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pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

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strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part eleven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you get the short end of the stick, but it’s worth it.

a/n: okayyyyyyyyy shit’s getting heavy, folks, but things are chaaaaaaanging. hope you’re ready 😈

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, a lot of angst, a lot conversation, canon-typical violence and injuries (heavy on both), drinking, Joel has more feelings, I love Tess.

if you haven’t already, please read the announcement/follow up I posted about giving Liv a name.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨

Tess likes to talk. You don’t mind; it makes the walk back much faster, and the QZ is within sight much sooner with the easy conversation between you.

She talks about how she found Joel and Tommy, how they’d been stuck together ever since Kentucky. She mentions her husband, Nate, and you offer your sympathy — which she brushes off — and tell her about Dean.

“With a baseball bat?” she repeats, an almost incredulous look on her face. “That baseball bat?”

“Yep,” you laugh, hefting the thing in your hand. “Kept me alive this long. All those years of softball finally paid off.”

Tess tells you what she was starting to build in Baltimore, and you can’t help but grin. The two of you are more similar than you thought. You return her stories in kind, details of your own ventures. “There are lots of ways in and out of the Boston QZ,” you tell her, “you just have to know where to look.”

You don’t ask about her and Joel, and she doesn’t offer the information. He hangs back the entire time, a good twenty feet behind you, rifle slung over his shoulder. You chance a glance back once or twice, mostly making sure he’s still there, and his hard gaze makes you freeze every time.

This definitely isn’t the reunion you’d imagined. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you had envisioned, but this sure as hell ain’t it. Fuck, why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?

You lead them through as quietly as possible, using a spot on the wall where the bricks have been cracked, leaving footholds behind for those who know to look for them. You send Tess up first, then Joel, and he waits at the top, grabs you by the arm and hauls you up the last foot. You open your mouth to say thank you, but he’s already released you, turned away yet again.

All right, so this is how it’s going to be.

Through the top level of the building, down the ladder into the alley. You stash your bat and your bag in the same place, tell Tess and Joel to leave their guns there, too. Joel’s reluctant, but Tess smacks his shoulder and he does as you say, that hard look on his face the entire time.

Your boots splash in the same puddle they had last night. Tess is close behind you as you head out of the alley and skirt down the next building. A few more alleyways, heads ducked, avoiding soldiers and civilians alike, and you head down another alleyway, waiting for the coast to clear before shoving a dumpster aside, revealing a hole in the bricks that leads inside the empty warehouse.

“How did you—” Joel starts to ask, but cuts himself off.

You hold your arm out, gesturing him inside. “Quickly.”

The opposite end of the warehouse faces the gate almost directly. The windows on the lower level are covered with newspaper, shattered in some places, and you peer through one of the missing panes. Beside the main gate, there’s an office, of sorts. Where they take any survivors that make it to the gate, test them, either put them in the system or put a bullet in their heads.

“Wait here.” You prop open the window, slide through the gap and pop back up the other side. No one pays you any mind as you head towards the office, leaning up on your toes to peer through the little window in the door. Nick’s standing inside, staring at one of the old computer screens, and when you tap on the glass, he nods.

You turn back, waving at Tess. “C’mon.” They’re quick about it, and you push the door open once they’re close, following them both inside. Nick stares at Joel for a moment, meets your eyes over his shoulder. You try to school your face neutral, but you can’t tell if you get away with it or not.

“In there,” Nick says, the words blunt, and points down the hallway, to one of the smaller rooms. The office used to be a doctor’s office, you think; one main lobby, a bunch of smaller exam rooms down the hall. Joel and Tess do as he says, and you start to follow behind, but feel Nick’s hand on your shoulder. It makes you pause, and you look at him, turning beneath his hand.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low. “Joel.”

You repeat yourself to him a third time. “Does it matter?”

Nick’s brow creases. “Of course it fucking matters, Liv.”

You shake your head. “Just process them, please? Then you can throw me in lockup and this’ll all be over.”

The look on his face says he doesn’t believe you, but you push his hand off your shoulder, step into the room where Tess is standing, Joel sitting in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. “This is Corporal Nick Cowan,” you introduce, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “I trust him. He’ll test you both, put you through the system, and take you back to my place.” Your eyes flick to Joel. “Tommy should still be there.” You turn to look at Nick. “On the off chance he’s not, take them to Deanna’s.”

Nick gives you a curt nod, and you can feel Joel’s stare boring holes in your skull. It’s Tess that finally breaks the silence, concern on her face. “What about you? Why aren’t you taking us?”

“Cuz I’m gonna be in lockup,” you say, and Joel jumps to his feet, but doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t do anything but stare, “for the next two days.” You swallow hard. “There’s enough food at my place for you three, water too. Tommy knows where the whiskey is.” You give a little chuckle, staring down at your boots before lifting your head. There’s something like admiration in Tess’s eyes, whereas Joel is pure fire. You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. All part of the deal.”

“You’ve been in FEDRA lockup before?” Tess asks, crossing her arms.

You nod. “Once or twice. I’ve been caught by a couple other soldiers, but I have dirt on most of them. Makes it easier, but this is all part of the plan.” Your eyes dart to Joel before meeting Tess’s. “It’s fine. It’s worth it.”

Nick grabs your arm then, all business, fingers biting into your elbow. “Let’s go. Now.” His voice is louder, and you lift a brow as he pulls you back through the door. “You two, don’t move, or so help me god, I will throw you both right back through that gate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Seriously?”

He stares down at you. He’s angry, you realize. “Seriously.”

Nick yanks the door shut, Joel and Tess staring at you as it closes, and he all but pushes you down the hall to the door, out onto the road, towards the building where you’ll be for the next two days. Lockup. “There were other soldiers in there,” he mutters under his breath. “I had to make it somewhat believable.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Since the world ended, Joel will admit he’s gotten quick to judge. First impressions were hell before cordyceps ravaged the planet, but now they’re even worse, if not more important. But Joel’s met one too many terrible people, and he’s learned to be quick on the draw, quicker on his judgement.

He knows almost immediately that he does not care for Corporal Nick Cowan. At all.

Mainly, he doesn’t like the way Cowan was looking at you. He saw the way he stopped you outside the door, the two of you whispering under your breath to each other, an almost defiant look on your face. Are you two…?

He doesn’t finish the thought.

Joel’s mind has been churning from the moment he saw you, standing there in the gas station parking lot, that fucking baseball bat in your hand. Something else had taken over, something like happiness, spilling into the corners of his heart the moment he had you in his arms again. Alive, breathing, whole, right in front of him. He felt whole, for the first time in a long time, holding you like that. It felt…good.

And then you opened your mouth, and it all came crashing down.

He hasn’t forgotten. He can’t forget that night. The gunshots and the blood and the way Sarah had cried. The way he’d felt her go. It haunts his every step, her voice a constant reminder in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to tell you, if he ever found you again, and in a way, he’s grateful his brother was the one to deliver the news, but the way you’d said it, the broken apology, the tears on your face, it was too much.

It is too much.

Cowan returns not ten minutes after he’d hauled you off, and Joel gets to his feet when the door opens. The soldier gives him a look, but Joel doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this shit; the FEDRA soldiers in Baltimore were the same. “You can sit,” Cowan says, but Joel doesn’t move. Tess sinks into the chair he’d been occupying. There’s a clipboard in the soldier’s hand, and he flips the page over. “Names.”

“Tess Servopoulos.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Date of birth.”

“April 9th, 1969.”

“September 26th, 1967.”

On and on it goes, until the page is full. Cowan doesn’t look at either of them once, and then takes the scanner from his belt. He’s not gentle with it, the hard press of plastic and the following tingle at Joel’s neck making him wince. The scanner turns green both times, and Cowan scoffs.

“Well, there you go.” The soldier sighs. “Boston QZ works about the same as Baltimore. You work for the community, keep it running, earn your ration cards. Liv will tell you where to find assignments, what jobs you’re allowed to take. She’s responsible for you for now, once she’s out. You stay in her place until she comes back, and we go from there.”

“We don’t get our own space?” Tess asks, and Cowan shoots her a look.

“You wait for Liv,” he says tersely, “and we go from there.”

Joel bites his tongue.

He leads them through the QZ quickly, both hands on his rifle. Joel itches for his own gun, stashed in your hideaway, but forces his hands into fists instead. Tess gives him a pointed look. Don’t fuck this up.

It irks his brain that Cowan just knows where your apartment is. Tommy opens the door after the soldier knocks, and pulls Joel into a hug, Tess afterward. “You made it.”

Tommy steps aside to let them in, and when Joel turns back to the door, the Corporal is gone.

Good fuckin’ riddance.

“Much nicer than the shit we had in Baltimore,” Tess comments, shucking her coat off, and Joel huffs a laugh.

It’s…well, nice isn’t really the word. The flower wallpaper is something else but the place looks lived in, which already makes it better than the plain walls and nondescript shit they had in the Baltimore QZ. There’s a butterfly painted on the window, a bookshelf built into one wall, another little shelf between the two windows with a radio perched on top. The flower paper doesn’t continue along all the walls, giving way to a yellow colour, the lower two feet of the wall painted blue. There’s a big window near the bed, a tall wardrobe beside it, a cracked radiator, the bathroom tucked beside the bedroom.

Tommy makes lunch, some kind of instant mac and cheese that tastes all too familiar to Joel. But washing it down with a glass of whiskey definitely helps. Tess busies herself looking through your bookshelves, combing through the titles.

“Where did she get all this stuff?” Joel asks. The shelves are filled with books, but there are other things too, little knickknacks and candles and tchotchkes. A little elephant made of jade. Joel picks it up, rubs his fingers over the carved edge.

“If you’d been listening, on the walk back,” Tess quips, an almost sing-song to her voice, “instead of being an asshole, you’d know. She’s been doing the same shit we have. Smuggling. Looting places that have been deserted. And she’s clearly better at it than we are.”

Joel says nothing, his brow lowering as he puts the elephant back on the shelf. There’s a little glass dish on one of the other shelves, filled with rings of all sizes and metals. Wedding rings, he realizes after a moment, engagement rings.

Tess hums. Joel watches as she reaches down, rubs her thumb over the silver band on her finger.

“Who is she, Joel?” Tess asks, and a zap of cold slides down his throat. “To you. Who was she? And don’t try to bullshit me and say nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, instead of nothing, and walks away from the bookshelf. There are no doors between the different rooms, the living room and kitchen and bedroom one open space with a dividing wall. He walks towards your bed, lets his hand trail over the plaid sheets and blankets and sinks onto the edge, parks himself in front of the window.

He stays there, until the sun sets.

Two days in lockup, you’d said. You wait for Liv, Cowan had instructed.

Part of him feels like he needs to apologize. He’s going about this wrong, he knows that. But the memory of what he’s lost has risen to the surface of his mind, and made him hurt. Made him all too aware of how broken he is.

With Tess, it doesn’t matter. He cares for her — of course he cares for her — but the line in the sand is clear. It’s stress-relief, comfort, a placeholder for what they’ve lost. Tess lost Nate, and Joel lost you.

And what the fuck did he do to deserve to find you again?

Tess crawls into bed, eventually. She doesn’t say a word to Joel, doesn’t invite him to lay with her. He can hear Tommy snoring on the other side of the thin wall that separates the living room and the bedroom, his brother sprawled on the couch.

He gets to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face. The wardrobe door creaks as he pulls it open. There’s not much inside, clothing meant more for warmth than anything else, an assortment of sweaters and flannels. He knows he shouldn’t, feels a prickle of guilt up his spine as he drags his hand through the fabric. His fingers catch on something softer than the others, and he pinches blue flannel, striped with white and grey.

You kept his shirt. All this time. Held it close enough to take it with you when you left.

It makes him ache.

Joel wanders into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of whiskey from where it had been left on the worn kitchen table. It’s a mess of coffee cups, pages torn from notebooks, a collage of maps spread beneath everything else. He sees paths marked in red, on the maps, places circled and x’ed out, scribbled notes and times and dates. The kitchen sink is clean, a few plates stacked beside, evidence of Tommy’s cooking still on the stove. The fridge is slightly crooked, from when Tommy had pulled out the whiskey.

He sees it, from the corner of his eye, on the top door of the fridge. Held in place by a magnet shaped like a strawberry.

July 4th 2002

The magnet falls as he pulls the polaroid off, but he catches it before it can hit the ground. The picture is torn at one corner, the edges a little warped, but otherwise intact. He can remember that night. The warm summer air, your head on his shoulder, beer and barbecue in his belly, the awe on Sarah’s face as you all watched the fireworks together. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Joel puts the magnet back on the fridge, but keeps the picture in his hand, sinks into a chair at the table, takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

He doesn’t hear Tess until she’s sliding into the chair across from him. He says nothing, another long sip from the bottle as she pulls the polaroid from his grip. She looks at it for a long moment, smoothing her fingers over the edges before handing it back to him.

