’d be sure.

She runs through the barracks once more, combing through every closet and toilet stall, but as expected there’s nothing there. Just your forced open door and the open window. Whatever happened, you did what you were supposed to. You called her and you ran. You learned your lesson, the lessons they’ve all taught you. You did your best, and that is enough, even if her darkest thoughts are true.

You must have run for the trees. It’s the most logical place to run. There’s plenty of places to hide, lots of space to run and double back on your trail, to confuse whoever was following you until they gave up.

Would they give up? Or was their motivations strong enough to keep them prowling, hunting every inch of the forest to look for you.

What if they’re still out there looking for you? What if you’re still out there, afraid and alone.

She hadn’t seen your phone in your room. She prays you grabbed it before you left. Maybe you’re out there trying to call Kate, trying to call anyone who might be able to help. She wishes you’d call her, but why would you if you think she’s still behind it?

Whoever did this planned this out perfectly.

It’s all premeditated. All of it.

What if you’re out there distressing?

She feels like vomiting, her stomach churning uncomfortably. You were already so worked up about your pack being gone, something like this might have sent you right over the edge. She curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She doesn’t know what to do.

For the first time in a long time she doesn’t have a solution to a problem.

She leans against the wall outside the barracks, taking deep breaths. She’s no good to anyone if she’s panicking. You need help. You’ll need her if they find you. She’ll be the only one that will be able to help you. She’s not even sure your pack knows yet. Could Kate tell them? It’s been weeks and there’s been no word. Kate hadn’t been able to give her anything as expected, only that she’d pass the word along once they had a moment.

Had she been lying, or had they truly been off the grid completely? Has this deployment really been that serious? They had called in the whole pack. Or had that been premeditated too. Get you alone and wait for the perfect moment. It can’t be coincidence that they waited until you were distressed enough being separated from your pack for so long.

None of it is a coincidence.

Would Kate tell them this happened? Would she risk it now that your life is in danger?

Or is Kate in on this too?

She shakes the thought from her head. She knows Kate. Kate had picked her specifically for this job. She spent weeks with Kate interviewing and being debriefed for this position. Kate wouldn’t do something like this, not with how close she is to John and the pack. They trust her and she knows them enough to pick an omega that fits in seamlessly with them. She wouldn’t betray them and you like this.

Something is going on behind the scenes. Something has happened to cause all of this. It’s all related. It has to be. It’s all too convenient, all too orchestrated. It has to revolve around the cameras. There’s no other thing she can think of that might cause this series of events.

Unless it goes even deeper than that.

“Dr. Keller?” She looks up when she hears her name.

“Yes?” She says, pushing herself to stand up straight as an officer approaches.

“Lieutenant Colonel Woods, Base Commander.” The officer holds out his hand.

She shakes it, her palms sweaty but he doesn’t seem to care.

“We’re rounding up everyone who is still on base.” He says. It’s the weekend. A lot of them will have left. All the more easy to sneak you away. “We’ll search through every building and send out parties to comb through the forest.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. There’s no sign of her.”

“If she’s still on base, we’ll find her.” He says, far more confident than she feels.

If you��re still on base. The words make her want to vomit.

“The front gate guards are compiling a list of everyone who has come on base and left base within the last two hours.” He continues. “If someone took her, we’ll know.”

“I’m worried about her.” She says, the only thing that’s coming to her mind. It’s true. She’s never been quite so invested in the wellbeing of a patient as she has you, but then again, she’s never been this involved in the life of a patient before. “A lot of things could go wrong quickly.”

“We’ve got a lot of boots on the ground out there looking.” He says. He’s trying to be comforting. She knows this, but that stiff military mindset keeps it from sounding more than cordial and practiced. What if they’re all in on it? “We’ll find her, or we’ll get answers to what happened.”

The wait is the worst part. She’s going crazy, waiting for any word. Anything that might hint at what’s happening. There’s been nothing yet, no sign of you, but it’s hardly been twenty minutes. She can’t stop the spiraling thoughts. She can’t take her own advice, apply her own knowledge and teachings. Not right now. Not while she’s bordering on a crisis. She needs to find you. She needs to know you’re alright.

Don’t let them find a body.

She’ll never live with herself. She left you alone. She let this happen. She was supposed to be watching you, taking care of you, and now you’re gone under her watch.

They’ll never trust her again.

Her phone ringing nearly has her jumping out of her skin. She fumbles for it in her pocket, her fingers trembling. Please let it be you. She lets out a breath of disappointment before answering.

“Kate?” Her voice shakes.

“Any news?” Kate asks. She sounds disheveled herself.

“Nothing.” She swallows thickly. “They’re still looking.”

Kate sighs. “I don’t think she’s on base.”

Hearing it nearly makes her legs give out. She’s known that’s likely the case since she called Kate the first time, but hearing it out loud solidifies that as a fact. She’s been keeping a fool’s hope that you managed to hide somewhere, that you got somewhere safe, even if she knows better.

“This goes a lot deeper than we all thought. It was never about the cameras or the initiative.” Kate continues.

“The reports, the prying.” She says. “It wasn’t about tracking progress for the sake of progress.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Sir.” A soldier approaches, saluting the Lieutenant Colonel.

“We might have some news.” She says, putting her phone on speaker. She hopes it’s true. If they can get a name, then they’ll have an easier time finding you.

“At ease.” Woods says.

“We have the list of everyone who left base in the last two hours.” He says, handing over a tablet. “There’s only one.”

“Colonel McKinney.” Woods says.

“He left in his personal vehicle 50 minutes ago.” The guard says.

“Give me every detail you can on that car.” Kate says.

“It’s a blue Ford Fiesta, registration plate Papa Juliet 64, Hotel Tango November.” Woods says.

“I’ll get eyes on that car.” Kate says.

“I’ll alert local police.” Woods says.

“We will find her.” Kate says, and Christine knows she’s trying to reassure her.

“Do they know?” She asks.

“Not yet.” Kate says. “They’re not in a place where they can do anything about it, and the last thing they need is to get distracted.”

“They're not going to like being kept in the dark on this for so long.” She says.

“I know. But it’s for their own safety above all else.”

And the greater good of the world, Christine knows, even if Kate doesn’t say it out loud. It’s always for the greater good. That’s why the job comes first, even if it’s at your detriment. She feels like screaming, like throwing her phone.

It’s not fair.

Her hands are still shaking as she ends the call with Kate, not feeling any more comforted than she had before. It’s possible Corporal McKinney was involved. It’s too coincidental that he left base within the time you went missing. Why would he take you, though? Was he involved in all of this too? She’s never heard you mention his name before, nor have you brought up any strange feelings about any of the soldiers on base. Omegas are good at reading others' energies. It’s a natural defense mechanism and with your pureblood status, it makes you all the more aware of things in your environment.

Then again, you kept the cameras from all of them. What else have you been hiding?

She pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time for conspiracies she can’t get an answer to. They need to find you first and ensure you’re alright. That’s the most important thing.

“Lieutenant Colonel!” A soldier says, approaching their makeshift headquarters. “We found something, sir.”

“What did you find?” He says, standing up straight.

“A bullet on the trail, sir.” He places the bullet in Woods’ hand. “About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead.”

Christine feels like passing out. Her legs are wobbling, knees shaking as she stands there, staring at the bullet. She needs to sit down, she needs to breathe.

Don’t let them find a body. Please don’t let them find a body.

The tear that trails down her cheek is hot against her clammy skin.

Kate sighs as she puts down the phone. She wants to put her head in her hands, scream, punch something, anything. She can’t, though, she’s doing double duty. She’s the only one she trusts to do both of these things. This pack is hers to watch over, hers to help, and that includes the entire pack.

Not much can be done until Corporal McKinney and his car are found. There won’t be any leads until then, unless they come across something on base. She hates it, that she can’t do more. She knows if she tells John, they’ll abandon this mission and be on a flight home in a heartbeat. It won’t do anyone any good until they know more, until the 141 are in a safer position.

She hates keeping it from them, but it’s for everyone’s safety.

Especially if what she uncovered is true.

She can hardly believe it herself. Her eyes keep flickering to the files her team had uncovered, the truth finally spilling out about everything. There is no initiative. There was never going to be an initiative. They were all pawns being placed for a move like this, for a situation that calls for such drastic measures.

The last few hours have hardly felt real.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher 0-1 how copy?” John’s voice comes through the comms, almost startling her.

She still has a job to do.

“Loud and clear, Bravo 0-6.” She says, clearing her throat.

“Kate, there’s nothing here.”

Kate blinks at the screen, at the map that had been carefully laid out with exact points, confirmed visuals. “Come again?” She says, praying it was her overactive mind that misheard.

“The warehouse is empty. There’s no sign of any missile having been here in the first place.” John says.

What? Kate flips through files, scanning every bit of intel that had been given to her.

They’re all pawns.

