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suguru-getos · 3 months

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| Bully! Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Part 1 |

Summary: You had just transferred schools, and your first day was an encounter with your new bully. He’s mean, terrifically hot & absolutely a menace. Though there’s more to that personna.

Warnings: Mean!Satoru, he calls the reader worthless, public!humiliation. Etc. The reader ain’t no pussy either by the way. They fight back.

New chapter every week | Comment down if you want to be tagged. ^^

First day of school, High-school… you had jitters and excitement both, just thinking about it. When your alarm beeped, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought alone. Quickly rushing to the rest-room, washing your face, brushing your teeth, doing your skincare & taking your sweet time thinking about how your first day of school would be.

Your parents, thankfully have recently shifted to Tokyo, you don’t really have any bad memories from where you lived previously, and assuming the best should be the solution to everything in life, right? You had picked what to wear previously, knee length socks on a mini tennis skorts, patched up with a white full T-shirt with gloves for your thumb.

You rushed downstairs for breakfast, sitting with your family & then quickly rushing out. Your mom small talked about your excitement along with your brother, you nodded, grinning wide. “Yeah, yeah… really am excited!” You chirped, getting all the makeup essentials and school essentials ready in your bag.

Once you were out and about, reaching the highschool premises on time. You were awestruck, there were people swarming all over. Focussed on what they’re wearing, focussed on exclusive friend-groups, some of them were vlogging, some of them patting face powder on their faces. Oh damn… they were just being problematic it seemed. You weren’t close to being a conventional teen at all, not that you weren’t a teen at all. You hummed, managing to diverse your attention towards the highschool building, it was huge. So many people, so much…

“Oop- sorry” you bumped into someone… tall. Eyes traversing through his form as he looked down at you, nudging his black glasses down and smirking. Oh fucking hell… he had the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. The way he smirked, looking at you as if you’re a tiny, minuscule creature at his mercy. You weren’t used to that kind of a gaze at all. “Your name?” He said as if he’s conquered you. You hate people who talk like that.

Taken aback and batting your lashes at him, you mumbled… “Y/N.”

He smirked, licking his lips with his teeth. “Satoru Gojo, your senior. My dad’s a trustee of this school & I am pretty much the second owner.” He leaned in, bending over to get to your eye level as you cowered at the weird vibe & introduction. “Say sorry that you bumped into me.” He smirked, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“It was by mistake — I don’t see why I should say sorry to you.” You managed to speak clearly, ensuring you were polite. The people/minions surrounding him laughed at your audacity. No one tells him shit. This was something new… apart from Suguru Geto; his best friend. Satoru Gojo’s words were the law. He has no problem beating the shit out of people who don’t listen. There’s a rumor that because of him, someone had tried to commit suicide. Just because Satoru didn’t like them, so… nobody else did.

Satoru raised a brow, smirking. “Ah, you’re new. I’ll let this one go. Let me rephrase, okay sweetheart?” He leaned in, hand touching your face with one hand. “C’mon, use that worthless mouth for something good & say sorry. Right. Now.” His jaw twitched, the hold not tender in any way. You flinched, why was no one stopping him! Where were the bloody teachers! Your pupils vibrated as you glanced at his blue eyes. You want to tell him to piss off so bad. Yet, you can’t really do that because of the way he’s puckered your lips up. Neither can you apologize.

“Can’t speak?” He shook your face to a nod, getting his own answers, while you groaned. Red hot embarrassment flushing on your cheeks. “Are you a little dumb bitch?” He forced a nod again, everyone laughing. “Aww, I know you are. So honest.” He chuckled, just having a little fun out of you. Frankly, he never knew why he was so mean… or just stomping everyone. Maybe he has this inherent habit of being worshipped & a problematic intolerance towards people who don’t.

Your eyes prickled with tears, and he finally let your face go, a little push to his hold. “Should’ve just apologized, don’t like bein’ mean to pretty girls.” He winked, walking away.

You felt daggered by multiple, hot & burning judgemental gazes around. Kudos to your first day of Highschool. You excused yourself to the rest-room. You needed a breather… and you wanted to cry, and kill him…

“That was a little too much.” Geto hummed, walking alongside him with his usual close-eyed smirk. Satoru waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, her eyes were so rebellious I hated that.” He growled, scoffing. It was true… but you didn’t know how much that’ll land you in trouble in future.

The class was good, teachers yapping and teaching & you taking notes was the perfect scenario for you to distract yourself. Then, came lunch time.

There was a pink-haired girl, gorgeous and happy-go-lucky looking… you decided to approach her and wave. “Oh hey!” She glanced at you and smiled. “Hey! You must be the girl who pissed Gojo senpai off.” She chuckled, though you sense no malice in her tone. Wow, so that’s become your new identity eh? You hate this… “yeah, Haha… that’d be me.” You decided to own that, “I was thinking if you wanna join me for, uh, lunch?” You perked up a little. You were upfront enough to ask a few others and they decided to have lunch with you.

You hate eating alone, and you were one of the new folks. The others just got promoted so it was hard to mingle. Luckily, your confidence might help.

You took your food, and walked back to the table, this time… someone again collided with you. The gravy of the food spilled all across their crisp white shirt.

“Oh shit oh I’m so sorry-” you looked up to find the familiar face who waxed you this morning. Did he collide with you on purpose? You definitely think so because you’re not so air-headed.

“Oh you just want to be an idiot all day huh?” Satoru sighed, one of the girls glaring at you and brining out a tissue, inching to clean him up. “Did I ask for that help sweetheart?” He smiled at her, indicating her to stop touching him. “Think you’ll earn brownie points and be popular?” He didn’t stop until she fully backed off, cleaning himself up.

It was like everyone had only one job, glancing at you two & waiting for you to suffer. Fucking hell!

“So, do you know how much this shit costs?” Satoru smirked, walking closer to you, you instinctively stepped backwards. “N-no I’m sorry I just didn’t think- it also felt like you bumped into me on purpose-”

“On purpose?” There was a chuckle laced with disbelief on his lips. “That’s too high and mighty of you to think. I don’t even let girls who look like you grind on my shoe, honey.” He emphasized, slapping your delusion. Or you can say, shoving the truth away.

People didn’t laugh this time, because Satoru looked genuinely pissed. Well, so were you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” You held your plate close and purposely, drenched him even further in gravy. “Looks just as filthy as you deserve.” You teared up, gosh this was humiliating. “And by the way, I don’t even look at guys like you either. Who think the world revolves around them because mommy & daddy just stuffed their ass with money.”

You walked away with that… but was that the right thing to do? You just dug your grave deeper.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk drabble #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo drabble #gojo angst #jjk angst #jjk!bully toru #jjk series #jjk fanfic

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verysium · 6 months

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『02』原神: genshin impact recs

魈: xiao

preta by @itoshisoup

"People think that ghosts are born exclusively of resentment, but they can also be born of love. Between those driven by resentment and those driven by love, which do you think cling most strongly to their suffering?" Xiao replies without pause, his gaze unfocused yet fixed upon something you cannot see. "Love." After a yaksha saves your life on the Plains of Guili, you insist on joining him in his war against the evils of Liyue. As the two of you encounter hungry ghosts and resentful spirits, you learn about the ones haunting him. notes: incomplete but intricately woven together; heavy emphasis on chinese culture, wuxia/xianxia genres; if you have watched any historical cdrama, you will like this fic; xingqiu and chongyun are wrapped up into the dynamic; xiao wishes to protect you for centuries; him and his paradoxes; not being strong enough to be considered invincible but still strong enough to try

公子: childe

thin ice by @falconcoast

childe is that senior frat boy on teyvat university’s campus. the one who majors in economics because he’s on scholarship to play sports. the one who is way too loud and you can hear him all the way across campus. the one who’s daddy’s money rich because he’s already sponsored, even while just in the ncaa. the one who manages to get everyone to swoon over him. oh, right. and your favorite title for him: the one hockey captain who hogs all of your free time to skate after lessons because he always steals it. all you want to do is do your job and teach skating lessons to the kids to keep your mind off the year-old mess with your figure skating, maybe even get an hour of skating in afterwards as a reward. that is, until the hockey coach sits you down and tells you that surprise! you’re the new team manager for liyue’s hockey team! ...it can’t be that hard to manage twenty or so boys and their captain, childe, right? spoilers: it absolutely is. notes: wonderfully curated modern skating/hockey AU; childe is so american white boy in this; teucer being adorable; diluc and kaeya sibling dynamic is well-established; university and post-grad plans; figuring out your life and then working other people into it

国崩: scaramouche

tea screen by @after-witch

The trembling voice of the tea apprentice carries through the room, and though you can’t see him, you imagine he must be shaking. Who wouldn’t be, tasked with gaining the approval from the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbringers? notes: forced marriage and abuse; tea ceremony; sort of reminds me of the edo period; examination of womanhood within a patriarchal society; sexy, sad, and scary all at once; i pity the reader at the end; cycle of love and violence

a simple cup of tea by @after-witch

You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes... notes: reader grapples with lust and objectification; unhealthy dynamic but portrayed realistically in an almost historical setting; reader is unable to separate her identity as wife apart from her husband; women being defined in the context of men; could be a social satire on traditional gender roles if you squint

love is a dog from hell by @itoshisoup

"A will is something you don't have. That's why you'll follow mine." notes: this fic is the reason why i do not think the concept of ownership in love would translate well into real life because it would be so self-destructive; reader struggles with aftermath of abuse and mistakes possession for protection; realistic depiction of unhealthy relationships; the fatui is exactly the dark criminal organization it is supposed to be; human trafficking and child sexual abuse; scaramouche is so goddamn funny i can't

钟离: zhongli

spoil of war by @bye-bye-sunbird

In the dead of night, you hear the sea calling your name. Sometimes the sound is as soft as a love song, gracing your skin in a gentle breeze that lures you to the seashore where the waves can finally lay claim on you. Other times, the sea strikes the land in a deafening, challenging roar. "Really now... How long do you think those mountains of his will stand in my way?" notes: accurate depiction of characters because archon war morax was genuinely terrifying; zhongli trying to deny his obsessive tendencies; rivalry with osial; reader is essentially sanctified as a symbol of innocent purity; imagine having two spiritual gods pine after you while you are helplessly stuck in the middle of their tug-of-war and simultaneously trying to mourn; that is basically the entire premise of this fic

迪卢克: diluc ragnvindr

the parent trap by @falconcoast

twelve years ago, you got married to a man who had swept you off your feet in a little under two years. diluc was like a prince out a of storybook; effortlessly charming, strikingly handsome, and a kind man. you were supposed to live happily ever after at that winery, running a wedding planning empire, having a family, and growing old together. until it all goes off script with a divorce. flash forward, and the only remnant of diluc that is with you is your daughter, dawn. the only piece of you that remains with diluc is your other daughter and dawn’s twin sister, phoenix. it isn’t until both of your children get you and your ex-husband in a bit of mess that you realize that maybe, just maybe, you still harbor feelings for diluc. or maybe it’s the wine talking. notes: one of my favorite comfort fics; i am a sucker for second-chance romance; diluc and reader now older but still being the same bumbling idiots they were when young; at this point the children have more situational awareness than them; based on the original movie; treat yourself to a cup of tea and a friday night with this work and trust me life will be good

博士: il dottore

deus in absentia by @bound-in-parchment

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. notes: at this point we can just scrap whatever mihoyo puts out and use this work as canon instead; the world building is so originally creative; this author must possess such a giant sexy brain; reader is basically adopted by dottore and forced to be his apprentice/assistant; idea of losing yourself to your own ambitions; slow-burn to the max; reader is oblivious to full extent of feelings until it is too late; tragic to the point i need a time machine to resurrect them

dream a little of me by @bound-in-parchment

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. notes: soulmate trope but with the two most aromantic fools to ever exist; zandik drowns himself in the river of denial; comic dynamic between segments; music and failed dreams; reader actually has a backstory dark enough to match dottore's character; does not shy away from the uncomfortable and gritty aspects of trauma, abuse, and literal mental insanity

chemistry / magnum opus by @jessamine-rose

In the realm of science, love and insanity are closely intertwined mysteries. Disillusioned with the world, you had long forgotten its beauty until the wise doctor gives you a change of perspective. notes: by far the most accurate characterization of akademiya zandik; he hates you then hates himself then hates the world for allowing your paths to cross; treats you as an objective experiment but then wonders why he's suddenly humanizing you; slow-burn; zandik is selfish and machiavellian and somehow you fit into that equation

the only hope i had was the freedom of death by your hands that held me together by @tiens-letters

