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dxrlingluv · 1 day ago

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HELLO ODDY DEAREST!!I LOVE YOUR WORK SMM💖 i hope you've been well, mwamwaa! Your top fan, aina hereee 😝,, May I request a Jealous!Antinous x Tele's Sister!Reader smut please? :3

it could be likee,, reader and antinous are in a secret relationship after ody comes back home (bro miraculously survives), antinous learns that reader's been getting more suitorsss,, yk something like that 😭 THANK U BB !! 💖

Branded

A/N : Thank you, my love, for requesting this beautiful masterpiece. Also, if it’s not obvious enough, I have no idea how to make up a good title for my stories. If anyone could give advices, I would really appreciate it! Antinous art is from Duvetbox.

WARNING : Smut, slight angst if you squirt. Dom!Antinous.

Word Count : 2.1k

The great hall of Ithaca, once a den of boorish thieves, was a royal court once more. The scent of spilled wine and greasy smoke had been replaced by beeswax, polished wood, and the faint, salty air drifting in from the sea. Your father, Odysseus, sat upon his throne, his presence a heavy, grounding force that had finally brought order to the island. Your brother, Telemachus, stood at his side, no longer a boy but a prince who had earned his place. Your mother, Penelope, was a vision of serene grace, her weaving telling stories of triumph now, not sorrow.

Everything was perfect. A storybook ending.

Except for the ghost who haunted the palace. And the secret you held tight in your heart, a secret that would shatter this perfect picture into a thousand pieces.

Antinous.

He had survived. In a moment of political calculation your father called "mercy," the ringleader of the suitors had been spared the arrow. After a spectacle of begging, groveling, and swearing eternal fealty on the graves of his ancestors, he was allowed to live. But not to leave. He was a prisoner in all but name, confined to the palace grounds, his family's power and wealth holding him in a gilded cage to ensure the loyalty of the other nobles. He was a shadow, a whisper in the corridors, his once-blazing arrogance banked to a cold, watchful ember.

And he was yours.

Your love had been a secret, forbidden bloom even before your father's return, born from stolen glances and whispered words in moonlit gardens. You had seen past the swaggering pride to the fierce, passionate man beneath. In the tense, strange peace of your father's new reign, that love had become a desperate, secret solace. A lifeline.

Today, that lifeline was stretched to its breaking point.

You were seated on a cushioned stool near your mother, the picture of a dutiful princess. Before you stood Philoetius the Younger, a suitor from Zakynthos. He was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and praised for his skill with a chariot. He spoke of his lands, his herds, his devotion to the gods. He was, by all accounts, a perfect match for the daughter of the King of Ithaca. And as he smiled at you, his teeth white and even, you felt nothing but a rising tide of nausea.

Because across the hall, leaning against a marble column half-hidden in shadow, was Antinous.

He was dressed simply, the fine silks and gold he once favored replaced by the plain, dark tunic of a man with no status. But it couldn't hide the coiled power in his frame, the broad set of his shoulders, or the sheer, dangerous intensity of his presence. He wasn't looking at the suitor; he was looking at you. His dark eyes were chips of obsidian, and his handsome face, the face you traced in your dreams, was a mask of such cold, possessive fury that a shiver traced its way down your spine.

He knew. He was watching this man try to court you, and the jealousy radiating from him was a palpable force, a poison that seeped into the very air between you.

You offered the suitor a tight, polite smile, your mind racing. "Your lands sound bountiful, my lord," you murmured, the words tasting like ash. "You honor our house with your visit."

As soon as protocol allowed, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. You didn't dare look in Antinous's direction, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you fled the great hall. You didn't go to your chambers. You went to his.

His rooms were small, tucked away in a disused wing of the palace. The cage within the cage. You slipped through the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind you and leaning against the solid wood, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He was waiting for you, standing in the center of the spartan room. He hadn't moved, yet he seemed to fill the entire space with his rage.

"A headache?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a low rumble that promised violence. "Or did the brilliance of your new admirer simply become too much for you?"

"Antinous, please," you whispered.

"Please what?" He took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. "Please allow you to entertain the next rich lord who comes sniffing at your door? Am I to stand in the shadows and watch you smile at him, fluttering your lashes as he describes the fine sons he will give you?"

"It is not my choice! It is my father's will."

"And you are the dutiful daughter." The words were a sneer. He was in front of you now, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body. He braced his hands on the door on either side of your head, trapping you completely. His dark eyes bored into yours, filled with a terrifying mix of jealousy and pain. "Did you like him, Y/n? Did his talk of chariots and herds thrill you? Are you already imagining yourself as his queen?"

"You know I am not," you said, your voice shaking. "I want no one but you."

His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, the cold fury giving way to a raw, desperate vulnerability. That was the truth of it. He had lost everything—his ambition, his pride, his freedom. You were all he had left. The thought of losing you was not just a heartbreak; it was an annihilation.

"Then prove it," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on yours.

This was not one of your gentle, stolen kisses. This was a kiss of pure, desperate possession. It was angry and punishing, his mouth hard and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. All the frustration, all the jealousy, all the fear he felt was poured into that kiss. And you met it with your own desperation, your hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss only to press his mouth to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. "Mine," he snarled, and you felt the sharp sting of his teeth as he bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a definite, angry mark on the sensitive flesh just below your ear. "You are mine. Not his. Not your father's to give away."

His hands moved from the door to your body, gripping your waist with a bruising force. He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the rough wood of the door, hiking your chiton and peplos up with an impatient rustle of fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered in anticipation.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural rasp in your ear as his hand splayed across your bottom, squeezing one cheek hard. His other hand worked at the lacing of his own trousers.

"I'm yours," you choked out, your mind already spinning. "Only yours."

"Who do you belong to?" he pressed, his hot breath ghosting across the mark he'd just made on your neck.

"To you. I belong to Antinous."

The sound of his release of breath, a shuddering sigh of satisfaction, was your only warning. You felt the thick, hot head of his cock press against your entrance. He was massive, and in his anger, he seemed even larger. He wasn't using any oil, and you were slick with arousal but tight with a nervous tension. It didn't matter. He wanted to possess you, to fill you so completely there was no room for thoughts of anyone else.

He shoved into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, a sound that was half pain, half exquisite pleasure. He was huge, stretching you, filling you to your very womb. You could feel every thick inch of him inside you. He paused for a moment, letting you feel his complete possession, his body pressed flush against your back, his hand gripping your hip to hold you pinned against the door.

"Feel that?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips against your ear. "That is me. No other man will ever feel this. No other man will ever fill you like this. You were made for me."

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were punishing, a savage rhythm driven by jealousy and fear. He slammed into you again and again, his pace fast and brutal, forcing a choked gasp from you with every deep, powerful stroke. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the cool wood of the door as you gave yourself over to the onslaught. This was what he needed—to fuck the thought of any other man out of your head, to brand you with his body, to reclaim you in the most primal way possible.

And gods, you needed it too. You met his desperate rhythm, tilting your hips back to take him even deeper, your own hands pressing against the door for leverage. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the small room, a raw, wet, percussive sound that was utterly obscene.

"Did you smile for him?" he grunted, his pace becoming frantic. "Did you imagine his hands on you?"

"No," you cried out, your voice strained. "Only you, Antinous. Always you!"

Your confession seemed to break something in him. The rhythm of his thrusts changed, the anger bleeding away, replaced by a deep, desperate passion. The movements became slower, deeper, each one a deliberate act of love and possession. He pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into you, stretching you, stroking a secret, sensitive spot deep inside you that he knew better than you did yourself.

"Gods, Y/n," he groaned, burying his face in your hair. "What you do to me."

He reached around with his free hand, his long fingers finding your clit through your damp folds. He began to rub you with a firm, knowing pressure, perfectly in time with his deep, rolling thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your vision began to starburst. The feeling of being so completely filled from behind, of his thick cock hitting your cervix with every powerful lurch, combined with the skilled attention of his fingers, was sending you over the edge.

"Antinous, I'm close," you panted, your body trembling violently.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."

He sped up his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts becoming powerful and driving again. Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike. Your back arched, your inner muscles clenching violently around his cock, milking him. You screamed his name, a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your climax triggered his own. With a final, deep, guttural roar, he drove into you one last time, his body going rigid as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, he stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. The rage was gone. All that was left was the man, vulnerable and trembling, clinging to the only good thing in his shattered life.

Slowly, he withdrew from you, the feeling of emptiness almost as profound as the feeling of fullness had been. He turned you around gently, his eyes, now clear of rage, searching your face. He saw the mark on your neck, his own thumb coming up to trace it with a look of regret.

He didn't speak. He simply lifted you into his arms and carried you to his narrow bed, laying you down on the rough-spun sheets. He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms and legs around you, cocooning you. He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you might vanish.

He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your head.

"Promise me," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, stripped of all its former arrogance. "Promise me you will not let them give you to another. Promise me you are mine."

You tilted your head back, looking into his dark, desperate eyes. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

"I promise," you breathed, and in the quiet of his small, lonely room, it felt like the most sacred vow you could ever make. "I am yours."

#dxrlingluv #epic the musical #epic x reader #epic fanfic #fluff #smut #antinous epic the musical #antinous x reader #epic antinous #antinous #oh great heavens #this is wild #probably the best smut i’ve written so far #damn #is it hot in here or is it just me #hello???