There was no missile. There was no real intel. A red herring.

Separating the pack leaves members vulnerable. Take away the four and leave the omega alone and unprotected. Separate her from the one person left to keep watch over her, leave her vulnerable.

It’s what they wanted all along. That was always the plan.

“John, there’s...” She trails off as dots begin appearing on the map. She zooms in, her stomach dropping. “Four vehicles approaching your position.”

“Friendly?” He asks, but she can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows they’re not. He’s done this enough times.

“I don��t think they're meeting you for a picnic.” She says, trying to identify the vehicles.

“We’ll dig in here. Keep them from getting in.” John says.

“John...” Kate says. She should tell him. She needs to tell them before something goes wrong. If this was all a trap, then things will go wrong, yet she can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. “Don’t come out of there in a body bag.”

“Don’t give up hope on us yet.” He says before the line goes dead.

Kate lets out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. It’s going to be a long next few hours.

Your head is pounding. There’s a throbbing behind your eyes beating in time with your heart. It hurts, a quiet groan leaving your lips. The world is spinning and you haven’t even opened your eyes. Your entire body feels like it’s twisting and turning, your organs wringing themselves like a washcloth. You’re going to be sick, but you can’t even manage to lift your head.

Everything feels heavy. Nothing is moving despite your brain telling it to. There’s a deep ache in your muscles and joints like you’ve been immobile for far too long and need to stretch. Your limbs try to move, yet nothing happens except a sharp pain in your left calf. You let out another groan, fingers curling at the sharp pain that radiates up through your leg to your hip. The throbbing behind your eyes intensifies as your head is moved, tilting up before falling backwards weakly.

“Easy.” A voice coos at you, easing your head back straight. It flops to the side, none of your muscles coordinating like they should. “...know...dose...twice.”

The words float in and out, muffled like you’re underwater and just barely bobbing above the surface. You do feel a bit like you’re underwater, trying to kick up to the surface of consciousness. Something is holding you under, keeping you from reaching that surface.

There’s a hand on your face holding your head up as your muscles fight to activate enough to hold it up themselves. The hand is warm against your skin, rough and calloused. There’s two textures, skin and rough fabric against your face. Awareness begins to come back to you slowly, your mind clearing the fog the longer you’re awake. Your body hurts, muscles aching. You try to move your arms but you can't, something biting into the skin of your wrists as you turn them.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The voice says, calloused fingers brushing your arm.

You flinch at the touch, muscles contracting painfully before they relax. You let out another groan, your brows pinching as you try to get your eyes to open. The haze hasn’t entirely lifted from your brain yet as you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. It’s cold where you are, goosebumps forming on your skin. It’s uncomfortable, your body too exposed. You want a sweatshirt, a blanket, something to keep the cold away. Something tickles in the back of your brain as you begin to pick up scents, several all at once, meshed together. It’s overwhelming, too much information flooding your brain all at once.

The motion is automatic and instinctual as you turn your face to press into the hand on your cheek. You inhale deeply, trying to block out the overwhelming wave of senses, trying to get a sense of who it is in front of you, who is with you in the room.

Woody. Soft wood. Cedar? It smells like a candle your mother used to burn.

Sweet? Something sweet. Chocolate? Richer. Dark chocolate.

Memories begin to float back as you inhale the scent. You know that scent. You’ve smelled it before. Your frown deepens as you hold your face there, nose pressed against the palm as your mind sluggishly digs through your hazy memory banks. You can’t even remember where you are or how you got there.

“Good girl.”

You know that voice. You’ve heard it before. Somewhere in the back of your mind it triggers something, some faded memory shoved deep into the depths of your memory bank. You dig for it, mining your sluggish brain as you try to figure out who it is, why it’s all so familiar.

The other part of your brain focuses on your body, waking your muscles back up. With it comes the pain, the achiness: the throbbing in your calf, the pulsing behind your eyes, the ache in your muscles and joints. There’s a light somewhere in front of you, bright and shining through your eyelids. You don’t want to open them. It feels wrong, the bright light right in your face. You don’t like it.

You pull your face away from the hand, your head drooping forward slightly as the muscles in your neck finally begin to engage. The scent is wrong. It’s not the right kind of wood. There’s no damp earth after a spring rain, no scent of petrichor. The touch isn’t right. It’s not soft enough, not warm enough.

It’s not your alpha.

The tingling in the back of your brain intensifies as you shoot into hyper-awareness from your sluggish state. Your instincts are awake, suddenly overwhelmed by the explosion of scents and sounds. There’s voices all around, quiet and hushed, but they might as well be yelling in your ears. There’s so many scents blending together until you can’t tell one from the other.

Except the one in front of you.

Cedar. Dark Chocolate.

Memories crawl forward from the recesses of your mind. Childhood. Texas. Summer heat. The charcoal in the barbeque. Cedar and chocolate always too close. You hated it. You’ve always hated that smell.

Your eyes force themselves open, eyelids peeling up like a damp window that’s been closed for a decade. The window had been hard to open, yet you managed it with the adrenaline pumping through your body.

Your heart rate picks up at the thought, some fear you can’t quite conceptualize yet in your half-aware state burning in the back of your mind. You breathe heavily as you fight to get your eyes open, blinking against the obtrusive light. Fluorescent, too bright to be comfortable.

White walls, bright lights. Boots on the floor.

Your pack.

Where is your pack? Where is your alpha?

Where are you?

Finally your eyes open, squinting against the bright light. You can’t see anything, the light directly in your eyes. It burns, tears gathering on your lids as you fight against the oppressive, blinding sun being directed at you.

Voices float in the background and suddenly the light is turned away. You blink away the bright spots left in your vision, a couple tears falling uncontrollably. Rough fingers wipe them off your cheeks almost tenderly, but not tender enough.

Rough fingers across your skin, gripping you tightly, anchoring you. A soft voice floats through the air, rough yet comforting with the soft words calming the panic in you.

It’s not right.

Nothing is right.

You’re breathing heavily as you finally get your eyes fully open, the muscles in your neck contracting as you slowly lift your head. There’s someone kneeling in front of you, arm draped across their knee. They’re like a shadow, hidden mostly from view as you blink clarity into your eyes. Your brows pinch into a frown again as you blink, your gaze focusing on the face in front of you.

You know that face.

“There she is.”

You know that voice.

It’s been years since you heard it last. Memories slam into you in an onslaught, memories from your childhood, back when things were fine, things were normal, things were as they should be.

Family. Texas. Alphas.

Cedar and chocolate.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, blinking in shock. Your brows furrow in confusion, your still foggy brain trying to piece everything together.

You know him.

It’s been years but you’ll never forget.

The light brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples indenting with that too-friendly grin.

Your mouth is dry, your tongue heavy as it opens, forming the name on your lips. The name. It comes out in a croak, barely audible and understandable, but laced with confusion and disbelief.

“Phil?”

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steddie-as-they-come · 4 months ago

Text

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #slightly suggestive #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #don't ask i don't know. fucking enjoy #also i normally don't give tumblr fics titles but like. i did not want this to show up in my notes as 'steve harrington fucks eddie munson'#so everybody talks it is

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grison-in-space · 2 months ago

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Has Biden actually done anything at all? There's evidence going around and I think it's compelling, the alternate to voting is instead doing actual social work and participating in protests and organizing political action, which is a good idea i think

1) Yes. Inarguably this has been the most effective progressive domestic administration since I have been alive, and I'm in my thirties. What in the fuck are you talking about? It's not perfect, but it's better than we've seen in fifty years: Obama tried, but Democratic Congressional organization was just not yet used to working with a completely obstructionist GOP Congress in the wake of the tea party.

Even in terms of foreign policy, this is also pretty much as good as US involvement gets. Sorry. Our foreign policy has been shaped by monsters for decades, and that's even without dealing with our huge and active branch of Christian doom cultists. There ain't a candidate in the world that could stop the entire accumulated momentum of geopolitics with a snap of the finger, and I'm not really willing to pretend that Biden is particularly notable for not managing to fix Israel/Palestine relations.

2) In your own words, anon, what precisely does organizing political action entail without participating in the political process? Do you think that abstaining from the part of the gig where you, the citizen, get to say which official gets the job somehow makes your opinions matter more to your elected public officials? Have you ever organized to get so much as a municipal one-time library project budget expanded? Are you perhaps only skilled at political argument with people who already agree with you on the Internet?

What is your leverage, and could it reasonably be described as "extortion" or "blackmail" or "political corruption?" Because those are pretty much the only things on the table that can work more effectively to drive an elected official than a disciplined coalition of political allies (who can be purchased with, you guessed it, votes) or a reliable bloc of voter support. Your vote matters less than the ones you bring with you, sure. Do you think that not voting yourself somehow helps people organize to drive more votes? Have you perhaps replaced your complex reasoning skills with a rapidly dying jellyfish?