“Tell me who she is, Joel,” she says again, more of a statement than a question. “Please.”

Joel’s throat bobs. Tess doesn’t often say please.

He blows out a shaky breath. “A ghost,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “To be honest, I’m still not totally convinced she’s really here. That we’re really here.”

Tess grips his free hand, pushes the bottle away. “We are here, Joel. Liv is here.” She squeezes his fingers. “Please, I just wanna make sense of it all.” Tess pauses, leans back a little. “Did you love her?”

Joel just nods, the movement slow as molasses, making his neck ache. “Her parents owned a hardware store, back in Austin. She moved back from Michigan after she finished school, started working in the store, and I met her there. We had one summer, and then she got a job in Boston.”

“You let her go.”

His brow crinkles, and his fingers itch to reach for the bottle, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t let her stay in Austin just for me, couldn’t let her throw away her future.” He shoves a hand through his hair. He’s still holding the picture. “We spent the rest of the summer together, and then she left. Came back the next summer, and we had another two weeks.” He rubs his thumb over the photograph, the image of you leaned against him. “But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.”

“She broke it off?”

He lays the polaroid on the table, thumb still tracing your outline. “She met someone. Dean. The space was too much, for both of us. I understood. I let her go.”

“And then the world ended.”

Joel reaches for the bottle then, and takes a long swig before sliding it across to Tess. “And then the world ended.”

“So, she’s the reason you wanted to go to Boston.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Tess. “I called her that night, when everything happened. Told her to get out of Boston, that I’d find her. It was never about Boston, exactly, it was just about going East, praying that we might meet in the middle. I looked for her at every QZ, every shelter, every single time I saw a body in the street, I was looking for her.”

“But you found her,” Tess says, her voice low, and Joel forces his eyes to hers. “Joel, she’s alive. She’s right here. Second chances like this…” She trails off, shakes her head. “This kind of stuff doesn’t happen all the time, Miller, not anymore. This is…”

“If you call this a miracle, Tess, I swear to god.”

She scoffs a laugh. “No, not a miracle. But…something. You can’t—”

“I told you who she was,” he cuts her off, that same feeling rising in his throat again. What the fuck did he do to deserve a second chance with you? “Now drop it.”

“Joel—”

“Drop it, Tess.” He shoves his chair back, gets up, heads for the bed.

If she notices him take the polaroid with him, she doesn’t say anything.

Stairs are hell.

Every step makes your side scream in pain. The pressure you’ve been holding against your ribs has done little to ease the ache, and even breathing makes it worse. Your mouth tastes like blood, iron and tangy against your teeth, and you know you’re lucky as hell your cheek isn’t broken. Bruised to shit, yes, but not broken.

They were feeling feisty in lockup, worse than you’ve ever had it before. Nick left you with two other soldiers inside, muttering something about disturbing the peace. They processed you, put the charge on your record, and when another soldier came to get you, your stomach sank into your toes.

Angie.

The same soldier who’d been working the pharmacy when you’d gone to get inhalers for Henry. You hadn’t threatened her, not exactly, but you’d made it clear that you could do some damage if she didn’t give you what you wanted. The pharmacy is a no-violence zone; she couldn’t have hit you then even if she wanted to. It would get her in deeper shit than you.

But in lockup? A whole other fucking story.

She grabbed you roughly, all but shoving you through the doorway that led deeper into the building. You don’t think the building was originally like this, all cells and interrogation rooms; FEDRA must have built it themselves.

You were expecting to get shoved into a cell right off the bat, but instead, she lead you to one of the rooms, pushed you inside and yanked the door shut behind you.

“What are you—”

Your words cut off with the first slap, a hard backhand that made your head snap to the side. You grunted, grabbing the back of a chair inside the room. You had half a mind to grab the thing with both hands and launch it at Angie, but that would only extend your time in lockup.

All you could do was sit there and take it.

Her second backhand made your teeth rattle, pain sparking behind your eyes. You nearly ducked to dodge the next hit, out of instinct, but forced yourself still, tears springing forth as her fist connected with your cheek. Over and over again, you just let her hit you. She hit you hard enough that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and the chair behind you and hit the ground. She didn’t waste any time driving her boot into your side, and you just curled inwards, just took it.

You weren’t sure exactly when she left, all you knew was that the blows stopped landing, but the pain didn’t. Two more soldiers came in after, picked you up off the floor, and carried you out of the room. They put you in a cell next, gave you a bottle of water and a blanket. The fabric was mottled with blood when you finally opened your eyes, and your face ached something fierce.

You slept it off, the rest of your time inside. Ate the shitty bread when it was offered, used the water to clean the blood from your face. And then, your forty-eight hours were up, and they let you go.

Part of you expected Nick to be waiting for you outside, but you were happy he wasn’t. You didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything more.

It took ages to get back to your building. Every step outside made pain shoot through your side; you’re pretty convinced at least one of your ribs is broken. And now, fucking stairs.

You almost fall against the doorjamb once you reach your apartment, digging in the pocket of your coat for your keys. You’re fumbling with the lock when the door swings inward, revealing Tess, bright-eyed and wearing one of your t-shirts. “Jesus Christ.”

You actually fall forward then, and Tess catches you, sliding an arm around your waist and dragging you over the threshold.

“A little help here!”

Tommy and Joel are both sitting on your couch, and they both jump to their feet the moment they see you. Tommy moves before his brother, and is at your side in an instant, taking some of your weight from Tess. You’re grateful as hell, though the movement makes your side scream in pain. They bring you towards the couch, and from the corner of your swollen eye, you see Joel move out of the way, heading in the direction of your bedroom. You’re in too much pain for it to really sting.

You cry out as they lower you onto the couch. Tommy looks frantic, and Tess disappears for a moment, coming back with a wet cloth. She drags it over your cheek and you whimper.

“She’s messed up,” she says, you assume to Tommy. “They have a clinic here, right? Like in Baltimore.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “saw it when I first got here. I can go—”

You flail an arm out, your hand landing on Tommy’s leg. “Get Deanna.”

You think he nods — you hope he nods — and you hear the door bang shut a moment later. Tess wipes at your face more; guess you didn’t get as much blood off as you thought.

“Tess,” you call softly, and her eyes snap to yours. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up,” she tells you, her voice almost stern. You want to laugh. “Who did this to you? FEDRA? Cowan?”

“Not Cowan. Pissed off the wrong girl, I guess.” You actually scoff out a laugh, but it makes your ribs sing with pain. “Can’t fight back in lockup.”

Tess’s brow wrinkles. “Good to know it’s the same shit all over in some way, at least.”

You go quiet, for a long moment. Tess holds the cloth against your cheek, and you revel in the cool feeling, letting your eyes flutter shut. The pain throbs with every beat of your heart, every breath you take, but her hands are gentle, almost soft.

“Joel told me,” she says, breaking the silence that’s been filled only with your shaking breaths. “About the two of you, about…before.”

Tears fill behind your closed eyelids, and you feel them slip down your cheeks. “Doesn’t matter now,” you say, trying to shake your head but failing miserably. “He doesn’t…”

“Don’t worry about what he does or doesn’t. He’s a stubborn ass.”

“You two—”

She puts a finger on your lips, shushing you. “I said, don’t worry about it, Liv.” She shakes her head, brow pinched, moving the cloth to dab at the corner of your mouth. “Not right now.”

You hear the door open, and a moment later, Deanna’s face comes into view, hovering over you. “What the hell did you do, girl?”

“Made a deal,” you say, “but it was worth it.”

Through the thin wall, you think you hear Joel sigh, the noise long and deep.

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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ace-of-hearts-and-spades · 9 months ago

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YOU THERE!!!!!! TUMBLR USER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are YOU tired of how Tumblr treats trans people, particularly transwomen and transfemmes? Are YOU tired of how Tumblr treats people of color, particularly black folks? Are YOU tired of fandom trying to police the madeup bullshit you like to draw, write, or read about? Are YOU tired of all this fucking AI bullshit? Are YOU looking for a new online home to settle in?

Consider Pillowfort.social!

I’m not going to go into the nitty-gritty of how Pillowfort functions, because others have talked about that and explained it much better than I can (I recommend reading @/vergesm’s post here for a more general Pillowfort overview). What I’m going to do is explain what I, personally, get out of Pillowfort and why I enjoy it.

To preface, I’m not being paid to make this post or promote Pillowfort or anything. I wouldn’t think that needs to be said, but people make things up sometimes so idk. I’m writing pro-Pillowfort propaganda because I genuinely like the place and want to see it thrive. If you want to take a look at my own fort and get a feel for the place, you can do so here.

So with that out of the way – let’s talk about it!

Pillowfort is quite a bit like Tumblr, in that it’s a blogging platform, but it’s got a few things that make it better than this hellsite imo. For one thing, you can post NSFW content there. Although I don’t draw much explicit stuff, it’s nice to be able to post art there without worrying I’ll get shadowbanned for a picture that’s just a lil too suggestive. It's nice to know that the option is there. Honestly, it’s freeing not to have to worry about that shit. And it’s also really cool that there’s a built-in system for marking certain posts as NSFW, because as well as being able to mark your own posts as NSFW, you can choose whether you want to see other people's posts marked as NSFW. And for minors, the ability to see NSFW content is automatically turned off. Pillowfort’s got a really good system for both allowing NSFW content and keeping it away from people who don’t want to see it. I really like that flexibility, and how that flexibility isn't detrimental to the users.

And speaking of being able to see or not see certain content, the content filtering is pretty solid. You’re able to block tags and even words in the body of a post, and like I said, you can control whether you want to see posts marked as NSFW. You can even control who sees your own posts! There’s blocking users, of course, but you can limit who sees your own posts even further than that. You can make them visible to anyone, visible only to logged in Pillowfort users, visible only to your followers or mutuals, or hell, even visible to you alone!! It’s cool to have that level of control, and I find it reassuring to know I have those options.

Another big appeal of Pillowfort, for me, is the userbase’s strong “don’t like don’t read” policy. A lot of the people there operate under the mindset of “as long as it’s fictional, whatever dude. I don’t have to like it, but you do you." There are still dipshits, of course, but it’s WAY better than the insane purity culture that’s developed here. I don’t have to worry about some wannabe-conservatives telling me I’m just as bad as Ted Bundy for [checks notes] sexualizing Michael Myers or some shit. Plus, this general userbase mindset is backed up by actual site policy! I’ve heard that Pillowfort is very swift in responding to reports of harassment – whether it’s fandom-based harassment or bigotry. I haven’t had any experience with this personally (and hopefully it’ll stay that way), but I’ve heard good things about it, and it makes me feel more comfortable being there.

Also, did I mention Pillowfort has an explicit anti-AI policy? AI generated images and writing are banned on the website, and staff made this decision once its userbase and community made it clear that they wouldn’t welcome that sort of shit. And GOD, does it make me feel so fucking good as a writer and artist to know that.

And that’s another thing – Pillowfort staff actually fucking listens to its userbase. The website is crowd-funded and relies on subscriptions and monthly donations to keep things running. And because it relies on its community, it relies on keeping the community happy. So complaints, bug reports, suggestions and alterations and things the users would like to see on the site – it’s all taken pretty seriously. And again, it’s just really nice to know that the staff of the place actually give a shit and are looking out for its community rather than trying to suck the dick of the biggest investor.

Really, the only problem I have with Pillowfort is the fact that it’s a bit small. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because the people there are lovely. But since a lot of people aren’t happy with Tumblr, and haven’t been happy with Tumblr for some time, I thought I’d just ask you guys – maybe consider it. Consider making a Pillowfort account. Consider making your own little fort, stringing up some colored lights and cool art and making yourself cozy. Consider offering some money, if you can spare it, because it’s genuinely a really cool place that I want to spend more time in and see prosper.

So far, I’ve had a lovely time there. It’s cozy and friendly and it feels like one of the few places where a queer artist like me is actually welcome. And I think a lot of Tumblr users might really like it too.