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authorchariot · 3 days ago

Text

> ENTRY: FIAT_LUX_FIAT_SANGUIS

RATING: mature

CATEGORY: the line (2023)

PAIRING: todd stevens x ftm!reader

EST. READING TIME: 36m 29s

INDEX TAGS: assault, blood and violence, cigarettes, fraternities and sororities, general toxic masculinity, hate crimes, hazing, heavy drinking, homophobia, hurt/comfort, mentions of vomiting, not beta read, pov second person, public humiliation, references to drugs, slurs, trans character, trans male character, transphobia

SUMMARY: sumpter university wasn't built for people like you — working-class, quiet, unremarkable — but, against all odds, you're here; a freshman nobody in a sea of legacies and power suits. you never expected to catch the eye of todd stevens, the golden boy president of the university's most elite (and most ruthless) fraternity. perhaps it would've been better if you didn't. welcome to the lion's den

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You aren't supposed to be here. Not really. At least that's how it feels sometimes.

Sumpter University always felt like something meant for them; for the kids whose last names hang from buildings and show up in glossy alumni brochures. The kids with summer homes and old money and internships they didn't even apply for. The ones who drive sleek cars and never check their bank balance, who treat tuition like a toll on the way to their daddy's law firm. You're not one of them.

You're just you; smart, stubborn and damn lucky. The scholarship helped. Your good grades helped. Your application essay about resilience and working three jobs in high school probably helped too. But mostly, it was your parents. Who cried when your acceptance letter came and insisted they could take out the loan to cover what aid didn't and hugged you too tightly when you boarded the Greyhound with secondhand luggage and three crisp button-downs.

They call once a week; your mom always pretending not to cry, your dad asking if the dorm's too cold, if the other guys treat you right. They ask about classes, about professors and you lie sometimes; say it's all going great, say you're fitting in just fine. The truth is; you're holding your head above water. And barely that.

Your life at Sumpter is measured in small, quiet rituals.

You wake up early; before your roommate, who still thinks 9 am lectures are a cosmic punishment. You brew black coffee in the shared dorm kitchen and then throw on your shirt in the bathroom. You head to class, sit near the front and take notes like your life depends on it.

When you're not in lectures, you work. The coffee shop down the street hired you during orientation week. It's clean, locally owned and far enough from campus that most frat guys don't wander in unless they're desperate or hungover. You like it. You can vanish behind the counter, sling drinks and listen to playlists over the steam of milk. It doesn't make much but it covers your books and the random expenses no scholarship accounts for; laundry, cough medicine, notebooks you burn through like firewood. The job doesn't pay much but it pays for things not included by the grant; phone bills, T shots, stationary.

You also study. A lot. The library is where you go when the dorm is too loud. You tuck yourself into a second-floor window seat with your laptop and flashcards and let the quiet soak in. You like being invisible. It feels safe.

You don't see the point in applying to a fraternity. You're not a legacy. You don't drink. You've never been good with crowds. They've started posting signs; bold fliers about rush week and mixers and off-campus retreats that sound more like retreats from responsibility. You pass them on the quad and don't look twice. That world isn't for people like you.

You don't know that someone's watching.

He sees you at work first.

You don't notice him; why would you? He's just another tall, confident pretty boy with a jawline carved like a statue's, dark hair swept back and a suit that probably cost more than both your parents' salaries put together.

But he notices you.

You're behind the bar, working the espresso machine, steam rising in clouds around your face. You're not smiling but you're focused; calm and efficient, brow furrowed slightly, headphones dangling from your collar. You hand a drink off to a girl in a tennis skirt and duck your head to avoid her thanks, already back to rinsing pitchers before she even turns away.

There's something about that. About your stillness. About the quiet intensity you carry, like someone who's trying not to take up space but can't help radiating something honest. It intrigues him. He watches the way you finish your shift and sit in the corner afterwards with a textbook and a half-empty mug, biting your lip while you underline notes with colour-coded pens.

He watches you the next week too. And the next.

Eventually, he asks around. Not openly, of course. Quietly. Strategically. A name passed to a friend. A nudge to the registrar's office through a connection. A glance at your class schedule. Nothing that would look like interest. Nothing that would look like attention.

He learns that you're a freshman. No affiliations. No family money. Smart; very. Works part-time. Top scores in your courses already. The kind of guy people overlook because he's not loud, not shiny. But the kind of guy who tells the truth, who tries his best, who lasts.

He wonders if you've even heard of his fraternity. He wonders what you'd look like out of that uniform of hoodies and jeans; dressed in something finer, darker, more dangerous. Lit by firelight instead of fluorescents. Staring up at him across a marble floor, music vibrating through your chest.

Maybe it's time someone showed you what Sumpter really is.

You're in the library again, sifting through heavy textbooks, armed with your arsenal of brightly-coloured stationery from Walmart. It's the little things that keep you happy; pastel highlighters, erasers in amusing shapes and lazy, lo-fi tunes on your headphones. You don't ask for much. You never have done.

There's not much to really study just yet but you're getting organised; making sure everything is labelled, colour-coded and filed away in its rightful place. You're in your own, little world; quiet, content, yourself.

There's the muffled sounds of shoes on the thick carpet. People don't tend to venture into this part of the library all that much but it's not new so you don't look up. The footsteps stop and you assume the person must've taken what they needed and headed back to their table.

It isn't until you hear someone clearing their throat that you lift your head, your eyes snapping to the man standing a couple of feet away, leaning against a bookshelf. He's at least six-foot, slicked-back hair, piercing blue eyes, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbow, exposing strong forearms. He looks to be a mature student; maybe twenty-eight? Possibly even pushing thirty?

You start slightly, partially from the interruption and partially because the man standing barely a couple of feet away looks like he could be carved out of fine marble and displayed in Galleria dell'Accademia di Firenze.

"Hey." His voice is low, smokey, cutting through the music still drifting in through your headphones before you pull them off.

"Hi!" You immediately lower your voice, reminding yourself that you're still in a library. "Umm... What can I do for you?" You don't know him. Maybe you've seen him once in passing but his presence has you on edge for a reason you can't quite put your finger on.

He smiles slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. There seems to be this energy to him; something that commands respect, something that speaks to something inside you, something that probably has something to do with your father but you don't want to unpack right this instant.

"Nothing. Just taking a break from studying." He pushes off the shelf to sit in the chair across from you. "Mind if I join you?"

"Uhh... Yeah, sure." You reach over to move some of your books out of the way as he sits down. He's graceful but holding this coiled tension, like a wolf stalking a startled hare. He settles into the chair, just watching you, as you try to bring some kind of order to the chaos you've spread out across the table. You can smell him from across the table and that's definitely not a bad thing. Hyacinth, cedarwood, amber; from an expensive brand, no doubt.

"What're you studying?" He asks suddenly and you stare up at him owlishly. Is he genuinely interested or is this some joke? It wouldn't be out of character for one of the SU nepo babies to pick on one of the few poors on campus. They probably think of it as community service. Still, what's the saying? Never look a gift horse in the mouth? That's what brought down the Trojans, wasn't it?

"Psychology." You reply with a stiff smile. "It's not been too bad so far." He nods, brow furrowing slightly.

"You like it?" He continues, his tone gentle, encouraging even.

"Yeah."

"Good." He settles down further in his seat, seemingly having no intention of leaving. His eyes keep you pinned and you find yourself wriggling under his gaze.

"So — umm... — did you...want something?" You ask cautiously and his smile widens. It's kind enough but you get a feeling he knows something that you don't. You don't like it.

"Just wanted to check if you were settled in okay." You don't want to ask how he knew you were a freshman. It's probably obvious; wide-eyed, nervous, nose buried in textbooks, taking pleasure in your fucking cherry blossom-pink and seafoam-teal highlighters you got before arriving. You try to play it cool.

"Oh, yeah. Tough being away from home but all freshmen get that, I guess." You laugh softly but he doesn't reciprocate, just studying you from across the table.

"True." He agrees, lips still quirked into that little smile. "You signed up to any clubs yet? Frats?" He asks and you shake your head, trying to subtly tuck away your stationery.

"Uhh... No? I'm not really big on parties or anything." You tell him honestly as if he couldn't read you like an open book. Because you absolutely seem the type to be out drinking every other night, right?

"Right." He murmurs. A long silence settles over you as you feel cold sweat prickle the back of your neck.

"A-Are you in a frat?" You decide to ask.

"Mhm." He replies smoothly, a hint of pride in his voice. "Kappa Nu Alpha; oldest fraternity on campus." God, of course. He's one of the top nepo babies. Doesn't stop him from being undeniably gorgeous, though...

"Wow. How long have you been there?"

"Since I was a junior. It's been a big part of my college experience." He pauses for a moment. "We're pretty selective about who we let in." Then why is he talking to you of all people?

"What kind of stuff do you guys do?" If it was literally anyone else, you'd be making your excuses and leaving but there's something about him that glues you to the spot and forces you to listen and forces you to like it.

"Community service, charity events, academic support for our members. And, yeah, we throw some parties too." He admits with a small chuckle. "But it's more than that; it's a brotherhood."

"Cool. Sounds fun. Supportive." You say and he leans forward, expression turning slightly more serious.

"Mhm. We look out for each other. Speaking of which, you seem like you'd fit right in." His voice is low, conspiratorial, you feel it rumble through the table, where your hands are collected rather meekly in front of you. Your eyes widen before you look away, fiddling with the zipper on your pencil case.

"Oh... I don't think so." You reply, trying your best to sound polite. That draws a soft chuckle from him.

"Why not?" He presses gently.

"I'm just...quiet and not really all that fun at parties and... Y'know, the usual stuff." You explain and he waves a hand dismissively.

"Quiet's underrated. And who says you have to be the life of the party? We have plenty of brothers who are more than capable of that." He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table. "No, what we value most is loyalty and character." As heat rushes to your cheeks, you look away, desperate to find some excuse, something to drag you out of this.

"B-But surely applications are all closed, right?"