3) Holy passive vagueness, Batman! "Evidence is going around." What a masterpiece of a sentence! How it suggests everything while providing nothing! What evidence? Who collected it? Who is talking about the evidence "going around?" Who is listening? How many of them are there? What did they think before? The more I think, the more questions I have, and damn if they ain't predisposing me to be even less charitable.

Like, this is so catastrophically poorly supported that I have to confess that I not only believe this is probably an ask in bad faith (i.e. by someone who is expecting to piss me off or otherwise engage with me adversarially, probably spammed to a whole host of blogs at once with no expectation of response) but I actively hope that it is. The alternative is to have to grapple with the reality that some people are so uncomfortable with the responsibility of moral agency that they're willing to release useful levers of legal and social power just so that they never do anything problematic with that power. Much better, of course, to wash one's hands of anything that might have the stink of responsibility clinging to it. Might fall from the membership of the Elect if you actually get yourself all muddy by doing things, I reckon.

I don't even believe that voting is the only lever we have when it comes to our elected officials or that votes are necessary to secure change, and I am certainly not talking about the presidential ticket alone when I talk voting. What I do believe is two things: one, that voting is a potential lever of power on the emergent chaos of the society in which we live. And two, that anyone telling me to leave a lever of power on the ground without a damn good reason is either incompetent, malicious, or both.

#politics #us politics #voting #obvious troll is obvious

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star-crossed-sluts · 5 months ago

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Matt Murdock X Chubby!Fem!Reader

Contents: 2.2k words, love confession/discussion, cheeky reader, giggly sex, chubby female reader, slight insecure reader but that's quickly solved, mentions of bullying regarding weight though very brief

Minors DNI

You are responsible for your own media consumption

You've dealt with strange looks all your life. It wasn't surprising their whispers had infiltrated your mind. Often you managed to catch yourself, stopping the thoughts that weren't quite yours. When you first met Matt, the most frequent one was, of course, you could only get a blind man to like you. It was cruel, and you tried to chase it away every time, but there was a small part of you that thought, if only I can keep him from touching me, we can go on like this.

Because you were a fool.

He always grabs your hips first, almost a warning of the devil to come.

“What’re you doing up,” he rumbled against your neck, voice thick with sleep. You're half-sure he’s subconsciously tracking how long you've been away from his arms every night, waking himself when the timer passes your usual bathroom breaks’ duration.

His hands push even further, rubbing your sides until he's gripped two handfuls of your soft stomach. Bare chest plastered against your back, his grip manhandling your hips back to meet his. You used to shy away from his touch, wanting to keep the you from reality separate from the you he's crafted in his mind's eye.

Little hard to feel ashamed of your body when he was rocking his hard-on against your ass.

“You're insatiable, Matthew.”

His groan was pained, like you were terribly twisting his arm instead of letting him fondle you in the kitchenette. “Don't call me Matthew,” he griped, one hand searching for the bottom of your nightshirt. “Reminds me of my priest.”

You leaned into him, a fond smile playing on your lips as he found the edge of your panties, starting to leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Because you’re such an altar boy,” you joked as his fingers trailed the hem, outlining the curve where your leg met your mound. You know the moment he thinks of a retort, because his lips twitch against your pulse.

“Well, I do seem to spend a lot of time on my knees-” He burst into laughter as your elbow came back at him, letting you attack his ribs to distract you from the way his hand explored your upper thigh. “Abuse,” he accused, “attacking a blind man!”

“It’s alright, I know a great lawyer.”

Matt chuckled against the thrumming vein in your neck, his grip on your stomach pulling you tighter against him. “Yeah? You know, my rates are pretty steep, but I think we can come up with some alternative payment.”

“I was talking about Foggy.”

His laugh flew out of him, taken completely off guard, and sent you into manic giggles right along with him, throwing yourself back against his chest to hold you upright. “You're terrible,” he cackled, tugging you to shuffle backwards to the bedroom with him. “Come back to bed, trouble.”

“Oh, don't you start with me,” you faux-threatened, but still gave in and helped him navigate the living room. “You're so much more trouble than I am.”

He pretended to mull it over, hmm-ing and mmm-ing between soft kisses on your neck. “Alright,” he decided, “I'll let you have that one. Y'know, since you obviously need a win right now.”

You hit the mattress, helping each other climb into bed like you hadn't been in months, as opposed to the twenty minutes it took you to make and drink your sleep aid. Only when you were wrapped in each other's arms again did you gush, “oh, yes, obviously. How can I thank you, Matty?”

Who could ever think you were anything but beautiful - that he thought you were anything but stunning - when he got such an eager, bashful grin at the suggestion. When his entire face lit up with a pink hue, as if he hasn't helped himself to your body any chance he got. How long have you lived together, and he still got that cute crinkle in the corners of his eyes with the force of his beaming as he dove for your lips.

“Y'know,” he murmured into your mouth, “I was disappointed when I woke up and you were gone.”

You dragged your hands down his bare back, snapping his waistband with a grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he emphasized, like he was offended by the teasing tone you took with him, snapping your underwear. A warning that he was ready to give as good as he got. “It's not nice to leave your boyfriend all alone in bed.”

You hummed, pretending to really consider that as you let him pull you to straddle his hips. He helped you out of your night shirt, tossing the thin fabric aside and letting out a pleased groan as you plastered your chest to his. You dragged your lips softly over his jaw, a smile twitching into place as he chased you, trying to catch a kiss. “Are you saying you think I should make it up to you?”

“I'm saying it's been entirely too long since you've sat on my face.”

A laugh burst from you at that, even as Matt peeled your underwear down your thighs. “Oh, yes, it's already been several days!”

“Exactly: it's been days,” he groaned, offering his hands for you to balance as you tossed around to escape the cotton around your knees, working them down one leg, then the other.

“Next time,” you promised with a soft kiss, nimble fingers working the strings on his pants. “I drank my-”

“Your sleepy girl mocktail?” He grinned like he could feel your embarrassed glare, kissing the pout off your lips. “Can taste it. You added honey tonight?”

“I needed something to make it sweeter,” you huffed. A tap on his hip and he lifted them for you, helping you work his pants off. You couldn't help a smile as his dick slapped his stomach, leaving a smudge of pearly precum on his smooth skin. “You're such an evil man,” you accused, wrapping your fingers around his base to watch the way his hips jerked into your palm. A stroke with your thumb along that thick vein and he leaked another stream, dripping down the side of him and onto your hand. “You're this hard when you've been teasing your poor girlfriend?”

Your hips moved on their own when he slid two thick fingers between his lips, grinding against him as he laved his tongue over the digits. That smug grin you hated to love spread across his face as his wet fingers fit themselves to your slit, one rubbing soft shapes into your clit while the other pressed inside you. “My poor girlfriend,” he mused, “who never gets off on teasing me?”

You shut him up with a kiss, trying to smother his chuckles that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. Still, it didn't stop him from taking advantage, pressing his tongue into your mouth, tasting every inch of you. The bitterness of the tart cherry juice and the sweetness of the honey from your drink dancing on his tongue, disappointingly hiding the taste of you that he's begun to crave. If he pushed deeper, he could almost imagine he found it again, in the back of your throat where nothing could reach but him. Somehow it felt even more intimate than the way you worked each other up with your hands: being the only one to know what you taste like behind the toothpaste and soda you cycled through daily.

Matt's no idiot. He hears the comments you get, feels the stares - sometimes even more than you do. He wished he could find a way to tell you how wrong they were, but how would he even begin? How do you tell someone that when you wake up alone, the first thing you do is listen for where your girlfriend’s gone? That you could sculpt her exactly from how much you touch her, desperate to commit her to memory. How do you tell someone that even without your sight, your every sense is devoted to her?

He supposed he could settle for making you see stars while he figured it out.

You grinned against Matt's lips, a slight giggle falling out, as he rolled you onto your back. You were always tempted to make fun of him for his favorite position, but there was nothing Catholic about the way he took you.

Your hands kept working his cock as he arranged you - hooking your knees over the crooks of his elbows so he could feel your thick thighs pressed against him - to hear him curse under his breath. “Careful,” he warned, kissing his way down the side of your neck, “or we'll be up all night,”

“Mm, is that supposed to discourage me?”

A strained laugh against your tender skin as you gave a particularly harsh tug. “You think you're so cute,” he managed out, trying to sound anything other than reverent.

You shared a chaste kiss as you guided him between your thighs. “I'm adorable,”

“Yes, you are. Arms around my neck, angel.”

You always ended up the same way when one or the other needed some love. Nose to nose, lips glancing off each other like you were shy teenagers again. Your legs over Matt's arms gave him the feeling of holding you completely, letting his hands wander to feel every reaction your body gave him. Your arms around his neck, letting you claw up his back or card through his soft hair, pull his mouth wherever you wanted it.

A match made in heaven.

