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pedgito · 4 months ago

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𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 | Cowboy!Joel Miller x reader

summary | Through all of his supposed wrong-doing, Joel has never failed you. Alternatively, falling in love with your dad's enemy while he shows you your full potential.

author's note | this is for @kedsandtubesocks's wild ride writing challenge! i struggled with this for a while, but ultimately erika and @hauntedhowlett helped me settle on something after sitting on the struggle bus for longer than i liked. this is all unbeta'd so please go easy on me dsjhkg

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, rodeo cowboy!joel, dbf but they're rivals now, forbidden love, hefty age gap (early 20s, late 40s), daddy issues, switches between present/flashbacks (all titled to differentiate), joel strolling around shirtless in a cowboy hat, mentions of injuries from riding, angst/internal conflict, fluff, smut (inappropriate use of a barstool), joel's such a loverboy

word count — 7.5k

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The energy in the stadium is inconceivable.

Austin always had amazing crowds during rodeo season, especially with such a close-knit community of people supporting a passion many have attempted to pursue. For you, it was in your blood, riding on the coattails of your father, you were saddled on a horse before you could even speak full sentences.

You can hear the deep, roaring chants as you stand steadily in the waiting pen, eyes locked on the television as the words echo in your ear, a faint smile growing on your face as you feel the solid press of his hand against your back.

Joel.

It was a year of tireless dedication to get you back on a horse, somehow managing to entangle yourself in his grasp in more ways than you can explain—he wasn’t just a partner, he was your lover, a confidant, and the only person that could ease the quickly growing nerves.

“Like ridin’ a bike,” He says with an ease that comes natural to his voice, hand climbing up to settle against the back of your neck with a reassuring squeeze, “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“What if she gets startled?” You ask absently, the accident flashing through your mind in snapshots, the subtle twinge of pain in your knee that came and went when it felt like it.

“All she needs is you,” Joel reminds you, “s’never been a time I’ve seen her freak out when she’s got you on her back and you know it.”

Honey had been with you since you were a young girl, a trust built through years of connection and care, having practiced the art of non-verbal communication, you knew there was nothing to worry about, but the fear still lingered.

Joel’s Ranch, One Year Ago — Flashback:

Joel can see the way your hands shake, attempting to grasp the reins a few times with a clammy grip, over-adjusting yourself on the horse he’s ridden for many years, even into retirement. Buttercup was docile but strong and he’s attentive to Joel’s instruction, a rub over his snout as he attempted to reassure you.

It was your first time back on a horse since your accident, months of recuperating on Joel’s ranch with the help of him and his brother Tommy, working through doctor’s visits and physical therapy alongside two men who weren’t your father, but had filled the hole enough that you didn’t have to suffer through your injury alone.

“We’re just doing a few laps and getting a feel on things,” Joel reminds you, “I’m not pushin’ you and I’m not gonna let you push it too soon—what’s your number today?”

You bend and stretch your leg hesitantly, a subtle movement as Joel’s hand rests just above the thick band of your jeans, your face contorting in slight discomfort.

“Five…six,” You say indecisively, looking down at Joel.

“So, an eight,” He surmises with a smile, “alright—just a few laps and we’ll work from there.”

It was a step forward, fearful that you might never ride again.

But, Joel follows you around the ring from start to finish.

He promised in the beginning that he wouldn’t leave your side and he hasn’t lied once.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

While dressage started their run, you and Joel slipped off into a dressing room to watch the show and deal with the insistence from Joel that you shouldn’t ride on an empty stomach.

You picked at the food sparingly though, still feeling rattled by the energy in the arena.

Joel’s presence comes from behind, palms spread over the arms of your chair as he leans his chest into your back, lips brushing against your ear in an endearing manner, a ghost of his breath against the side of your face as he presses a gentle kiss against your neck.

"Hey," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "You're going to be amazing out there, baby. I believe in you."

You lean back into his warmth, letting out a shaky breath. His arms encircle you, strong and comforting. "I'm just so nervous," you whisper.

Joel turns your face with his fingers at your chin. His eyes, filled with tenderness, meet yours.

"Remember why you started riding in the first place? That freedom? The connection?"