I hope to see you there! 💜

#ace rambles #pillowfort #tumblr alternative #will this actually convince anyone? idk #i hope i can at least convince some of my moots/buddies lol #might as well shoot my shot

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abby118 · 4 months ago

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It makes me so happy to see I’m not alone here. Honestly the Loki fandom is so fucking isolating, and I feel like if you say you prefer Pre-series Loki/Loki Prime whatever….you get shit flung at you. This fandom has done a really good job at making me scared to share my opinions. (Hell, I can’t even criticize the TVA without “UWU THE TVA ARE SMOL ANGST BLORBOS WITH TRAUMA! THEY’RE LOKI’s WHOLESOME FOUND FAMILY WHO HELPED HIM!!!”) It’s helped me a little bit to remember Loki in the series is a variant of our boy, because like…he’s literally nothing like Loki in the slightest and no offense to the fans, but it feels like a majority of them haven’t even TOUCHED the previous films. (Literally saw a post calling them old and outdated.)

Thank you for this blog. 🥺

Ooh yes, mhm. It can be isolating, for sure, but I also think we're fortunate that it did split into pre and post ragnarok eras of the fandom because some fandoms die when its source material gets retconned. I definitely relate to the opinion aimed towards the new "fans"; they're one of the most disrespectful and meanest people I have had the displeasure of interacting with in fandom spaces and I've been on this site for a while now.

And no, the character in the series is not a variant of Loki. The *only thing they share is a name, which has been stolen from the original character it rightfully belongs to, with the intent of cashing in on the fans. I refuse to refer to him as the same character. *They do share the same actor too, and as much as it hurts to say it, because Tom Hiddleston has been my favourite actor since I can remember - I was literally 9 when I joined the fandom when T1 came out..(for context, I'll be turning 22 this year), I no longer relate to how he views, or seems to view, Loki. And don't get me wrong, he will always be the person who played my favourite character, that will not change, but I do not see his interpretation of Loki as my own anymore. It doesn't even match his old one. And I know I'm not alone in feeling like this.

The TVA is a topic I don't have the energy to get into but it is beyond problematic. I'll just say that, I'm sure we all know what I'm getting at there. And I wouldn't even say it "feels" like the newer people haven't touched the movies. I have spoken to a few of them and it is an actual thing, apparently. Some of them started with ragnarok...which does explain a lot...and never bothered to check the original ones. And then they complain about feeling unwelcome among the fanbase, I wonder why that is, huh? - "I feel like if you say you prefer Pre-series Loki/Loki Prime whatever….you get shit flung at you. This fandom has done a really good job at making me scared to share my opinions."

Don't listen to them. Block them. They are not interactions that would bring you enjoyment or any sort of positive feeling and that's not what fandoms are supposed to be like, trust me. If you genuinelly feel upset about people's takes and opinion aimed towards you, you have every right to avoid them. Tumblr has no algorithm and blocking is nothing but curating your experience, you don't owe anything to these people. I, myself, have done this, including filtering tags, and it is so much more peaceful than when I rejoined (beacuse I changed blogs). Still, no longer being able to go to the main tag is incredibly sad.

Find a group of people you can interact with, follow the tags that are more specific and avoid what doesn't benefit your fun here. And thank you for being here, really. Especially for reaching out 💚🖤 I'm very glad you like my blog. I'm just doing my own thing, which in my case, means trying to stay true to the fandom I loved and enjoyed (and still do) from years ago, regardless of the notes or what people say. Because, at the end of the day, all that matters is your own enjoyment. I'm trying not to post too much negativity towards post2013 despite having a lot to say because there are blogs who do that, and do so well (thank you guys), and we need one that's focused on the good things too, but sometimes it really is needed. So thank you for the opportunity.

#anti loki series #anti loki show #anti ragnarok #2011-2013 Loki supremacy #abby talks

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familyagrestefanblog · 3 months ago

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Sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.

You know what's shit?

That I always come back to work on my explanation posts on why Alya, Plagg, and Emonette being treated unfairly and being disregarded by Maribug's writing is by now pissing me off to similar degrees as her bad treatment of Chat Noir

But that always ends in a domino effect of me putting together more of the overall narrative that ticks me off so much cause my ADD brain can't NOT look for the continuous string of the writing pattern I follow once I'm at it.

You probably can imagine that this isn't very good for my mental health and the only reason why I'm still doing it is because I have a strong suspicion on what the new story arc will do with Cerise after this agonizing hiatus, and only once the actual new story arc proves me wrong can my ADD brain let this emotional investment of 7+ years in my "comfort show" since I was a 16 rest in peace.

Being neurodivergent is exhausting of FUCK...

So I always stop writing any of the posts about the other topics and come back to my Adrichat corner because that's the "safe space" my brain is the most familiar and comfortable with by now since season 4 to make a post AT ALL that isn't running the risk of leading me down 7 new rabbit holes I can't unsee anymore afterwards...

I MISS looking into several narrative threads in this show and voicing my opinions on them. In hindsight, I regret not having done it more when it was still possible, but I feel like it should have been alright in any other normally written show to have a fan blog dedicated to a specific part of the story. I feel like I shouldn't be the one in the WRONG for having done that.

Anyway, I honestly MISS the time where I knew that Maribug's benefit and comfort weren't the only things accepted as "valid" readings of the story. From both sides. Supporters and critics/salters.

Where saying anything that isn't immediately connected to Marinette's benefit and comfort didn't need a full-blown 20 page essay post going into any detail possible to fight for the right to even be taken seriously as a realistic reading of the story at all.

I know I'm not the only one upset at this, but I wonder how many people really realized by now how batshit insane this is right now. That only the most vanilla and vague-ass posts that do their best to not in anyway say something that would be "mean" and "non-validating" to Marinette can be posted now without it automatically being categorized as at least "critical" or running the risk of getting perceived as salt or wishful-thinking.

You can't point ANYTHING out anymore without at least one person running in and either saying "You just HATE Marinette and want to see her punished! You people never care about HERRRRRRRRRR (regarding a topic that isn't about her or is her fucking JOB as a narrative tool to DO)" or "Yeah, nah, the show would never let that happen because of the Marinette bias lol"

You can't even say anything anymore about Adrien's abuse without it being either undermined to all hell because of Marinette having been bullied and needing to be a girlboss who does to others what she's declared "tortured" for, or Félix "hypocrite and victim-blamer" Fathom. Gabriel being abusive was once the most basic ass thing to talk about, what the fuck happened?? (don't answer that, I know the answer...)

The whole analysis' side of this fandom that isn't catering to Marinette was either killed or basically exiled into the "critical" or outright "salt" tag because you can't even be interested in world-building anymore without having to fight for the post's right to be taken seriously under the crushing weight of Marinette's narrative benefits and comfort.

Because mademoiselle ain't fucking interested in ANYTHING lore wise beyond what's convenient for her (not to mention the retcons), so talking about the Guardian and Kwami lore for example counts as SALT now because it automatically implies for people that Marinette isn't all that matters and her flaws of not being interest in ANYTHING might actually COUNT as flaws she should work on. I know, the fucking HORROR! 😱

I MISS writing theories, analysis posts, and speculating about this shows future plots in even the most basic "set up and pay off" manner but I know I can't because my default approach is always complementary to the main character - meaning what challenges them and the narrative the most to grow, expand, and develop. This isn't a Marinette specific thing, I ALWAYS do this.

And contrary to popular belief in this fandom, I get by perfectly fine doing that for the majority of other pieces of media I consume. It is MIRACULOUS and this damn Fandom that now genuinely did it's best to convince themselves that this level of main character centric morality and revenge porn level writing is NORMAL when it's seriously NOT.

There is a REASON why this show hardly ever gets recommended on social media the way one would think despite its success. Or why the Fan backlash is so enormous despite a solid part of the Fandom already having left long ago and the young target demographic not uniformly having a voice in the social media discourse.

Or why people actively advise others AGAINST watching the show, AGAINST forming an emotional investment, and AGAINST going anywhere near the Fandom.

Cause no fucking shit, this isn't normal.

#ml critical #ml salt #ml fandom critical #ml writing critical #I just need to get this off my chest #I'm frustrated that I just failed to write about the third narrative topic this week #First Emonette then Plagg and now Alya #This hiatus is killing me #I just want to know if I'm right going forwards or if I can rest this emotional investment of 7+ years in peace after this first story arc #UGH #how the FUCK did all this escalate so fucking badly?? This is insane

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gourmet-trash · 1 year ago

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when my Real World Responsibilities chill the fuck out i would actually really like to write some of this properly, but i am just. i can't remember what blog it was on but someone talking about astarion NOT ascending but when gale DOES and i am.

hear me out, okay. fuck the actual canon of when that happens and that it's more realistic, even inevitable, that godhood would Fuck A Person Up, Actually. instead, imagine if you would, after getting (somewhat) over feeling understandably betrayed pissed about the whole situation, astarion would still not be super thrilled off the bat to be wrapped up in another person where he's so far on the lower scale in a power differential. that's not cool at all! but how do you find balance in a relationship when your boyfriend decides to go and become a fucking god???

you don't, of course, not really. even making him your chosen isn't going to fix that. BUT. you can maybe tip the scales by giving that boyfriend free reign over, oh i don't know...the actual religion you're about to inspire? religions have symbolism! color associations! hierarchies and titles! they have stupid little phrases for their followers to say to each other and ridiculous rituals and prayers to steep themselves in. their gods have dramatic monikers and their followers have asinine rules. it's complicated pageantry, but that's the kind of allure that draws people in and convinces them to donate, to devote.

and rather than let time run its natural course, let those things unravel organically as people find, interact with, come to know a new god....well why the hell should a bunch of nobodies be allowed to decide all that when astarion knows gale better than any of them anyway?

sure that means you end up with a religion where the running gag expected behavior is to wear your finest shoes to worship and to donate them at altars, and yes you end up with people earnestly saying shit to each other like "may you always find a helping hand through the stone" because...well what did you expect giving your petty ass boyfriend the freedom to decide your religion's devotions and practices after pissing him off? but you also get tenets like holding felines in the highest regard, beautiful temples that collect offerings of, yes, gold and shoes, but also books and items with fascinating enchantments and meals you've mentioned in passing.

and your chosen, your head of church, is perfectly suited and even more perfectly eager to see to it that your name, your practices, are not used to justify...certain unseemly ambitions. because you - neither of you, really - would be well suited to a passive, turn the other cheek religion. and your teachings would not miss a chance to remind your followers that your godhood rose out of the ashes of the Dead Three's Chosen. and, well. sometimes your boyfriend wants to turn something inside out, and who are you to deny him that??

#i just really love the idea of astarion building gale's religion #to be equal parts petty bullshit #and also something that he could stand to be associated with #maybe i will eventually manage to make this coherent #and put it into proper prose like i want #BUT WE SHALL SEE #bloodweave #baulder's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #gourmet trash talk

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spot-the-ableism · 3 months ago

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to this person specifically @blachernaepalace

genuinely what the fuck

why does everyone have a thing against Jewish people gee’s, I just like the way the blog is set up and the Jewish history fun facts.

And what the hell are you on about? Also your reply was blocked by the censors. (I had to go on my alt to see what you said) and Rightfully so. But what the fuck man.

and

Also @nightmaretour since when??? No genuinely curious about this!

as almost all people I know who are either mentally ill or well autistic/adhd/the other ones happily use the term, and it’s a proper term in like laws and shit.

so I’d appreciate a follow up thank you.

sorry for my responses I didn’t actually understand you at all, I had to highlight the message just now to finally get it.

Again I do have learning disabilities I can’t read everything exactly correctly, it’s why I’m disabled by it lol.

(Hi talking to an actual person with severe learning disabilities here! I Could not read until I was 10, could not write until I was 14, and couldn’t write a coherent sentence until I was 16. So please keep in mind)

most of the resources and my entire life I’ve only ever heard it used for mentally ill people and such, and for people with neurodevelopmental disorders like me since I’m also autistic, I didn’t know it was offensive sorry/srs

I’m still pretty new to all this stuff, I’m pretty used to being the one talked about, not the one talking.

who listens to people with learning disabilities and actually doesn’t call them slurs, sure as hell not been my experiences.

I was basically severely abused academically and verbally, and just this stuff is new to me.

I haven’t had much of a chance to get into learning disability culture since I was pretty isolated.

and if you @nightmaretour are taking the side of @blachernaepalace please do not interact since they are awful, and I am not bringing in I/P politics to this blog unless it directly relates to ableism.

and it does not right now.

I will be reporting @blachernaepalace comments as they are actually antisemitic, and it was horribly rude and derailing to voice those comments.

@spot-the-antisemitism

please do your thing

#cripplepunk #Spot-the-ableism | other bigotries #Why are you like this blachernaepalace screw off go harass people on your own time #Spot-the-ableism | someone else add on I don’t know enough #antisemitism tw #actually disabled #neuropunk #Not image described #no id #no id in alt text

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hopelesswritergall · 2 years ago

Note

Not sure your opinions on Bran Stark, but maybe him falling in love with the reader while they’re assorted into an arranged marriage? He grows jealous and decides he needs to keep you in Winterfell with him, so he does everything he can to make you his despite your oath of marriage to maybe a Lannister?