It was a burden. The weight of the power you hold in all the land. Any human who has enough ambition would dare to covet it and any god even given divine powers would lust after it. You were powerful, able to end civilizations and make a new world altogether. Many would think that you are a sovereign being but you too are limited to mortality than what most would believe. You were human with a blessing of a god and you felt cursed and dirty. notes: honestly the ending made me so mad but take it as a good sign; basically entails the circumstances that would drive dottore to become somewhat capable of love; what is done cannot be undone; zandik finally meeting someone who is wiser and more depressed than him; deluding himself into thinking he could ever be domestically normal; somewhat idolizes/idealizes reader; themes of betrayal and misunderstanding

富者: pantalone

house cat / alea iacta est by @jessamine-rose

Your entire life has been a gilded cage. The gods refuse to grant your greatest wish, and so you have resigned yourself to the will of destiny. But what happens when the red string of fate is severed and replaced with the silver chains of the Regrator? notes: liyue nobility; dishonest business and financial deals; reader is a cat hybrid but i didn't notice until part two because the plot was so good; pantalone is the mastermind behind all his interactions with reader; heavy manipulation and orchestrations; wolf in sheep's clothing; alternate ending found here

隊長: il capitano

herbarium / fairytale / forget-me-not / astilbe by @jessamine-rose

You had long given up on wishes and happy endings. After what you believed to be the end of your tragic story, you resigned yourself to a shadow of a life with only your books and flowers to keep you company…until the vestiges of Windblume brought forth a mysterious stranger and a new ending for your dark fairytale. notes: capitano being the strong stoic protector of a delicately fragile reader; manipulation is so subtle and that is what makes it alarming; somewhat stirred my daddy issues because he is so parental; reader struggles between accepting his love versus hating him for taking away her personal agency; flower motifs

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alienpossession · 6 months

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@max-the-many asked me to join his 30 days one word prompt, we'll see how many stories I can consistently post.

Body a Day 1: Smoke

Raymond grew up in a small town with barely any nightlife whatsoever. His first two year in university, thousand of miles away from his family brought a sense of freedom and exploration for him.

He started to workout, he hang out with people more often rather than being the supposed bookworm that he is, going back to his dorm late, typical college students in their early years. But he's not just doing that, he's also enjoying the freedom to explore his sexuality, which led the bi-curious man to countless dates with random people he met online and even just passed by in campus.

It was that way until around 6 months ago. He's been exclusively going out with Fred, a black man 10 years his senior, that swooned the impressionable Raymond with his easy-going yet domineering personality ever since they met. It's been a week since the last time they went on a date followed with some kinky bed time as Fred got some work to do that required him to travel out of state. But, Fred is back in the city now and the couple is about to rekindle their paused lust, which caused Raymond some hard time to concentrate with his classes as the 20 years old consistently distracted by his own erection

When Raymond walked into Fred's apartment, lulling jazz and a rather potent smokiness filled the room. Is Fred smoking? Raymond never really pay attention to it, but pretty sure he's not. Maybe he's not that frequent of a smoker? Or maybe this is just a new habit Fred picked up?

"Hey babe, I'm here. I have dinner with me," said Raymond while putting the Chinese takeaway at the table

"Come here, baby. I have a surprise for you," said Fred as the door of his room closed and caused his voice sounded like muffled by something

Raymond welcomed by the sight of Fred already sprawled out naked on his bed, a rolled joint in his right hand already lit. Tempted, Raymond smirked but Fred just went straight to the point

"Strip, and join me in this bed,"

Without hesitation, Raymond did so. Fred then motioned his finger for Raymond to ger closer. Fred then instructed Raymond to open his mouth and inhale as much smoke as Fred himself exhaled.

Slightly hesitated at first, Raymond followed through and coughed a little in the process. Yet Fred ordered him to keep all of the smoke in him, so he did.

Not even a minute later, Raymond convulsed wildly until he almost dropped to the floor. He tried screaming for help but his mouth only gargled unintelligible noises while all his muscle contracted. His eyes turned white and he seemingly lost his consciousness for a split second while Fred just eagerly watched without any trace of being panicked whatsoever.

After another solid minute, Raymond calmed down and smiled to Fred

"Thanks for this fine selection, sir. Shall we continue? I think this body is ready to be used to store all the Queen's egg if it weighed on you for too long,"

"Well, that's exactly what I'm about to do. One week is tough enough carrying all this, you'll help me spread some of them,"

"Certainly sir, I'm all yours,"

#body a day #alien possession #male possession #boyfriend possession #alien expansion

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seikkoi · 9 months

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𝗞𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗔 | wanda maximoff x f!reader

18+ minors dni

𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗚𝗘 !𝗔𝗨

content: gay as hell, slight degradation, mentions of infidelity, thigh riding, slight dacryphilia,

genre: angst, sm*t, set in a college au

word count: 3,212

a/n: @nightprompts for the inspiration

“Wanda, please, what do you want me to do?” You’d promise her anything right now. Your eyes grew wet, filling with tears soon to fall. You’d promise to stay away from parties, other girls, tell the world you were hers- anything. “I just need you back, what do you need me to say, please.”, you continue to plea as tears start to flow. Another interlude of silence passes as you stare into emerald irises. “Begging is a good look for you.”

Fresh, white snow crunched under your leather boots. An even, steady sound like styrofoam splintered by angry fingers. With each tinted imprint left behind by your worn soles, you prayed. Prayed that this wasn’t a stupid decision. You kept your head down, watching your weight sink into the soles, guarding against icy winds. Gloved hands squeezed tight in your coat pockets. You said silent prayer after silent prayer as snowflakes coated your eyelids and wet your rosy cheeks. She had to forgive you, right? She’d see how sorry you were- Amidst the frozen landscape, your shivering skin and trembling resolve were symbols of your remorse.

Eventually, you recognized the stone pillar by her apartment, gray marble jutting from a pile of snow. You were close now, lifting your head to see the familiar red building’s ornate trim. The sight makes you nauseous. Less than a hundred yards separated you from the woman who had warned you of regret, who had sworn never to lay eyes on you again.

“How pathetic.” , you thought to yourself. To come crawling back like she said you would be. When you’d decided to do this, brave this frozen nightmare, pride was no factor- just getting Wanda back.

What were you even going to say? Would she even answer the door?

Amidst your inner turmoil, memories of sandalwood and jasmine on her skin resurfaced. The melodic giggles, the gentle touch that commanded attention. You remember walking across this same campus and finally noticing and watching Wanda with awe. You reminisced about the feeling of completeness she brought, and how her absence had felt like the loss of your sanity.

You swallow your cowardice and continue on.

Between the cold journey and rising anxiety, you make it through her apartment’s lobby with wobbly legs. The hours late, only the faint echo of televisions and Friday night parties gearing up as you make your way up the stairs. The warmth of the building doesn’t render you any less frigid by the time you reach Wanda’s floor.

You can’t help but chuckle a bit when you hear the music and voices coming from her neighbor, Natasha’s apartment. Natasha was a graduate student, like Wanda, that had become something infamous around campus for her parties, even amongst the underclassmen. You’d started your senior year in college in the hopes that you learn to study more and go out less. It worked for the first week of classes, then you met Nat.

You’d met Wanda initially at Nat’s, but at the time she hardly stood out to you. Over time, though, you saw her more and more, eventually outside of dark, crowded rooms. The first time this happens, you feel insanely oblivious for not noticing her sooner. Auburn locks, a captivating accent – the puzzle pieces had fallen into place too late.

Like the idiot you are, instead of realizing how special she was, you decided to explore your options instead. You’d foolishly assumed in the beginning that she’d wait, that she’d always be there. The two of you were never explicitly exclusive, yet in the back of your mind you knew she wouldn’t be okay with you sleeping around. You subtly hid other girls from Wanda- only for her to find out anyway.

She found out from some post a particularly enticing sorority girl made. While you weren’t in the picture, it gave a clear view of your dorm bedroom with a caption that told Wanda everything she needed to know. Too bad it was from weeks ago- before you quit sleeping around. You’d awoke yesterday morning to a multitude of pissed off texts and calls. Any attempt to apologize or deflect in person just earned you more anger. Telling her it wasn’t recent didn’t help anything either. Ultimately, it ended with Wanda blocking you and swearing you out of your life.

A wince passes through you with the memory of her harsh words. The rusted letters on her doorplate seemed to mock you, the reverberations of the neighboring party serving as an ironic backdrop .The bass does a better job at warming your bones than the heaters.

“She can’t just ignore me.” , a final hope as you remove your gloves and give the door a heavy knock. The moment you longed and dreaded neared. A few seconds of quiet pass- you give another, louder this time. Inside, you can hear more music, this one much gentler, and something shuffling.

Right as your nerves are split between knocking again or fleeing while you still can, the door swings open.

Wanda stands in front of you, annoyance crossing her face. You notice how breath-taking she looks, dressed in a hoodie and simple shorts that leave little to the imagination. Just as you're preparing your plea for forgiveness, those gorgeous green eyes roll at the sight of you, and she turns to close the door.

You’re not leaving without getting a chance to make your case, sticking your foot out followed by your right arm to keep it open. Behind her, you can see textbooks and papers strewn about, the record player spinning softly.

Her face is swirled in a mix of surprise and anger. For the sake of seeing this through, you decide to focus on the surprise.

“Look, Wanda, can we talk, please, I’m really sorry about everything that happened I know I’m not suppose to be here-”

“What do you want?” She interrupts your rambling, crossing her arms and leaning about the doorframe. Her tone is dry, straight to the chase like you’d treat a salesperson.

It throws you a bit, leaving you stammering on hopeless words.

“I want you to talk to me, let me explain.”, you plea.

“What is there to explain? What, one of your little flings cancel?”

You’re the one rolling your eyes now, pulling the hood of your coat down as the snow on it starts melting. You shivered, not just from the cold, but from the iciness of her demeanor. You had come this far, endured the frigid journey, for a chance to mend what was broken between you two. She seems to take in your hypothermic appearance, eyeing your wet clothes and reddened skin.

“You walked all the way here?” Wanda questions and you respond with a shuddering nod. The sympathy in her gaze was fleeting, replaced by cool appraisal as she eyed your wet clothes and rosy skin.

She takes enough pity on you to step away from the door, gesturing into the apartment. You’re the one surprise now, but you aren’t going to question progress. You kick your boots off at the entryway. Wanda waits by her kitchen counter until you’ve hung your coat up, watching you like a hawk.

“You didn’t answer me. Am I just your backup plan?” Whatever sympathy points you earned a moment ago are gone. Bitterness is all that coats her tongue.

Your earlier nausea bubbles into guilt. How do you explain that at one point she was without completely tossing away any chance of winning her back. You really want to answer honestly, to bare your soul in the hope that she sees how much you need her. This morning, you’d tried moving on- hooking up with someone else. You couldn’t even follow through because it just wasn’t Wanda. Worse than that, now you feel like the largest piece of shit on the planet. Maybe you didn’t even deserve her forgiveness. Maybe you should’ve listened to Wanda and left her alone.

Your head hangs silently and Wanda scoffs. You weren’t worthy of the thing you sought most.

Out the corner of your eye, her silhouette pivots, heading for the disarrayed living room. Words jumble and mix like tangled cords in your throat. So many things to say and so little meaning takes form.

“Wanda, I’m sorry. I’m here because I fucked up, not because there’s someone else I’d rather be with.” You stress your apology, stretching rubber band syllables into a tangled sentence.

It stops her nonetheless. When she turns back, there’s something else in her face. Every touch on every random girl- you’d take it back if it made her smile instead.

“You think I’m that dumb?” She scoffs again.

You left pride at the door. “No, no, please, all I want is you.” you choke out.

You take the small steps across her entryway, shaking your head. Your hands finally feel warm once when they enclose hers. The desperation you had, the one that propelled you to walk through layers of snow, is only worsened at the touch. The silken skin under your fingers sparks a longing you didn’t think could get so big in one day.