Matt had long since broken you of your bad habit to muffle yourself, the breathy moan falling unhindered from your lips as he pressed into you like coming home. Your voice rang in the empty bedroom, more beautiful than any song, perfectly accompanied by the slick sounds from your cunt as he started a slow, grinding pace. Your hands clenched and unclenched, scratching the base of his neck as you lost yourselves in each other. Lips connected in passing swipes, sharing a deep kiss and almost separating before diving back in. His fingers traced every curve, dip and fold of your soft skin, reveling in your body the way only a man truly in love could.

The word haunted him until he told you. “Love you,” he managed through heaving breaths, soft and quiet in the privacy of the bed you shared. Then, as if afraid you hadn’t heard him, he said it louder. “I’m in love with you, y’know that?”

“Matty,”

A great big grin spread over his face when you whined, ankles locking together behind him like you thought he’d stop talking if he fucked you deeper. “Why so shy,” he hummed, stealing another wet kiss. “You didn’t know that? I don’t tell you enough?” He felt your feet kick and your lips turn into a pout, laughing at your mini fit.

“‘S different,” you insisted, dragging him back to your lips, only to pull him back once you’ve thought of a defense. “In love is bigger than love.”

It’s a conversation you had in the early stages, when friendship was just barely turning into something more, when you were both stuck dropping hints, hoping the other would make the leap. You didn’t think he remembered until he managed to quote you with his hips pressed into yours. “‘Love is a feeling you can’t control, being in love is a choice- a commitment,’ I know.” He plunged into you as deeply as he could, bringing your lips to his with his palms cupping your round cheeks. He only pulled back when you were both struggling to breathe, searching each other’s air for anything you could get from it. “I,” he enunciated carefully, making sure he left no room for misinterpretation, “am hopelessly in love with you, darling. I choose you every hour of the day. I would choose you in a room of women, I would choose you if you were a worm, and in every other ridiculous scenario that you let keep you up at night.” He heard your lips part as your jaw went slack, smelled the salt of your budding tears as he ranted to you. He pressed a chaste kiss to your parted lips. “I know it’s bigger, and you don’t have-”

“I’m in love with you.”

He felt his heart thump in his chest, beating its way out as you dragged him down to your level, smacking a hundred split-second kisses to every inch of his face. “I love you, I am in love with you, I would pick you- I love you so much, Matty!”

He pulled your hips up higher on his lap so he could get closer to you, arms wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest until there wasn’t a breath of air between you. His firm body pressing into your soft one like he could make a home in your chest, let you surround him until you would never have to be apart.

“I hope you realize we’ll definitely be up all night now,”

“I’m not the one who has court tomorrow,”

A giddy laugh smothered in the crook of your neck as his hips started pumping into you again. “You are trouble,”

You pressed your lips to his temple. “Perfect match for you, then.”

“Yes, you are.”

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pawberri · 6 months ago

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The key problem with "proship vs anti" discourse is that the most extreme versions of each side, the ones who actually bother to identify with these labels, accepted each others worst takes as arguments they had to debate. "Fiction =/= reality" is, in practice, an absurdly reductionist, anti-intellectual, thought-terminating-cliche that dictates we can learn nothing about a person via art and that their fiction reflects no political or moral messaging worthy of critique. In response to this, the "puriteens" who are too young to possibly hope to articulate their discomfort, to untangle their position from what is often real trauma experienced online, simply argue "yes, fiction influences and reflects reality in a 1 to 1 capacity." They, and people who want to use the groundwork they laid to make bad-faith callouts, make bad arguments about how the action of engaging in problematic fiction is on equal ground to real life abuse, or is a clear indicator of interest in real life abuse. Both of these arguments are terrible, but each side seems to radicalize the other further and further into their own brands of anti-intellectual reactionary belief. "Proshippers" become libertarian absolutists about free speech and view all transgression as righteous and alternative and therefore leftist. They gain a reactionary nostalgia for the past, desiring a time when people didn't seem to care about the implications of art. "Antis" become authoritarian and hypervigilant for signs of moral decay, at their worst, willing to align themselves with government bodies that offer carceral solutions to the debate. They are willing to use harassment as a tool of punishment, which then leads to false accusations and a fear of openness that puts people at risk of being triggered via obfuscation. (That said, proshippers also take part in plenty of harassment.)

I will say that I believe both of these movements are equally sensitive to co-opting by right-wing forces. We see the authoritarian tendencies of anti culture in harassment campaigns and even the way Republican law makers co-opt "grooming." The proship/fic crowd has such extreme nostalgia for the past that I often see people align themselves with the cultures of 4chan or other happily right-wing websites. They so heavily reject the idea that a drawn sexual depiction of a child could reflect any desire that they are disinterested in analyzing what the motivation behind the depiction is. i.e If we track the history of lolicon in Japan we do find that is, yes, countercultural, but that counter culture is right wing, very misogynistic, and defensive of patriarchial Japanese culture as it is and was including its culture around rape and abuse. Plenty of fictional content works as radicalization material, and radicalization material needs to be ambiguous. There is a valid reason to be hesitant to trust people who consume this content, even if I do not believe most of them will ever be dangerous towards children. The mere presence of sexuality is not enough to make a movement left wing. This kind of thing can again be seen in right-wing libertarian movements in the US. (And even leftist movements can be bigoted and even "pro-pedophilia" or otherwise disinterested in social reform around abuse.)

Is all content with elements of age-play this way? No. But to me, that is why kink media deserves to be treated as art and analyzed, critiqued, treated seriously. It doesn't have to do anything to anyone to be worthy of a moral critique. Said moral critique just doesn't warrant harassment and cruelty and reactionary exaggerations of the person consuming said content.

Anyway, what's my point in saying all this? I don't know. I'm just begging you to tag your God damn content with specific tags instead of random and nebulous shit like "dead dove" or "dark content", and also begging you to stop harassing people who do tag their content so I don't have to guess what "dead dove" and "dark content" mean. No one will erase incest kink fics or people who feel sickened by the idea of them off this earth because we aren't god, but we could at least all be responsible about tagging, flagging, and age-gating our stuff.

#csa tw #long post #proship anti tw

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muffinlance · 2 months ago

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ORBSJB AGNI AS A TURTLE DUCK I'm sorry but LIKE HOW CUTE AND then it's like he's this turtleduck in the pond bc depending on how people treat animals, small ones that need help, that's how he knows if they're good and he blesses the ones that treat him kindly and then Zuko and I'm sorry of this sint coherent (I'm a long time fan of your content btw, all the his and the books and omg I wish I could've gotten some)

Azulon looked down. His grandson, along with the turtleduck in his arms, looked up.

“This is Agni,” the boy said. “He says you should stop now.”

QUACK, said the duck. It was a strange red-gold. It was glowing. It was staring at him, even through the flames of the throne.

“Stop what?” humored the Fire Lord.

“The war,” the boy said. “It’s killing too many firebenders. Also his sister has been yelling at him, so we should let the waterbenders go, too, and be nice to them from now on so he can get a good night’s sleep and not have her redirecting comets at him any more. Probably we should leave all the other benders alone too because he’s pretty sure it was the air spirits that made him a flightless duck. He says that’s their sense of humor.”

QUACK, said the turtleduck.

“…Guards,” said Azulon.

This proved to be an ill-advised action.

ALTERNATE TAKE THAT WENT NOWHERE AND ISN'T EDITED HAVE FUN WITH THAT:

There is a Fire Nation child in Hakoda's village. The child has a softly glowing turtleduck in his arms and a quietly oozing wound under his bandage. This is not how Hakoda thought his morning would go.

"What's with the turtleduck?" asks Hakoda's son, who is wrapped around Hakoda's arm and his spear in a way that makes it very hard to instinctively stab at red-clothed things. Hakoda... expected more of them. But the tiny sail boat the kid just ran into Sokka's lumpy watchtower seems to be empty, now that its single feverish passenger has stumbled over. With his duck.

"It's a turtleduck-phoenix," says the Fire Lord's heir, answering exactly none of Hakoda's actual questions. "...You remember?"

"That your hair is going to get worse before it gets better?" says Sokka. "Absolutely."

The Prince scowls. "Then where's Aang?"

"Katara's been looking for him. He's still in the iceberg."

"...The Ember Island Players' iceberg?"

"The Ember Island Players' extremely accurate and well-researched iceberg."

The Fire Prince stares at Hakoda's son. The Fire Prince stares at Hakoda. The Fire Prince flips his duck around to face himself, then starts shaking it. "Give me a less stupid reality."

QUACK, protests the duck, with a burst of accompanying immolation that does nothing to dissuade the prince.

"Sorry, buddy," soothes his son, "you were always in the stupid reality. Remember the frozen frogs?"

Quack, says the duck, as if in confirmation.