Or just any Bran Stark x Reader content, I love that man so much 🤭🤭

Yesss darling!! Baby I think I made it GN but if you catched a gender thingy let me know!

Summary: Bran didn’t like Y/N at first, so when their parents announced they were to be betrothed he refused. That hurts. But then Tommen came and he disliked that even more. He would show you that he is better than that bastard.

A/N: I do not follow the original storyline cause yeah no. We don’t do that here on this blog. Also fuck their winters and shit. In this story it’s just all 4 seasons in 1 year. And your house is Greenfield a (non-existing) house which is south of Winterfell and often associated with the Vale and shit.

It’s sort of very long headcanons :)

Tag list: @crownedtargaryen

Let me know if you want to be added babes

It was the summer of Bran’s thirteenth birthday, when they got the news. The Greenfield’s were coming to visit and they were bringing their child Y/N Greenfield. They were often talked about, how they would grow up to become one of the prettiest people alive. Bran couldn't care less. He just wanted to learn archery and not much more.

When the Greenfields arrived his whole family was running around making sure that everything looks perfect. "Robb, can we train this afternoon?" "Bran, we do not have the time for training, we need to prepare. Do something useful and go help father or something.” Stupid Greenfields, now they’ve ruined his weekly training session with Robb, what else are they going to ruin? On his way to his father he ran into his mother Catelyn. “Bran! What are you still doing in these clothes?! Go and put on sometching more formal! Don’t just stand here, GO!” His mother looked very nervous and it almost seemed like this visit would determine their fate as a house.

Deciding not to push the buttons of his mother even more he complied, and asked a servant to bring him some formal clothes. (You didn’t think he would do that himself now did you??). Once it was on his bed he begrudgingly put it on, already feeling as if he doesn’t really like the Greenfields one bit.

He begrudgingly went downstairs to meet with his parents. His parents, Robb, Sansa, Rickon,his adopted brother Jon and hell even Arya were dressed up. They all wore their best clothes for the visit

They all waited for the carriage to enter the gates of Winterfell and they didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes after everything gathered a carriage came into view. It was decorated with beautiful green ornaments and golden leaves on the sides.

Your father, mother and your 2 older brothers left the carriage before you and as last but definitely not least you.

“My lord stark, may I present to you. My eldest : Tobas, my second eldest: Darron. And my youngest : Y/N.” Your father spoke

“It’s a pleasure to meet you guys, really! Come on in! Let the kids get to know each other, they’ll be spending lots of time together in the future so…..” Ned spoke the last part quietly not wanting to reveal anything yet.

You stood there swaying on your feet until you spotted Bran, he looked around your age so you approached him, wanting to seem nice.

“Hi! My name is,” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he walked away. “Y/N.” You were confused as to why he suddenly walked away. You were only trying to be nice.

“Don’t pay him any attention Y/N, my name is Sansa! Come, you can sit next to me at dinner.” She joined your guy’s arms and walked with you to where you would be staying at.

Ned and your father had made plans to unite your houses when you were born. Tobas and Darron were too old to be wedded to either Sansa or god forbid Arya. But you, you were the perfect age and being born only a few months after Bran? It was a miracle.

At the dinner the announcement was made and my god was it an experience

“Ned, thank you so much for hosting this amazing dinner for us. We couldn’t be more honoured and I believe that as a host you should be the one to announce it.”

“Thank you Duncas,” Ned cleared his throat before he said the words that ruined it all for Bran. “The Starks and Greenfields will be united through a marriage. Bran and Y/N are destined to be wedded as soon as Y/N turns eighteen. Until then they will spend much time together. Let’s all celebrate this alliance!”

Bran felt like he was going to puke. He didn’t want to marry anyone and why them?! They weren’t special or anything, so he sulked and pouted the entirety of the dinner.

You on the other hand already had a feeling when your father announced that you would be visiting Winterfell. You knew that it would be good for your family and Winterfell would be an important ally. Besides Bran wasn’t that bad looking. Wink wink

“Do you hear this Y/N?! We’ll be sisters!” It seemed like Sansa was more excited than your future husband. This was off to a great start.

Over the span of the following 5 years, Bran would be 18 and you would turn 18 later that year, you were forced to spend a lot of time together. Sansa had already accepted you as her sister and you really liked her. Bran on the other hand…..

He was a CUNT. Always ignoring you, making snide remarks about your looks or manners. “No Y/N, I don’t know how you do it down south but we don’t do that here in the North.” He would always make you feel insecure, like you didn’t belong there.

Bran wasn’t the best with women and he didn’t despise you contrary what you might believe. He just didn’t really express him self that good. Alright, he was just shit at communicating and thought it would be better to just make you stay away. :)

You practically lived in Winterfell and the Starks would be receiving some royal visitors. The Queen and her son Tommen would come to visit Winterfell. You were very excited because you never met them before and heard great stories about the future king.

“Sansa! Imagine that the prince would like one of us? Then we’d become the next queen! Isn’t that just a dream?” That is what Bran overheard when he was walking around the place.

“Do you think he could end your betrothal to my brother? If he does, promise me you will remember me!” “Sansa, I will never ever forget you!”

Next day at dinner he decided to do a teeny tiny bit of questioning, did you really like the prince? Were you so desperate to get away from him?

“So Y/N, excited for the visit of the prince?” He gave you a sweet angelic look

“Yeah! I’ve heard great stories about him. Did you hear that he is great at archery and sword fighting?! Like that’s so cool!”

Bran scoffed a bit and replied snarkier than he intended “Pff well I am good with bow and arrow as well you know?”

The day of the visit

You were practically running around, trying to look your absolute best for the prince. You were very intrigued by all the stories you heard the people tell.

“Children, please come to the courtyard, they are arriving!” You could hear Ned’s voice coming from downstairs. With a last glance at the mirror, and deciding you looked amazing as usual you went downstairs.

You took your spot next to your husband to be, who looked extremely happy to see you as he always does haha not. “Good morning Bran! Excited for the visit?” You almost shined with excitement. “Cant wait.” Bran first wanted to cancel the betrothal by making you and the prince a thing. But now as he heard you speak about the prince already without ever seeing him, and now seeing you radiating with energy he started to doubt his intentions.

Could it be possible that he didn’t want to lose you?

Well no time to think about it, Tommen is leaving the carriage and approaching him and you.

“Hello Bran, very nice to see you again. But who is this beautiful person next to you? Excuse me, but I never had the pleasure to mee you I think.” Tommen extended his hand which you gladly accepted, and he planted a gentle kiss on top of your hand.

“Your grace, my name is Y/N of the house Greenfield.” You were delighted that the prince even spoke to you.

“Ah the youngest of the Greenfields, I’ve heard stories about how you are considered one of the prettiest people alive. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Alright Bran was getting more annoyed by the second now, so the little devil he is decided to meddle a bit.

“I’m so lucky to have Y/N as my betrothed,” Bran wrapped his hands around you which took you by surprise. “I really have to thank my father for that.”

“Ah so you are the man lucky enough to be the betrothed of the prettiest person? Well consider yourself lucky Bran, I know a lot of people who would think not twice before offering their hand.”

“Yeah….. Very lucky indeed.” With that the Prince left to enter the castle and settle into a room.

“Alright what the fuck was that Bran?” you hissed at him.

“Whaaattttt? Can’t I appreciate my future wife?” He replied as if he had done nothing wrong.

“Well you didn’t do anything of the sorts the past 5 years so it’s a bit suspicious don’t you think?!”

You tried to walk away but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back in. “I meant what I said just now. Thought you should know.”

With that the future lord of Winterfell left you there standing alone in the middle of the courtyard. Very confused and stunned

You never truly disliked Bran but it seemed he did for a while. So where was this coming from?

“Y/N can you help me with my hair?” That was Sansa shouting at you from the window.

“I’m coming!”

The dinner disaster

What is it with people and placing people where they do not want to be?

On the head of the table was Ned, on his left side were Cathelyn, Arya, Sansa and Robb. On the other head was Cersei. To Ned’s right were Bran, you and then Tommen.

You were placed directly between them, how awkward.

“So Y/N, what do you enjoy doing these days here in Winterfell? I can imagine that it is very different than in the Vale.” The queen spoke to you. Oh my god she acknowledged you.

“Well you highness, even though it is indeed very different from the Vale I don’t think it are bad differences. The main one I had to adapt to is that it’s a bit colder. But as to what I enjoy doing, I really like to ride my horse in the woods. I enjoy reading in our library and recently I have followed some lessons alongside Sansa and Arya in stitching. Although I don’t know if that’s my thing or if it’s too “girly” for me.”

Next to speak was Tommen. “Reading and horseback riding? So many talents in one person, I imagine that the Gods decided to not divide it evenly and that someone missed out.” He said while clearly looking at Bran with the last statement.

Bran deciding to try to ignore Tommen as much as possible spoke to you in such a kind voice you thought he was a different person. “Y/N, what did you read as last again? I remember being very intrigued by it and I would like to read it as well.”

“Oh well, it was something called The history of the Throne. It was very interesting, the stories went back to almost the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty. It also described the dance of the dragons and all that drama in great detail!” You replied back sweetly, but speaking to Bran caused you to turn your back to Tommen which he didn’t really appreciate so he spoke again.

“Aha speaking about the dance of the dragons, do you like them? And who do you think was the rightful heir to the throne?”

So you turned around again now facing Tommen. “Do I like dragons? Who in their right mind doesn’t? The rightful heir, that a very difficult question. I fully understand Rhaenyra, buuuuutt I also understand where Alicent came from. She just thought that Viserys meant their son Aegon and from that point it all became very very confusing.” Tommen was smiling at the attention, Bran however was not.

Before he had the chance to speak the Queen spoke up and you were relieved to hear someone else speak for a while. You weren’t really listening so you were surprised when you heard your name being called by her. “Y/N, darling did you hear me?” “Sorry my Queen I was a bit distracted, could you repeat it for me please?” “I asked you if you like it here in Winterfell and if you look forward to your marriage with Bran?”

Bran grew anxious, if you said no he would be fucked and lose the person he loved.The queen would probably suggest you coming along with her and then marry the prince. Wait hold on did he just think that he loves you? Nono that must be a mistake right? I don’t love Y/N, or do I?

You noticed Bran spacing out and gently placed your hand on top of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. This seemed to bring him back and he looked a bit surprised at you.

“My queen I can assure you that I’m really enjoying Winterfell and I coudnt be more excited for the wedding.” This seemed to shock almost everyone at the table, including Ned and Catelyn. Who tried on numerous occasions to change their sons mind.

“That’s good to hear. Tommen my dear, is everything okay? You look a bit pale.” All of your eyes went over to Tommen who indeed looked paler than normal, probably hoping you weren’t happy. You knew how Tommen must feel and pitied him a bit, so you leaned in close to him and whispered “I know a woman who would be lucky to meet you my prince, she is prettier than I am. Her name is Margaery Tyrell.”

Tommen instantly felt a lot better and couldn’t wait to leave Winterfell all of a sudden.

You and Bran? You guys got married the week after you turned 18, he is your little grumpy man.

#bran stark #bran stark x reader #game of thrones #x reader #game of thrones headcanons #game of thrones headcanon #brandon stark #starks of winterfell #house stark #game of thrones x reader #got imagines #game of thrones imagines

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jasntodds · 2 years ago

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Caving In [3]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,023

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, hurt/comfort, a nightmare, flirting, fluff, jason and reader trauma-bonding, talks of abuse (it’s not super detailed), mentions of food being withheld, gar feels like his trauma isn’t “enough” (unrelated to the trauma-bonding), mentions of death, mentions of drug addiction, mentions of bruises

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: So, this is the chapter where I decided to change who the fic was about because I mean hi lol so this chapter is Jason heavy 😂 I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 The first few chapters take place between season 2 episode 1 and season 2 episode 2. You can add yourself the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

The movie came to a close twenty minutes ago, Rachel already off to her room to get some sleep but Gar and Jason are still in the living room with you asleep. Gar doesn’t want to move you, he’s never been a big fan of waking people up when they’re asleep, especially when it’s obvious they haven’t slept very much. On top of that though, he’s not sure if waking you up would scare you and then you’d burn him or something. So, he figures it might be best to just let you sleep. Jason volunteered to hang out with him for a little bit anyway.