Wanda’s expression becomes clear- it’s smugness coloring her face.

Still, she’s silent, and the brief silence turns unbearable.

“I-I was betting on you, just, I don’t know,” You suck in a breath, trying to find balance in your words.

“I just was hoping you never found out, never cared- waited for me.” you admit.

The soft skin is ripped from your fingers immediately after.

“You know, maybe you should bet on something else instead of betting on someone’s fucking feelings.” Wanda glares when she speaks, her accent particularly derisive, piercing your gut.

“I know, I know,” you lament, reaching out for her hands the second they leave. “Wanda, give me another chance, just-please.”

The scarlet woman doesn’t move or make a sound. Her self-assured glare watches you plead aimlessly. You can hardly take it. It made more sense yesterday when she was cursing you in Sovokian on the phone.

“I just need you back, what do you need me to say, please.”, you continue to beg as tears start to flow.

Another interlude of silence passes as you stare into emerald irises.

“Begging is a good look for you.” Wanda’s voice eases, laced with smugness.

You swear you see a grin twitching at the corners of her lips. One of the hands your holding moves to your head, gently stroking your nape.

“You’re cute when you cry. Does this normally get you what you want?” Wanda doesn’t give you time to answer, tugging your hair slightly.

A breath fills your lungs at the force. Her touch was always enigmatic in how it rendered you so wanting so effortlessly. You give into her pull, eyes closing slowly. She knows all your cues, and if she needs to capitalize on those to take you back, fine.

“All I want is you.” An admission that comes without restraint.

It seems to please Wanda, who brings her other hand to your shoulder. You feel a teardrop roll down your cheek, which Wanda quickly brushes with her thumb.

“I told you- you’d come crawling back,” She strokes your collarbone, tracing up your neck, heating cold skin. “Tch. Fucking your way through campus just wasn’t enough.”

“Wanda-”

You want to tell her to stop, that you get it, but she interrupts you with a sudden kiss, fast and bruising. The sandalwood you were craving floods your nostrils. She holds you in place with the hand at your shoulder. It’s not like it's necessary, you quickly give into her lips, relief flooding your veins.

Sooner than you’d like, Wanda pushes you away, breaking the kiss. While you’re panting, dazed by the taste of her lip gloss, she’s smirking. She releases your shoulder, bringing a hand up to cup your chin, thumb stroking the sheen on your bottom lip.

It’s a dangerous tease, and you lean forward to try and kiss her again. Wanda pulls you away gently by your hair, sucking her teeth. You close your eyes, face turning red from shame at the arousal she so easily sparks.

“I think I like you better this way- desperate.” she says, biting her lip. Her eyes are locked on yours when unbuckle the belt at your waist. In the next moment, her hand ducks behind your waistband.

You suck in a breath at the touch, but don’t dare move on the off-chance Wanda takes that as a reason to stop. She knows how to make you weak, though, giving light strokes that make you pant all over again.

“Darling,” Wanda drawls, fingertips gathering the wetness pooling in your underwear. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re a mess.”

You squeeze your eyes tighter, mind hyper focusing on every moment of her fingers.

“Aw,” she taunts with a soft voice, gripping the hair at your nape harder. “Does that sorority girl make you feel this good?”

You’re too blinded by pleasure to muster a response. She knows she’s right without you saying it, regardless. You mentally wished you could take your jeans off without Wanda stopping.

Still, Wanda needs to hear it from you. She pulls the hands from jeans, making you open your eyes to see her lust-riddled face. Her eyebrow is raised, waiting.

“No, no one makes me feel as good as you, Wanda.” You’re left panting and dying for her to keep touching you. You’ll tell her whatever she needs to hear- it was true anyway.

It’s exactly what she wanted, and you’re rewarded tenfold with another bruising kiss. It’s long and sloppy as Wanda guides you into the hallway, pressing your back against the wall.

When she pulls away, you're both gasping for air. Wanda rests her head on your shoulder, hungry hands fully undoing your belt and pulling your pants off your ankles. Your hands are just as occupied, twisting her hoodie in your hands to pull her closer.

“Tell me again,” she purrs in your ear. You feel her fingers graze the wet fabric of your underwear. The hairs on your neck are electrified. Charged and needy just like she wants.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.” Your head tilts back, thudding on the dimly-lit hallway. You can still hear the party next door, still raging.

You sink into her touch, hoping that you’ll gain even just an ounce of friction. That Wanda will pull back the black lace, using those same elegant hands to-

As quickly as your arousal builds, it ends when Wanda promptly withdrawals. She smiles at your needy, confused expression. The scarlet woman steps away, moving past more scattered textbooks and papers. She reaches her bedroom door, opening it before turning back and motioning you forward.

You only feel a little pathetic at how fast you follow. Wanda’s bedroom comes into view, and she sits on the edge of her bed, looking more than dignified. You cross the small gap between her door and her bed, and her arms open, allowing you to straddle her lap. You drape your arms around Wanda’s next, becoming enveloped once more at her warmth.

You try to capture her lips, but she pulls you back another time.

“Why are you being such a tease?” you huff, settling on top of her legs.

“I don’t think you’ve earned it.” Wanda speaks with the same subtle grin, caressing your thighs.

“How many more times you need me to say it? I’m sorry, Wanda.” You bring your lips to her neck, laying mild kisses along her collarbone. You know you’re weakening any restraint she had- feeling her squeeze the subtle flesh on your legs.

“Sorry, darling, not good enough.” Wanda shifts you, bringing her leg between yours. Her hands leave your thighs for your hips, pressing your center against her thigh. You bit your lip at the pressure to your aching core, dampness spreading from your lace to Wanda’s sweats. Far too worked up, you go for a second attempt at kissing her- which fails. You’re determined though, going for the loop on her pants- to which she swats your hand away.

Worse, she laughs at your impatient desire, making the redness on your cheeks spread anew.

“Wanda, c’mon,” You're certain you’re gonna explode if she doesn’t let you at least kiss her.

In response, she presses her thigh harder, pulling a groan from your lips.

“I’m not gonna help you get off, darling.” You meet her eyes and they’re clouded, pupils dark. It makes the heat in your core even more insufferable.

“It’s this or nothing.” you watch her eyes trail down your figure as she speaks.

Wanda’s completely serious, however, to your dismay. It wasn’t enough to make you beg- now she wouldn’t even give you what you wanted.

“You want me so badly, show me.” Her tone is riddled with well-placed arrogance- you didn’t just want Wanda, you needed her like oxygen.

You’re too far in and too desperate to protest when she presses into you further. A whine escapes your lips, hips instinctively rolling against her. The coarse fabric of her pants drags along your center in a teasing pleasure.

It’s not long before you're moaning softly, riding Wanda’s thigh with little shame. It’s not enough, though, rendering you a whiny, shaky mess above her. Wanda takes great joy in the visible dark spot on her sweats, watching every scrunch of your face and twitch of your body.

“Aw, look at you darling,” she scoffs, “Dying for me to touch you, but you’re just happy to ride my thigh, aren’t you?”

Her words taste like kerosene, lighting fire after fire in your nerves. This was karma, the best that you deserved, and nothing more. Despite that, your body needed more. It was pitiful, how you must look- begging for so much and being grateful for so little.

Your hips turn frantic as you frustratingly try to pursue your end, knots tying in your stomach. You wouldn’t know it from her words, but Wanda’s eyes never leave you- fully infatuated with your whines and moans.

Every brush of your clit along stretched fabric is painfully good. You try shifting, centering yourself differently to get that extra pressure right where you need it. It doesn’t work, with every movement being so close to just enough. You think your mind might split into two at the sensation, nails digging into Wanda’s clothed shoulder.

“Please, baby,” you whine, hips still rolling. You were so, so close if she just-

Your ceaseless begging puts Wanda in a rewarding move, pressing back into you to give you the right amount of friction to send you over. The high you’d been so exasperatingly chasing sneaks up on you. You swear while your vision blurs, legs clamping around her. Your hips jerk involuntarily, sending the final wave through you, clinging to Wanda like a life raft.

Wanda lets you ride out your orgasm to its end, running her finger through your hair. When you come down and meet her eyes again, she looks much too pleased with herself. Still, her face is flushed, inviting lips parted. The recently extinguished fire is re-ignited in your core just from the sight. Wanda would always have this effect on you, you wished you’d realized that sooner.

“Please tell me I can kiss you now.” You drape your arms back over her shoulders.

A grin plasters it way onto her face. “Sure, you’ve earned it.”

You don’t waste a second to do so, bringing your face to hers. You’re slow and intently, taking in the taste on her tongue. You rest your forehead against Wanda’s when you pull away, sighing. The air feels warm and light between you, listening to her heady pants. Maybe you didn’t deserve to have Wanda back, but you do anything to get this feeling.

You’d walk through a million snow storms for her, without question.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #mcu fanfiction #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch fanfic #scarlet witch x you #mcu fanfic #wanda maximoff smut #seikkoiwrites #college au

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aurumacadicus · 3 months

Note

were u sad by the beginning? were u touched by the story? were u moved by the main characters personalities? tell us more.

Pixar said "What if we made found family for a grumpy old man that consisted of a child whose father is absent and a dog who can talk (and exclusively uses this simply to tell that grumpy old man "I love you")" and I ate that up with a spoon. Anyway.

Peter sighed, leaning his cheek on his hand. Saturday number eight ruined, just like the seven before it. "You know, at this point, my advisor would accept me taking out your trash as community service."

"Don't have trash," Steve grumped, not turning from his television.

Peter scowled, even though he knew it was true. For some reason, Steve was really into recycling and composting. It wasn't a bad thing, of course, but it left him with a whopping three things to throw away during the week (the nurses had told him), which he stuffed in his friend's wastebasket when he joined them for dinner on Thursdays. He didn't need to be pushed around in a wheelchair, he didn't need his sparsely decorated apartment cleaned or reorganized, and he didn't need anyone to cook for him.

Which was his problem. Steve had been his assigned elder when his community service advisor had had the bright idea for their class to help out a senior home, and he had nothing for Peter to do. Ned had gotten a neat old lady named Peggy, and MJ had gotten the terrifying but cordial couple next door, Natasha and Bucky. Hell, even Flash had gotten a jovial old man who sometimes insisted he was Norse god. And here Peter was. With Steve.

Now, granted, his advisor had offered to pair him with someone else a couple weeks ago, but Peter had decided he was going to out-stubborn Steve. He had time. Steve didn't. Steve would have to break eventually.

"I could go get you an organic blueberry smoothie," Peter offered, just to see what would happen.

"No," Steve answered, not looking at him.

Peter glanced around the apartment. "I could... take your laundry to the laundry room?"

"No," Steve said again.

Peter's eyes caught on a worn paperback sat spread on the coffee table. "I could get you a couple more of those thrillers."

"No," Steve said, and began to puff up, like he had every other time before he told Peter in no uncertain terms to stop trying to help him and go away.

"If you really wanted to help him," Sam said, amused, as he came into the apartment with a to-go bag from the diner two blocks away. "You'd find his boyfriend for him."

"Sam," Steve barked, at the same time Peter bolted to his feet and exclaimed, "Captain Rogers has a boyfriend?!"

"I don't," Steve told him sharply, then scowled at Sam, more sourly than he usually did when Sam dropped his forbidden lore. "Stop saying that, Sam."

"Stop being a sourpuss and let Peter get his community service credit then," Sam scoffed, pulling out a burger and handing it to him.

Steve looked like he'd sucked on a lemon as he took it. It could be at the thought of letting Peter help him, but it could also have been because the diner used waxed wrappers, which meant he couldn't compost them. "No."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as he sat down on the couch, giving Peter a 'what can you do' and 'I tried, kid' type of shrug. "Fine, be a miserable old man. I think Peter's stubborn enough that he'll stay until you die, and then he'll take being your pallbearer as his community service."

"It's true," Peter told Steve. "I've got time."

"I like him," Sam told Steve.

Steve took a bite of his burger, probably to keep from gnashing his teeth at them like a wild animal. He looked mad enough.