You nod and his hand flattens against the side of your neck and you tilt your chin up expectantly, eager for a kiss that never comes, instead he chuckles and placates you with another kiss to your cheek.

“No distractions,” He chastises, “I meant that.”

You pout for a brief moment but relent, knowing that you needed a clear head and Joel would give you anything but with how easily he’s clouded your thoughts in the past several months.

Joel’s Ranch, Six Months Ago — Flashback:

When it happens, you aren’t expecting it.

Neither is Joel, which makes the entire situation unfold faster than you’re capable of processing.

The storm rolled in without warning, the wind picking up like someone had flipped a switch.

But, the lighting strikes unexpectedly from the right and downfield with not a drop of rain in sight.

It startles everyone, but especially Buttercup, Joel’s horse. It was quick buck, with Joel’s hands on your waist luckily, so the decent is smooth but the impact isn’t as graceful as you would have liked while Joel’s horses thrashes wildly until he can calm him down, moving you a safe distance away before he can eventually get Buttercup tucked away in the stables and return to you, jogging toward you as the rain began to mist.

As Joel approaches, his eyes lock with yours, concern etched across his features.

The misting rain clings to his cheeks, making them glisten in the fading light. He reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping your face. Thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with worry.

You nod, unable to speak as you realize how close he is.

It’s never been like this, even in the moments of physical therapy and joint dinners with him and his brother—Joel had always been careful about being respectful and keeping his distance.

Joel was prominent in your childhood, weekend dinners with him and his daughters after the death of your mother—it was all a blur now, most of it buried away and forgotten. But, there was an eventual blow-up with your father and then he was gone.

You’d see him on television and around town when shows were happening and he had a break from his extensive tour through different states, having turned his professional career into entertainment both out of a need for change and necessity.

He constantly remained out of reach, but with your injury and his willingness to yield to you when you needed someone in your life the most, he had stepped in. It made you feel like that little girl again, scraping your knee on the ground and crying for help, but instead of your dad it was Joel and the floating feeling in your stomach wasn’t because he was comforting you, but because he was touching you and neither of you had the courage to speak on it.

He’s never touched you like this. He wouldn’t.

Joel’s always been careful—too careful.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice trembles slightly. Joel kneels closer, his warmth enveloping you despite the cool rain. His hands find your shoulders, steadying you, “Joel—I swear, I’m okay.”

“M’so sorry, sweetheart,” He apologises despite no wrongdoing, “I should’ve checked the weather or at least held on a little tighter,”

You look up into his eyes, seeing the genuine worry there, and something else – something that makes your heart flutter in your chest. "It's not your fault," You insist, blinking away the rain from your lashes before Joel is helping you to your feet, his touch never once leaving your body.

The rain is falling harder now, but neither of you can find the urgency to move.

Joel's hands slide down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your breath catches in your throat, coming out in a desperate attempt to clear the swell as you make a small, weak noise that seems to break him from his trance.

“Let’s get you dry,” He nods toward the house, grateful for the deflection as you turn, but his hand is still pressed firmly against your back as you both walk toward the door, like he’s too scared to let go - like you were too fragile to leave on your own.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Honey nuzzles into your chest before nibbling at the apple in your palm, always rigid about the time you spent with her before your shows, a moment of quiet and connection that strengthens the bond.

She was full of personality, leaning into the gentle touch you apply to her snout as you rub your hand up and into her mane, a small push into your ribs as she hears Joel approach.

Your heart swells with affection as you lean into Honey's warmth, savoring the sweet moment.

Joel's footsteps draw near, but you're reluctant to break the spell.

You press a soft kiss to Honey's velvety nose, whispering words of love and gratitude. As Joel appears, his eyes meet yours and a tender smile spreads across his face. He understands the depth of your connection with Honey, having witnessed your bond grow over countless shows and quiet moments like this. Even when you were much younger and Honey was twice the size she is now.

Your father had purchased her when Joel was meeting Buttercup, how the girls had hounded him over the responsibility to name his horse. He wouldn’t admit how much he liked it, either.

"You two are inseparable," he murmurs, stepping closer. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers as you both stroke Honey's mane, "I swear, sometimes I think you love that horse more than me."

You laugh, giving your horse one last pat before turning to Joel. "Are you jealous?"