Jason looks over and his eyes just land on you. You look peaceful and kind of nice when you’re not being a snarky bitch to him. Though, he does kind of give as good as he gets not that he’d ever admit that of course. And maybe he likes that you actually have a bit of fire in your words when you talk to him. Gar and Rachel normally brush off his mean and sarcastic comments and Dick can never be bothered. You though, you play along and maybe he thinks it’s a little fun.

“Why are you staring at her, dude? It’s weird.” Gar looks away from his phone to look at Jason.

Jason shakes his head, grabbing his own phone to scroll through Twitter. “I wasn’t staring.” He mutters, his cheeks turning a bright red.

“Yeah, you were.” Gar insists. “Don’t make it weird, she’s nice and it’s cool to have someone new around.”

“I’m not making it fucking weird, man.” Jason sighs before he looks back over, glancing between Gar and you. “You gonna go for it though?” Jason raises his brows with the question, choosing to deflect.

Gar’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “I just said don’t make it weird.” Gar’s voice goes up an octave with his words. “She’s been here a day.”

Jason chuckles more to himself than at Gar. “I’m just trying to figure out the rules. You’re my friend and I don’t wanna overstep, man.” He has this grin that absolutely says he will overstep if not told otherwise.

Gar’s forehead wrinkles with Jason’s words and if it were anyone else, maybe he’d be surprised by how fast he wants this move but it’s Jason. The same guy who uses 420 and 69 (or both together) as passcodes so Gar can’t actually be too surprised. And Gar also knows that if he doesn’t answer Jason, Jason is going to do what he wants. He’s an asshole, sure, but he’s not a half-bad friend, actually.

“I don’t know.” Gar shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes. “I haven’t thought about it.”

Jason hums. “So, I can go for it then? If I want?” Jason asks and then quickly follows up with more. “Not that I do, I’m just asking.”

“Right.” Gar deadpans and you aren’t an article of clothing they’re swapping because it’s nice or something.

You’re a living breathing human being who has the right to make your own decisions. Of course, Gar knows that’s not what Jason is getting at during this or anything. He’s asking if he can flirt or try to actually get with you if you’re interested but it doesn’t make Gar feel any better. You’ve been here a day and maybe Gar just wants you to settle in before Jason jumps down your throat about it. And, to be completely fair, Gar does think you’re very pretty but he actually wants to take the time to get know you before he decides if he’d even be interested. He’s just here having fun learning to be a Titan.

“Maybe we just let her come to us if she’s interested.” Gar proposes, a partial way to get Jason to drop it. “After, she actually gets settled.”

“Hey,” Jason defends himself, but his voice is still quieter than it normally is. “It’s just a question, she seemed to be comfortable around you is all.” Jason glances to you once more before going back to his phone. “Obviously.”

“Can we drop this? She is right here.” Gar slightly shifts in his seat, not enough to wake up you.

“She’s asleep.” Jason scoffs before looking back at Gar who just looks annoyed. “Alright, damn chill out. I’ll leave her alone for a while.”

Gar nods, not having anything else to add on the topic and Jason drops it. The boys go back to their phones and have some conversation here and there about Twitter threads and TikToks they find. Nothing substantial really comes from any of it but both of them enjoy the time. Gar actually likes hanging out with Jason like this, he hasn’t had a best friend in a long time and this feels normal to him. Turning into a tiger usually makes him feel a little freakish, especially after spending so much time at Doom Manor where they were pretty much described as freaks. It was hurtful, he just wants to be normal and having movie nights with Jason and Rachel feels normal.

It doesn’t matter how much trauma any of them have when there’s a movie on and they’re just hanging out. It’s just them and when it’s him and Jason, that’s all there is. Normalcy. Even with you, a new girl, sleeping on him. In a way, it even feels a little comforting with you laying your head on him because he’s not a scary tiger. He’s just a boy.

After another half hour, Jason leaves Gar to head to the training room. Gar tried to convince him to go to bed but Jason doesn’t listen to anyone so now it’s just Gar and you. He’s getting tired himself and he’s heavily debating on waking you up so he can go in his own bed. But, the debate doesn’t last long because suddenly, you shoot off of his shoulder, heaving for air. You sit forward, eyes wide as Gar slightly jerks away from you as a reflex.

“Are��are you okay?” He asks, leaning back over and forward to get a look at your face.

You suck in a breath, your chest heaving with every breath and your heart pounding. You barely even comprehend you’re still in the living room when Gar asks you the question. All you can do is nod and try to breathe. This is really going to be your life now? Tortured in reality by a psychopath and now tortured in a dream state by the same fucking psychopath? How the fuck is that fair? You finally escaped only to be haunted by your dreams in a place you actually kind of, sort of, feel safe in.

“Nightmare?” Gar asks, not moving from his position.

You turn your head to the right to look over your shoulder back at Gar. “Y-yeah.” You nod softly before looking forward, shaking your head. “Sorry.”

Gar’s brows furrow. “For what?”

“Uh…” No one’s asked you what you’re sorry for before. You’re always supposed to be sorry for either getting angry or upset or having a smart-ass comment. There’s always something you’re supposed to apologize for. “Falling asleep, falling asleep on you….” You pause. “Nightmare.”

“You,” Gar leans forward some more, a little closer to you to try and offer you comfort in the only way he knows how. “You don’t have to be sorry for any of that. It’s okay.”

You glance over at him and the way he looks at you make you feel like porcelain. Fragile and weak. It’s not a feeling you like very much. But his eyes are warm and kind, so kind that they make you want to tell him your whole life story without ever coming up for a breath of fresh air. And it makes you feel warm.

“Do you wanna talk about it? Sometimes it helps.” Gar offers with a welcoming but small smile.

You look over to him again, your eyes dodging his this time. You can feel the flame in your belly flickering, it wants to go out so bad. It’s been wanting to go out the last few months, the last few months you were held. At the beginning, it was bonfire in your stomach. The second even a drop of gasoline were to land, it would all blow. But the gasoline never dripped or spilled. It sat in the corner and taunted you and the flame died down. And you’re so tired of it.

You want the fight back and maybe talking about it would help you feel better but you don’t want to feel better. You want to be pissed and angry and furious and you want the fucking fire back so you can hunt the bastard down yourself. But then you look at Gar again and he’s soft. It’s like you’re this tea light and he’s a glass lamp over you. Not burning out the flame but keeping it going just enough to function.

“Um…” You pause, leaning back against the couch. “It’s just….uh…i-it’s like I’m back there again.” You admit. “A-and he-he’s right there.” You stutter while Gar watches. “J-just f-fucking taunting me, k-knowing I-I can’t do anything. Fuck.” You swallow hard, not even realizing you were practically holding your breath.

Gar turns in his spot so he can better face you, never moving away from you. “What happened?” Gar asks calmly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Gar adds on, never wanting you to feel pressured about it.

You hang your head, then shake it. He’s going to give you the look. The pitiful look you got when your mom died. It’s the same look everyone always gives, you’re guilty of giving the look, too but it makes you shift and it make you feel uneasy. You get it, feeling bad for people who experience trauma. It’s natural but you don’t find it comforting and maybe you would find it easier if he had something snarky to say. Make it easier with humor, it’s what you do anyway.

“W-what’s the worst thing you’ve heard someone go through?” You ask, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands.

Gar sighs, thinking about it but he didn’t think very long before he starts talking, thinking maybe if you know what he’s seen and heard, it’ll make you trust him enough to talk to him. “Rachel, probably.” He answers honestly. “Her mom, who wasn’t her real mom, was shot in front of her. Then, she was locked away,” Gar says. “Only for a few hours but locked away for her powers.” He adds in. “Then,” He pauses and your brows go up in surprise. “We found her real mom who convinced her to bring in her demon dad to save my life. He possessed all of our friends and then got them to almost beat me to death in front of her.” Gar lists, reliving all of it in quick images. “Trigon,” You look at him quizzically. “Demon dad.” Gar clarifies. “Killed her real mom and then Rachel killed him.”

You sit there for a second and you really thought you had it bad. Of course, what you went through was still terrible but you do not want to play trauma Olympics with Rachel that’s for damn sure. But, Rachel seems okay, weirdly enough. You aren’t sure how long ago all of that was but Rachel does seem okay and even happy which gives you the one thing you haven’t had in months. Hope.

“Well…okay.” You nod slowly, taking in the information.

“Oh!” Gar says, remembering to add more. “We were also being chased by people who were trying to kill her because of her powers.” Gar lets out a breath, his nonchalant add-in almost makes you laugh. What the fuck?

You blink a few times. “I….I don’t even know what to say to all of that.”

“Yeah,” Gar chuckles softly. “It was pretty crazy.”

“No fucking shit.” You laugh softly. “That’s fucked up.”

Gar nods. “Yeah, but she’s okay now.” Gar assures you.

“She seems to like it. This place help?” Your eyes glance to your hands and then back to Gar.

Gar nods once more. “Yeah,” He shrugs a shoulder. “I think it does.”

It’s helped him a little bit. But, he doesn’t think his trauma is worth talking about. It’s not as bad as Rachel’s or yours. It was a disease, sure his was different, but it was a disease and people get diseases all the time. Some people live and some people die because that’s how it works. He turns into a green tiger but is that really trauma? In the grand scheme of the conversation? Gar doesn't really think so. So, he keeps the idea of the Tower and the people helping him cope to himself.

“I-it was just…hell.” You suck in a breath, deciding to tell him a little bit. “I was there for a while and this,” You gesture over your face. “Was pretty normal.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “I-I, uh, I-I thought he was gonna…kill me for a while.” You swallow. “I think he wanted to.”

“I’m sorry.” Gar’s brows knit together with sympathy and there’s the look.

You can’t handle the look, not from him. Clearly, he’s seen and heard a lot but now maybe you don’t want to burden him with your shit. He’s been through his own and clearly knows Rachel’s, you can only assume he knows some of Jason’s shit, whatever it is. To you, Gar seems like the person everyone goes to with their problems and you don’t want to stick that burden on him. Not with eyes as caring and gentle as his. It breaks your heart to even be sitting here telling him anything. So, you quit.

“Um…” You shake your head “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna talk about it.” You shut down and Gar just nods.

“It’s okay.” Gar assures you as you get up from the couch.

“I’m…I’m gonna walk.” You fake a smile at him. “Clear my head. Thanks for letting me sleep, Gar.”

“If you need to talk, you can talk to me.” Gar stands up with you, worried he overstepped. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No.” You cut him off quickly. “You didn’t…it’s not like that. I….just. It’s so fucking fresh and you….” You suck your teeth, brows furrowing together as if you’re in pain. “You make me feel normal and I don’t wanna ruin that.” You divert your eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry…thank you.” You look back up at him before turning on your heels and head into the left hallway, disappearing into the shadows.

Gar watches you disappear, kicking himself. He thinks he made it worse. He’s just trying to be there for you but he’s slowly figuring out that that’s not something you want. Not in the talking about-it way, anyway. It’s like you just want to be distracted from it all which Gar can’t blame you for. He can only really imagine what happened from his and Jason’s little bit of research and what information you did give him. His heart aches for you but he’ll never push you to tell him anything. Instead, he goes to his room but he leaves the door cracked just in case you change your mind.

You find yourself wandering the halls until you reach the training room. There you find Jason back at the punching bag. You pull out the phone Dick gave you earlier today and it’s three in the morning. Suddenly, you feel even worse about falling asleep on Gar given how late it is. But, you choose not to focus on the guilt in your stomach and instead on Jason. You stand in the doorway, confused why he would train at this hour. Is he insane?

“Do you ever stop training?” You ask, arms crossed as you’re leaning against one of the sliding doors.

Jason jumps, spinning around quickly. “Fuck, how long have you been standing there?” Jason almost yells at you.

You snicker with a shrug. “Few seconds.”

“What do you want?” He asks and he’s as snarky as ever which makes you happy. It’s like he treats you normally. Not that the others don’t but you can tell it’s like they’re tip-toeing but Jason doesn’t.

You walk in just a few feet, looking around before looking back at Jason. “Was just walking around.”

“That’s fucking weird.”

Jason didn’t expect to see you for the rest of the night. He kind of figured if you woke up, you’d just go to your room, not walk around. Or maybe, you’d be with Gar but you’re here in the training room with him. And maybe despite the snarkiness, he wants you to stay. Maybe the comments will make you want to stay, for entertainment. You seem to like the challenge.

“You’re the one punching a bag at three in the fucking morning. You’re being weird, dude.” You snark with the raise of your brows and Jason deadpans before returning to the bag.

You watch him a little longer and this is your opportunity to ask him to help you. No one else is here and you can only assume Gar went to bed so it’s just you two. He’s clearly dedicated so maybe he’ll want to help anyway. If not, you figure you’ll just hold the little bet over his head.