Sam turned to look at Peter. "Listen. Steve has been hung up on this guy for years. You find that guy, I'll sign off on your community service credit."

"I need Captain Rogers' signature," Peter said.

Sam shrugged, finally turning to his own burger. "I know how to forge it." He patted the couch beside him as Steve tried to squawk and, instead, choked on a pickle chip. "Come on, kid. I got you a burger too."

"Okay," Peter answered with a shrug, coming over to sit down. It would probably be easier to pump Sam for information than Steve, anyway, and Peter was curious.

He'd heard that Steve and Peggy had once been married, and while they were amicable when they met in the halls, there was no spark to be reignited. Peggy had her family after her second husband had passed, and she'd made fast friends with a lady named Dottie. Steve, on the other hand, had seemed to have isolated himself. He had friends, but he didn't go out to the social stuff, which a lot of the ladies tittered was 'quite a shame!' as they winked at each other.

But if Steve was hung up on someone, that was interesting. Steve might be stubborn, but he had nothing on Peter. Peggy had said so, and while it made Peter wonder what all Ned had told her about him, it also bolstered him. He'd help Steve. He'd get his community service credit. And maybe he'd get Steve's respect.

#aurumacadicus answers #anon #stony

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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AITA for deleting my classmate's online output in retaliation for previous grievances, & WIBTA if I kept this up?

📚🧪🗑️

(↑ so I know Tumblr didn't toss it into the void)

Take your time reading this before the poll. Trust me, everything matters.

I (16NB) am a student that migrated from the regular 10th grade sections into the top section of my school's STEM program via passing the admission test. I'm part of the very few that made it from the regular sections into such a prestigious senior high strand (which had only 3 sections and ±30 students per section), and the rest of my classmates and batchmates come from specialized programs that they were in since 7th grade. Naturally, they don't know me, and wouldn't think much of me due to my previously "mediocre" background. But really, I was only able to join the STEM strand this year because of financial difficulties during the lockdowns, so my parents could only afford to put me through the regular sections from grades 8 to 10.

Amongst my specialized program classmates was this girl, who I will call V for anonymity. V (16F) struck me as aloof and reserved at first. Our class seating arrangement dictated that I sit near the window farthest from the door, and V near the room exit, so we were 3 columns and one aisle apart, and had no one-on-one interactions so far due to this.

The entire school year in my school is split into two semesters, two quarters each semester, so four quarters. In Q1, I tried signing up for the strand-exclusive club that was practically a boost for report card grades, the STEM club, and we used printed forms. I filled in my form, and V collected the forms from everyone who signed up to give to the STEM club leader. We waited a week for confirmation of our acceptance (which was our forms being given back with a red stamp and the leader's signature) and everyone except me got them back. I asked V if she received my form. "No, you didn't give me any," she had said. I was denied another form by the leader, who accused me of lying about me having already given the form.

I didn't ask for a rivalry, but I had no choice but to be wary.

In Q2, our Earth Science professor gave us a lab activity and grouped us by random. I ended up in a group with V in it. I actively participated in the activity by helping prepare the materials and answering the guide questions on the activity sheet given by our professor, but I was stumped when it came to a question that required some research. Our professor allowed us to assign someone by group to take the activity sheet home and submit a picture instead when we ran out of time, so I went to my group's chat and asked them to wait for me as I finished the answer for that particular question. It took me an hour or so before I finally got the answer. I gave the answer to my groupmates, but V said that they had already turned it in, confirmed by my other groupmates. I asked them "Why did you hurry the submission? We had plenty of time left to refine and finalize the answers." They didn't reply, and they didn't answer me when I brought it up the next day in person. I went to my professor and explained the situation, even providing screenshots of my group messages as proof, but he didn't believe me. However, he did let me write down my answer to the question I was doing research for.

By then, I suspected V had convinced them to submit the activity sheet without me, and going back to Q1, also got rid of my membership form when she had the opportunity. I think she also might have lied to the professor that I wasn't even participating in the lab activity, and damn if he was gullible enough to fall for it.

Come Q3, this current quarter. Our professor in Literature gave us homework to be submitted in Google Drive. I did mine, converted it into the required file format, and had uploaded it to the Drive folder when I came across V's output. I figured it was time she got what was coming when she ruined my reputation to the teaching staff, so I deleted it. I secured my own folder so nobody but I can edit/delete it, just in case. The next day after that, V had nothing for submission and let's just say took some hits when the professor scolded her, and I have plans to get rid of more of her future outputs since we're relying on online tools for turning in homework.

On one hand, I feel a bit bad for doing that, and in addition I'm also scared I may be caught/traced. But on the other, I felt that it was only fair that she experienced even a fraction of humiliation that I faced during Q1 and Q2.

I dunno, Tumblr, AITA for that, and WIBTA for continuing with my plans?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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morganas-pendragons · 1 year

Text

Haven’t We Given Enough? | Joel Miller

Okay, so hear me out. I've known about this game for years but have been exclusively an Xbox kid since like 2004 so I've never had the opportunity to play it. I heard Pedro was cast as Joel and I was shocked that I actually knew the actors playing Joel and Ellie. Saw the trailer, watched the entire first game gameplay, and now I'm here.

Whoops.

I will say this though: I'm really bothered that I could find like nothing but hardcore smut in the tag for this character. I aim to change that. Enjoy some hurt/comfort!

@ironmandeficiency

This is meant for a fem!reader. There are themes of past pregnancy in this that may come back into play later (reader had and lost a child) so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, read at your own risk.

***

It’s remarkable how similar he is to the very thing you’ve thought him to be since you met. While Ellie is like a summer fire burning across empty, barren fields, Joel is the vengeful, unrelenting snow storm that threatens to pull you apart.

He becomes increasingly good at it the longer you know him. Those dexterous, strong fingers wrap around the rungs of your ribs and pull them apart until the fragile beating thing you call a heart is exposed.

That fragile beating thing has simply endured too much. It’s endured heartbreak, and loss, and pain, and it’s somehow still keeping you alive despite having lived through the beginning of the Outbreak and twenty years into it.

Sheer determination has kept you alive. Not love, not your little sister, just a culmination of all the things you’ve endured that have turned into anger.

It’s not like his anger though. Yours is calm. Methodical. Purposeful.

Joel Miller’s anger is exactly like him: Vengeful, unrelenting, terrifying. It’s only once you meet that your anger begins to temper down into something he has never quite known. Not in this life anyway.

Gentless. Compassion.

Peace.

And well, Joel Miller finds that the longer he knows you, the more he aches to learn what that really means.

It’s weird. You know it’s a weird habit, but you’ve been doing it since you were a little girl and have a difficult time not falling back into old habits. People have often accused you of being aloof. Bashful.

At the very least, people-watching is resourceful and educational. It really teaches you about what to expect from the ones you don’t quite know yet.

People watching was how you found yourself drawn to Joel Miller.

It started whenever Marlene sent Tess and Joel to smuggle the two of you out of the city. You were Ellie’s older sister - born before the Outbreak, almost fifteen years her senior - and her solely remaining blood family since your parents deaths. Your mother’s dying wish had been whispered into your ear with her final breath: Look after your sister.

So you did.

“I will be damned if you even think I’m not going to follow that girl,” You snarled, jabbing your thumb into Marlene’s chest. “That’s my sister. My blood. My promise. You will not take that away from me.”

The Boston QZ was, as to be expected, a literal hell. The only way that you and Ellie were going to survive was if you joined the ranks of the Fireflies. You did. You did, and it ruined you. Any remaining semblance of innocence that you had died years before.

You didn’t want to think about that. It was past, it was gone, just like that part of who you’d been at that point.

All gone. Just like the rest of the world.

Marlene knew better then to argue with a Williams. Where you lacked, Ellie made up for it. It was comical how a fourteen year old girl, in certain situations, had more diplomacy then you did.

She was the one who talked when Joel came into the room for the first time.

“Be careful with that one,” You warned afterward. Marlene snorted as both Williams sisters simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests and leaned into the counter as Joel left the room to confer with his partner. “He’s a storm.”

Ellie knew of your comparisons. She knew of your uncanny ability to read people, to see people, and she’d never doubted you. Not once.

“Funny. First time you told me this, you said I was a fire. If he’s a storm...” She nudged her head uncertainly in the direction Joel had left in. “Then what kind of storm is he?”

Your eyes flutter closed. You’d been able to gauge a lot just from those few minutes of conversation. “Winter,” You reply quietly. “One of those blizzards we got caught in the winter you turned four. Mom and Dad had us hunker down. We didn’t leave the bank we were in for well over a week. Stayed in the safe.” You pause. “If we had even threatened to step into that storm, we would’ve been obliterated. That’s the kind of storm Joel is. Unyielding, vengeful.”

“Your comparisons never fail to amaze me, kid,” Marlene commented. “You’re right on the nose. Watch out for Joel Miller.”

He’s nothing if not ruthless.

***

For the first couple of months you’re forced to travel across the country with Joel, you hate him. You hate how dismissive he is of you and you hate how he continues to act like dragging Ellie to the Fireflies who will then make the cure is the worst inconvenience he can possibly experience.

You hate him. You hate him so much because he seems to be able to see right through you. No one has done that since-

Not since him.

Ellie knows who he is. Joel doesn’t. He doesn’t ask why you sometimes wake up with a cry bubbling in the back of your throat, or why your hands always subconsciously drift toward your ring finger when there’s nothing there.

He also doesn’t ask why your hand is almost always lingering on your stomach when he sees you through the cracks in the doors of the rooms you and Ellie sleep in.

He doesn’t ask.

So you don’t tell.

***

You remember the first time he ever saved you from a clicker on your way through Pittsburgh with Joel, Henry, Ellie and Sam. It’s another one of those instances where you can recall things most other people can't: the details people cannot be bothered to remember.

The smell of the tunnel. Damp. Dark. The smell of infected wafting through your nose, a familiar smell now just like the burnt bodies you so often found permeating the air in the QZ.

The click of the shotgun. The desperate shout of Joel’s voice as he tackled that creature to the ground before firing once, twice, three times into its face while you struggled to regain your breath.

The way that, afterward, he’d tossed the gun into Ellie’s arms to take your own into his hands and survey your skin for bites.

“You good, darlin’?” He’d asked, and your brain short-circuited because this was not the same man who'd spent the last several weeks showing you and your sister nothing but utter disdain and contempt.

“Yeah, yeah... I’m good.” You murmur. “Thanks Joel.”

The most memorable part of that particular day - aside from the sunlight and the way it reflected just right against the grey and white of Joel’s hair and his eyes - was the way you had learned that, underneath the rough exterior, he had the same bleeding heart you did.

***

Jackson is nice. It’s clearly the beginnings of what’s meant to become a larger, thriving civilization somewhere down the line, but it’s the first place you’ve been in the last twenty years that feels calm.

Joel’s entire demeanor changes upon arrival, and it’s not until the gates open that you realize why: The man who steps through - and is clearly one of the few in charge - bears a remarkable resemblance to him.

You and Ellie later find out that it’s Tommy. His younger brother.

The details of that newly made memory are astonishingly clear: The curve of Joel’s smile, the feeling of the sunlight, the laughter that echoes as the three of you are led inside.

For once in the last two decades, you have finally met someone who doesn’t have malicious intent.

“So who’s the older girl, Joel?”

“Kid’s sister,” Joel replied curtly. “That’s it.”

Tommy clucked his tongue and shook his head as they entered the water plant. “I know you better then that,” He argued. “Way you look at her? Not just her sister. You’ll figure it out sooner than later even though that thick skull of yours.”

The plant is attacked by the bandits who have been trying to infiltrate the compound for the last couple of months. Your illusion of peace is shattered as you again are forced to take, take, take, until there’s nothing left but bodies to deal with.

That’s when you find out Ellie is gone. You find out Ellie is gone and for the first time in quite a while, you are properly afraid.

And fear fuels you. Just like anger.

Joel knows anger, but he doesn’t know your anger until he has the gall to tell your little sister she doesn’t know what loss is. It’s unfortunate you manage to hear the entire conversation through the bedroom door while staking out the house to ensure you’re in the clear.

She’d run away from Jackson. Why, you don’t know, but you had been more panic then anything else because it was the first time Ellie had ever attempted to do something like that.