"No." He says easily. "If you wanted to apply, the deadline's the end of this week." If he was doing this just for laughs, surely he wouldn't be pressing you so hard on this, right? Surely he would've had his fun by now... You nod slowly.

"Do you...really think I'd fit in?" You ask hesitantly.

"Absolutely." He says without hesitation, almost too quickly. You don't know how to read this guy and it's throwing you off. "You seem genuine and down-to-earth. Those are qualities we value a lot more than someone who can just throw back shots all night." He leans back, giving you a reassuring smile. Something seems terribly off about this but... God, he's charming and pretty and he's actually talking to you like a person, unlike a lot of the students you've come across in your limited time here.

"Okay..."

"If you want, I can send the application link right now." He pulls out his phone. "Just think about it, okay? No pressure."

"Won't I need to talk with the president? Just to see if I'd even have a chance of getting green-lit?" You ask, unconsciously reaching for your phone.

"You're talking to him." He replies easily, thumbs flying across his phone screen until your phone buzzes with a notification from the university intranet.

Oh, Jesus... So not just an uncharacteristically pretty nepo baby. Not just a top nepo baby. But the president of the top nepo babies, who just so happens to be the most flawless man you've ever seen in your life. This just gets worse and worse, especially as his gaze and his voice get you hotter and hotter under the collar.

Your face goes bright red, heat flushing from the base of your neck to the tips of your ears and he laughs softly, genuinely. It's a nice, warm sound and your toes curl in your worn-out Converse as you suppress a shiver. "Just think it over, yeah?" He stands fluidly, passing a hand through his hair and straightening his shirt before adjusting his watch.

"Yeah, okay..." You manage though your throat feels tight.

"Good, I'll see you around campus." He says warmly before striding away.

As soon as he's out of sight, you let out a huge sigh, collapsing onto the desk, your head in your hands. The last few minutes felt like you just fought in the hundred-year war, your heart thumping against your ribcage like you just ran a marathon. You have to get back to your dorm. You have a lot to think about and a lot to process.

The end of the week comes and finally, in a moment of weakness and curiosity, you fill out the form and send it back over. As soon as you send it, you feel a rock settle in the pit of your stomach. You may have just made the best or worst decision of your life. Only time will tell which.

About a week later you're turning up to the first formal meeting. It's a retreat to one of the existing brothers' family estates, the kind of place where they should probably have a butler wipe the poverty off you before you step inside.

You stand on the ground floor with the rest of the hopefuls as the existing members judge you from the balconies on the floor above. You feel terribly out of place. The other hopefuls are dressed in jeans, t-shirts shirts and sneakers but they still feel miles above you in your best; which just so happens to be a dress shirt and pants you got at the thrift store before you moved away. It's clear to everyone that you're not on the same level as the rest of them, even the other hopefuls, and you find yourself trying to shrink away from the intense scrutiny of the many looking down on you. Welcome to the lion's den.

Todd Stevens — a name that popped up when you went to read up about the fraternity — seems right at home, stood on a balcony on the upper floor, addressing the room. A pressed, blue button-down stretches across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into black slacks that seem practically made to fit his slim waist and strong thighs. Looking up at him like this is intimidating, yes, but not unwelcome.

His eyes sweep across the group below him, lingering on each face for a moment before moving on until landing on you. He pauses slightly, for just a beat too long, before leaning back to start his speech.

"Welcome, prospects." His voice echoes in the large room; easily, naturally, as if he was born to do this. "You're here because you want to be part of something bigger than yourselves, something that will shape your future. Let me be blunt." His eyes are sharp and assessing. "Not every one of you will make it through the pledge process. We have gold standards, here, at KNA because we reflect on the college and on one another." You swallow hard. "We're looking for leaders; men who can handle pressure, make tough decisions and uphold our values. We think you might have what it takes, you have potential." He leans forward, large hands finding the wrought-iron railing in front of him, fingers flexing. You shuffle nervously on your feet.

His voice drops lower. "Let me make one thing clear; loyalty is everything in this house. To the brotherhood, to the legacy and to me." You look down at the floor anxiously as you hear some of the existing brothers snickering amongst each other. "Tonight marks the beginning of your journey." His voice raises slightly to cut through the murmurs. "Some of you will be tested in ways you never imagined. But remember this; if you're here today, we saw something in you."

You spend the rest of the weekend on the sidelines of conversations and hanging onto walls at parties. You're made the butt of plenty of jokes and it soon becomes apparent that what Todd said about you fitting right in couldn't have been further from the truth.

During the parties, you're encouraged to grope hookers and bump lines with some of the pledges but you turn them down sheepishly, only to be ridiculed further. You spend more time roaming the vast grounds of the estate than with the guys at the house; watching football and getting high. All the while, you feel eyes on your back, judging, assessing. The only respite you get is in the bathroom, where you get dressed every morning. You need to keep that under lock and key. God knows what these assholes would do if they opened up that Pandora's box.

You were right. This was never a place for you and you made a terrible mistake submitting that form. But you made a promise and you'll be damned if you're about to give up because of 'boys being boys'. You've seen worse. Much worse.

You have to prove to yourself that you can make it through this.

And, for some bizarre reason, you want to prove it to Todd. He extended this olive branch to you. Whether that was out of genuine hope, pity or some twisted sense of humour, you won't know, but his words echo in your head; 'you have potential'.

So you'll show these rich, daddy's boy pricks what a real working-class man can handle.

Well. That's if you make it past the first round of votes.

The night for voting arrives and you and the other hopefuls are taken to the living room. They drink and watch baseball and shoot pool but you're just sat in the corner, watching them, and wondering what the brothers are saying about you and the other prospects in the secretive, soundproof den.

In the den, only lit by the bright light of the projector on the coffee table, the existing brothers laugh and drink and toke up as Todd takes them through a slideshow of the hopefuls.

When the slide containing your photo appears on-screen and Todd announces your name, a hush falls over the crowd before a groan resounds through the room.

"Kid's a joke." One of them sighs, taking a long pull of his beer.

"He kills the vibe, man."

"He's such a pussy."

"I think he might be gay. I don't wanna live with a faggot." Todd keeps his expression neutral as he glances around, watching the other brothers nodding in agreement, their faces twisted in disdain.

"Yeah, what if he tries to, like, blow you in your sleep or something?" One comments as another one elbows the other in the ribs. They make jokes and sling slurs around, teasing each other.

"Okay but he kinda looks like a girl so like... I dunno."

"Yeah, put a bag on his head and get him fucked up. Maybe then he'd be half-decent company." One snickers.

"Looked him up. His dad is, like, a founder of this shitty, small-time IT company and his mom is retired. Ain't that a load of shit?"

"What made this kid think he'd even have a chance?"

"Like what? Are we running a day-care now?"

"Or a homeless shelter?" The room erupts in laughter as they grow more rowdy, laughing and throwing half-empty beer cans at the projection of your face on the wall, staring back at them, wide-eyed yet exhausted. Todd finally clears his throat, commanding the room's attention. He waits for the laughter and jeering to die down before speaking.

"Guys, I think we might be missing something here." He pauses. "You all know how tough it is to deal with the Dean sometimes, right? He's always breathing down our necks about rules and regulations. Now, this guy?" He jerks his head toward the projection. "He might be exactly what we need; clean background, no diciplinaries. He could be our 'good boy' face when we need to talk to the higher ups."

"Shit. So a good, little bitch to wheel out when shit hits the fan?" One of the brothers asks.

"I mean, he'll be quiet, at least. Won't throw parties without invites. Won't get caught pissing in the quad."

"But will he cover for us?" One asks seriously and the room grows quiet again.

"He's loyal. Just needs someone to hold his hand." He scans the room, meeting each brother's gaze firmly. "We give him a chance, show him what it means to be part of KNA. Hell, he might even be a decent guy if we get to know him. But..." His voice drops dangerously low. "If he messes up or screws us over, we pin it on him and then kick his ass to the curb." The brothers seem to like the idea of having a scapegoat. After all, no one would care if some poor, no-name, little bitch got kicked out of Sumpter.

Todd steeples his fingers. "But, until then, we keep him in. He'll follow the rules, keep his nose clean and be our golden boy when we need him to be, got it?" The brothers nod in agreement, their initial hostility replaced with cautious acceptance.

They have their reasons for keeping you but, for now, you're safe.

Over the next week or so, you take part in the initiations on campus, playing their stupid games and falling victim to their stupid pranks. They shave your head. You get a couple of bruises and scrapes in the annual KNA pledge versus brothers capture the football game. You give your pledge. You face every stage of the initiation with stoic endurance but the tension only grows more and more palpable as hazing night approaches.

Once again, there's a retreat to one of the brothers' family estates for the hazing. You stand with the other pledges, in front of the other brothers. You have a black eye, the bruise already turning a sickly shade of yellowish-green. Todd stands before your group, his expression stern and unyielding.

"Alright, listen up." He commands, his voice echoing through the grand hall of the estate. The other brothers stand behind him, their faces equally serious. "You all know why we're here tonight." You swallow hard. This is the last hurdle. You've come this far. "This is where we find out if you're truly KNA material." His eyes, almost black in the dim light, linger on you for a moment but show not an ounce of favouritism. "You've taken your beatings, swallowed your pride...but tonight's different." He pauses, running a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. "Tonight, you face your final test. It won't be easy and it won't be pretty. But it's all part of tradition."

Todd folds his arms across his chest. "You have two choices. One; you go through tonight, take whatever we throw at you and come out the other side as a true brother of KNA." He flicks his eyes across the pledges. "Two; you walk out now. No one'll hold it against you...but you won't be a brother. You'll be nothing. You will have squandered the potential we saw in you." You see the brothers shift impatiently behind him. "Well?" The room remains silent save for the ticking of a grand clock in the corner. He smiles proudly. "Good. Now, Collins prepared a keg for you to empty within the next..." He checks his watch. "Hour. I'd drink as much as you can, boys. The more you drink, the less it'll hurt. Go."