You close the distance, walking over toward the punching bag. “You’re so….”

“Charming?” Jason glances at you as he punches the bag. “Amazing?” He punches again. “Hot?” He flashes a cocky grin and you sigh.

“I was gonna say snippy, actually.”

“You’re fucking annoying you know that?” Jason snarks.

“Mmm.” You click your tongue a grin pulling at your lips as you point a finger at him. “There it is.”

“Seriously, what do you want?” Jason stops, facing you with annoyance.

“Train me, Dick said I’m not ready.” You hold your head up, crossing your arms across your chest.

Jason pauses, the question catching him off guard. You don’t actually look like you’re in any condition to train, not that Jason really ever agrees with Dick. Bruce doesn’t think he should be Robin but Jason knows he’s ready to get back to it so in a way, Jason understands why you’re asking. Feeling ready, but the adults want to think they know what’s best. It’s shitty. But Jason likes a good fight.

“What happened to you?” The snarkiness leaves his voice as he nods his head up at you and you’re taken aback. Jason, not asking a snarky question? Now, that’s weird.

“Why do you wanna know?” Your voice is level, eyes slight narrowed.

Jason pauses. He’s actually just curious. He knows his motive for wanting to train harder and better and faster than everyone else but what’s yours? Unless yours is going after whoever did whatever it was to you. But now you have powers so you could just take them out with those. You don’t need the combat, really. Jason just wants to know and maybe he has a little more stake in it. He does care about it, even though he acts like he doesn’t. He’s not completely heartless. Plus, maybe it’ll give him bonus points.

“Curious.” Jason shrugs, eyes glancing from your socks to your face.

“You just wanna see all the trauma?” You raise and Jason shrugs, his brows raising quickly as if to be saying ‘why not’ and his nonchalant attitude with the mix of snark gives you enough reason to challenge him a little but take the risk in having to spill. You take a few steps towards him. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” You close the small distance between you standing just an inch away from him. Jason’s breath hitches in his throat for just a second as he looks to you. The look in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine and he’s ready to play the game.

“Asked you first.” Jason doesn’t move from his stance, instead he holds still, looking at you with his eyes locked on yours and he sees a grin coming to your face.

“Alright,” You take one step back. “But don’t make it all emotional or some shit.” You plop down on the floor in front of him, sitting with your legs crossed, Jason taking a breath finally.

He said he wouldn’t. He told Gar he’d leave you alone for a little while but what is he supposed to do when you initiate it? Jason is not gonna back down from that. And, he thinks it’s fun. You play the game and lean into the challenge instead of backing away. It’s only when Jason goes to play, too that you switch it up like a game of cat and mouse. It’s thrilling a little.

Jason chuckles but follows your lead. “You always sit on the floor?”

“You always in here?” You quip.

“Shut up.” Jason shakes his head but a smile still tugs at his lips. “So, spill your guts.”

“It’s not getting that deep, bud.” You scoff but match the smile.

This is what you were thinking when talking to Gar. Gar makes it feel vulnerable, talking about it. That’s not how you want to feel about it. You want to feel strong and fiery. It’s not Gar’s fault, you can tell it’s because he just really, truly cares and feels bad about whatever it is. But, Jason, it’s like he cares but only out of curiosity not because he’s trying to save you or help you.

“Mom was killed by the Joker,” You start, gauging Jason’s face as you talk. “Dad’s a meth addict, a great parental figure obviously.” You say sarcastically. “Went into foster care, Jerry.” You grimace with his name and you try to dodge the feeling of agony and fear when you say his name. “Was my foster dad if you can even call him that.” You scoff. “He wanted to make superhumans. He used me as a test subject, I think for himself to see if anything would work. I had so many things injected I lost count over the year. He kept me chained in a basement and because none of that was quite bad enough, the fucker decided to beat me, too when I didn’t show signs of powers. He’d withhold food, all that shit. I survived mostly off of chicken noodle soup. He beat me so bad, I guess he thought I was dead and dumped in an alley and now I’m here.” You keep your voice nonchalant and steady, listing off your past like some recap of a sitcom.

Jason keeps his eyes on you and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s rare to get him speechless but here he is, without a single word in his head. How is he even supposed to respond to that? It just sounds terrible and horrifying.

“How long did he keep you like that?” He settles on the question, knowing talking about the events in Gotham is a sore spot for him.

“A year, I think. Lost track a bit.” You answer with a shrug, silently begging him to have something snarky or sarcastic to say because now it’s all too real and you wish you could turn back the clock and not say anything.

“That’s fucked up. He’d just experiment on you and fucked you up cause he could?” Jason asks as if not really believe what he’s hearing. People are terrible.

“Mhm.” You hum.

“Fuck that guy, he’s a piece of fucking shit, alright?" There’s a fury in his voice this time and it makes you smile just a little bit. He’s not sorry, he just thinks Jerry is a shitty person.

“No shit.” You huff.

“It worked though, he gave you powers. Why the fuck wouldn’t you have used them?” Jason’s expression changes to confusion. “I’m not blaming you.” Jason defends his words, feeling like it might have come off a bit like victim blaming. “I’m just curious.”

“I was afraid he’d kill me knowing that it worked. I…uh, I learned how to stay calm when he’d come at me so I pissed him off really bad a few days ago. The calmer I was, the more angry he’d get.”

“You got him to do that to you on purpose?” Jason practically yells.

He’s not sure what he expected, really. He kind of just thought it got too bad one day. It lead you to that alley. He didn’t think you actually got someone to do that to you.

You nod, a feeling of shame taking over. “I couldn’t escape any other way. I knew if I could piss him off really really bad, he’d come at me like never before. I could pretend like he killed me or put me into a coma, caused a massive brain bleed, ya know? Something, he would dump me somewhere. It was that or he was gonna kill anyway.” You pause. “Backfired a little, he did come back and I guess thought throwing a few more punches would wake me up.”

“You just played dead the whole time?” There’s a pain in Jason’s voice and he thought this could turn into something of fun, quick-witted jokey conversation but he just feels like you kicked off a cliff.

“Oh, no, I was actually knocked unconscious most of the time while all of it was going on.” You nod casually.

“Fuck.” Jason lets out a breath before continuing. “That’s kind of badass though.” Jason states giving you a grin, you shaking your head and jerking backward in confusion. “You just took him beating the fuck outta you. That’s fucking crazy.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, dude’s got a hell of an arm and a kick, a-fucking-parently.” Jason’s brows raise as if to be asking for context. “Found more bruises when I showed today, got a nice boot print on my back.” A scoff leaves the back of your throat.

“Fuck that guy, alright?” Jason says, growing angry at the conversation. Who does that to someone for no reason? He kicks ass every night in Gotham as Robin but those people deserve it. What did you ever do to this guy who was supposed to protect you and keep you safe? It’s not right. “He’s a piece of shit and you didn’t deserve that shit. I'll hunt the monster down for you if I have to.”

You furrow your brows. “That’s a kind offer.”

“I’m fucking Robin!” Jason tosses his hands out, gesturing into his chest and outward again. “It’s my job to hunt those dickweeds down!”

You let out a genuine laugh. He is pretty funny actually and he’s not the Robin that let the Joker kill your mom. You actually think Jason would kill the bad guys if he were allowed to. “Mhm.” You hum. “Which is why you’re the best Robin.”

“You think so?” Jason asks, the joy in his voice makes you giggle. “I know I am but Dick and Bruce...” He pauses for a second. “They don’t think so.”

“Well, Dick and Bruce don’t know shit.” You hold your head up high, and you truly think Jason is the better Robin. You’ve seen the YouTube videos.

“Thanks.” Jason offers a sincere smile. “That why you wanna train? Hunt him down yourself kind of deal?”

“Yeah, if I ever see the piece of shit I don’t wanna give him the satisfaction of knowing it worked. I wanna beat the fuck with my bare fucking hands like he did to me.” There it is, the fire you’ve been looking for. You want him to suffer at your own hands. No one else, just you and him and you want to watch everything he worked for crash around him. You want him to be bloody and bruised and beaten like you have been for a year.

“Good, he fucking deserves it. Dick will probably hunt him down if you tell him.” Jason informs you. “He used to be a detective and he worked a lot of cases with shitty parents. I think he went out as Robin and kicked their asses.”

You smile. “Good, people who beat kids deserve what’s coming.” You laugh softly, stretching your legs out beside Jason’s and leaning back on your hands. “Your turn.”

Jason nods, pulling the leg furthest from you up so his foot is on the floor and his knee is bent while he leans back on his hands. “Dad was killed by Two-Face, mom’s a smack addict, uncle drank himself to death.” Jason rambles off as if it were nothing and your eyes squint for just a second. You’re nonchalant because it’s easier that way. Is it easier for him to be like this, too? “Gotham, right?” Jason scoffs, looks down and away from you.

“Special kind of fucked up there.” You say, not looking away from him. “I’m really sorry.” You say, your heart aching for him, something you didn’t really expect given the banter between you. “How’d you get here then?” You ask, instead of asking for details about those he lost knowing you don’t like to talk about it and assuming he probably doesn’t either.

“Caught stealing the hubcaps off the Batmobile.” Jason chuckles, his cocky grin back on his face as he looks to you, clearly proud of himself. He expects you to be impressed with his courage to steal from Batman of all people. But that’s not what your face is telling him.

Your eyes narrow and then you look up before squeezing the bridge of your nose. “Hubcaps.” Your voice is exasperated, eyes closed before looking back at him. “Fuck.”

Jason laughs, knowing what the expression is now. “What? You robbing cars?” He shakes his head. “Nah, you gotta get the hubcaps, more likely to get money from that. Less likely to get caught, too.”

“Fuck you. You got caught, too!” You glare at him.

“Because it was the fucking Batmobile.” Jason tilts his head back with a laugh. “He didn’t wanna press charges, instead, he took me in.”

“Oh, to have been so lucky.” You snark with the roll of your eyes.

“Yeah…” Jason sucks in a breath. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” You scoff with a smile. “I wish I would have been smart enough to rob the Batmobile!”

“Everyone says it was dumb.” Jason scoffs.

Bruce said it was dumb, the cop said it was dumb, Dick, Gar, Alfred, everyone but every single one of them completely neglect the need to survive. Jason's been in and out of the system his entire life. He got lucky that he didn't end up like you in all of the time he was in the system. It was lucky. He lived on the streets, no job, no GED, no diploma, he had nothing. Stealing the hubcaps off cars was how he got money for food. The Batmobile? He knew he'd get more money for it. No one wants to talk about why he did it, just that it was "dumb".

“Well, you got to move in with Batman and even if you succeeded, you would have gotten money. That’s a win-win.” You give him a smile and a laugh because you really wish you would have done it. You get it, you’re the one who gets it.

“What I said!” Jason defends.

“So, that it? Parents and guardians suck?” You pause. “So…why're you here then? I think you're a great Robin, seems a bit weird you're here." You question because you want to know what he did. If stealing hubcaps wasn't Bruce's red flag, what was it?

Jason’s face grows something sad and you’re watching, not sure what he would be sad about. He seems so happy about being Robin. What is there to be sad about? Dick said Bruce wasn’t the best, but was it that bad? Is the guy who dresses up as Batman every night actually a horrible person? Is it all just a show?

“He’s making me take a break.” Jason looks to the ground, his face settling somewhere between annoyed and sad.

You nod. “Ah, what’d ya do?”

“Well,” Jason sighs, running a hand through his hair. “There was the joyrides in the Batmobile and then riding a motorcycle in the manor.”

“I-you…I don’t know what to unpack first. Batmobile or the motorcycle. Why? For both, I guess?” You question.

Why would he risk that? Getting thrown back to the streets or worse? You run the questions through your head but you don't need to ask him because you know. It's what he does. It's what you do. You’re asking Jason to go behind Dick's back, knowing that Dick doesn't have to let you stay. It's a risk and sometimes the risk is worth it. Maybe it's genetic, to be some sort of fuck up. Or, in this case, maybe it's just environmental.

Jason shrugs. “Seemed fun, I guess.”

“You know what I think.” You point a finger at him and Jason deadpans but gestures a hand out for you to proceed. “I think he doesn’t give you enough attention.”

“You a fucking shrink now?”

“Fuck no.” You chortle. “Just an observation. Seems like you like a lot of attention.”

"And why the fuck do you think that?"

"You're a smart-ass." You chuckle as if it should have been obvious. "The risks you take, the fact everyone has something to say about you tells me you intentionally start the shit so they do talk about you. Talking about you in any context is better than being forgotten." You explain and Jason just watches you growing annoyed. He thinks he's so hard to figure out but you have him pegged in five minutes.