You really just wanted to know her reasoning.

“What do you want from me?!” Joel snaps, harsh and sharp, as he storms deeper into the room.

“Admit that you wanted to get rid of me the whole time! Admit that my sister has been nothing but an inconvenience to you and you’ve felt burdened by us both!”

You can’t see Joel’s face. You can’t see his face, but you see the way his body reacts to that statement. He’s trying really hard to keep himself under control. It’s admirable.

They argue for what feels like years. Ellie calls him out, again and again, only to be stonewalled by Joel’s incessant need to keep everyone at arms length and provide as little information about himself and his feelings as possible.

What causes you to storm into the room is the statement that makes the whole world grind to a stop.

“I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel... but I have lost people too.”

“You have no idea what loss is.”

Ellie’s entire aspect shifts into something akin to both horror and shock as you storm into the room, fury radiating from your features, to only then whip Joel Miller around and slap him in the face.

Your handprint burns against his cheek as he stares at you slack jawed, raising his own hand to cradle him jaw. Joel’s seen you do a lot of things. He’s seen you kill, and he’s seen you comfort, but he’s never bore witness to the heart of the storm itself.

He immediately regrets provoking the argument now.

“El,” You say quietly, fury dripping from your words as you grip his shirt with tight fingers. “Go downstairs and join Tommy. Now.”

Ellie doesn’t argue. She never has because she knows better. With a curt nod, your little sister evacuates the room like a flood has just fallen upon it to leave you - the gentle storm versus the vengeful one - alone with Joel.

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t.” You snarl. “Don’t you dare. You don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling her she doesn’t know what loss is, you sanctimonious egotistical-” Your hands pound against his chest, once, twice, three times. Every hit makes you just a little more tired. “We all know what loss is, Joel! You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with the funerals!”

Funerals.

Huh.

Snatching your hands with his own, Joel’s response is quiet and extremely unnerving as he murmurs, “We didn’t have funerals. We just burned them.”

You don’t have time to reply. There’s people in the house, and you’re left to slip back into your mask as you remove your gun from its holster and flick the safety off.

You don’t spare Joel a second glance.

***

It’s another dead end. Another dead end full of questions and no answers that leave you asking more that no one seems to be able to give you. There might be nothing here but bodies and unanswered questions, but it does give you one thing that makes it memorable.

The way that Ellie has smiled more now than she has since your parents and Riley died. You don’t try to intervene, to make yourself apart of what are undoubtedly her memories to carry, so you watch.

It’s enough.

It’s pretty straight forward into the University - nothing, nothing, and more nothing - until you’re ambushed by another group that has you and Joel fighting hand to hand for the first time in a while.

You’ve only just managed to incapacitate yours when a resounding crash sounds from outside, and you just barely see the telltale salt-and-pepper hair go careening over the edge of the balcony.

Seeing Joel like that.. That’s the second time you’ve known the same fear in such a short amount of time: Fear of loss.

There’s me, the fool with the slow heart who dared to think I could love someone else again.

***

The storms feels like it’s dwindling now. Like it’s simply the kind you get in the early hours of the morning in December, where the clouds are thick and gray and cover the entire sky as snow slowly falls to stick upon the chilled earth.

Joel Miller has been this unyielding, fierce storm that threatens to tear everything apart from the moment you met him in Boston. He’s cold. Calculating. Sharp. You’ve seen what he’s capable of - and reacted quite violently the first time, you hadn’t realized the human body held that much blood - and have experienced the ramifications of what such things can do.

The nightmares, the abrasiveness, the need to push everyone away because it’s simply easier than allowing yourself to love something that death can touch.

You’ve always known Joel to be a storm, but since Ellie - and you, though you just don’t know it yet - have wormed into his heart, the storm has dwindled. It’s gentler. Softer. More willing to listen to reason, to fight for something other then himself.

The rough exterior that turns so many people away is slowly giving to show who’s under the surface.

You were almost positive that your heart was going to give out when you watched Joel fall from Ellie’s horse. You’d barely been able to do anything about the wound he’d obtained from the rebar at the university, using what meager means of medical supplies you had in your saddlebags to pack and dress it so the bleeding stopped.

Ellie had watched you from the top of Callus as you carried him to the horse and slowly eased him into her arms.

“Do you think he’s gonna make it?” She asked you later, long after you’d lost sight of the school over your shoulder.

“I hope so, El.” You reply quietly. “I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t.” It’s half a truth with a confession hidden in between of your true feelings toward the matter. You’d spent so much time watching Joel - learning about the inner workings of a man your heart aches to know, to heal, to love - that you weren’t sure what you’d do if his steady, sure presence wasn’t around anymore.

The three of you have made your home inside a garage in an abandoned neighborhood when the snowfall hits. Ellie volunteers to take care of the horses while you situate yourself and Joel into a crude attempt of a sleeping situation inside, pushing two of the remaining mattresses together and scrounging up blankets for you to shield yourselves from the cold.

You don’t like how pale he is. His wound isn’t infected, which is good, but his heartbeat is too weak and you can’t help yourself from feeling somewhat responsible.

“Joel Miller,” You whisper, long after Ellie is gone and it’s just the sound of uneven breathing and the pounding of your heart from where you lay curled around him on the pair of mattresses. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself into my blood stream. You’re not allowed to give up on me. On us. Do you understand?”

Joel doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t answer. You don’t expect him to, but part of you wishes he’d open those dark brown eyes and gaze up at you with all the longing and desperation you’ve felt towards him since... since.

The bitter cold that settles in your bones is an alarming reminder that you need to curl around Joel to preserve body heat. Last thing you need is him dying of hyperthermia.

“Don’t leave us,” You whisper again, curling your fingers into his hair as you tuck your body around his own and press your chin against the top of his head. “Don’t leave us.”

We can’t take another funeral.

***

The first time Joel wakes up is the day before Ellie leaves for another hunting trip. She’s scrounged up a meager amount of supplies through the houses in the neighborhood, just enough for you to get by, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the guilt settling in your stomach when you hear Ellie’s stomach growl halfway through the night.

It’s not like you’re sleeping anyway.

Joel’s sudden state of awareness is brought upon by the fingers raking through his hair and the warmth that touches his skin from the body wrapped around him. It’s odd, foreign. After so many years of isolating himself from other people, he hadn’t realized how much he craved physical contact.

And the burn that follows is enough to make him groan.

“Joel?” Immediately your hands are at his sides, Ellie’s face just above his head as his vision swims. The pain is muted. Numb. He’s barely feeling is because he’s far too distracted by your hands. “Can you hear me? I’m going to check your wound again. If you stay awake enough, I want you to eat.”

Ellie has taken his head into her lap before he can protest. Joel is awake just enough to say your name, low and hoarse, before his vision swims with black spots and the last thing he can remember is the burn.

He can remember the burn, and he can remember how you made him feel in the midst of it. Peaceful. Safe.

Joel Miller has never known peaceful or safe. Not since her. Not since Sarah.

And as he succumbs to sleep, he finds that he wants to know it more.

***

Ellie’s been gone for too long. You know she’s been gone for too long, and you haven’t heard from her on the walkies the two of you had found a couple of weeks before.

She’s been gone too long. You need to go find her.

That’s the second and final time Joel wakes up.

You’re halfway through loading his shotgun when he finally comes to, wide eyed and alert as his hands scramble for purchase on the closest weapon to him. “Easy, Joel,” You chide gently. “It’s just me.”

Something settles in him. He seems at ease with your answer.

“Where’s-” Joel grunts as he sits up, pressing a hand to his side as he does so. You ease the shotgun to the side and kneel down to his level to meet the worry in his gaze. “Where’s Ellie?”

Your frown deepens. “She went out to hunt too long ago,” You reply. “I was just about to secure this place and then go look for her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You fidget nervously with your hands as your gaze drops into your lap. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, Joel.”

He wants to scold you. Joel wants to chastise you for such a foolish decision when your sister’s life is on the line, but he can’t find it in him to do so because your gaze is so genuine. He’s not used to that.

Joel Miller is not used to real.

Pressing a gentle thumb to the divot in your chin, you’re captivated by the way the condescension and hostility in his demeanor is gone as he slowly moves his fingers to cup the curve of your jaw. “Thank you,” He murmurs gratefully. “But now we need to go find Ellie.” A pause. “Are you ready to do what we need to do, if it gets bad?”

He always asks you this. Right before he has to embrace the side of himself that scares you, that you’ve tried so hard to keep at bay, Joel warns you about it.

“Yeah. Yeah...” You pump the shotgun in response and press it against your hip. “Yeah, I am.”

It’s uncanny how quickly you’ve learned how to slip into your masks. The mask of the gentle, compassionate woman that Joel had only just gotten to know disappears in the face of the violence he’s so accustomed to - shifting into something darker, more apathetic, more willing to do what needs to be done.

Even for the sake of one life.

You don’t even flinch when he starts torturing two of the men patrolling the neighborhood you’ve called home for the last few days. Not when the screaming starts. not when the blood pours.

“Now, the girl. Is she alive?”

“What girl? I don’t know no girl!”

The poor idiot doesn’t start talking until Joel has driven his blade clear through his knee. According to his endless rambling, your kid sister has become the newest pet to someone named David.

And that makes you see red.

You don't blink twice when both bodies lay motionless on the ground.

“Hey Joel?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“When we find this David,” You drag your fingers across the expanse of his shoulders to rest them on the exposed skin of his neck. His pulse thrums steadily under your touch. “I’m going to be the one to put the bullet in his face.”

***

The storm has died down to a newly fallen December snow. The temper has eased, and the anger has dissipated - only to be directed toward the people who are most deserving of it - into something that searches, that yearns, for something.

Snow melts. Snow melts and reveals what lays beneath it.

You’re just inside of the Salt Lake City limits when it happens. You’re the one who volunteered to take watch while Joel and Ellie slept. The three of you were nearly in the endgame now being so close to the Firefly hospital. Once your sister was taken there, the world would finally be saved.

And you could finally settle. No more running, no more existing.

Chewing absently on the inside of your cheek, you fiddle with the edge of your rifle from your lookout point over your camp. You’re almost too deep into your thoughts to hear him scream.

But he doesn’t just scream. Joel screams Sarah’s name, and everything becomes astonishingly clear as to why he has been the way he is. Ellie had told you about Tommy trying to slip Joel the last photo of him and his daughter before the outbreak. How he’d refused it. How he, to this day, remained adamant that his departed little girl would never be a topic of conversation.

No one warns you about the loss of a child.

“Easy, Joel,” You warn, shouldering your rifle as you climb down from the tree to sit beside the bed. His shaking fingers are wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. “There’s just a couple of hours until the sun comes up. You thirsty?”

Dark eyes flicker to the next bedroll. Ellie is still sleeping.

“No,” He replies gruffly. “But thanks.”

There’s a long moment of companionable silence that passes as you sit beside him, finally feeling courageous enough to spill your heart at his feet, “For all those months when we started this, I hated you. I hated you because you clearly hated me-”

“First off,” Joel interjects sharply. “Never been a time in which I hated you. Don’t know what gave you that assumption.”

“So if it wasn’t hate, then what was it? I’m not an expert at reading Joel Miller,” You shrug. “At least not yet.”

The sun is just beginning to creep over the edges of the three line in front of you. The sky above is shifting from the deep black to a soft, gentle blue that will shift into the golds and oranges of dawn.

You’re running out of time.

Joel swallows the knot in his throat as he contemplates his answer. Giving the real answer means being real and vulnerable. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that yet.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for that but with the open, earnest way you’re looking at him? He’ll get there eventually.

“Sarah was my daughter,” Joel says quietly. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you while he says this he will come apart at the seams. “She died at the start of the epidemic. Longer that goes by, more I’m almost.. grateful.” The words are sour on his tongue. It sounds so wrong. “She was too good for a world like this one. Too pure. Any kind of innocence I had was gone a long time ago. I was made for this kind of life,” His eyes slowly shift to meet yours. You haven’t taken your gaze off of his face once. “You and Ellie weren’t.”

You smile. “That’s sweet, Joel. Really. But you could not know-”

“I do know. I know because you have something that doesn’t exist anymore.’’