You're herded into a small study, a large 7.75-gallon keg sitting on the floor. The pledges instantly start guzzling down beer and you join them as the brothers leave to prepare everything they need for the proper hazing, the fraternity-branded paddle making its grand entrance in the harsh, fluorescent lights of the garage.

You drink cup after cup, desperately trying to keep up with the other pledges to drain the keg before the hour chimes. You feel ill and the room spins but you push through it, working on the sheer motivation that you need to show these assholes that you can do this. You remember the way they look at you, the way they talk about you, push you around, and it only strengthens your resolve. You down drink after drink after drink.

You will do this.

Finally, the hour chimes and every single one of the pledges is trashed, including you.

The brothers come back in and the first pledge has a pillowcase pulled over his head before he's yanked to his feet and pulled out of the study, the door locked behind them. God know what awaits you beyond that door but it can't be good.

A growing sense of dread drills into you, a pit forming in your stomach, as the pledges are led out, one by one. It seems like they're saving you for last, enjoying watching you squirm whenever they come in to get another one of the group, bagging their head and then dragging them out of the room.

Eventually, there's just you. Two of the brothers barge into the study, pull a pillowcase over your head and yank you from your seat. Your hands curl by your sides tightly as they lead you through the house, spinning you several times and laughing at your disoriented attempts to keep your balance. Anxiety grows in your chest as they manhandle you, pulling you forward until you stumble into the garage. It's clear the brothers are still in high spirits from the hazing as you hear their laughs and cheers from under the pillowcase.

Finally, the pillowcase is ripped off your head and you instinctively hold your hands up in front of your face to shield your eyes from the blinding light shining directly on you in the dark garage. When the spots in your vision clear, you find yourself surrounded by the KNA brothers, all grinning wickedly, high off the adrenaline of their previous victims. Todd steps forward, tapping the paddle against his palm.

"Well, alright. You made it this far, sunshine." He announces. Despite the nauseating nervousness eating away at you, the pride in his voice has your chest swelling slightly. You made it this far and you took it like a champ. Just one more step.

"First, though." One brother chuckles lowly. "We need to strip him down."

Your heart stops in your chest, your ribs tightening around your lungs. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no—

You barely have time to turn around to bolt for the door before the garage is filled with laughter, the brothers rushing you, hands outstretched. You manage to make it to the door only to find it locked and, by the time the realisation hits you, they're on you like a pack of wild dogs. The world tilts on its axis as they drag you to the floor. You try to curl in on yourself, smacking away their hands, but they only grow bolder, jeering and whooping as you cry out.

"No, please!" Your voice is lost as they mock you, dragging you back under the harsh spotlight. Rough hands tear at your clothes as they ignore your protests and pleas. Cold sweat prickles at your skin as tears well in your eyes. You flush in embarrassment, hands trembling as you try to pull away. They hoot and yell, joking about how feminine your figure is, about how weak you are, as you fight fruitlessly against them. They pull off your shoes and socks, tossing them against the wall. Your shirt comes off with a sickening riiiiiiiip before it's thrown to the floor in a crumpled ball. Huge hands, more like bear paws, unbuckle your belt before dragging your pants down along with your boxers, your drunken state making it impossible to fight back effectively.

Finally, they stand. The garage is silent save for the soft sniffles as you curl up on the floor, sweat and tears leaving damp spots on the concrete. You try to hide but you know it's useless. You hope this is just a nightmare but you know it isn't. This wasn't the worst part for the other pledges but it seems this has broken you. The humiliation, the shock, the fear, it makes your body tremble as you hide your face.

The bright light of the spotlight leaves nothing untouched. Silvery scars glisten under the harsh light, moulded to the shape of your chest, jutting up in the middle before circling your nipples. Between your legs, there's no cock where there should be one, just a thatch of wiry hair, and, nestled between them, the pure, irrefutable fact that this was never a place for you, that you never had a place in their ranks and you were kidding yourself when you told yourself you could carve a space for yourself here, despite who you are and where you came from. They see you now, small, shivering, naked, afraid. No one speaks and a deafening silence falls over the garage as the brothers stare from your body to one another and then back down.

Finally, one of the brothers steps closer, a scowl curling at his lips. You hear heavy footsteps behind you. This was supposed to be fun. They didn't want you here in the first place and you had the gall to bring this to their doorstep. They should've gone against Todd and kicked you to the curb when they had the chance. But no.

"Fuck you." A voice snarls, low and dangerous. "Think you can just walk in here and ruin everything for us, huh, tranny-faggot?" A sharp kick drives into your lower back and you arch instinctively, letting out a pained yelp.

"You're not welcome here, fucker." There's another hard kick to your stomach and you cough, whimpering, as more of them join in.

The garage erupts into a frenzy of violence and more and more of them decide to get in on the fun, punching and kicking your helpless, naked body. The blows rain down on you, each one sending pain lancing through your legs, stomach, ribs and head. Blood spatters across the floor and they cheer as you're nose and mouth drip crimson onto the concrete.

"Die, you piece of shit!" One of them spits on you as insults and cruel laughter echo around the space. Your body contorts as you try to get away but they hold you down, landing hit after hit. A particularly hard kick to your stomach has you wounded and gagging, emptying the contents of your stomach — predominantly beer — onto the concrete. They cheer but don't relent. There's a sickening crunch in your chest but it doesn't make any difference.

Something clatters to the floor before some of the men are shoved away from you, the instigator torn away from your body and onto the floor.

"ENOUGH!" The yell pierces the air and the other brothers pause, stunned into silence by Todd's sudden intervention. Given the chance, you weakly drag yourself across the floor, trying to get away, leaving a trail of sweat, blood and tears in your wake. You manage to huddle up in a corner, your body throbbing, chest aching but still heaving from the adrenaline. "What the fuck is wrong with you? This isn't what we do!" The one he threw to the floor staggers to his feet and points at you, his face red with anger.

"Why do you care? It's not even a real man!" He spits on the ground in the direction of where you're curled up. "If anything, you should be leading this shit, Todd! It disrespected you. Is this what we are now? Some retarded, pussy-whipped gay bar for freaks and fags?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" He yells back. You hang your head and lift a hand to your face, leaving a trail of red as you try to wipe your nose and mouth. "He went through all the same shit the rest of the pledges did, right?" The brothers seem to lose steam now, nodding slowly, though none of them seem convinced. "Then he deserves the same fucking respect." You draw in a wet, shaky breath and pain stabs through the left side of your chest. His voice softens slightly. "Anyone have a problem with that, they can say it to my Goddamn face."

Silence falls over the garage like a thick blanket. None of the brothers look at you, their faces twisted with disgust and...possibly guilt? Though that may be hopeful.

Finally, Todd turns toward your broken figure huddled in the corner, deep bruises blooming across your skin, blood dripping from your nose and mouth, seeping onto the floor. Anxiety clenches painfully around your chest again and he holds up his hands. "Hey, hey, easy..." He approaches slowly. "You alright?" He crouches down beside you. You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, only a choked gasp as a sharp pain slices into your side again. You're struggling to breathe. It hurts.

His eyes widen. "Shit." He mutters, voice filled with concern. He quickly turns to his brothers. "Someone call 911!" He turns back to you, hands hovering over your body uncertainly. The injuries only seem worse up close; deep violet bruises spreading across your ribs, stomach and thighs, cuts and scrapes scattered across your body from where you were thrashing against the concrete.

When none of his brothers move, Todd pulls out his phone and dials. Thankfully, they pick up quickly. Your vision is swimming, tunnelling. Every inch of your body, inside and out, feels like it's bleeding. Words sound so distant as Todd tries to keep his voice calm. "I... I need an ambulance? This guy... Uhh... He's beat up pretty bad. He's not breathing right." It's true; your breaths are fast, wet and wheezy but still you try to curl up, trying to hide away. Maybe they can at least let you die in peace.

You're struggling to keep your eyes open, the pain and shock threatening to overwhelm you. Todd gently shakes your shoulder, trying to keep you awake. "Hey, hey, look at me." He watches your eyelids flutter weakly, trying to obey. "That's it. Keep your eyes open for me, sunshine." He takes off his shirt, leaving red smears on his undershirt, and drapes it over you. "You'll be okay."

You don't know how long it is between him dialling for an ambulance and one arriving but he leaves your side to open the garage doors, flashing lights casting harsh shadows across the floor and walls.

Paramedics rush in with a stretcher, faces set as they take in your condition. None of the brothers have moved since Todd stepped in, staring, wide-eyed, at the EMTs. One kneels beside you, checking you over, as another talks to Todd. You don't hear much of the conversation, especially not as they move you onto the stretcher and cover you up with a blanket, leaving the bloodied shirt discarded on the floor.

They take you out to the ambulance and load you into the back. You barely register Todd trying to step forward but being stopped before he can reach you. The EMTs pile into the ambulance, slam the doors shut and flick on the sirens before driving away, leaving Todd and his brothers at the scene of the crime.

The house is eerily silent as the ambulance sirens fade into the distance. Todd stands there, hands clenched into fits by his sides. He turns on his heel, expression cold and furious.

"Someone explain to me how this happened." No one speaks, all of them averting their gaze only to see more evidence of their cruelty. One of them swallows hard, looking at the spatters of blood on the concrete. Another winces as he sees the pool of regurgitated beer. Another looks at Todd's shirt on the floor, stained with blood and sweat. No one speaks.