"Fuck you." Jason huffs. He does not like being analyzed.

"No one wants to be forgotten." Your voice is quiet and the annoyance suddenly leaves Jason with your tone. You notice the way he looks at you, not with sympathy or pity but with a genuine understanding and you deflect. "And if you keep saying fuck you, I might take you up on it." You wiggle your brows at him and Jason's jaw opens slightly, feeling as if he's just gotten whiplash.

He can play this game. He won't let you get one over on him. This is Jason's game to play and win.

"Fuck. You." Jason taunts you, leaning forward slightly.

You think it's funny. You’re just messing with him but the way he doesn't even bat an eye at it, it energizes your blood in every way. Talking and messing with Jason makes you feel so normal. He doesn't do that little dance thing that Gar does, where he's so worried about stepping on your feelings. Jason just blurts shit out and calls your bluff. It's fun.

"Tell me how you really feel." You challenge him.

Jason wants to go there because he doesn't think you'll commit to it. Maybe you'll pull away or laugh but he'll have won because he didn't back down first. It's like this silent game you're playing and Jason can't tell who the ringmaster is. He swears up and down it's him, but you take the challenge and maybe he's a little worried you'll win.

You make him feel....not useless right now. He has felt useless since being sent here. Dick didn't want him to stick around and help but he kept Rachel and Gar around. He couldn't stop Trigon, he never even stood a chance. But, with you, you don't know any of that shit. It's just you two with no expectations of anything. It's the two of you and your trauma bonding and this little game. He wants it to be a long game though, drag it out and see who wins then.

"I don't think you like attention." Jason states, your brows furrowing and you didn't expect him to be the one to back down.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re awake when no one else is. You choose Gar to hang out with. I'm guessing you did a lot of the crime at night and not just because it was easier. It's Gotham, day crime is also pretty fucking easy. Guessing you haven't told anyone else what happened because you don't want them to look at you.” Jason explains in the same way you did but this time, with a bit more bite in his voice.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. Maybe you’re also a bit transparent around him. “Mmm who’s the wanna-be shrink now?”

“Fuck off.” Jason chuckles. “Have you told anyone else? About what happened to you?”

You shake your head. “No, uh…” You furrow your brows, shaking your head once more. “I almost told Gar but….he makes it….too…”

“Real?”

“Yeah and vulnerable. Dick’s too serious about it and I haven’t talked much to Rachel. You always have a smartass comment though. Makes it feel more like a joke. And....we have Gotham in common, ya know?”

Jason nods with understanding. He doesn’t really like talking about any of it either. None of it really. It’s why he always says it so nonchalantly. It’s easier to brush it all off than boil in the feelings of sadness and regret. It’ll eat him alive if he thinks too much about it.

“Yeah, you make it easier, too.”

“Was that something nice you just said?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jason groans. He nods his head up at you quickly. “How bad are the bruises?” You raise one brow at him. “I’m not a complete fucking asshole, alright? I don’t actually want you to get hurt.”

He’s thinking of caving. He gets you and you get him. Jason doesn’t have confidence about where this will go by any means but he’s confident he can trust you. If it were Jason, he’d never fucking quit if he were told he couldn’t train. He’d be training recklessly if he had to. You, at least had the brains to come and ask him for help. You’re not dumb, you’re desperate and Jason gets it. But he doesn’t want to contribute to your injuries if they’re that bad.

You think for a few seconds. They’re not great. Most of them are a deeper shades which means they’re further away from healing but you have a few older ones that have turned lighter in color. You know those aren’t the ones him and Dick are concerned about. And you could lie to him, it’s not like he’s going to pin you down and check for himself. But that doesn’t really feel right. Especially with him being nice to you and honest.

“What’s your definition of bad?” You ask, just trying to see how well you need to answer his question.

“Do they hurt?” Jason asks, not sure how to answer it.

“Well, yeah they’re bruises.”

“You know what I mean.” Jason groans.

“Yeah, they hurt. Like walking kind of hurts and bending certain ways hurts.”

“And you wanna fucking train and make it worse?”

“Do you ever rest? If you get hurt being Robin, do you rest or do you train?”

“Fine.” Jason groans, knowing he’s lost the battle. “But you know you’re not gonna run into the guy this week, right? The tower is secure so you don’t have shit to worry about.”

Jason caves. Training helps him deal with the bullshit. It makes him feel like he has a purpose. Being Robin is the one thing he does really well and it makes him feel like he belongs somewhere, something he’s never felt before. All the bullshit that happened before, it doesn’t matter when he’s Robin and when he’s training. He wants to give that to you.

“I know but I wanna be prepared. I wasn’t prepared last time.” You answer honestly. You will never let anyone do that to you again.

“You’re fucking crazy, ya know?” Jason chuckles softly.

“So are you, bud.” You get up. “Well, good talk. Lots of trauma bonding, but I’m gonna try to go tot bed.” You opt to end the conversation just in case he changes his mind but you’re a little disappointed. You do enjoy talking to him. Just like this.

Jason pauses for a second, looking up at you. You’re a human person and you have similarities in your traumas. It’s a little refreshing in a fucked up kind of way. No one else really gets it because it’s different, having a parent actively abandon you is different than dying. In a way, Jason thinks it’s worse. His mom picked drugs over him. He wasn’t good enough to love, by his own mother, and the only one who’d actually get that here is you. But, he knows that you might also benefit from actually talking about it with someone who can offer some actual support about it. It did help when he talked to Gar about it once.

“You should talk to Gar.” Jason says from the floor as you were on your way out.

“About?” You turn to look at him.

“What happened to you.” Jason gets up from the floor.

“Why?” You think it’s a bit weird to bring that up and now. You both just said it’s weird making it feel vulnerable and real.

Jason shrugs. “Might help, dealing with it.” He sucks in a breath as if it’s hard for him to even say. He hates talking about it but Gar will just listen. He’s the one person Jason has actually had a heart-to-heart to about it.

“Afraid I might…break him.” You laugh softly. “Ya know? Like he’s already seen some bad shit and he is…. unfathomably kind. I don’t wanna ruin him.”

Jason huffs but there’s a smile peaking onto his face. “He looks at the ligature marks on your wrists whenever you’re not tugging on your sleeves. Whatever he’s imagining happened to you is always going to be worse than what actually happened.” Jason says, his voice a bit flat and you can see this is a struggle for him to say and you wonder why.

“Like in horror movies. Choosing not to show the violence because what we imagine will always be scarier.”

“Yeah, I’m just saying, he’s a good listener if you just wanna be pissed about it.” Jason chuckles. “He’ll let you bitch about it.”

You smile at him and shake your head. Everyone here wants to talk so much shit about him which hey, maybe he deserves usually. But, you see through his bullshit because you do the same shit. It’s not cold-hearted, it’s a coping mechanism. A way to protect yourselves from getting hurt again. You get him, you get it and it makes you happy because he gets you, too.

“You’re not so bad, Jason Todd.” There's a genuine sweetness to your eyes as you say it and Jason doesn't believe it.

“I am the best.” He opens his arms, palms up, the arrogant smile beaming.

You roll your eyes, feeling bubbles and butterflies in your stomach. “Yeah, sure, goodnight, Jason.” You emphasis his name as you turn to leave and it sends Jason’s heart spinning.

“Goodnight, Y/n.” His voice is actually kind as he watches you leave.

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theroseceleste · 4 months ago

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Pilot Miguel - Part 14 - Taking Out The Trash

It's confrontation time with Xina - much to Miguel's annoyance...

Word count - 3718

MINORS DNI

Contains : Dramatic confrontation, suspicion of cheating, exchange of harsh words. Smut - penetrative sex.

This is the last official chapter of Pilot Miguel. BUT if you have any suggestions of what you'd like Miguel and the reader to get up to - travel or... ahem... otherwise... be sure to let me know in the comments and I'll see what I can do. So enjoy part 14!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

If you enjoy this fic, please consider liking, commenting or re-blogging. Many thanks xx

Miguel has gone from having a wife, to living alone after getting divorced, and then now housing not one but two women in his large apartment.

He finally meets the heavily talked about friend of yours, Ashley, as she carries in just a couple of boxes full of her necessities to put in the spare room, where she’ll be sleeping for the foreseeable future.

She greets him with a friendly smile and a firm shake of a hand as she finally sees for herself the sheer height and build of the man you call your boyfriend.

As usual, Miguel seems slightly reserved at first when meeting your best friend. But over the coming days he adjusts to her presence and starts to settle down as if it was just him and you in the apartment again.

It feels good to have company in his penthouse again. His home had become far too big for just himself, and for once he felt small. Better still, he has company in his bed. Someone to hold onto at night. Someone to listen to breathing deeply while sleeping peacefully. Improving his mood even more is that Xina has fallen silent since he took you to New Jersey. Perhaps she has finally got the message…

While he is enjoying the company, he does have to practise some restraint. He can’t simply smother you with kisses, curled up on the sofa of an evening while Ashley sits there too. But he saves it all for the bedroom. Showering you with his love and undivided attention there instead, while you giggle or moan with pleasure - depending on what he’s doing.

One day, you and Ashley are out investigating a potential new flat, while Miguel brings home groceries. He can’t deny feeling slightly wounded that you’re still considering moving out with Ashley once you’re both ready. He had hoped you’d want to stay with him. Maybe you think it’s still too early in the relationship to consider living together…

As he emerges from the lift outside his apartment, his somewhat pleasant mood plummets like a lead balloon. Xina stands there, waiting for him; looking relieved to see him alone.

“I need to talk to you…” she begins, hands nervously fiddling together.

“No you don’t,” he replies as he fishes his keys from his jeans pocket.

Turning the key in the door, he pushes it open and tries to slip in without her following, however his large build doesn’t exactly help with that.

Like a magnetic attraction, Xina sticks behind closely, sneaking through the doorframe in his wake and enters his apartment.

“Tch…” Miguel tuts with annoyance as he glares at his ex-wife.

“I really have to talk to you. Please will you just listen to me?”

Taking the groceries into his kitchen, he starts to unpack the food.

“You’ve got five minutes, then you’re out.”

Miguel doesn’t even look at Xina as she enters the kitchen. His disinterest is evident on his face. He feels he’s going to regret giving her the time of day, but if he listens; maybe she’ll be more willing to leave once she’s said her piece.

“Is she pregnant?”

He pauses and looks up at his ex-wife. Finally, he rests his hands on the kitchen counter, mind racing trying to work out how she knew about the pregnancy scare.

“Firstly, what the hell gave you that idea? And, secondly, (Y/N) is not pregnant.”

Xina frowns, something’s not adding up…

“Then explain why you ordered a baby grow on our shared Amazon account?”

Damn it… That was something he’s been meaning to sort out for a while… He takes out his phone and starts to explore the Amazon account settings. Yep, she’s still there. Not for much longer… A simple tap on the screen unlinks her from his account before he locks the device and faces it down against the countertop.

“This really is none of your business…” he tries to remind her.

“Just tell me!” she raises her voice.

Miguel sighs as he contemplates his answer.

“She thought she was pregnant and was terrified that she was going to lose me as a result. I bought the baby grow as a means to show her I’m staying with her if she was indeed expecting. But, it was a false alarm. Happy?”

Xina breathes a sigh of relief before her eyes wander around the kitchen. It mostly looks the same, but there are some new things too. A rather feminine-looking diary lays on the countertop - certainly not Miguel’s style. What’s it doing there?

“She’s living with you now?”

That relief she felt leaves her within an instant.

“She has a name!”

Throughout their entire marriage, Miguel never once raised his voice at Xina. However, her current behaviour is testing his patience. The blatant disrespect that she displays regarding you upsets him greatly. Her audacity in thinking that she can just worm her way back in, and push you out is maddening. If only she showed this level of interest in him when he was fighting to keep their marriage alive. Sadly for Xina, Miguel sees it as far too little, far too late.

His voice reverberates in his modern kitchen, only enhancing the harsh bite behind his tone. The volume in which he speaks shocks her to her core. Revealing a side to her ex-husband she never knew.

“Fine… Is (Y/N) living with you now?” Xina repeats her question, begrudgingly adjusting it to Miguel’s liking.

He folds his arms, now totally abandoning the groceries. His lips arch in a cold-looking frown.

“You know, Xina, I still fail to see why this is any of your business…”

His ex steps forward, an imploring expression plastered on her face as she navigates around the island of countertops in the kitchen.

“It’s my business because I want you back. I was a fool to push to end the marriage.”

“And you’re an even bigger fool for thinking I will just agree to starting again with you.”

She expected that comment from him, but it doesn’t dampen her determination as she steps even closer.