You tip your head to the side in confusion. “Which is?”

“Goodness. Compassion. You’re real,” Joel pauses, running his tongue along his teeth. “That’s why it looked like I hated you. I hated you because I was afraid of how real you are. How gentle you are.”

“Why would that be something you’d fear?” You ask softly.

“Because I don’t deserve that kind of thing, Sunshine. Goodness? Compassion? All the soft things that died with my little girl?” He shakes his head. “Those aren’t something you give to someone like me.”

You’d noticed over the last couple of months that every time you touched Joel, he recoiled like he had been burned. You’d seen that before too. It was the look often accompanied by the quiet desire to seek more of something you’d been deprived of: The look of a touch starved man.

It was why you’d been more deliberate in starting slow. Cheek touches, chin touches, gentle fingers raking through his hair to scrape across his scalp and kisses to bloodied knuckles on the nights things were bad.

If he wanted real, if he wanted peace, you were more then willing to give it to him.

“I had a son,” You whisper. This is not something you are ready to divulge to Ellie. Not yet. “He was born around the same time she was, though she never knew it,” Something akin to realization flickers through his eyes before he’s opening his mouth to apologize, most likely, but you hush him with a raised hand as you continue. “He died before he ever turned one.”

You didn’t want to continue. It was still too fresh. Too raw. He would’ve been fifteen soon.

Joel took your hand into his own and spread your fingers apart, dragging the tips of his own fingers across the back of each of yours before lifting them to his lips to kiss all your fingertips.

“They have a word for someone who’s lost a spouse. What do you call someone who lost a child?”

And there it is, that quiet understanding you share that makes you ache to pull back what remains of his walls and finally reveal the man who lay underneath.

You hum thoughtfully as you then lean forward to just barely graze your lips against his cheek.

That’s also the same time Ellie decides to wake up. She sees the way your silhouettes cast across the grass as the rays of early morning light emerge from over the trees. She sees the way Joel leans into you like he’s seeking something, and she sees the way scarlet dusts your cheeks when you finally pull away.

Hm.

Seems like you’ve finally found what you’re looking for.

***

Everything finally feels right. You’ve finally started down a path that ends with Joel realizing that you love him, with Joel realizing that he’s deserving, and with you hopefully realizing that he’s been reciprocating for quite some time.

The three of you are at the hospital in Salt Lake after being caught in the flood. You’re the one who took the most damage. Battered and bruised, Joel is left to watch helplessly from your bedside as you sleep. He’d only just woken up himself in the same state.

Marlene comes in much, much later to tell you what’s going on with Ellie. What the real cure is, what it will do to her.

And suddenly, again, everything comes screeching to a halt.

This is the story of how, despite everything between you and Joel going right, everything begins to go wrong and you’re left with a decision that will inevitably cost you your sister.

All of those lives, for the sake of one.... is it worth it?

Haven’t I given enough?

part two??? :D

#The Last of Us #tlou #tlou1 #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel x Reader

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lostloveletters · 9 months

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Bruised Fruit Chapter 1 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria falls like overripe fruit from a wilting tree branch, and Michael Corleone intends to devour her amidst the rot and decay that's long since taken root in his family, intent on dooming her with him for a chance at another heir.

Note: I first posted this and two other chapters to AO3, which I'll link if you'd like to read ahead as I begin cross-posting to here.

Warnings: Canon divergence, sexually explicit content, infidelity, period typical attitudes, negative discussions of abortion, Catholicism, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) related to WWII, breeding kink, death, angst, emotional manipulation

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

AO3 Link | Masterlist

"I’m going to Cuba," he told her in a quiet, postcoital moment.

"Are you secretly a Red, Michael?” she teased, her brown eyes sparkling in the golden glow of the lamps in the hotel room they occupied. “Getting in with the rebels before they storm Havana? They’ve already got Santa Clara.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "You and your newspapers. Do you seriously think Castro has a chance?"

She took a long drag on her cigarette, pondering her answer for a moment. "His people have nothing to lose."

"I’ll be fine."

"How long will you be gone?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month," he said, twisting a strand of her long black hair between his fingers, silent for a moment as to test the waters, "I’ll wire you."

"Wire your wife."

"Gloria—"

"I’m not saying that to be confrontational. She’s pregnant, focus on her,” she said, passing him the cigarette. “Where does she think you are tonight?”

“She knows I’m in Vegas, just not with you.”

She hummed, her fingers brushing the tender, bruised skin on her hips, a shade of lavender that would no doubt blossom into a plum monstrosity by the morning. For a man over a decade her senior, he was insatiable, devouring her with a ferocity as if she were ripe for the picking.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his gaze following her fingertips.

She shook her head. “Are you staying over?”

“Yes. I have to head out early, though. Lots of people coming in for Anthony’s first communion.”

“Get some sleep then. Don’t let me keep you up.”

He grinned. “You always keep me up.”

“Bathroom’s that way. I’m tired,” she said jokingly, turning over to bury her face in her pillow.

“I’ll wire you when I get to Havana. A few days from now, probably. I have some things to take care of first.”

She mumbled something from her side of the bed, eyes closed while he continued on in Italian. He landed a playful swat on her ass. Yelping, she turned over, glaring at him.

“Rude,” she scolded, “you know I don’t understand Italian. What’d you say?”

He laughed softly, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “I love you.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I called you lazy and insufferable.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

“Good night, darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Night.”

When Gloria awoke the following morning, Michael was gone, though he’d left a note for her. With no reason to stick around, she returned to her apartment, the third one she has lived in since she moved to Las Vegas. It was more spacious than she needed, but Michael insisted, though he rarely visited her there. Their rendezvous were almost always in the hotel room at the casino that was exclusively reserved for him. Safer that way, a more public place with plenty of his men around. She wasn’t ashamed of their illicit relationship, but it made her feel exposed. As soon as they stepped into that elevator together, everyone knew what they were planning to do.

She sighed, sitting on the couch and running a hand through her hair. Her next shift wasn’t until the following evening, and she wasn’t sure what exactly to do with herself. Michael being in Havana was a test run of what was to come.

After Kay had the baby, she’d see less of Michael, busy being the doting husband, the proud father. Just as she didn’t receive an invitation to Anthony’s first communion, she wouldn’t be welcome at their new son’s baptism. She wasn’t sore about it. If she were Kay, she wouldn’t want her around the family either.

Her fear wasn’t that he wouldn’t return, but rather that he would, and she’d never work up the courage to build a life for herself without him. Moving to Vegas was her first attempt at that, but less than a year into the job, she was practically shoved into his hands, and he hadn’t let go since.

She glanced at the box of newspaper clippings on the entryway desk, to most people, it was little more than evidence of an obsession with the Pacific Theater. Gloria had been young when the war broke out, not fully understanding the difference between the branches of the military, only that her brother wasn’t fighting in Europe, and she rarely heard from him. The newspapers she had poured over introduced her to places like Guadalcanal and Peleliu, small islands that she could barely see on a map, yet somehow Jackie and millions of other men were there.

Then Life ran a special edition on war heroes, featuring Marines like her brother. A decade after its publication, when Fredo had requisitioned her to keep his brother company in the casino while he ran off to attend to some last minute business, she recognized Michael immediately, unable to stop herself from asking the former Captain about his service. When Jackie returned from the war, he had little to say about what he experienced in the Pacific. In fact, he had little to say about much of anything. Shell shock, they called it, aptly describing the shell of a man her formerly outgoing brother had become. Michael Corleone wasn’t a shell, enthralling her with the details of such places as Guadalcanal and Peleliu with the emotional distance of an observer rather than a participant.

As their acquaintanceship escalated into an affair, she saw the scars for herself. Both the physical evidence of his being wounded in action, and the invisible ones that’d rear their ugly heads late at night when they’d begun sharing his hotel room. If not manifesting through bouts of insomnia, then through nightmares that left him dazed and agitated when she managed to wake him from them.

Between the shell shock and his diabetes, she felt like she had to keep a close eye on him. Not only out of genuine concern, but a matter of personal pride. Just because he wasn’t her husband, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of him. God forbid he return to his wife in anything less than mint condition. It was the least Gloria could do.

He would be gone for some time, though, and as she always did during his longer trips, she grabbed her phone, making plans with friends to keep herself occupied. She had a life without him, secure in her independent lifestyle. If she were busy enough, she didn't think of him that often.

Almost a week later, she received the telegram from Michael at work, nearly forgetting his promise to wire her from Cuba.

In Havana. Beautiful weather. Miss you.

She asked the front desk to wire him back.

Miss you too. Have fun. Stay safe.

She didn’t expect a response. There was nothing else to say.

Gloria went about her business as usual, working and meeting friends for dinner and dancing when she could. Her style was undoubtedly cramped by the Corleone family associates who tailed her wherever she went. She wondered if it was humiliating for them to be the ones assigned to covertly babysit the Don’s mistress. After all, if the people behind the attack at his Lake Tahoe home truly wanted to cause her harm, there were ample opportunities to do so in Vegas.

Her bubble was small, safe, and secure despite living in the City of Sin. Her proximity to Michael almost always ensured that. In his absence, a mere phone call popped that bubble.

“Hello? Is this Gloria Marino? This is Kay Corleone.”

“Kay?” she repeated incredulously.

“Can we talk?”

The two women had met just once in person. Michael briefly introduced them when giving his wife a tour of the casino shortly after the family had moved from New York to Nevada. It was the only time Kay had ever stepped foot in the place. Even then, Gloria was sure Kay was smart enough to size her up at first glance, knew she wasn't just another back-of-house employee.

“I figure I’d be the last person you’d wanna talk to.”

“You’d think, but after all this, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t warn you. No one was there to warn me, or maybe I was too stubborn to care.”

Gloria hesitated. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. Consider it my penance.”

“For what?”

“Michael’s going to divorce me when he gets back from his trip.”

“He would never do that.”

“He will.” The certainty in Kay’s voice was shocking, but she didn’t pry. Kay wasn’t telling her for a reason. Prior knowledge of whatever was being omitted would put her in danger with Michael. “He will, and he’s going to go to you afterward. He trusts you.”

“Kay, I don’t—“

“I did something very selfish and desperate, something I can never be forgiven for,” she said cryptically. “You’re going to bear the brunt of the aftermath. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Gloria whispered, unsure if things would really end up that way.

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“Bye, Kay.”

The line went dead, and she stared at the phone in her hand for a few moments. Michael would only divorce Kay if the baby were out of the picture, and the woman’s surety only confirmed that was the case. The aftermath. She could only hazard a guess as to what that meant. Nothing good if she needed to be forewarned.

Days later, when she heard about Kay’s miscarriage through the grapevine, it still didn’t exactly click. Not until there was a knock at the door at a little after one in the morning. She figured if she ignored it long enough, the culprit would get the message and go away, but the knocking was incessant.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, she turned on one of the lamps in her living room. She looked out the peephole, shocked to see Michael standing there, waiting impatiently for her.

“Gloria, open up!” he shouted, banging on the door again, causing her to flinch a little.

She took a deep breath, knowing it was a futile attempt to prepare herself for whatever she was about to get into. His expression unreadable when she opened the door, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Michael, you’re back,” she said cheerfully enough. “How was the trip?”

He was silent as she ushered him inside. Turning on another lamp, she nearly froze at the state of him. Bags under his eyes, unkempt hair as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“I warned you about those rebels,” she joked, only to receive a glare in return, his dark eyes almost black as they leered into hers. “Sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay,” he scoffed, a coldness laced in his voice that settled as an unfamiliar freeze in her veins. “You have no idea what I’ve been through these past few days.”

“I heard Kay miscarried. I’m—“

“It was an abortion,” he snapped. “She murdered our baby.”

Gloria’s eyes widened at the news. Her hand shook as she made a sign of the cross for his unborn son’s soul.

When Kay had called, she never expected the pious wife to commit a mortal sin, damning herself with no hope of reconciliation. Gloria knew other women who had gotten abortions, an inevitability when they weren’t careful enough with the carousel of carefree men that came through Las Vegas. It wasn’t something respectable women with husbands did. Being the wife of a crime lord was hardly respectable, though.

"He was a boy!" he shouted. His eyes were glassy, voice breaking in a rare display of vulnerability. "We were going to have a boy."