#Lu Ten at the front lines: oh how cute I got a letter from baby Zuko <3<3<3 #dad look at this letter from Zuko <3<3<3 #dad he got his hands on the Fire Lord’s seal isn’t that adorable <3<3<3 #Iroh staring at official courtly letterhead and his nephew’s new titles in the head scribe's hand: ...#Lu Ten: I’m gonna squish his little cheeks when we get home #Iroh who’s just gotten to the part ordering their immediate and complete retreat: …#Lu Ten: <3<3<3<3<3<3 #avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko

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preeningpisces · 7 months ago

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♡ Too Sensitive - Part One ♡

Telling the JJK men you get too sensitive right before you cum and always have to stop, effectively ruining your orgasms.

Includes: Geto, Gojo, Nanami, and Toji Part Two

Content: cunnilingus, fingering, p-in-v, overstimulation, edging

Petnames: sweetheart, girl, good girl

18+ Content below, mdni, implied chubby f!reader - enjoy!

Geto is sly & coaxes you through it: the fact you need his help to do something so simple brings out his possessive side–he’s the only one that can make you cum, not even you can do it.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Such a needy girl,” Suguru looks all too-pleased as he strokes your clit, watching you closely. “Can’t even make yourself cum—you need me to do it for you.” Lost in the clouds you nod dumbly and sink into the couch. When you mentioned your problem offhandedly, you never expected your friend to offer a helping hand. In reality, you shouldn’t have been shocked. It’s in Suguru’s nature to step-in and help out--to take care of you. Apparently, your eyes slipped shut without notice, because Suguru pats your cheek–gently, but firm enough to wake you from your reverie. “Keep your eyes on me.”

After directing you to sit-up and face forward on the couch, he kneels on the floor between your legs. With eyes fixed on you, he lowers his mouth and lays a kiss on your chubby mound. Embarrassment floods through you, and it deepens when he mouths at your labia. He continues like this, kissing and sucking near your pussy, but not giving you what you really want.

“C’mon,” you pull on his hair, urging him to hurry. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Needy and demanding," he chuckles before trapping your clit with a harsh suck. Shocked, you yank on his hair and shout. Going from no touch at all to such intense focus is too much, too soon. Instinctively you try to pull his head away. He ignores it at first, but when you continue pushing at his forehead he detaches from your clit with a rough suck. Your wrists are captured, and guides them to the edge of the couch.

“Don’t move them, or I’ll have to tie you up,” he says with a wink and returns to your swollen clit–if he could leave a hickey there, his sucking is hard enough he would. The couch cushions crumble beneath your fingers, and your legs tremble when he doesn’t let up. You practically howl when he shakes his head back and forth, his hum buzzing through your pussy.

“God, I can’t take it, I can’t–I can’t” you ramble, alternating between rolling towards and away from his mouth. A smack to your thigh makes it wobble, and reminds you to watch him. The look in his eyes makes you burn as your end approaches, and now you frantically try to get away from him. “Suguru, stop!”

His lips twitch in amusement, and his hands keep you in place with a halting grip on your plush thighs. You come with a scream, and feel your pussy leak all over his face and couch. He groans against you as he soothes you with kitten licks, eyes never leaving your face as it succumbs to pleasure. Before you can fully unwind, he slides two fingers in you with a soft squelch and a sly smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Gojo is playful & teases you through it: he’s excited by the challenge, and is confident he can get you to your orgasm without making it unpleasant. He’ll have you begging for more.

♡ ♡ ♡

Why you thought telling Satoru Gojo, the most obnoxious person you know, about your sex problems was a good idea, you still don’t know.

“Satoru fuck oooooff,” you whine as your hips jerk in a desperate search for more as he steps away from the bed. He has denied you an orgasm three times already. Not coming is standard for you, and you essentially edge yourself all the time, but he’s been clever enough to stop right before you get over-sensitive. Edging you before you edge yourself, if that makes sense, and it’s been driving you mad.

“You told me to stop, yeah? I thought it was ‘too much,’” he mocks your earlier plea and tone. It's true–you had told him you couldn’t handle it when you got close, and ever since then, he’s been tormenting you. His large hand skims over your stomach with a look of mischief. “Are you going to let me make you cum,” he squeezes the fat of your mound, “or are you gonna cry about it again?”

You shake your head, ready to endure any discomfort to finally release the heavy tension in your body.

“I’ll take it. Please make me cum–oh fuck!” Your plea is cut off with a squeal as he thrusts his cock into you. It stretches you deliciously; he grimaces with effort as he allows you to adjust. As soon as you beg him to start moving he sets a rapid pace, barely holding himself back. His thumb finds your raw clit, and flicks it with upward strokes, greedily watching his cock disappear.

“Holy shit, you’re tight,” he says through gritted teeth, and forces himself to slow his thrusts. He wants you to cum first, then cum again, and again before the night lets up. Instead of pulling out, he grinds his cock against your g-spot mercilessly in tandem with his thumb. You nearly scream when he presses his hand onto your squishy stomach, increasing the pressure against the tender area. “Oh, you really like that, don’t you?”

His smugness is as sexy as it is irritating, and you bite your tongue when the rush of nerves sets in, making you want to roll away and prevent him from touching you any further. But the thought of him teasing you all over again makes you quiet yourself, only whimpering behind closed lips. It doesn’t take much more for you to come, and cry out pathetically. Your pussy clamps around his cock so hard he falls foreward with a swear, and has to squeeze the base of his cock to prevent himself from joining you.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he lifts your hips in strong hands, and pulls back only to surge his cock back in. “Now hold on–we’re just getting started.”

Nanami is encouraging & soothes you through it: of course he wants you to cum, but he doesn’t want it to be unpleasant or cause you pain. He knows he needs to be mindful.

♡ ♡ ♡

Normally he would prefer to eat you out, but with how overwhelming this is for you, he needs his mouth free to talk. He has your back leaning against his chest as he traces steady, gentle circles on your clit, and languidly thrusts his fingers in you. During a discussion about incoporating sex into your relationship, you explained your issue with orgasming, and since then Kento swore he would make you cum everyday to make up for the lost time. Who knows how many times you've missed out in your life?

“It’s too much,” you whine against his mouth, your legs trying to shut and keep him away. Wet sounds fill the silence as he disregards your complaint. It surprises you that Kento isn’t listening and continues fingerfucking your pussy instead–he’s always such a respectful man, so the fact that he’s pushing you past your limits turns you on more than you’d expected.

“You’re alright, just a little more.” He eases his pace despite his words, not having the heart to ignore you completely; the way your pussy squeezes around him makes his cock throb and tempts him to go faster. A flash of heat burns your core when he spreads his fingers, scissoring them and stretching your pussy. You're hushed by his lips, kissing you slowly to keep you from floating away. A particularly sharp thrust to your g-spot makes you tear away from him with moan, and roll into his hand. Pleased with your compliance, he rewards you with kisses down your neck, and an affectionate nip to your shoulder. You wind your hand through his hair, holding him hostage with the crook of your arm.

"I'm going to speed up now, okay?" is the only warning you're given before he's gathering your wetness to glide over your clit with quick strokes; his fingers focusing on your g-spot with deliberate pulses. Suddenly your panting becomes frantic, and your body jerks with restless energy.

"Oooh god, slow down I--Kento!"

“Just breathe, sweetheart. You can do it.” The encouragement makes you still with a sob, the searing heat on your clit finally releases and you come so hard you distantly worry you’ll pass out. His delicate circling continues, but slows down considerably as he whispers praises in your ear. It takes everything within him to not roll you over and fuck you until you see stars. All he wants is to see your pretty face scrunch in pleasure again.

“Are you alright?" you nod, and he moves you to lie down. "Thank you for trusting me. I know that was hard,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, supporting your boneless body in his arms.

Toji is cocky & pushes you through it: he knows all you need is a little push–your mind just doesn’t have the willpower to keep going when it gets sensitive. Incompetent partners wouldn’t recognize an orgasm if it slapped them in the face & wouldn’t notice you didn’t cum. But thankfully, he sure as hell can fix that

♡ ♡ ♡

With alcohol-loosened lips, you lamented your struggle with orgasming to your colleauges, earning bewildered stares from the two men. Next thing you know, you're back in your hotel room with Toji’s head nestled between your thighs, making you jerk and convulse as he licks you down. With his tongue fat and flat, he grinds against your clit, making you feel the texture of his taste buds.

So eager he hadn't even undressed you: he just pushed you back on the bed, rolled your skirt up, and tore a hole in your pantyhose. It’s felt amazing thus far, you can feel yourself dripping on the bed, but anxiety prickles in your chest as your orgasm approaches. You worry that you’ll have to stop, make him upset that he couldn’t make you cum, and ruin the mood. Not to mention, sorely wound his ego--even though that thought amuses you, you wouldn't intentionally hurt him.

As if hearing your inner dilemma, your body lurches with a sudden surge of red-hot sensitivity, making you yelp and pull at his hair. Toji only hums, appreciating the rough treatment.