Todd suddenly turns and storms out of the garage, his brothers following reluctantly behind him. He bursts into the lounge, snatching the pillowcases off the initiate's heads without a word. They're afraid. They heard the screams. They heard the sirens. He turns to his brothers. "Get them dressed and drive them back to campus." Though stunned by the whole event, they soon nod and start ushering their new brothers away.

Todd stands alone in the suddenly empty living room, hands shaking with rage and something else; guilt. His mind races through the events of the night; the blindfolds, the tearing of cloth, the savagery, the sounds of your shallow, wheezing breaths. It echoes, bouncing around the space.

With shaking hands, he reaches for his blazer, tossed carelessly over an armchair earlier in the night. A fresh pack of cigarettes calls out to him and he tears into it desperately, slipping one between his lips and lighting it as gravel crunches under tyres outside. He takes a shaky breath but the nicotine doesn't help as he leans heavily on the back of the armchair.

He watched you go through every trial they threw at you without question, without complaint. You were the best of them and yet he let this happen, stood stock-still while those he called 'brother' pummelled you down. He feels sick to his stomach. Takes another drag of his cigarette.

This was never what he planned for, never what he wanted. Maybe he should've just left you alone.

A few days — and packets of cigarettes — later, Todd finds himself at the hospital. He didn't even mean to but he was pulled here. He's unsure if it's guilt or worry but he lingers at the door to the main entrance, watching them open and close. He stubs out his cigarette, steels his nerves and heads inside.

It's quiet and sterile. He strides up to the desk and asks the nurse for your room number. She looks at him pointedly before giving him the information and sending him on his way.

He walks through the hallways, heart pounding in his chest. It all looks the same. It's all a blur of clean white walls and laminate floors. You're out of the ICU, at least, he supposes but that doesn't grant him any relief.

Finally, he stands outside your door, hearing the faint beep of a heart monitor. He places his hand on the door. Hesitates a second. Moves his feet to walk back in the direction he came. Then slowly pushes the door open, needing to face the reality of what he dragged you into.

You lay in bed, hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV. Your chest is bare, a tube lodged in your chest cavity. Your breathing is steady but the full extent of the beating is now apparent. Your skin is a mottled, black and purple mess of bruises, bleeding into one another. A gash in your lip has healed over somewhat but the lip itself remains swollen and sore. The tube in your chest makes his stomach turn.

Your eyes meeting his snap him back to the current moment and he steps inside quietly.

"Hi." You say, your voice barely a whisper, small and soft. Vulnerable. It breaks something inside him.

"Hey." He steps closer but not too close. He doesn't want to scare you or hurt you more than he already has. Finally, he settles into the armchair beside your bed, keeping his hands squarely on his knees.

"So...I take it I'm not...welcome in the frat then?" You laugh weakly.

"Don't. Don't joke about that." He says flatly. "None of us should've— We went too far." He looks down at his hands, seeing blood under his fingernails; your blood. "They're... They're all sorry." He lies. He knows they're probably back to normal now. He's likely the only one who can't stop thinking about you lying in this hospital bed. "I'm sorry." He adds genuinely. "I didn't— Jesus, I didn't mean to force you into this. I didn't know they'd— That we'd..." He trails off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. He didn't think his brothers were capable of this level of violence. "I'd...understand if you didn't want to come back. I wouldn't blame you, not in the slightest, but..." He slowly reaches out, sliding his hand into your own. It's so small compared to his; small and fragile. You squeeze slightly and his breath hitches. "But you've more than earned your place." You pause and he runs his thumb gently over your knuckles.

"I'll come back. If that's okay."

"Of course." He says quickly. Too quickly. He wants you in the house with him s he can watch over you, protect you. "You're part of the family now. You're one of us. Fuck, you deserve to be there more than all of us put together." You smile slightly, leaning your head back to meet his gaze.

"Todd?"

"Yeah?" He leans closer, brushing hair away from your face carefully.

"Why did you come up to me in the first place? I'm guessing you don't personally walk up to all the prospects, right?" You ask and he pauses, his hand lingering near your face.

"Because you stood out. You didn't kiss ass or try too hard... But that's not the only reason." He says, trying to gather all the words he needs. His voice drops to almost a whisper. "I wanted you there."

"Why?"

"Because you seemed like someone worth having around." He tells you quietly, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"Do you still think that?" You ask cautiously and he smiles.

"No. Now I know that." You flush sweetly though it's difficult to tell under all the bruises. "You come back and I'll take care of you, okay, sunshine? Anybody touches you again and I'll tear their Goddamn head off, understand?"

"Yeah." He heaves a heavy sigh, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

"You won't have to worry about a thing."

TAGLIST: @ingoldthewizard @judeval @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

#lewis pullman #ftm!reader #todd stevens #todd stevens x reader #the line

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laurasbailey · 1 year ago

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I'm watching the m9 campaign for the first time, I'm only on ep 13 and I cant stress this enough, I Cannot stand caleb. My god. Beauyasha is the only thing keeping me going lol

as someone who was formerly annoyed by caleb, i can say he does get a lot better. those early eps where nobody trusts each other are definitely a little rough lmao

#anonymous #ask #it's also good bc beau is the one who constantly holds him accountable #which makes for more great content for beau #and since it's improv it's not presented in a way that's like #the 'she only exists to help fix this man' trope

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momspren · 2 months ago

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I am almost positive at this point that the "Good Christian Modesty" where sex is a sin except to procreate originated from an asexual man (Paul). So the birth of this conflict is also asexual person vs allosexual people, which is hilarious.

There were probably some medieval asexuals that were absolutely insufferable on their moral high horse about it. Like "this modesty shit easy - I haven't lusted over any man ever in my life and only fuck my husband out of duty from God and only so that we have children. I am so much better than any of you hoes."

And some other local goodwife would get sick of this and go "well obviously you don't have time for cock, Maergaret, since you're always too fucking busy choking on your own vanity and pride!" and have a smackfight that progresses into a full-on two-woman brawl in the town square. People gather around to watch this until a clergyman shows up to remind everyone that not only is this kind of brawl between good christians definitely a sin, it's also a sin for everyone who's watching to place bets on who's going to win.

#You read his words and it really really sounds like a sex repulsed asexual #And also an autistic man #Him saying he is above the law because God requires him to break the law sounds like a guy desperately trying to hold onto his Rules #While being actively pulled away from them #The story of Saul/Paul is so fascinating because he goes from the guy who incites mobs to martyr people #To the guy who's letters and sermons make up a great deal of the New Testament #But he is still so rules oriented and you can see him agonizing over that sometimes #Church tag #I wanna read that though those accounts sound AWESOME

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gaysindistress · 1 year ago

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Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost imagine #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x female reader

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tastesousweet · 6 months ago

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⭒ crush

| hamzahthefantastic x youtuber!reader au

summary: hamzah has a crush that is extremely obvious to everyone except you ... somehow?! (both written & smau!!!)

a/n: happy new years!!!!!!

— march 2024

hamzah is hungry beyond belief.

martin's already assured him both over facetime and text that he's on his way with their full course meal of chinese takeout— currently sat in the basket of martin's rented bike, jostling up and down with every bump of the toronto pavement without a doubt. yet his stomach is still throwing a tantrum, depraved of any nutrients while his brain repeats in a neanderthal-like manner "food. coming. soon." in hopes of reducing the pressure within his poor stomach.

he opens instagram, needing some sort of an escape, because naturally a little doom-scrolling will ease his (dramatic but still very real) pain. somehow, among the ridiculous animal reels and comedic twitch clips on his explore feed, he stumbles upon a reel from you. a girl with a different quality and charm to your face and character than anything he's seen in other content creators.

not only does your bubbly yet elegant voice keep him watching but the subject matter is rather fitting— you're cooking a homemade chicken pot pie for the first time. in the video you talk about how often your mother would prepare it growing up and now it's become a popular craving for you. hamzah watches intently as if he were ready to get up and make his own pot pie alongside you.

"hey! the hell are you smiling at?" martin's voice is breathy due to his trek to and from the chinese restaurant. he walks into the living room holding a crinkly plastic bag reading: "thank you! have a nice day!" with that big, yellow smiley face in between.

"huh? nothin'." hamzah dismisses and adjusts himself on the couch, "come on, 'm starving!" he reaches his hand out to take the food from martin before patting the seat next to him.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— june 2024

"so when are you gonna come see us?"

it was a surprise to see hamzah follow you on instagram a few months ago. you'd heard his name thrown around in certain spaces of the internet but never really indulged in any of his content.

his instagram had the format of a shitposting ten-year-old but it only made you curious about the humorous twenty-something. eventually you'd watched a youtube video of his; completely laughing your ass off and finding your eyes chasing after hamzah whenever he was in even the tiniest of frames.

it was never a serious crush by any means, just a nice piece of secret eye-candy who also happened to have a great personality and an enviously good work ethic (the effort martin and hamzah put into their videos was astonishing to you).

so you were quite nervous to be the first to dm him, in hopes of a friendship or a least a quick exchange of "hey." it was only right — you two had been liking each other's poss and stories a consistent amount.

the mellow first exchange between the two of you in april blossomed into you both constantly talking in your free time; your friendship quickly to developed a flirty back-and-forth dynamic that sometimes borders on way more than platonic. eventually martin was added to your consistent facetime calls and you’ve even let them convince you to create a discord account to play minecraft and grand theft auto online with them.

and now you’re lying on your leather couch with both of their faces displayed in your laptop’s screen, eager to hear your response.