"I’m sorry."

"I can tell."

Exasperated, she asked, "What do you want me to do, Michael?"

"Marry me. I want you to marry me."

"No."

In the four or so years she’d been with Michael, she only experienced the lover, not the husband, a different beast entirely. Husbands meant expectations and ownership, something she was woefully unprepared for.

"It wasn’t a question."

"Then I suppose you’re going to carry me off like the Arabian Nights? Drag me kicking and screaming to join your harem?”

“No harem. Just you.”

“Michael—“

“You’ll marry me. You’ll give me another son.”

Michael was the furthest from a holy man she could fathom, but the way his eyes blazed with a biblical ferocity, she believed for a moment that he could alter the will of God with the sheer magnitude of his desperation and humiliation. He wanted to send her into the depths of purgatory to retrieve the boy he was entitled to, the sacrificial lamb that freed his soon to be ex-wife from marital bondage. Forget that he already had a son, a young, healthy boy. It was the principle of the thing, a man of his influence and import being deceived by his otherwise unassuming wife, her dainty hand dealing the death blow. ‘It was an abortion.' Checkmate.

“Darling, you’re the only person I trust,” he implored softly, his hands cradling her face as he tried intentional gentleness over impulsive tyranny. “I love you.”

She wasn’t getting any younger. Most people considered her an old maid. Her mother sure did, sending letters that increasingly implored her to come home and settle down before it’s too late. Her best prospect was standing before her, a man who wasn’t one to be denied. Senators and executives bent to his will, whether a flexible reed or a rigid board, they all would bend. If not, they broke. He’d break her just to put the pieces back together in his image, a mosaic of desperate domesticity.

Her time ran out. Perhaps wishful thinking, or naivety in hindsight, but she always expected Kay to grin and bear it. The expectations of Michael Corleone were her cross to take up. Seeing no better option than to give in, she kissed him, allowing the pads of his thumbs to dig into the peachy skin of her cheeks, deep enough that if they were fruit, the tender flesh would be pierced, juice dripping down his hands. He lapped her up in kind, his mouth laying claim to her.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleaded against her bruised lips.

“I love you, Michael.”

And she did love him, but loving Michael was a burden. She couldn’t blame Kay for what she did. It was a long time to carry that weight. His love was demanding, unforgiving, red-hot to the touch despite his cool exterior. There were only so many times a woman could stand to get burned.

They ended up in her bedroom, no longer her domain but his, she could feel the shift as soon as he walked in, eyes hungrily taking her in like a hawk circling above a rabbit. Her nightclothes quickly discarded, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. She laid back on the bed as he shed his own clothes, and felt an unfamiliar nervousness settle in her stomach. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the act, no longer for leisure, but purposeful, real. If it didn’t take then, he would try again and again until he got what he wanted.

Michael climbed over her, stroking his hard cock before positioning it at her entrance. Leaning down, he kissed her again, his lips taking the brunt of her pained whimper as he slid his length inside her.

His fingers made their home on her hips as they always did, squeezing as he thrust harder and deeper inside her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kissing the base of her throat while plowing into her appealed to an animalistic instinct in him, and he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh, claiming her, marking her.

In turn, she dug her long fingernails into his shoulder blades, only to find later she’d drawn blood.

“Michael, please just—it’s too much,” she choked out.

“Just a little longer.”

He released one of her hips, moving his hand between them to rub circles in her clit. The moan she let out only encouraged him as he thrust faster, bringing the both of them closer to climax.

Closing her eyes, she felt that familiar tightness build in her abdomen. Pleasure tingled through her brain, to her fingertips. She could grab it if she wanted to, reach out for ectasy and make it hers.

“Look at me, Gloria. I want to see you,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “I want to see you become a mother.”

Her eyes shot open, looking at him in near disbelief at his gentle vulgarity.

Before she could even attempt to respond, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit again, and she came, her cunt squeezing his cock, coating it in her juices, hips involuntarily bucking in his unrelenting grip. His name fell from her lips in a delirious whine as her orgasm coursed through her body. He shuddered, cursing under his breath as he slammed his cock deeper into her, letting her cunt milk him dry.

They were silent for a few moments, save for the weak whine Gloria made when Michael pulled out from her. Glancing at her hips, he could see the familiar blossoming of finger-shaped bruises. He kissed her again, his fingers brushing her sensitive folds, collecting the cum that was leaking out before pushing it back inside her, nothing wasted, nothing left to chance.

His lips trailed down her face, to her neck and each of her breasts until finally settling on her belly. He nuzzled his nose against it, the soft, fertile flesh ripening beneath his touch. She felt almost dizzy at his primal display of affection.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” he whispered against her stomach as it rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “I can feel it.”

#michael corleone x oc #the godfather #michael corleone #the godfather part ii #michael corleone fanfic #the godfather fanfic #michael corleone x ofc #michael corleone imagine #the godfather imagine #bruised fruit fic

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primuslife0 · 2 years

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Exclusive senior apartments

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#Exclusive senior apartments

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lemurzsquad · 2 months

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Haikyuu High School Band AU (Karasuno)

I know I've seen this before, but I just HAVE to make my own version of this!!

Haikyuu High School Band AU!! Or at least headcanons on the characters

Starting off strong with Karasuno as a starting point (as much as I want to just do all my favorite characters first TvT), including the entire team and coaches and managers

Please lmk if you want to hear more about this au, and I'm happy to take asks for more headcanons or even story ideas!! (I do plan on writing more and for doing some of the other teams, albeit maybe not with such in depth headcanons and maybe not the entire teams)

(Also, small disclaimer, this is based almost exclusively on personal experience, and a lot of this is based on things that have actually happened to me/in my band gkhsbkj)

Karasuno:

#1 - Sawamura Daichi

Leadership: Band Captain/Section Leader

Concert: Tuba

Marching: Sousaphone

Jazz: Trombone

I feel like he'd totally play tuba and be in jazz on trombone, as well as being a band captain and section leader for the low brass (or just tubas if the band is big enough). Definitely gets "That's my band captain!!" yelled at him a lot, no matter what he does, and he's totally sick and tired of it. He is single-handedly the only reason the band hasn't fallen apart because he actually keeps close contact with everyone in leadership and makes sure stuff is organized. He also brought back running laps as a punishment, but he somehow made it such a thing that people would just join in pre-marching rehearsal laps.

In concert, he's probably first chair tuba in the highest band and thankfully actually knows his parts and is consistently called on to play shared parts with other sections by himself as an example.

As for jazz, I imagine he might not be in first chair, maybe even being on bass trombone, but he knows his part. Not perfectly, but he knows it well. He's also not the most flashy soloist; his solos are simple and solid and well-thought through (if they're improv-ed).

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#2 - Sugawara Koushi

Leadership: Head Drum Major

Concert: Bassoon

Marching: Flute

Marched flute his freshman and sophomore years before becoming a drum major his junior and senior years. While he tries (sometimes) to be serious and a good example, being in executive leadership, more often than not he's adding flourishes and shenanigans to his conducting whenever he feels like it and stealing Daichi's tuba, sousa, or trombone mouthpieces upon request from the non-low-brass underclassmen who aren't allowed in the low brass room where they're stored.

He also plays bassoon in concert in the highest band mostly because of a lack of bassoon players. Not to say he's bad---he is good at his instrument---but he also didn't have much competition. He's known for walking around the band room with a bassoon reed in his mouth and occasionally crowing on it (or putting multiple in his mouth and being almost as obnoxious as some of the other brass players). He always seems to have a pair of pliers or sandpaper during rehearsals, constantly adjusting his reeds whenever he's not playing---for better or for worse, especially when he overadjusts and doesn't have time to fix it before he has to play again.

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#3 - Azumane Asahi

Concert: Percussion

Marching: Front Ensemble (Mallots)

He managed to fly under the radar in terms of skill level until someone caught him practicing an insane marimba solo for fun when he thought no one else was in the band room. And then obviously he got stuck getting tons of mallot solos, quickly becoming the band's most prized percussionist. He's always terrified when doing solos, especially in front of judges by himself, but is absolutely in the zone when he's performing in concert or marching band, entirely focused on playing and nothing else.

At some point, the pressure got to be too much and he quit band for a year. Prior, he had been assigned primarily to more auxilary percussion instruments, so when he was suddenly expected to be this amazing player after one encounter, he caved and dropped the class. Fortunately, when the underclassmen discovered he used to be a great player, they managed to drag him back, and Takeda happily got him a schedule change to bring him back into band.

Now, he spends a lot of time hidden away in the percussion room, often interrupted by Noya, with headphones on and practicing his mallot parts. The band relied on him, after all, and he couldn't let them down.

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#4 - Nishinoya Yuu

Concert: Percussion

Marching: Lead Snare

Jazz: Rhythm (Drumset)

One of those crazy good percussionists that just seemed to show up one day with an insane talent for drumset and drums in general. While he struggles in concert to read rhythms (often improv-ing them instead, which often gets him a stern look from their band director, Ukai), he has a natural knack for drumset and setting up the jazz band with a solid backing.

In concert, he loves to play the big percussion instruments, like gong, bass drum, or timpanis, but he's content with anything that's loud and stands out (slapstick, flexitone, castanets; if you know, you know). He seems to always be late for rehearsals, usually with a snack, smoothie, or full on fast food meal that he brings into the band room and immediately gets chewed out for for bringing open food into the band room.

He somehow ended up on lead snare for marching despite wanting to play tenors or bass drum because they needed someone with really good tempo and feet timing, as well as skill on the drums, in order to line up with and help the drum majors keep the band in time out on the field.

In jazz, he essentially only plays the drums, having no particular skills on vibraphone or piano. So when rhythm rotates and someone else is on drumset, he often has to sit out if there isn't another set of drums needed for the chart.

He seems to never leave the band room, similar to Asahi, except he doesn't actually seem to do anything except cause problems. If he's not confined to the percussion room, spending time with Asahi, he's on a drumset somewhere in the band room or helping the underclassmen pull pranks (no he definitely was not the reason there were tons of stickers of Ukai's face now being distributed among the band).

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#5 - Tanaka Ryuunosuke

Concert: Alto Saxophone

Marching: Alto Saxophone

Jazz: Alto/Soprano Saxophone

Ah yes, the bane of every band director's existence: that one loud alto sax player. Is he good at his instrument? Yes. Does that make him any less obnoxious? Absolutely not. He practically carries the entire marching alto section out on the field with how loud he plays (for better or for worse) and is constantly told to play quieter, play less aggressive, soften the articulation, just chill out a little bit. He is, shockingly, usually the first to marching rehearsal (sometimes throwing a ball with some others on the field before it starts) and probably the most hyped out of anyone. This does not, however, stop him from being late to stretch block despite being there earlier than anyone.

He is very well known for trying to play every instrument that isn't his. At least once a week, he's trying to convince someone to let him play their trombone, bari sax, trumpet, bass clarinet. Many times has he been lectured by Daichi for playing other people's instruments, especially when Band Plague (tm) is circulating.

He plays lead alto in jazz. It's a miracle they let him play soprano sax in jazz, but they really couldn't pick anyone else that had the same skill for jazz and improv as he had. He and Noya are a duo that should not be messed with or underestimated, especially if they're assigned to the same combo.

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#6 - Ennoshita Chikara

Leadership: Quartermaster, eventually Band Captain/Section Leader

Concert: Euphonium

Marching: Trombone

Getting the instruments right for him was hard, but I could honestly only see him playing trombone and euph. It's kind of a mystery how he ended up as a quartermaster after putting in his leadership application, but him lugging around equipment and setting things up quickly became a very common sight. He proved himself to be extremely reliable, and Daichi would often go to him for advice and to make sure everything was set up and ready to go. When he becomes band captain and section leader, it was very natural; the irony was having two low brass band captains in a row, which isn't the most common sight.

He's probably what would be considered the model band student, which is most likely the reason he is assigned to executive leadership. He's always on time, always the last to leave after helping clean up the band room and put chairs and stands away (that no one else bothers to). He diligently practices his concert and marching music, which does land him with his fair share of solos. He's the best euphonium player they have in the highest band simply due to his dedication. He does, however, seem to have a sixth sense for misbehavior, and he's scared a number of band kids when he suddenly appears just as they're breaking the rules.