Your head tilts, eyes as wide and vulnerable as they always were with him.

“Not when you look at me like that,” Joel explains, his hand cupping your chin as his thumb rubs against the point of it, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards as Joel mirrors that same admiration, a playful glint in his eyes as you pucker your lips and kiss his thumb, keeping your eyes on him, “boy, you are really pushin’ it today.”

It was silly to think about now, but a few months prior Joel wouldn’t even allow himself to touch you like this, despite the clear indication of how you felt and how he had ultimately fallen first, too scared to admit that he’d fallen for his old friend’s daughter, knowing your father despised everything that Joel was, it was a maze he didn’t know how to navigate.

He still felt lost on most days.

Joel’s Ranch, Five Months Ago — Flashback:

Mornings were sacred on Joel’s ranch - a beautiful sunrise etched out over the hills and through the trees, animals rousing from their sleep, and a silence that reminded you of a simpler time.

Usually you found Joel up this early, nursing a mug of coffee in his hands as rocked in the old chair on his porch, eventually finding the courage to join him after a while, when it didn’t hurt to bend down to his level, taking a seat on the deck near his legs and sipping at your own drink of choice, talking through your pain level on whatever particular day it was.

Your fondness has grown over shared meals and proximity; seclusion, too.

It was you and him, months alone aside from Tommy’s occasional visit.

Maybe it was inevitable—that your injury served a purpose.

You always tried to find a reason to excuse your own mistake, a moment of hesitation that cost you an entire year of your newfound career, excitedly filling in for Joel in his departure.

It couldn’t have been for nothing.

You felt her heart skip a beat as his footsteps approached, his gaze warm as it descended upon you, peering over your shoulder to be met with a tired smile.

The morning sunlight caught the silver in his hair, and you found herself admiring the lines around his eyes - evidence of a life filled with both laughter and hardship.

"Good mornin’," Joel's voice was a low rumble, softened by the early hour, “something botherin’ you?”

“Why do you ask?” You chirp with a soft laugh, narrowing your gaze in a manner to intimidate.

Joel smirks half-heartedly, “It’s a good place to think,” He notes, “so—what is it?”

“Can I ask about my dad?” You start hesitantly, not sure how sore of a subject it was for him.

“Whaddya wanna know, sugar?”

“I want your side,” You wanted honesty, not half-truths, “did you cut him out of the deal?”

“He cut himself out,” Joel explains without skipping a beat, “we were partners for a long time, couldn’t have imagined doin’ all I did without him before he turned on me, but it was good money, security—it put Ellie and Sarah through college.

“He’s a sell-out,” If there was any time for your father to disparage Joel Miller, he would, “runnin’ off to Florida and taking some big deal, that shit ain’t right—it’s selfish.”

Joel had never meant to turn his career into entertainment, competing in circuits at a professional level before his body started to take a toll, eventually earning the Old Timer moniker and booking shows around the surrounding cities of Texas before touring the country.

If you were involved in rodeo, or even caught a whiff of it in the media, you knew who the Old Timer was. And even with him gone, you can feel your father looming.

The echoing mantra of his words in your head as you remember watching Joel perform with Buttercup, a long-established Bronc with his own exuberant personality to match Joel’s more subdued one, a perfect balance.

Ain’t nothing out there you won’t experience here in Austin.

You weren’t sure where the animosity stemmed from until now—it was a clear path he had pictured for himself and you, riding out the rest of your career in Texas, even as you were starting to climb the ladder as one of the more notorious female riders, still just a whisper for most people, living in the shadow of your father for so long.

“He’s stuck in his ways and that’s not sayin’ I’m any different, but I don’t regret signing that deal for a better way of livin’—a easier way, it got me all of this,” He throws his arms out lazily, property that stretched for miles, a place where he’s come to offer a camp for young riders to learn the ropes and get comfortable around the animals in a safe environment.

But, it was also home.

It was a surprise waking up one morning to a yard full of kids, a handful no older than ten or eleven, showing how easily Joel molded into the teaching role in such a relaxed environment.

You weren’t sure if that was when your feelings for him had evolved or if it was during the early weeks of being injured when Joel would sit with you bedside almost every night, either reading or working on his crosswords like it was religion, glasses perched on his nose as he moved with every subtle twitch you would make, worry etched on his face.