“I don’t know if I can do it. I’m s-sorry–ah!” Your thighs squeeze around his head, signaling for him to stop. The plea is ignored, and instead a thick arm pushes down against your soft stomach, pinning you in place. You thrash beneath his hold, but he doesn’t budge, and sucks your aching clit into his mouth with his tongue flicking relentlessly. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you’d notice how he grinds into the bed, and grunts against your pussy. When you keep protesting, he pulls away with an irritated glare.

"You can, and you will." His assertive confidence makes you tingle with nervous anticipation--he really isn't going to listen to you, is he? You don't have long to contemplate this because he licks you from your ass to your clit in one long swoop--which makes you squawk in disbelief--and rolls the bud between his lips before sucking more roughly than before.

Knowing exactly what you need, he pushes your mound up with his spare hand and hums around your clit noisily. It’s so intense you shout, and weakly slap at his shoulders as you’re shoved over the edge–only the sound of his slurping competes with you to fill the room.

After several moments of twitching and whimpering, your mind clears enough for you to look at him. At some point he had lowered your legs to sit back on his knees, and now stares at you with a cocky grin and a wet face.

“Atta girl,” he palms his bulge through his baggy pants. “Think you got another in you?”

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 8 months ago

Text

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breathe.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret meant to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you’ve never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he’s lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

| next

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months ago

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kiss of death

words: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, alternative universe, soulmates, grim reaper!rafe, talk of death, superstitions, reader kind of dies (its explained in the fic)

you swallow deeply as you step into the graveyard. the darkness is creeping into every corner, but you know it's not midnight, not yet.

you feel a pang of guilt as you walk through the rows of graves, briefly glancing at the names to distract your focus from the anxiety filling your chest.

it's an old superstition, but you're beyond desperate.

you stop at the hole in the ground and the temporary headstone, ready for burial tomorrow.

“sorry mr. crawford.” you whisper. you barely knew him, the town psychologist currently kept in the morgue. you could probably use him right now as you move carefully to your knees.

you recite the words from the local town lure, the promise of your true love showing up to kiss you awake at sunrise if you laid in the grave at exactly midnight.

all your other friends have found love, love that is so pure and beautiful it makes your chest ache with jealousy and wanting.

you look at your watch and let out a sigh. five minutes of looking into the grave until the hands of the clock point straight up, five minutes to change and regret your decision.

the minutes tick by but your resolve only grows. you're beyond desperate and the worst thing that could come of it is you spend the night sleeping in a hole under the stars.

you climb down the second the minute hand crawls to the 12 and lay back in the grave, blinking upwards towards the starless night sky, the bright sunlight reflecting off the moon blocking out any other suns.

you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you're exposed to worms and bugs and whatever else happens to be lurking in the graveyard at night. certainly nothing you want to come across.

soulmate. your soulmate. your one true love is worth one night in a grave as you fall into a deep slumber.

you can feel the light against your eyelids, but before you can open them, it's blocked out by a shadow.

you gasp as lips are pressed against yours, cold but soft lips. you want to open your eyes but they feel so heavy as you kiss back, hands reaching upwards but you feel nothing, just pressing into the freezing cold air despite it being the middle of summer.

you finally force your eyelids open and you realize who you have been kissing as he pulls away, more of a black figure then a true human form.

“no.” your voice quivers. “no!”

“did you not want your one true love to wake you with a kiss?” he smirks down at you, hovering directly over your body.

“my-my true love is not death.” you thought it was just another superstition, the grim reaper, the one to facilitate your crossing to the other side, but when looking up you know that the mans face that looks back down upon you is nothing but pure and utter death.

“then tell me why i was called to this spot only to find you laying here.” his voice is smooth but deep in tone, not what you expected from the grim reaper as you almost find comfort in his soft words.

“this can't be right.” you look around you, realizing that all light from the rising sun has disappeared, along with the walls of dirt around you, replaced with darkness so thick it's like you could reach out and touch it. “am i?”

you can't make the word out fully. “kind of.” the reaper shrugs.

reality shifts and despite you not changing positions, you can tell in the inky blackness that you're now on your feet.

“come with me.” the grim reapers legs push out from the black mass, appearing and disappearing as he begins to walk, somehow able to find his way, walking with the purpose of a destination that is unseen to you.

“what if i don't want to?” you question, even though your heart is pulling you towards him, telling you to follow and stay close.

“i will give you this option only once.” the reaper turns to you. “you can turn around and walk away, or you may follow me and be with your one true love and rule the underworld as my queen.”

you know your back should be towards the reaper as you begin to walk, but you can't go back to your earthly reality after discovering the grim reaper is just waiting for you to die, for you to take your place.

as you walk alongside the grim reaper, you begin to make out shapes moving through the darkness.

the first one scared you so bad as you whipped your head to the side, trying to make out what appeared to be someone walking the opposite direction.

“what is this place?” you ask, voice quiet, feeling as though you don't want to interrupt the figures pushing through the dark.

“the place between life and death. the farther we walk, the closer we are to death and my-our kingdom.”

“and the people walking the other way?” you turn to look over your shoulder as your feet continue forward.

“some have been revived. by doctors or desperate loved ones. but most made a choice. most got to the final step and realized it wasn't there time.”

“and is it my time?”

“you will not truly be dead.” he states, and you find yourself swaying to walk closer to him, his cold presence comforting as the only thing around you can truly make out. “i will keep you in the state that you are now for as long as you please. you will be in limbo, in status. your earthly body will still be yours.”

“so no one will know what happened to me?” you can tell that your body isn't left in the grave, that you're whole and complete right here, soul included.

“no.” he sounds almost regretful as the blackness ahead of you turns into a swirl of dark grey, making out the rolling hills as you get closer.

“your final choice.” the reaper says, and you don't mention that he already gave you what he claimed to be your final choice before you began walking.

it hits you then. the reaper is in just as new of a position as you are in, and your nerves don't outweigh him.

“what is your choice?” you parrot the question back. “do you want me… to rule with you?”

“i have waited an eternity for you. so long that the memory of how i came to be the reaper is no longer available to me.” the grim reaper pauses for a moment before continuing. “yes. i want you alongside me always.”

you nod and then take a step past what you can tell is the final film, the one separating you from whatever rolling hills of gray grass await.

a weight you didn't realize you were carrying leaves you as the grim reaper steps out next to you, the black mass of his body gone as he appears as a fully realized man, legs and all.

you don't mean to, but you reach out and touch him, seeing if your arms would move through him as they did before during your kiss, but your fingers just press against the soft fabric of his black long sleeved shirt.

“welcome to the underworld.” he says, taking your hand in his and pulling you to continue walking.

you can make out a castle in the distance, and the closer you walk towards it, the warmer the hand in yours gets and the less gray seems to be blotting out the world as the grass turns green beneath your feet.

you gasp the first time you see one, stepping closer to the reaper.

“they won't hurt you.” he clarifies quickly as the large wolf runs past you in the distance, several hills away.

“you control them?” you question.

“yes.” he nods. “and all the wolves on earth as well. they are part of my domain.”

“i thought it was going to be a three headed dog.” you whisper slightly sheepishly as you realize your hand has been intertwined with the grim reaper the entire walk, feeling so natural that you don't question the fingers snug between yours.

“everyone got something partially right.” he says. “the egyptians, the greeks, the christians. they all had pieces.”

“oh.” you don't care to question more, not yet. you're already overloaded with all the information.

you pause as you get to the door of the castle. it's not dead quite like you expected, you can hear voices chattering inside and when you look up you can occasionally see people passing by windows.

“people do what suits them best after death. what would make them most happy. for most, that's reincarnation. for some, that's helping others cross or serving me in other ways. everyone inside this home is dead.”

you like that he calls it a home and a slight smile stretches across your cheeks.

“do not ask them how they died or their life on earth. if they wish to reveal it to you, it will be on their own time.”

“okay.” you nod, looking to the grim reaper, your soulmate. “what should i call you?”

you certainly can't continue to call him the grim reaper, it would just be an upsetting reminder.

“rafe.” he smiles down at you, not the terrifying soulless being you thought he would be. “you may call me rafe.”

the tour of the expansive home is long, but you find yourself only half listening as you look at rafe.

his appearance is so different from when you saw him first, he looks less harsh, kinder, more alive.

“are you tired?” he asks as he pushes the doors open to what you assume is the master bedroom. “i know you just awoke but if you need to rest-”

“how does time work here?”

“there's night and day just as there is on earth. it's still morning.” he places a gentle hand on your back, pushing gently to get you to enter the room.

“this is our chamber.” he explains. “you may rest, or bathe, or eat.”

“i…” you look down at your clothes, dirt still covering your pants. “id like to change.”

a maid ushers in, and you try to see if you can get any visual clue that she's passed, but theres nothing as she opens up a cabinet and begins to grab out various jewel toned options.