“i don’t know…” you play with a loose end of the sweater you’re wearing, “what would we even do?”

they both stay quiet for a moment before hamzah laughs, “why are you acting like you don’t wanna say yes right now?”

a smile slowly grows on your face “okay… gimme a second,” you begin to google flight information to and from toronto.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— september 2024

yourusername

Liked by clairedrake, hamzahthefantastic, and others

yourusername Y’all didn’t tell me they get wild in the 6 , Omg??!! Highly requested video out neow <3

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chaserutherford 🍽️8️⃣ • ♥︎ by author

yourusername I rlly do miss u already 😖😖😖😖

ynfan01 ohhhh this was so necessary thank u mother☺️!! • ♥︎ by author

yourusername Mhm!!! Olivia Wilde head nod 💞💞

slushieeee333 y/n: slurping pasta , hamzah the whole time: 😊👀😍😊

thatmartinkid hey look ma i made it!!! 🫵😂 • ♥︎ by author

ynsnumberone THE FLIRTING WENT CRAZYYYYY

slushedyn her and hamzah are obsessed with each other i fear

thatslushykid COME BACK 2 TORONTO ASAP I NEED MORE COLLABS RN!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

hamzahluver45 ok but like it’s so obvious that her trying to flirt was just irritating them the whole time !! Like girl ..💀💀

hamzahthefantastic Posting our dms is already one thing , but TAGGING ME is actually crazy 🤔🤔 • ♥︎ by author

yourusername R u mad @ me Bby???? 😕

hamzahthefantastic BruhLmaooooooooooo

freakzahfan that's one too many "o"s just say u wanna kiss her my boy

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“oh!” you accidentally trip over yourself while walking backwards and stumble into hamzah, who was standing in front of the unfamiliar grocery store, watching you prepare to give an intro. “jesus,” martin laughs under his breath from behind the camera. he lowers the camera, showing his feet but still picking up his voice in the mic, “you good?!”

the clip cuts to you stood upright again, "i'm in the six!!!" you exclaim loudly, raising your arms above your head. "and i'm here with slushy noobz to add to my series where other creators "teach me" their specialty. you tug at hamzah's arm and pull him into the frame with you, "hamzah tell them what you and martin are gonna teach me," you look up a him while still holding onto his arm. you interrupt him before he even begins to speak, "oh yeah! martin is also here by the way!" you point and martin flips the camera to himself. "they're just leaving me out it's fine, i know i'm out already, just vote just vote," he references with a sigh before turning it back to you and hamzah. "don't start! chase is on his way to come and film for us-" "listen! this is our plan-- we're gonna teach you how to mukbang; everyone knows we're very qualified in this field and know everything there is to know about the subject, so, uhh, yeah we're kinda experts. i dont know, would you say that, martin?" hamzah rambles. "yeah, i think that's a good way to describe us" "perfect! then you're teachin' me how to kiss next, right?" you ask. hamzah goes from looking at you attentively (hanging onto your every word) to a face deadpanned as he glances over to martin trying not to smile.

the video cuts to a clip with the three of you, finally, all in one shot now that chase is behind the camera. you pull a cart out from its slot and push yourself on it before standing both feet on top of the tiny foot bar, gliding through the automatic doors.

next, a clip of martin speaking to the camera while you and hamzah look through different pasta sauces together, "okay we didn't really explain this well but essentially we're all going to cook a nice dish and then eat it together in front of you guys. isn't that cute?" "yeah, can't wait for us to mukbang together" hamzah speaks. martin turns back to the camera with a smirk, "i bet you wish you were mukbanging with us huh, chase?" "no. and you just made that word up." martin's face falls.

the entire grocery shopping trip is filmed with little moments like hamzah mispronouncing a few brand names, martin talking to strangers about which pasta noodle to try, and you randomly walking off into estranged aisles "just to see if things are really different here"

now, you're all back at martin's home; you read aloud the recipe and hamzah is stood practically on top of you as he also looks down at the phone, all while martin lays ingredients out of the counter. "okay simple enough," hamzah says. "yeah, and you're still gonna make me do all of the work anyway," martin huffs sarcastically. you giggle a bit, "martin the most you'll have to do is boil water, i'll force him to do the rest." "huh???!! who??" hamzah questions, his smiley face “accidentally” leaning far too close to yours. "you, duh!" you laugh and turn away to look for a large pot.

throughout the cooking process you slowly stop helping; talking to mandy while you two eat chips and salsa while leaning on the counter or petting the pets instead of doing any of the tasks given to you from the self-proclaimed chefs.

"this is literally your video! what the hell y/n?!" martin whines when he finds you and mandy making a tiktok in his "man cave" together after you'd told them you were going to the bathroom, "seriously mandy?" all of the audio can be heard from the mics on your clothing. "where was she?" hamzah says monotonous as he scrolls on his phone. "making freaking tiktoks with mandy of course!" you giggle as you walk into the kitchen behind him, "what? the food is practically done, we're just waiting on garlic bread!" you shrug and hamzah immediately turns at the sound of your voice. "well, you gonna at least show us?" hamzah asks casually placing his hands on the counter around you, trapping you in the space between him and the marble surface. "yeah," you tilt your head so you can look at his face as you make fun of his not-so-friendly gesture, "you wanna keep breathing down my neck like that while i show you?" he laughs and moves away to cover up the embarrassment of being called out. "stop!" you laugh and bring him back into frame forcing him and martin to watch you and mandy dance on your phone screen.

the four of you sit on the carpet with plates full of chicken alfredo and pieces of garlic bread laid out on martin’s coffee table. you all talk about your experience in toronto so far, how you and hamzah first met, … et cetera.

martin attempts to teach you canadian slang: “keener is big here.” “actually? what the hell does that even mean?” “it’s kinda like a try hard— people will call you a keener if you’re doing too much, basically.” “wait tell me more!” “i mean things like buddy is way too common here. some random old guys will call me that and it always throws me off??” “yeah they always say it so demeaning,” hamzah laughs. “do you guys actually say ‘eh?’ all the time? i feel like i haven’t noticed it a lot.” you ask genuinely. “i won't lie.. i say it more often than i like to admit!” mandy says. you’ve noticed that no matter if you’re the one speaking or not hamzah’s eyes keep glancing and sometimes full on staring at you (he really doesn’t mean to but he thinks he’s finally processing that you’re actually here with them after months of wanting this) you're flattered nonetheless.

at some point hamzah and martin recreate a scene in lady and the tramp, successfully slurping at the same noodle until hamzah retreats and martin sighs at his lack of commiting to the bit. you laugh along before asking hamzah’s to share a noodle with you with a smile slapped over your face, “me next?” he fights off any blushing with a roll of his eyes and his response of, “yeah? ask me again in a sec.”

after you’ve all finished eating, you complete the video with a big smile and a promise of more collaborations in the future.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

•••

#hamzah the fantastic #hamzah x y/n #hamzah #hamzahthefantastic #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x reader #hamzah imagines #martin and hamzah #slushynoobz #slushy virus #slushy noobz virus #slushy noobz #hamzahthefantastic fanfic #hamzahthefantastic x you #hamzahthefanatasticxreader

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neo--queen--serenity · 7 months ago

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I think it was a very fascinating and deliberate choice on the creators’ part to give the two people closest to Jayce—Viktor and Mel—the same imagery that evokes the mystery mage who helped Jayce when he was a child.

We see this visual callback first in Viktor, in Act I:

This makes sense, of course, once we know the mystery mage is Viktor—albeit a future version of himself. But what struck me is the fact that they also gave Mel Medarda the same treatment.

When Jayce first sees her after the awakening of her magic, he sees that image—a being whose mere presence caused his weapon to light up in recognition, paired with a robe covering their identity—and I think there’s a great possibility that he asked himself if this was the one; the mage who saved him when he was young.

Once she reveals herself, he visibly relaxes, and they reconnect. But the physical change in her is clear in her body language. She now moves like the mage in Jayce’s memory. She hides her face in her hood often, something she never used to do before. And her mannerisms are slightly different, which could easily be accounted for due to her not being used to the magic now alive in her body. But it’s the change itself that makes the viewer do a double-take.

It could just be that Mel and Viktor are the only mages we see up close in the series. Perhaps it is simply what happens when magic transforms their wielder in subtle, physical ways.

But I think the parallel holds narrative weight as well. The two people with the most affection and influence over Jayce both end up touched by the Arcane in ways that are both transformative and involuntary. The are changed after their bodies become vessels of magic.

I think that’s why the creators gave both Mel and Viktor the same iconography that would invoke a clear memory from Jayce’s childhood as the symbol that started him on the path to magic.

Viktor actually was the mystery mage from Jayce’s memory, and after the finale, the viewer knows why. But I think, implicitly, the point was that either one of them could have been.

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moonlightcycle571 · 5 months ago

Text

The Justice League mingling before their meeting

Captain Marvel, crashing through: CYBORG QUICK, I NEED YOU TO FIX IT

Cyborg: what?

Captain Marvel: SHES DOWN

Cyborg, palling: You don’t mean … *checkc* OH FUCK NO

JL, visibly concerned: What’s going on

Captain Marvel: HURRY DO SOMETHING

Cyborg, already has twelve laptops going through codes furiously: IM TRYING

Plastic man, bursting through the room: EMERGENCY, SHE HAS BEEN HIT

Cyborg and Captain Marvel: WE KNOW

Plastic man, gripping Batman: DO SOMETHING

Captain Marvel, slapping Plasticman: GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF SOLDIER

Green Arrow: WHATS GOING ON?

Captain Marvel: AO3 IS DOWN

JL: … what?

Green Lantern (Hal & Jessica): NOOOOOOOOOOO

Wonder Woman : … the fan fiction website?

Superman: that’s it?

Cyborg, dramatic gasp: how DARE-

Captain Marvel, dramatically holding him back: No my friend, they simply don’t understand

Green lantern (Hal): How am I supposed to get through monitor duty without my dose of SI field trip fics?