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#7 - Kinoshita Hisashi

Concert: Alto Saxophone

Marching: Alto Saxophone

Jazz: Alto Saxophone

Kind of just your average, quiet alto player. The problems lie in who he has to be around consistently: Tanaka. Their lockers are next to each other, and he's always second to Tanaka. He really doesn't mind, he just wishes when the "altos" get yelled at, they would specify "just Tanaka." Fortunately, he's a decent player---albeit often told to play louder on his second alto part---so the attention usually isn't on him very much.

He's often found outside the band room by the vending machine, usually doing homework or chatting with Narita (and Ennoshita if he's not practicing, which he usually is). He prefers to practice at home, so he brings his instrument almost everyday. Even if he is (definitely) a better concert alto than Tanaka, he doesn't bother challenging him for his chair because he knows he will never hear the end of it. Better to keep the peace, he thinks. Second alto isn't such a bad part to play.

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#8 - Narita Kazuhito

Concert: Oboe

Marching: Baritone Saxophone

Jazz: Baritone Saxophone

Another quiet but strong player, he's a very reliable oboe and bari sax player (the double reed to saxophone pipeline is very present). Initially, he never expected to play bari sax after spending middle school playing oboe and alto sax for concert and marching, but when Ukai became band director, he decided they needed more low reeds. So, he ended up picking up bark sax when he joined jazz in sophomore year and really enjoyed it, enough to start marching it.

While he's still second chair oboe behind Kiyoko in the highest ensemble, he does often end up being the only oboe when she switches to English horn for some pieces. He's had to learn a lot in terms of being confident in his part and not leaning on more experienced players. Jazz band helped with this as well given the standard big band only has one bari sax; he can't always rely on having Daichi on bass trombone sometimes to back him up, especially not in sax features.

His locker is actually next to Kinoshita's despite it being one of the massive bari sax lockers, and seeing a tiny oboe case on top of a giant bari sax case is always entertaining. He also probably rarely uses an actual school locker with how much space he has in his band locker (even if he's not there super and they're technically not supposed to store non-band things in there). I imagine he doesn't spend more time in the band room than he has to most of the time---no particular reason against it, he just doesn't see the need to be there.

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#9 - Kageyama Tobio

Leadership: Section Leader

Concert: Clarinet, Bass/Contrabass Clarinet

Marching: Clarinet, Mellophone

Every band has that one person that can play way too many instruments and takes the "give me five minutes and a fingering chart" phrase way to literally. That person at Karasuno is Kageyama. While his primary instrument is---and always will be---clarinet, he picks up other instruments pretty quickly given the chance: piano, saxophone, flute, trumpet, and mellophone in particular. In concert, he is the best clarinet player the band has, which gives him opportunities to play bass clarinet (if they don't already have one) and contrabass clarinet when it's needed, at least when the parts are particularly vital and they need a solid player.

During marching season, he marched clarinet as well, becoming section leader in his junior year. He did, however, start investing in playing mellophone with the intention of going into DCI---essentially professional marching band---when he graduated. While some of the woodwinds gave him flack for starting to learn a brass instrument, they couldn't deny that he did get pretty good at it.

He is always in the band room, practicing or otherwise, and if he's there, then so is Hinata. They constantly seem to be competing about something even though there's no real basis of comparison considering they don't really play the same instruments. This does not stop them, however. Often, they will have to be yelled at to go home and get out by Daichi (and eventually Ennoshita and Yamaguchi) and their band directors so that they can also go home.

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#10 - Hinata Shouyou

Concert: Trumpet

Marching: Trumpet

Jazz: Trumpet

(As much as I loved the idea of giving him bari sax,) I had to give him trumpet because this kid is absolutely obsessed with DCI. He wants nothing more than to be the absolute best so that he can march out there with the best of the best. His playing style is overzealous most of the time, but he has skills built up from years of teaching himself. They are far from the conventional methods of a classical private teacher or band director (since his middle school essentially had no real band class and barely enough to keep the class on the roster). He joined jazz as just another chance to play trumpet during the day and have more pieces and charts to play. Any excuse to be playing.

He is very loud, to the point where his playing is instantly recognizable even from outside the band room. He actually struggles quite a bit to play proper swing in jazz, to Ukai's frustration. If he's ever given solos, it will be on a Latin or shuffle or any chart without a strong swing. In concert, however, he is given almost every trumpet solo under the sun, especially with Ukai picking pieces specifically to cater to giving both him and Kageyama solos and features.

Hinata takes every opportunity to try and compete with Kageyama, to the dismay of everyone around them. Made worse by the fact the underclassmen ended up with last pick of lockers and the only available ones were next to each other, they always seem to be bickering about something. Kageyama had tried to ignore it, but eventually gave into the competitive spirit, and both are known to be constantly practicing to show up the other. Every cracked note is met with a perfectly in tune melody, and every solo is met with a perfect rendition of the background part.

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#11 - Tsukishima Kei

Concert: French Horn

Marching: Clarinet, Mellophone

Arguably the weirdest combination of instruments, he prefers to play a few instruments that he can get really good at than be like Kageyama who is very good at a couple and pretty okay at a handful of others. He never really showed insterest in leadership, preferring to focus on himself. Being in the highest band, especially in first chair, means he constantly has to see Hinata and Kageyama, but he doesn't mind as much since Yamaguchi is also there. Why he started marching clarinet as opposed to mellophone is a mystery to most, although Yams will claim it's because he didn't want to have to hold up a brass instrument out of the field so his arms would hurt less.

Unfortunately, marching clarinet meant he had to be around Kageyama, but as long as they didn't have to sit next to each other in concert band, he was fine with being in the same section out on the field. Until Kageyama became section leader and gained some level of authority over him, which led him to switch to the standard french horn alternative: mellophone. Some called him petty, but he just shrugged it off.

His indifferent attitude---and the fact that he never seemed to be in the band room---might have led to assumptions that he didn't care, but others were not aware of the personal french horn he practices on regularly at home, away from the prying eyes in the band room. He opted, rather, to use a school-owned horn in class, only bringing his own for concerts (not that anyone paid enough attention to notice aside from his own section, but they want nothing to do with any backlash from anyone for revealing this).

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#12 - Yamaguchi Tadashi

Leadership: Uniform Staff, eventually Band Captain/Section Leader

Concert: Tenor Saxophone

Marching: Tenor Saxophone

While entering high school as a perhaps below average tenor sax player, he managed to distinguish himself as a very perserverant player by the time he got to his junior year. Rather than relying on natural talent, he put in the work to get to be one of the top saxophonists---not the best, but he was certainly not to be looked down upon. Especially when he made up for what he lacked instead with his leadership skills. He practically redefined the role of uniform staff (a role that initially just meant "know how to fold uniforms and check that they're put away correctly") into something that actually took initiative in managing uniforms and allocating duties.

If anyone had met him in his freshman year, they would never have said he would become such a good leader or player, but he became that regardless. He and Tsukki tended not to spend excessive amounts of time in the band room until their senior year when Yams had to be the first there and the last to leave as band captain, so Tsukki often assisted and stayed with him so he wasn't by himself once the other section leaders had left.

He actually made it a point to learn bari sax and bass clarinet (at least in terms of knowing the basics and how to transpose from concert pitch to Eb and vice versa) to be a better low reeds section leader. He may seem sweet, but he has more than earned the respect of his band---and there is a reason they don't mess with him because it can never end well. It's also how the band room is spotless by the end of every day.

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Shimizu Kiyoko

Leadership: Librarian

Concert: Oboe/English Horn

Marching: Front Ensemble (Keyboard)

Jazz: Rhythm (Piano/Keyboard/Vibraphone)

The absolute model student and kid in band (not to be confused with a band kid). She plays oboe and English horn in concert, but her skills from years of piano lessons still landed her on piano parts. As a librarian, she constantly organizes and finds music and makes copies for all of the bands for the band directors and even occasionally the orchestra; when Yachi also became a librarian, she did her best to train her, and they were able to split up the workload much more reasonably.

She is easily the best oboe player not just in the school but the county. Oboe and English horn solos are commonplace in the pieces that are chosen for the highest band specifically for her. In jazz, she typically plays piano or keyboard but branched out into vibraphone when percussion did their instrument rotations. In marching, she stands in the front, headphones on, playing keyboard with the rest of the front ensemble.

Despite not being on executive leadership, she is still well-respected and very rarely left out of the loop on important issues and discussions, being a somewhat honorary member of upper leadership.

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Yachi Hitoka

Leadership: Librarian

Concert: Flute

Marching: Flute

Jazz: Trumpet, Flute

Poor Yachi, she was not ready for how intense Karasuno's band would be and how seriously they take the program. But she quickly got used to it, practically adopted into the main group, namely when she joined jazz after her first year and became a librarian. Since there typically isn't a designated flute player in a big band set-up, she opted to learn trumpet with the help of Hinata when he found out she joined the lower jazz band as a beginner. With his help, she got to be a decent intermediate player, occasionally playing flute on the off chance a chart called for it in the instrumentation.

She became more outgoing slowly but surely, somehow suddenly ending up with friends and acquaintances in almost every section and ensemble---Kiyoko thinks it's because the boys are rubbing off on her. Becoming a librarian also really helped in learning names and faces so she can get music and dot cards to the right people. By the end of her time in high school, it seemed that everyone at least knew her name or face with how much time she spent in the band room doing homework, helping out band kids and the band directors, and keeping everything organized.

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Takeda Ittetsu

Position: Assistant Band Director, Orchestra Director

Teaches: Orchestra, Symphonic Winds (2nd band), Music Theory, Jazz Band (lower)

Instrument: Cello, Trombone

Band was certainly not his first calling, considering he played cello in high school. When the previous Director Ukai retired, Karasuno struggled to find another teacher to replace him, thus their orchestra director took the place for a time until he managed to track down the current Ukai. With the extent of his experience with band being the instruments he learned for his degree in Music Education, he struggled, to say the least. But with the help of the students and other staff members (and the temporary band director that filled in for a while), he made it work the best that he could. He did start to get better at trombone (the wind instrument he enjoyed the most in his college music ed classes) so he had at least some band experience.

He did a lot for the program in terms of finding places and gigs for them to perform at, adding more marching competitions to the schedule and finding more performance opportunities for the bands and individuals. Despite the couple of years of transition that led to the band program losing many members, especially experienced players who graduated, it was eventually built up again.

After he brought Ukai on board, he had more time to invest in the orchestra program like he had before while still teaching the middle level band, the lower jazz band, and the Music Theory class. His insight on and relationships with the band members was invaluable, however, to help make decisions on leadership and ensemble placements.

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Ukai Keishin

Position: Head Band Director

Teaches: Concert Band (3rd band), Wind Ensemble (1st band), Jazz Band (upper), Percussion

Instrument: Trombone, Euphonium

It took a lot of convincing for him to get on board with becoming a band director, but it was one of the best things that could have happened to Karasuno. Having a solid band director who had lived and breathed band when he was younger (and a father who was the previous band director at that very school for many years) was exactly what the program needed to finally rebuild. He may not be the best conductor or organizer, but he does pick challenging and achievable music to push the bands to be better. The jazz band in particular soared, many joining to get a taste of its success under new leadership. Despite not getting to choose leadership the year that he joined (that being established the year prior), he was not afraid to keep a tight reign over those that were not doing what they needed to in their positions.

Through high school, he played trombone, being a skilled jazz and concert trombonist. He picked up euphonium for concert band in late high school and college and for some community ensembles he joined. He is also very knowledgeable of marching band, helping write one of the best shows the band had had the chance to perform in years.

He teaches the lowest and highest bands as well as the top jazz band and the percussion class. Takeda makes it a point to get him to organize joint band and orchestra events in order to bring the programs closer, specifically having a full orchestra (something students from both always asked about and looked forward to) and concerts where they both perform. The jazz band also got many opportunities for gigs and other performances, and the wind ensemble got chances to be a showcase band at band events and camps on more than one occasion. Parades were also events they got chances to perform at because of him (and Takeda's persistence, of course).

Thank you for reading!! <3

If you'd like to add to this or share your thoughts, please lmk!!

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