It was a mix of both and more, countless times you’ve found yourself at a loss for words.

“If he knew,” You pause, chewing at your bottom lip with worry, “if he knew—that I was here, that I turned down his help to come to you, Joel, I don’t know how he would react,”

“There ain’t a single reason he needs to know,” Joel assures you, “I’m sure he’s said a lot about me and some of it is probably true, but you deserve a place you feel safe.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

Joel's words sink in, and you realize just how much you needed to hear them. The weight of your father's expectations, his dreams for your future, had been suffocating you for far too long.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft whinnying of horses in the nearby stables, and your words linger, like you’re holding back, “I do—I do feel safe…”

Joel hums, turning his body toward you more, his elbow meeting the railing of the ring.

“But?”

“You have to know,” You begin, heart constricting with nerves, a surge of adrenaline rushing through your veins as Joel looks at you, all of you, that familiar full body glance that you’re not even sure he realizes he’s doing, “it’s more than just safety, Joel.”

"I reckon I do know," he says, his voice low and gravelly, still thick from sleep. "Been knowin' for a while now."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning and possibility. Uncertainty.

“I feel stupid,” You laugh away the sudden embarrassment, face heating as the silence grows, “fuck I’m—I’m only a couple years older than the girls and you were helping me with my math homework while trying to teach them how to tie their shoes. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Seems to me like you’re an adult capable of making her own choices,” Joel decides.

You feel a flutter in your chest at Joel's words, at the implicit acceptance in them.

Your eyes meet his, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but you find only warmth and a hint of something deeper, enticingly haunting.

"I've been making my own choices for a while now," you say softly, not realizing the instinctual gravitation toward him until his chest is pressing into your shoulder. "Some good, some...not so good. But, coming here? It was the first choice I’ve made for myself that felt right."

“It always needs to feel like that, sweetheart.”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Joel tightens the belt at your waist, the leather stiff from lack of wear. You’ve only worn the uniform a few times for fittings, a brightly colored shirt and riding pants to match, which were still hung on the rack behind Joel.

He takes a moment to tug at the leather to assure it was secure before he drops down to his knees, catching you by surprise with a bubble of laughter slipping past your lips.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

He shrugs, pressing featherlight kisses along the top of your thigh while his hand drags along the back, hooking behind your right leg as he brings your knee to his mouth, his lips pressing over the jagged but healed scar.

You find yourself overcome with unexpected emotion, throat burning with the threat of impending tears, the moment holding still as Joel looks up at you.

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

It was intended to be a simple task, filling the troughs with water as you both lugged the buckets to each individual pen, narrowly escaping Joel’s increasingly boyish behavior as he fills the trough up halfway before he’s tossing the rest of the water at you, gasping at the cold, frigid temperature of it.

“You ain’t smiled today,” Joel reminds you, suddenly sheepish as you realize how big the grin on your face has grown, wasting the rest of the water to return the wet favor, tossing the bucket on the floor before you decide to make a run for the house nearly at the door before you slip on a slick spot of mud.

Squealing, your arms flail out—you accept your fate, arms bracing behind you as you wait for the impact, but instead you’re caught by two thick arms wrapping under and around you and your breath catches as you find yourself pressed against Joel's broad chest, his strong arms holding you securely.

Your heart races with an anxious stir of emotions, interlaced with excitement, suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. Joel aids you back to your feet, shoving him away playfully as you snake your way out of his arms, trying your hardest to seem upset even though you weren’t.

“Careful,” Joel warns, “can’t have you injuring yourself any worse, you’ll be takin’ up a permanent residence here.

“Would it be so bad?” You ask curiously, a hint of teasing to your tone, “I think you like the idea of keeping me here, all to yourself.”

His eyes echo his earlier words. Careful.

The restraint he shows day by day amazes himself with how hard you’ve tried to break him down, some guilt surrounding his own growing feelings, ashamed with how strong they’ve become.

“Where’s your manners, anyways?” You ask, “You get a girl all wet and you can’t even invite her to dinner or kiss her first? And I thought you were a gentleman.”