“i must attend to some business.” rafe says. “ill be back soon.”

you get changed and dismiss the maid, wondering what kind of person chooses to serve like this for all of eternity and actually enjoy it, but you're too distracted with exploring your surroundings to think too hard about it.

you find a sitting room with walls covered in bookshelves, the grand bathroom, and a door that leads to a balcony.

you step out and look over the rolling hills, seeing as they turn to gray the farther away it is from the castle, seemingly encircled completely by the void.

you occasionally see a wolf running, or a figure floating, but you can tell none of them are your reaper. that must be the other helpers he was talking about. despite not being able to see their faces, you know it's not him.

you take a seat on the lush couch on the balcony. they must not have true weather here or it would certainly be ruined by the rain.

before you notice it, now dressed in clean clothes similar to rafes, your eyes are closing and you're falling into a deep sleep.

you yawn as you wake up, stretching as you realize you'd been moved to the bed at some point.

you sit up suddenly only to come face to face with rafe who is sitting in an armchair moved from the sitting room to the foot of the bed.

“did you move me?”

“yes.” he nods as you blink, looking outside, unable to tell how long you've been asleep. like he's reading your mind, rafe speaks. “it's the next morning. you were exhausted from the journey.”

“did you sleep in the bed with me?”

“i do not need sleep.” rafe answers, jolting you slightly before you remember who you are here with.

“then why have this bed?”

rafe gives you a pointed look as you replay his words in your head. of course it's for you. he's been waiting.

“come.” rafe stands, imposing his tall height again.

you slide out of bed, only then realizing that your clothes have been changed.

“a maid changed you.” he says quickly. “i will escort you to breakfast and as you eat i will finish my work for the day. then we can…”

he trails off like he doesn't know what the options are. “get to know each other.” you offer. “since you're my one true love i suppose we should… go on a date?”

a smile stretches across the reapers face. “yes. a date.”

“what is it you'd like to know?” rafe asks as you're sat in the front of the boat, moving slowly down a river that winds through the hills.

it scared you at first, but rafe certainly wouldn't be taking you anywhere where you couldn't come back.

“uh…” there's a million questions you have about life and death, about heaven and hell, but that's not what you truly want to know. “what's your favorite color? do you have to eat? can you sleep even if you don't have to?”

“well…” rafe chuckles. “i love deep blue. i don't have to eat but i can, same with sleeping. and your favorite color?”

“also blue.” you swallow deeply, eyes turning upward as the invisible force keeps the boat moving steadily in the water. “but sky blue. like on a warm summer day.”

you're about to wonder if you'll ever truly see the sky again when you can make out a cloud in the distance.

“i-”

“for you.” rafe says as the color of the sky shifts, matching the exact shade you were thinking of. “everything here can be changed for you.”

the conversation flows naturally, you suppose it should between soulmates. every time rafe smiles, you get butterflies in your stomach, and by the time you're back where the river meets the castle, you have a question brewing on the tip of your tongue.

“can we… can we kiss again?” you need to know what it feels like, if it's the same cold lips despite his hands now feeling warm.

the smile comes back to rafes face, and then it gets closer and closer until he's kissing you, deeply.

you almost instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, able to fully touch him now as he kisses you, warm lips gliding against each other's.

you pull yourself closer until you can't get any nearer without climbing onto his lap, which you do next as you cling to him.

you thought your friends talking about the instant connection with their one true love was ridiculous, but you know what is between you and rafe is complete and real and right.

there's a woosh of air and when you pull away, you're still straddling rafe, but now in your bedroom.

“please.” he said softly, and the word comes out a little strange, like he's not used to saying it. “i need you.”

your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt before you lift and pull it off your body, revealing the bra somehow already in your size that the maid got out after breakfast.

rafes hands stop yours when you go to unclasp it. “let me.” he says.

his hands are large and warm as they undo your bra and push the straps off your shoulders so it falls between the two of you.

“can i-”

“yes.” you answer quickly. “do anything you want to me.”

you take rafes cheeks in your hands as you look in his deep blue eyes. “do everything.”

your reaper transports you again, this time only feet as you're laid on your back, head rested against the pillows as he hovers over top of you.

your clothes as well as rafes are completely gone, and you're both silent, breathing heavily as you admire each other's bodies. if someone would have asked you what your perfect mate looks like, you'd absolutely describe rafe in this state.

“i will spend eternity pleasuring you, but you'll have to forgive me for not being able to wait a moment longer.”

rafes cock lines up with your entrance, and then he's pushing inside, his eyes shutting as he lets out a moan that makes you surge forward to kiss his lips and swallow the sound as his hips glide all the way in, fitting exactly inside of you like he's been your missing part all along.

“you're so- warm.” rafe manages to choke out. “ive never felt warmth like this.”

it makes you sad to think rafe spent so long as the cold and lonely reaper. you pull him into you, pressing your chests together as his hips begin to move, your moans growing and becoming in sync, creating a beautiful chorus even to your own ears.

you don't know what your future will hold. there will no doubt be ups and downs, hard times and great times, but you will face it all together with your reaper, your rafe.

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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Update: Decided to commit to writing this fic! Check the link for taglist+masterlist post

I recently watched Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and I just... I understand why the internet has been losing their minds over Miguel O’Hara... I really do.

And! It got me thinking about how we really know nothing about Miguel’s wife/family - at least when it comes to his film counterpart. We get a few scenes of him with his daughter and not much else. We also have no knowledge of whether or not a version of his wife and daughter exist on Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe).

So it got me thinking of an idea for a Miguel O’Hara x Reader fanfic:

>>>

Reader is the Earth-1610 version of Miguel’s late wife and also - dun dun DUNNNNNN - Miles’s AP Art teacher. She’s his favorite teacher and he’s her all time favorite student one of her best students. On Earth-1610 Miguel O’Hara and Gabriella don’t exist and Reader has recently gotten out of a long-term relationship after being cheated on. During his multiverse travels The Spot learns just how important Reader is to Miles and Miguel and kidnaps her as part of his revenge plot.

Imagine the chaos that would ensue once Reader finds out that a) Miles is Spiderman and b) her alternate reality husband tried to *very aggressively* stop Miles from saving his father's life.

Reader: *Holding onto Miguel for dear life as they try to outrun The Spot*

Reader: Miguel did WHAT?!

Miles: Right, Miss Y/l/n?

Miguel: Listen kid I already apologized for that.

Reader: *slaps Miguel on the shoulder*

Reader: What the hell is wrong with you? He’s just a teenager!

Miguel: Cariño, can we please discuss this at a later time?

Reader: …

Reader: What did you just call me?

Miguel: …

Miles: …Aren’t you his wife?

Miguel: *visibly sweating*

Reader: I’M HIS WIFE?!

This was really just a midnight thought and I'm hoping someone will expand upon the idea. If such a fanfic exists, I beg of you to tell me about it! If it doesn't... well I might just be forced to do it myself...

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miles morales #ghost spider #spider punk #spiderman #miguel o'hara x wife reader

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moonchild033 · 3 months ago

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Astro Observations -2💅

Here we go with Part-2!!!✨

(These observations are for sidereal, whole sign system based charts and all of these are subject to change with other factors in the chart, don't conclude anything from a single placement.)

12H lord in 3H- If you do second marriage or in your second serious long-term relationship, you would've spent loads of money (almost more than your capacity) for the partner. 🤑

Aquarius ascendant in D9- Your inner self yearns to get recognized for the work you do, you would NOT be one of the people who don't care about the outcomes or rewards and just continues their work everyday.🙂

Pisces ascendant in D9- No matter how much you earn, you can't save as you might have a tendency to spend a lot.💸

Enemy Mahadashas (Major planetary period) should NOT be matched during the wedding. (ie.)Your mahadasha planet should NOT be an enemy planet for your partner's mahadasha planet and vice versa.😌

In a woman's chart, if you have Venus/Jupiter in conjunction with Mars in your 10H, your spouse could be an ideal husband, 10000 marks for being a good provider and pampering you. 💖

Sun-mars conjunction or both planets in the same degree- Siblings get more attention from your father than you.😒

Rahu Mahadasha= Good for love marriages, especially weddings outside your own community/culture/race etc. Arranged marriages can be avoided during this period as there could be high chances of getting deceived. 🤫

Ascendant lord and 7H lord placed in the next house to each other or in the same house- Understanding between you and your spouse will be great. You just seem to get each other and gel so easily. GREEN FLAG!🤩

Virgo ascendant in D9- The type of people to opt for alternative medicine. If everyone goes for allopathy, they would prefer to get treatment in Homeopathy, Ayurveda etc.😷

Capricorn ascendant in D9- For some people with this placement, Someone very close to them would've passed away during their childhood or early teens and it would stay like a distant memory inside them always, they would've been affected so much and their personality would've evolved drastically after the incident.😔

SECRET TIP- Starting a business/marrying/dating long-term a person with the rising sign of your ascendant lord's exaltation sign will help in putting your dreams into reality, it's a lucky charm. Ex. If you are a leo rising, your ascendant lord sun gets exalted in Aries, so you could start a business or get into a long term relationship with a person having Aries rising, this will speed up your progress in life.💥💣

Placements who should STOP planning everything in their life, as things wouldn't work out for them if they plan. These folks especially should take it easy and go in the river's direction to experience success, because Rahu in these placements would create an opposite plan to yours and leave you speechless lol, Saturn as usual would cause delays but MORE delays if you have these placements and tend to plan everything 🙊💯-

Rahu in 1H

Ascendant lord in Shatabisha, Ardra or Swati

The house lord of Rahu's placement is exalted or in his own house. Ex. Rahu is in Aries (House lord is mars) and Mars is in Capricorn (exaltation) or in Aries/Scorpio(own houses).