“What will it take to convince you to have me back?”

Her hand delicately lands on Miguel’s bicep, his arms still folded, acting as a barrier between them.

“What will it take?” he asks before moving a hand, taking her wrist and prying it off of him then folding his arms again.

“There’s nothing you can offer me that will change my mind.”

Miguel sounds calm and collected although, his eyes glance up at the clock on the kitchen wall to check the time. He has to get her to leave soon…

Xina’s brows knit together, her goal slipping from her fingers fast.

“I think you should go now. You’ve got your answer.”

He turns back to the groceries but she grabs hold of his arm again.

“No. I’m not leaving.”

Miguel pulls himself away this time with an unfriendly snarl. A warning that Xina is outstaying her welcome. Although, she was never welcome in the first place…

“Don’t touch me.”

Panic rises within her; she’s losing the battle.

Maybe out of sheer ignorance or pure desperation, Xina’s fingers latch onto his shirt pulling him close. His eyes widen as she grabs him. He has to get her out of his apartment now, before you and Ashley return.

“Get the fuck off me!”

His arm swipes between the both of them; disconnecting her grip on him before he takes hold of her shoulders and spinning her around on the spot.

“And get the fuck out of my home.”

Push comes to shove, literally. It doesn’t take much to move Xina out of the kitchen and across the apartment to the front door, despite her putting up a fight.

“This - this used to be our home, remember?” she asks, desperately trying to get him to see her side of the argument. The door looming closer as he continues to shunt her towards it.

“And it’s just my home now.”

He feels some stronger resistance as she stiffens her legs and the souls of her shoes dig into the wooden flooring.

“Stop pushing!”

“Start moving then!” he growls, gritting his teeth.

He desperately wants her gone, but he has to be careful not to hurt her.

Xina turns her body in his grasp so she can face him as if she knows he can’t be too firm.

“Please Miguel!” she begs, grabbing onto his shirt again just as he watches the door handle turn; you’ve just come back with Ashley…

The voices you could hear as you approached the door quietened down the moment you entered.

Now you’re staring at the pair gripping onto one another as Ashley follows you inside.

Your eyes lock onto Xina’s and then Miguel’s as silence descends on the apartment. The room is so quiet, you’re sure your pounding heart can be heard as you try to process what you’re seeing.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” you eventually ask as you feel Ashley place a protective arm around your shoulder.

Your question spurs Miguel into action and begins to push Xina towards you; his goal, to get her out of the penthouse as soon as humanly possible.

“Just taking out the trash,” your boyfriend growls, now sounding very irritated.

“But, what is said trash doing here in the first place?” Ashley speaks out on your behalf, which you’re thankful for.

Your friend’s tone is harsh and unforgiving. It’s clear she’s assuming the worst in him, but you’re not quite so quick as her to jump to conclusions just yet. With everything he’s said and done for you lately, it doesn’t make sense that he’d be tempted to take his ex-wife back again. Also, you know he’s not stupid enough to arrange for Xina to visit him when you and Ashley were due to return at any moment. This smells like a dastardly plan Xina has cooked up.

Both you and Ashley move out of the way to let Miguel pass as he continues to push Xina. She shouts and pushes back, fighting to be heard. It is only then Ashley sees what you see.

“Miguel! You can’t do this to me! I still love you - please!”

Her voice breaks as she shouts. She pushes back against your boyfriend. Looking at his face you can see she’s upsetting him more and more. You can’t deny that her words are hurting you too.

The pair are practically in the doorway as Xina clings on to the frame for leverage.

“What about all my desperate pleas to keep our marriage going, hmm?”

He shoves again.

“They fell on deaf ears!”

Another shove.

“I’m sorry. I was an idiot for not listening to you!”

Xina releases the doorframe and attempts to grapple her ex-husband again but with his strength, she’s almost out of the door.

“We- we can go back to our happier times! I promise you, I pro—“

She stops talking abruptly the moment the pair are out of sight. As you peer around the doorframe, you see him bent down over her, making you think that he’s kissing her for a brief moment. Instead, you hear a deep, threatening growl come from him as he responds to her.

“Ever since I started seeing (Y/N), my life and how I see myself has changed for the better.”

His voice is low as his hands pull her closer so he can continue to whisper angrily in her ear. Making damn sure every syllable is heard and understood with the utmost clarity.

“With (Y/N), I’m not a disappointment. That was all I ever was to you. There was nothing I could do to make up for my absence no matter how hard I tried.”

Xina whimpers at his words. She knows it’s game over, but he keeps going. His breath, hot against her neck, but for all the wrong reasons. Her heart pounds as she feels him seething, clearly releasing previously unspoken words of frustration laced with rising anger. Her little stunt could have cost him his relationship with you; and to him, that is unforgivable.

“You’re toxic and (Y/N) is a breath of the purest air. She’s gentle, kind, content with just spending time with me. Whereas with you, you expected me to shower you with gifts…” he pauses for a moment as though a lightbulb illuminates inside his head.

“That’s why you want to be back in my life isn’t it? You miss the money and the security that you so carelessly threw away. You greedy, selfish bitch.”

With that, he shoves her away from him. His face, wearing the biggest and most dangerous of scowls you have ever seen. Xina’s face is also a picture as he outed her. That desperate pleading look leaves her face, replaced by an utterly disgusted expression.

She slaps him hard across the face, the sharp sound reverberating around them in the hall outside his apartment.

Something snaps inside you. You’re not sure if it was the sound of Xina’s palm colliding with the side of Miguel’s face, or his grunt of pain, but it did something to you that made you see red. Before Ashley even realises, you dash out of the apartment.

The sound of your rushing footsteps alert Miguel that you’re coming. You’re not a violent person, but you despise the fact that Xina has laid a finger on your man. She’s hurt him and now you want to hurt her.

Before you get close enough, Miguel catches you and pulls you into a tight hold, locking you against him to stop you doing something you might regret.

Your head is pressed against his chest. The pounding of his heart matches yours. Emotions run high within him; touched that you’d rush to defend him like that. His eyes lock onto Xina’s as he clutches you against him.

“Get the fuck out of my home and my life.”

His voice is a deep, threatening growl which you can feel against your face as it vibrates within his hard, muscular chest.

Xina is totally silent. The sight before her is a clear sign that she has completely lost. There’s no coming back after this, the damage she has created is irreparable. This is all on her…

Without uttering another word, she turns, tears burning in her eyes as she makes her way to call the lift.

You hear Miguel take in a breath before he speaks again.

“I should thank you Xina…”

His ex-wife pauses before stepping into the lift and looks back at him with an expression full of regret.

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have met (Y/N) and fallen in love with her.”

Your eyes snap open. He loves you?

Xina rushes into the lift, suppressing a sob as she holds down the button that closes the door.

The moment that she is gone, Miguel feels you wriggle in his grasp as you try to pull away. You want to see him - all of him after his declaration of love for you. His hold on you loosens and lets you look up into his face.

“You love me?” you ask with a shaky voice.

Miguel beams at you. A smile so wide, you never thought was possible from a reserved guy like him, but there it is, for your eyes only.

“Si, mi amor. Te amo.” (Yes, my love. I love you)

Now that is something you do know for definite in Spanish, and it makes your heart flutter like a butterfly beating its wings in a bid to escape the confines of your chest.

A small smile creeps across Ashley’s face. She feels you and him deserve some alone time. Quietly she walks away and heads into the kitchen to sort out the abandoned shopping. For a moment back there, she was prepared to unleash hell upon him, but she could see in the way he held you that he’s mad about you and wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.

You suddenly feel weightless as he picks you up, carrying you bridal-style into his apartment and closing the door behind him.

He takes you to his room and gently places you on his bed, joining you shortly after.

Your fingers brush tenderly against his cheek where Xina struck him earlier, soothing the skin that still stings slightly. His eyes close as he revels in your touch while he leans over you.

His lips caress yours in a gentle, loving kiss as you both slowly become overwhelmed in the simmering heat of the moment.

“I love you too, Miguel…” you whisper, knowing full well what saying his name does to him.

He’s lost it completely. Like flipping a switch inside him, he goes from sweet and tender to heavy and passionate.

He makes short work of removing yours and his clothing, throwing them into a messy heap on the floor.

Laying between your legs, he plunges into you deep; taking you with urgent need. Your moans accompany his grunts and groans, creating a symphony of pleasure.

He pumps into you as you lay back in pure bliss, legs wide open, accommodating his beautiful body. The feeling of your warm, wet walls clenching around him makes him melt, driving him wild.

“Yes…” you hiss at the peak of each thrust.

Tingles erupt within you, pulsing out from your core as he pushes deeper, harder and faster.

His magnificent hips grind against yours, ensuring that sweet spot gets the stimulation it needs to make you fall apart for him.

The orgasmic tension builds within you rapidly, each thrust, each grind, each grunt pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your breathing quickens and becomes more shallow. Eyelids are heavy as you’re so, so close to reaching your peak; the ultimate pleasure. He knows it too. A smile grows on his lips as he watches you teetering on the edge.

“That’s it, mi amor. Cum for me, chiquita. Te amo…” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath fanning across your cheek and neck.

The bed creaks with every movement of his efforts, and it only gets louder as he ramps everything up again. Your mewls sound more desperate, the precipice getting even closer. You can’t think straight anymore, thoughts becoming hazy as your body homes in on that building pleasure that’s close to breaking-point.

“Cum for me, give me that orgasm, come on…” he grunts again through gritted teeth, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

He’s working hard for you today. Harder than any other time before. The need to blow your mind is strong. To make up for the upset that you were put through; although it wasn’t his fault.

He’s rocking your world and you know it. You sense that there’s meaning behind every thrust. Each pump into you is its own individual declaration of his love for you.

His breath falters, he’s close too.

“Por favor, mi amor!” Miguel begs you, his voice breaking.

His final efforts before climaxing pushes you over the edge with him. You fall together into the abyss of pleasure, lost for several moments. In that instance, you’re the only two people in the world - the only two that matter anyway. There was no Xina, no Nueva York, no world, even.

You close your eyes as your intense orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. He kisses you fiercely, lips crashing against yours before his tongue invades your mouth. The final pulses of his climax ebbs away as he’s left reeling.

You feel him lower himself onto you, his body totally flush against yours. The warm security of his arms wrap around you before rolling onto his back and having you on top.

You thought it was over, but boy you’re wrong. His hands slide down your sides before possessively gripping your hips. The thrusts begin again as he is rejuvenated with a second wind.

Soft moans and groans restart as the new angle helps him hit a different spot inside.

He makes you come undone for him over and over again. Each time he changes position, taking you exactly how you like it. He’s gentle and soft, then he’s rough and fast. Slow and tender, then heavy and passionate.

The moment when your eyes close for longer with each blink, he stops; knowing you have had all that you can take. But his love doesn’t stop there. He holds you close after cleaning you up and taking care of you.

You are left without a shadow of a doubt over his feelings for you. The pleasure he’s given you has totally swept away that sickening feeling you had when you saw Miguel and Xina clutching each other.

After the harsh things he said to his ex-wife today, you’re certain she’ll never come back; but if she ever dares try, you know damn well that Miguel will remain by your side.

The pair of you embrace one another in his bed. His fingers gently trace up and down your sides as he watches you melt at his tender touch. He smiles softly as his heart swells to what feels like twice its size as his love for you grows with each passing second. He’s crazy about you.

Casting his mind back, he reminisces about all of the sweet things you’ve done. The way you bumped into him, the feeling of your slight body pressing against his front as you stood up in the galley of the plane. How you gave him a pack of biscuits instead of giving it to Peter, despite him being an asshole to you.

That cute little text you sent him after he gave you his number. How sweet you were when he fell into the pool in Acapulco and how forgiving you were when he apologised for sending that damn video and those texts. He loved how thoughtful you were when you booked a paddle-boarding session with you the day after. Your great humour is admirable, and he loves how silly you can be.

The way you’re so responsive to his efforts when making love with you. Your little sounds drive him wild.

You’re his saviour; his sweet angel, and he loves every fibre of your being…

Thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, re-blogging this fic. 157 pages and over 53,000 words was put into this and I had an absolute blast.

This is the last "official" chapter of Pilot Miguel, so if you have any suggestions about where Miguel and reader travels to, or getting up to... other things, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

In the mean time, I'm working on other projects - yes I'm still gathering ideas to continue Mafia Miguel too. If you've not read that yet, click on his name here.

If you are interested in commissioning me, please click on the link below to find out more.

If you wish to follow me on Twitter, please click on the link below.

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #commisions open #fem reader #smut #female reader #reader x character #readerxmiguelohara #pilotmiguel

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