Green lantern (Jessica): How am I supposed to fly through space without my Percabeth podfics???

Green lantern (Hal): Aren’t John and Kyle currently in deep space right now?

A moment of silence for thé two lanterns in space

Flash: is this what’s got you in a fuss? Damn I thought someone died

Cyborg: SIX HOURS

Four Heroes proceed to cry in unison

Bonus:

After a gruelling 6 hour meeting, the heroes found themselves with their beloved writings again

Cyborg: SHES BACK BABY

Green lantern (Jessica): NO ONE TALK TO ME FOR SIX WEEKS I NEED TO CATCH UP ON MY FIC TIME

Captain Marvel: I CAN FINALLY POST MY NEXT CHAPTER

Green lantern (Hal): You’re an author? Let me see your works

The three look at Caps account: …

Green lantern (Hal): THATS YOU???

Cyborg: howwwwwww

Green lantern (Jessica): Oh shit, I’m a big fan of your work

Bonus 2:

Batman, in the BatCave: it seems this ao3 site has a great deal of influence. I might need to investigate this.

Batman: Captain Marvels work may also give me clues as to who he is

Ten hours later

Batman, knee deep in Gray ghost, Batfam and Danny Phantom fics: … I may have made a mistake

Bonus 3:

Lex Luthor: hey Mercy. Mercy. Hey.

Mercy: WHAT

Lex: wouldn’t it be funny if after ao3 starts working again, I mess with it some more. Making it go down so soon after the 6 hours are up

Mercy: that’s sounds cruel

Mercy: I love it

Bonus 4:

Lex Luthor talking to some villains

Lex: it seems that I was right, planting a bug within the reading platform brought forth a level of villainy i hadn’t truly imagined

Sivanna “got blamed and beat up for it”: THAT WAS YOU!

Cheetah “her furry and wlw safe space” : WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

Killer Croc “same reasons above”: Oh I’m going to beat your ass

Harley Quinn, pulling out her bat and calling all the Gotham Rogues (who have been up in arms about it): IM WAY ON YA! YOURE DEAD

Lex Luthor, “just wanted to stop seeing himself get shipped with Superman”: I sense that I may have made a mistake

#in honour of the fallen (ao3)#and mix it with my boy #Billy Batson #because I enjoy giving him more reasons to crash out #what’s one more trauma on the list #there’s so many characters here that I’m not going to tag them all #mostly because I’m lazy #I just know the Lanterns are ao3 users #what tags you read define which ring you get #I also think most villains love ao3 #especially the Gotham rogues #something about them gives me that vibe #yes this incident did get most of the JL really into ao3 #I also know the younger heroes like the titans and YJ have been up in arms about it

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asxgard · 3 months ago

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Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, “Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

#michael robinavitch/you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #companionship series #asxgard writes #the pitt

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herearedragons · 4 months ago

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rotating SolAqun in this context btw.

Solas is clearly a grounding presence to him. but. does he see Solas as someone he can belong with? as a presence that, for reasons he can barely comprehend, keeps that feeling of despair and powerlessness as bay? if so, why does Solas have this effect on him? he's certainly a comforting presence and someone Aqun can talk to without the pressure of being the Herald/Inquisitor but like, it clearly goes beyond that.

maybe it is just about the acceptance tbh. as in. it feels like Solas doesn't have any Expectations of him. but also believes in his ability to do what's required of him. Solas doesn't really need him to Be Someone, which forces Aqun to eventualy default to being just. well. himself. and Solas seems perfectly fine with that. and that isn't fully unique to him because there's Adina, but I think Solas not being Valo-Kas is important here. because Solas' acceptance means that maybe there's a space Aqun can exist in that isn't the merc company or his childhood home. that maybe there is something for him out there.

and if so. I think Aqun is at least somewhat aware that this is his line of thinking. it's probably a big part of why the Fen'Harel reveal, and with it the loss of Apostate Solas, hurts so much. there isn't a place for him out there. the one person he's met who was starting to feel like home was actually something else entirely

"but isn't it weird that Aqun is afraid of going savage while not having the same fear about any of his fully qunari friends and family" well you see, me, the thing is that in his worldview, what stops you from going savage is having a sense of purpose and belonging. and everyone else he knows seems to have that. But He Doesn't.

#literally just stream of consciousness thinking out loud here but YUP I am rotating them again.#herearedragons meta #oc: aqun adaar #solaqun tag #me when writing ship meta becomes a weird psychoanalyzing your blorbo thing #the fact that he was THIS attached to Apostate Solas gets me in ways I can't fully articulate #as well as the fact that Solas probably knows that #I'm not the person you wanted me to be. I wish I was. but there's nothing for you here #and after this point their relationship is just. something else entirely #there's so much bitterness to it #and for Aqun it only gets worse when he DOES catch glimpses of the person he fell in love with in between all the god stuff #idk it's like. he can't fully embrace this but he can't bring himself to let go either #so he just decides to focus on saving the world instead #and god damn I??? kind of want them to find some kind of peace???#I honestly still don't know what would be a satisfying ending for me #because the meta I just described now ties Aqun's feelings for Solas to his feelings on whether he has a future in general #so like him just fully giving up on Solas is kind of giving up on that hope in a way #reducing himself to the role of Inquisitor and nothing more #but also holding on to it is NOT THAT GREAT FOR HIM on account of THE YAOI BEING DOOMED #so I don't really know how to square that circle yet #the possible veilguard endings I've described so far are kind of bleak tbh but at least there's like #some kind of equilibrium being reached. some kind of acceptance.#in both versions Aqun eventually makes peace with his place in the world #which is not the idyllic version he hoped for but. it's his. and he belongs there. no one else but him could ever do it #and the isolation that weighed on him so heavily now becomes comforting #because he knows it's his. it's something he chose. it's not imposed on him by the outside world #okay damn I'm really selling those endings to myself right now ngl

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martian-astro10 · 7 months ago

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Astrology observations - Part 5 (use whole signs)

🌶️ I've noticed that Saturn in 8th house people always end up having to give their hard earned Money to their in-laws, like they're never able to keep it and if not in-laws then they end up losing it in some other way.

🍵 Saturn in 10th house people usually have a very bad relationship with their fathers, I know so many people with this and it's true for all of them (tbf, their fathers deserve it, so I don't blame them). Whenever i visit them, their father will start fighting even when I'm present 🥲 like some parents atleast pretend to be on good terms in front of others, but theirs do not.

🌶️ On the other hand, moon in 9th house people are usually very close to their father. He may not always be emotionally present in their lives but they still have this desire to prove their worth to him. But most people I know, who have this, actually love their dad and frequently spend time with him. It's cute.

🍵Mars/Sun in the 1st house people are some of the most ambitious individuals. I noticed that many billionaires have this. It doesn't mean that they're good at what they do, it's more like, they'll step over anyone to get what they want, can be greedy as well. If a person has sun AND mars in 1st..... don't mess with them, because they will RUIN your life.

🌶️ Jupiter in 2nd house people suck at financial management, these people are so talented and will do a great job, get paid a hefty amount, and then just lose all that money, I actually don't even know how they manage to do it, but they just do 😭. If you have this, please give your salary to someone more responsible and only then will you be able to become rich.

🍵3rd lord in 12th house people ALWAYS do better in life when they leave their birth land. Nothing goes their way as long as they stay where they were born, but once they move abroad, it's like, their whole personality changes (in a good way), they also start feeling more comfortable in expressing their talents.

🌶️ Sun in 2nd house people are REALLY good singers, I don't know about the celebrities, but we have so many amazing singers in our university and all of them have sun in 2nd house, the type depends on the sign. But all of them have such a beautiful voice.

🍵 Saturn in 2nd house people are the ones who act like the elder sibling even when they're the youngest or the only child. Idk how to explain it, but they just have the "oldest child" energy. They're very responsible and I know people with this, whose parents did not treat them in a good way and yet they do not hold a grudge, they're like "it's okay, they were also having problems of their own, so I get it, I know they actually love me" and it's.....kind of sad. But also, very inspiring in a way. They're also very very responsible with money. They know how hard it is to earn before they even start working themselves.

🌶️ Mars in 3rd...these people....first of all, if you're reading this, please learn to talk slowly bro. These people always be talking like they gonna miss out some shit 😭, like bro calm down. Also, they wanna argue ALL THE TIME. I have a friend with this and and she makes ME cry with how long she's able to argue, they will make you agree with them before they leave you alone. So now whenever she says something that I don't agree with, I just go "yeah, you're actually right" cuz I'm NOT taking risks.

🍵 Mercury in 3rd house people can be amazing journalists and writers. They really have this ability to make you FEEL things through their writing, especially if it's in a water sign. Can be very passionate about certain social causes as well. I know two people with this and both of them have a secret twitter and Tumblr account and they refuse to tell us the username. So, they like to fight for things, from behind the scenes and avoid spotlight.

#saturn in 8th house #saturn in 10th house #moon in 9th house #mars in 1st house #sun in 1st house #jupiter in 2nd house #3rd lord in 12th house #sun in 2nd house #saturn in 2nd house #mars in 3rd house #mercury in 3rd house #astrology observations #astrology #astroblr #astrology community #astrology content #astro notes #astro community

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miedei · 4 months ago

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on neurotransmitters and receiving pleasure.

you can't sleep, and spencer takes it upon himself to explain (and enact) how he can help.

cw: fem!reader, established relationship, smut, fingering, lots and lots of hormone talk, slighttt overstim, spencer is hot and gets blue balls but he's too obsessed w you to care

a/n: taking a class that involves a lot of memorising hormones and was thinking about spencer explaining it <33 im also just a sucker for intimate sleepy smut sue me, first proper smut fic!

wc: 2.2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Dating Spencer Reid has been decidedly wonderful. He’s sweet, and above all else, attentive. Only a few months into your relationship, he’s somehow learned more about you than you thought was possible, putting that knowledge to good use.