Rahu in Scorpio

Saturn in 1H/7H

Saturn in Libra, Capricorn or Aquarius

Undergoing Rahu/Saturn Mahadasha (Major planetary period)

(If you notice, these are the placements where these two malefics get powerful, so it's better to go with the flow and enjoy the unexpected successes on the way rather than stressing out on plan failures.)

Let's Learn and Grow Together!💋💅

With Love- Yashi ❤⚡

Here's my Masterlist if you want to explore other astro content from me, hope you have a good read! 💪😸

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woewriting · 11 months ago

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bloodlines

pairing: wednesday addams | vampire reader word count: 1595 warnings: mdni, +18 only! blood mention/drinking, reader's a vampire duh, no pronouns used, thigh riding, small master x pet dynamics at the end. a/n: first wdw in weeks... just a small thing for my vampire fellas.

masterlist

Your leg bounced up and down, the almost inaudible sound of the heel of your shoes hitting the wooden floor annoying the girl sitting next to you on the bed, the movements of your legs and the way you chewed on your bottom lip enough to get her annoyed.

Closing the book, Wednesday turned to you, eyes alternating between the irritating move and your features.

“Can you stop with that infuriating sound? It’s distracting me.”

“Uh?” You look at Wednesday, eyes darting from yours to your bouncing leg in a silent answer. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice it.”

“Now that you do, stop it.”

“I can’t control it.”

Wednesday took a deep breath, bringing her hand to rest on top of your knee, forcing you to stop. Somehow, your leg was still shaking under her touch and now, a heatwave spread inside your body at the sudden touch, a bright red color threatening to take over your vision, a sharp pain in your gums.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths and trying to take control over your instincts. But Addams being so close to you with her almost unnoticeable perfume and hand on your thigh, it was hard and any small thing coming from her was enough to get you to lose control.

“You’re starving, aren’t you?” All you could do was nod, not wanting her to see the sharp fangs that sunk on the inside of your mouth. Removing her hand from your leg, you felt a weight being placed on top of your body instead. “Open your eyes, let me take a look at them.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“I wasn’t asking. Open them now and look at me.”

Despise the calming way she spoke, her words and demanding tone were enough to get you to do as you were told, unable to resist the smell she had; It was like a spell placed on you.

Wednesday brought her hands to your face, opening your lips to see the sharp fangs you were hiding, pressing the tip of a finger under one, a single drop of raven blood poking out of the small wound was enough to cover your lower lip with her movement.

“Wends…” You warned with a hoarse voice, controlling the impulse to lick the sweet blood off of your lip.

The dark, silky sheets under your hands ripping off around your nails, stopping you from digging the skin of her waist. Knowing Wednesday, she would definitely make you pay for a new set.

Ignoring the warning timbre in your voice, Wednesday opened her white blouse, dragging the fabric away from her shoulder area along with the strip of her bra.

“Take it.”

“No.”

“If you want to keep that snarky tongue of yours, I suggest you to stop fighting and just do as I am telling you to.”

The second you focused on the cold, pale skin, of her neck, everything around you turned red, melting as you caught the sound of her blood flowing through her body, the steady pace of her heartbeat, muffling every small sound that surrounded the both of you.

All you could hear, see and smell, came from the small girl sitting on your lap. And that was all that matters.

The red, warm, sweet blood that kept her alive. The blood of a Raven, Wednesday being the last one of her bloodline known to you.

Noticing the lack of motion coming from your frozen body, the Addams girl gently tugged you by the back of your head, bringing you closer to her.

“Take it.” She whispered; fingers lost in your hair. “It’s all yours.”

“All mine…” You replied, lost in your red reality, barely processing what left her lips, all you could hear, loud and clear, was the pumping of her jugular, the sweet blood rushing through her veins.

Leaning in, your nose brushed on the cold skin, taking a deep breath. The ghostly touch causing the other to close her eyes. You opened your mouth, enough for the tip of your tongue to touch her, a surprised sigh coming from Wednesday.

“I profoundly hate when you do that.”

“Are you sure? Because I can hear every beat of your heart.” You placed a kissed near her collarbones. “And the way your thighs are pressing against mine.” Another kiss, a little bit higher.

“Stop talking. It’s an order.”

You laughed against her, hands slowly moving from the silky sheets to her thighs. “You’re in no place to boss me around, Addams.”

“I thought you enjoyed being my little pet.”

“I enjoy more when you’re my prey.”

Looking into your eyes, Wednesday could barely see the color of it, dark red mixed with golden strings covering most of your iris, pupils dilated in a black color. The veins under your eyes, disappearing and appearing as if it was following the beat of a music, little did she know it was synchronized with her own heartbeat.

It always felt like that, to be under her spell, if felt paralyzing, something in the way Wednesday smelled and tasted like, so sweet it was like drinking honey.

For her, having your teeth sinking in her neck, poison spreading through your saliva turning the pain into pleasure in just a few seconds. She would never admit, but being your personal blood bag made the pain settle in between her thighs.

She needed you as much as you needed her.

Why else would she sit on your lap and keep you around? Allowing you to follow every single step of hers like a lost puppy, holding you on a tight leash, stopping you from biting others like a misbehaved puppy.

Gulping, she licked her lips, your eyes following every single movement of her body. She felt like an addicted waiting for the next jet of poison, it’s been days since the last time you fed on her.

“Did you drink from somebody else?” You shook your head. You tried to, actually, blood bags, human blood straight from the vein, animal blood that you captured with Eugene’s help; they all tasted like garbage. “Then why are you refusing to do as I tell you to?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

A small grin tugged on her lips. “I want you to hurt me.”

A gush of adrenaline ran in the veins under your eyes the second you heard her whisper, eyes filled with a specific glow that you almost never see in Wednesday: excitement.

The moment your fangs dug in the cold skin, a low moan escaped between Wednesday’s parted lips, the fingers in your hair pulling you impossible closer. The hot, thick red liquid filled your mouth, the iron taste almost unnoticeable, being replaced by a sweet taste that only she had.

Throwing her head back in an attempt to give you more access to her neck, she didn’t even notice that small rhythm her hips were following against your legs, rubbing herself on you. Her scent, stronger than ever, filling every centimeter of your lungs like smoke.

Moving your hands to her hips, you bruised the covered skin as you helped her steady movements. Opening her lips to take a deep breath soon became a breathless moan, your name escaping her parted lips as you drank more and more from her, the poison spreading through her veins as you lick the open wound, capturing what escaped from your hungry mouth before biting her again.

Wednesday was weak in your arms, the hot feeling in the pit of her stomach getting hotter and hotter as she rounded her hips on your leg, a wet stain on the fabric of your jeans as she came, eyes rolling to the back of her head and body falling back, being held by your hands.

Switching positions, you laid the small girl on her bed, dark silky sheets embracing her body as you laid on top of her to lick around her neck, not wasting a single drop of the precious blood that you couldn’t go without.

Kissing your way up to her face, Addams still had her eyes closed, a fainted reddish color spread on her cheeks as she came down from her high. When she opened her eyes, she was met with your golden ones, shining like a star in the night sky. She caressed your face, thumb swiping your lips to collect the thick liquid that covered them before gently sucking on them, maintaining the eye contact; a satisfied hum in her throat.

“Kiss me. I want to taste my blood on your tongue.”

As she commanded, you connected your lips together in a kiss that was soft at first, turning to bruising and desperate as her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you in, lips wrapping around your tongue to get more of it before she breaks the kiss, hands moving to your shoulders.

“What are you doing?” You asked, confused, as she tried to push you down, but you, being stronger than her, didn’t move an inch.

“I need your tongue somewhere else, and I need it now, so be a good pet and collaborate with me.”

Wednesday was nearly screaming inside, her weak body in desperate need of you, one of the collateral damages from your poison. And the way you smelled, the way your hands touch her body, it was a lot more than just the venom that rushed in her veins, there was something else in the brownish glow that stared at you. You smiled.

“As you wish, master.”

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