It began with simple things like knowing your coffee order by heart, and remembering the names of your family members after you brought them up. However, it quickly became far deeper than that. He would be bringing oranges to your apartment when you’d gone through a stretch of cold after cold, making sure you don’t run out of the very specific brand of candles you like. You name it, he’s learned it and utilised it for you.

However, a side effect of his perceptive actions is that you feel horribly guilty about taking up too much of his time. He’s so busy, his job and friends and mother are so important to him, that you’re loath to take him away from the things he loves. As a result, you find yourself falling into the insecure trap of making yourself as little a burden as possible, trying to ensure that the things he does for you are because he wants to, not because you need him to.

That’s part of what’s led you here, laying next to him in his far-too-comfortable bed, wide awake.

By all accounts, you should be fast asleep at this point. It’s nearing two am, the curtains drawn so there’s only a soft glow of moonlight coming into the room. Spencer’s left arm is laid over your middle, fingers twitching occasionally to stroke the skin exposed by your (his) shirt riding up. You’re set up for the perfect night of sleep with your perfect boyfriend, but for some reason your mind will not shut up.

Your thoughts are racing from place to place, flitting around like an overexcited butterfly. The interaction you had at the local cafe this morning, the project you’re working on at work, the movie you watched with Spencer a few hours ago, the comfort of the heat radiating from his body.

Letting a soft grumble of frustration escape your lips, you shift, turning to press your back against Spencer’s chest in a vain attempt to use his body warmth to lull you to sleep. Instead, you wind up thinking about him. Him and his pretty eyes, his lips, his hands, one of which is now resting over your stomach.

Great. Now you’re never falling asleep.

You decide to call it, wracking your brain on how to get out of his hold so you can at least wallow in your self pity in the living room without waking him up. Slowly shuffling out from under his arm seems to be the best option, at least to your sleep-deprived brain.

Slowly inching over the mattress, his hand drags over your skin, the slackness of his body allowing you to maneuver yourself halfway out of his grip, when suddenly his hand comes to life, fingers digging softly into your stomach.

“Wh’s going on?” His voice is deeper than it ever is, a slight rasp rattling through his slurred words, which only serves to wake you up further.

You cringe internally, bringing a hand up to cover his.

“Nothing, Spence. Just going into the living room.” He lets out a sleepy groan, attaching himself solidly to your back so there’s no chance of you leaving.

“Why? What happened?” His voice is slowly becoming more clear, lucidity returning to him quicker than you can attempt to soothe him back to sleep.

“I’m fine, nothing happened. Just couldn’t fall asleep, is all.”

He hums softly, the vibrations reverberating against the back of your head. You can feel him waking up, lips moving against your hair.

“What’s wrong? Can’t stop thinking?” You bite back a groan. Of course he knows what’s wrong, even minutes after waking up. Turning in his arms, you bury your face in his chest, mumbling a plaintive yeah.

His hand comes up to play with your hair, the soothing feeling bringing a sense of calm you haven’t had in hours.

“What have you tried? Maybe not counting sheep, because a study at Oxford proved that to be unhelpful, but visualising calm scenes apparently helps.” You shake your head, face still pressed against his sternum.

“Tried it. Didn’t work.”

He lets out a small, reassuring sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

You lay there for a while, but sleep never comes to take you. You’re sure he must be sleepy, but he stays awake, speaking after a long fifteen minutes of silence.

“Hey… Do you want my help?”

Poking your head up to see his face, you question him.

“Help me sleep? How’re you going to do that?” He tilts his head down, and you can just make out the brown of his eyes as he looks at you.

“Orgasms have been proven to be very effective in putting someone to sleep. Y’want me to?” He speaks casually, as if he’s not suggesting anything out of the ordinary. You, however, lose all composure, flushing immediately.

“Spence, I— You’re tired.” He tilts his head to the side, and you observe his eyes sharpen in that unexplainable way they do whenever you’re especially intimate with each other.

“I’m not too tired. Not for you.” It’s like he wants you to melt for him. You can’t help but duck your head, a mortified squeak escaping your lips. He chuckles quietly, hand smoothing the hair at the back of your head as he waits for you to reply.

It takes a few minutes for you to pipe up.

“Do you… Does it really help?”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“It should. I can explain it to you while I do, if you want.” It takes a beat, but you’re nodding, craning your head up so you can kiss him.

“Okay, baby. Lay back for me? The supine position should make it easier for you, and it’s the best way for you to sleep after if you don’t want neck pain.”

As he speaks, his hand shifts, gripping your waist softly as he helps you lay back against the pillows. He props himself up with an elbow, so he’s hovering slightly next to you. His hand smooths down the fabric of your pyjama top, rubbing soft circles against your stomach with his thumb.

“Sleep deprivation can be caused by a lot of things. Stress, changes in schedules, intake of caffeine.” It shouldn’t be attractive. It really shouldn’t, but you can’t help but let out a shuddering sigh as he speaks, kissing your neck between words. His lips are soft, moulding to the sensitive skin there with reverence that makes you giddy.

His hand begins to move, tracing its way down your front, past your pelvis until it settles on your thigh. There it stays, making broad, sweeping motions on your upper thigh that make you want to squirm.

“Spence…”

He chuckles, pressing one last kiss to the column of your throat before pulling back so he can look at you.

“I’m going to get there, don’t worry.”

You curse at him in your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to make a sound at the moment. Not when his hand is moving dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

At first contact with the linen material, he pauses the motions, lingering there to play with the fabric. Bending your neck, you watch him, enraptured by the minute movements of his nimble fingers, skin hardened by years of holding his gun. Even the sight of it has you sighing, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

The air is thick around you as he slips his hand under the fabric, softly kneading at your inner thighs, only centimetres away from where you need him most. Your hips move without your go ahead, arching down in an attempt to get him closer. The movement doesn’t do anything to get him there, but it clearly causes him to take pity on you.

A smile breaks out on his lips, and he kisses your jaw once before letting his fingers trail up to your core. You flush at the feeling of your wetness on his hand, but he lets out a soft groan, eyes trained down at the bulge of his hand under your shorts.

“Oh, angel…”

You can’t reply, shuddering breaths racking through your body as his fingers trace up and down your drooling slit. It’s overwhelming, the teasing glimpses of pleasure rolling over you until all you can perceive is him.

“You know, sleep deprivation can lead to things like loss of libido. Your circadian rhythms are actually really important to keeping your sex drive steady.”

His middle finger trails up, brushing soft touches against your clit, and you arch your back in response, a soft moan pulling itself from the back of your throat.

“It can be a bit of a vicious cycle, loss of sleep and loss of sex drive. But getting yourself back on track can help with both aspects of your life.”

He moves away from your clit, eliciting a whine that has him kissing your chin in apology. It’s quickly forgotten when the slick-covered digit is slipping into you, the sudden fullness making you squirm against the sheets.

It’s slow, his finger thrusting lazily into you as you pant into the room. Your hands grapple for purchase in the sheets beneath you, your left brushing his free hand. Snatching it up, he helps you stay afloat as the heat bubbles up inside you.

“Arousal and orgasms induce release of the hormones dopamine and oxytocin. Dopamine is received at different receptors in your body, making you feel comfortable and happy. It’s strongly connected to our reward systems.”

His hand not currently occupied with you brings your hand up to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm as his thumb seeks out your clit, swiping over the sensitive point with practiced precision. It causes you to let out a low, keening moan that encourages him further, his voice gravelly as he continues to speak.

“Oxytocin is released into your bloodstream by the pituitary gland, and is linked with our feelings of love. It’s part of what binds us to our loved ones. It’s controlled by a positive feedback loop, so the more you feel pleasure from it and other stimulants, just like that, the more that’s released.” He pauses to watch you contort with rapture, hips bucking against him as he inserts another finger into you.

You can’t see him, eyes screwed shut with pleasure, but you can imagine him well enough.

His eyes are still hazy with sleepiness, but the glaze of adoration that settles over him whenever he has you like this is surely there too. His hair is messy, falling all over him, but you know he won’t do anything about it, too focused on the task at hand.

“An orgasm will also lower your cortisol levels. That means that you’ll feel less stressed and preoccupied, which should help you sleep.”

You feel a little insane, his low voice sending you hurtling towards greater pleasure. It seems it doesn’t matter what he’s saying, whenever Spencer speaks to you like that, you can’t help but be putty in his hands.

He falls silent now, kissing you once before fixing his intent gaze on you, and you know he’s determined to get you there. His thumb is perfectly synchronized with the two fingers still moving steadily in and out of you, a routine he’s perfected over countless moments just like this one.

He knows steadiness is what gets you over that last hurdle. His hand never falters, the feeling of his calloused fingers dragging against the most intimate parts of your body causing you to puff out shallow gasps. You feel like you’re floating, the feelings so overwhelming that you barely register the feeling of the sheets rustling under your body.

It keeps going, going, going until it happens. One final circle of his thumb against your clit and you fall apart, a cry of his name ringing out in the silence of the room. He doesn’t let up, fingers thrusting lazily in you until you’re whimpering, pushing his forearm with weak hands.

Pulling his hand out of your shorts, he leans over to the nightstand, grabbing a tissue to clean his fingers. Once done, he settles back next to you, pulling the covers snugly under your chin and pulling you toward him. One of his arms lays under your neck, letting you nose into his side and exhale softly.

He’s saying something, voice velvety and comforting, but you can’t register any of it. The chemicals in your brain are swirling pleasantly, and you’re asleep before you can even think about it.

#mdni #mie writes #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer.r #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem reader

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