Joel wasn’t intimidated by much in his life, but the way you see straight through him with ease—he’s helpless under your gaze, the grin on your face that follows is tortuous to his psyche.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, Joel,” You tease, poking at the damp fabric stuck to his chest, his eyes following the movement as you pull away and turn toward the house, “I’m just fucking with you.”

Joel snaps then, pulling at your wrist with a gentle tug, “Now, you ain’t gotta be so crude all the time, mouth like that’ll get you in trouble,”

Like this?

Joel sees the smug expression as it sneaks onto your features, his grip climbing higher until you’re at the lip of his front door and he’s got you crowded, pressing into the flimsy screen as he noses at your cheek like a wolf sniffing out prey, violently aware of how your hand squeezes into his wet shirt and pulls him closer.

“Just kiss me,” You plead, “fuck—please. Just do it.”

It was a craving so unnatural you ache, in your gut and chest, lips parting as your chin lifts in an effort to chase his hesitance. You’ve both been dancing around this for weeks.

Joel's resolve crumbles, his self-control shattering like glass.

With a low growl, he captures your lips in a hurried kiss, weeks of pent-up desire pouring out in a single, passionate moment. His calloused hands frame your face, holding you steady as he deepens the kiss, tongue seeking entrance between your lips.

And you melt instantly, fingers curling tighter into his shirt. It was everything you needed.

Rough but tender, his soft lips against your own with the satisfying scratch of his overgrown beard that tickled your cheeks and nose, hiccuping a breath into the kiss as he tilts your head up to meet his hungry mouth, each press more insatiable than the last.

When you finally part, both panting for air, Joel rests his forehead against your own and allows his eyes to fall shut for a moment as you giggle, shaking slightly in his hold.

“Now, was that so hard?”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s got you imprisoned this way—body and soul, your hand shifting to rest at the crown of his head, curling into his hair, another gentle kiss before he’s leaning his cheek against the inside of your thigh and offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“You plan on stayin’ down there, cowboy?”

Joel chuckles, shifting to hide his face into your thigh.

It’s a gentle tickle, his mouth against your skin, but it brings you immense comfort.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” You remind him, eyeing the clock overhead, “I think we can manage.”

He shakes his head with relaxed defiance, groaning quietly as he pushes to his feet again.

“Right—right, later. No distractions,” You repeat his earlier words, followed by a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re not making it easy, you know?”

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

Joel’s got you on a strict schedule lately once you’re cleared for training—breakfast, a workout, practice, lunch, repeat, only a few months out until your inevitable return and he’s hammering the routine into your brain, which you appreciate, but a break would be nice.

The run-through was flawless this evening and you retired earlier, savoring the burning heat of water as it melted over your skin, dressed in a loose shirt and panties as you searched through your messy suitcase of clothes and the pile that has grown over time with your extensive stay, down on your knees.

It wasn’t always this easy, depending on Joel for nearly everything in the beginning of your stay.

He was showering in his room simultaneously, or so you thought.

Joel spotted your hat about halfway through the living room, resting on a post outside.

His chest is still wet, jeans unbuttoned but snug on his hips as he strolled barefoot outside and retrieved the item, knowing that you hardly parted with it, it was a strange sight.

You pause in your rummaging, sensing a presence behind you moments later.

Turning, your breath catches at the sight of Joel standing in your doorway, hat balanced on his head as he leaned against the frame and smiled, the muscles in his arms conforming to the stretch and pull as he crossed them, tanned skin glistening with the few droplets of water still lingering.

“Found your hat,” Well, one could only suspect.

You stand slowly, acutely aware of how little you're wearing. "Thanks," you murmur as you make your way toward him, reaching for the hat. Your fingers brush as he hands it over, his own molding around the crown of the hat, bottom side up.

Joel doesn’t let go immediately like you’re anticipating, “I think you deserve a weekend off,”

“No,” You argue instantly, “I’m finally getting comfortable with the routine, I don’t need a day off.”

Joel’s face scrunches up in with a lack of belief in you words, tilting his head with narrowing gaze, “Now, that’s something only a person who needs a day off would say,”

“Joel, no,” You put your foot down, finally prying his fingers away from the hat, seeking a few inches of space from his bare chest and the unbearable heat that radiates from his frame.

While your admission of feelings had led him to be less reserved with the way he approached your or talked, more touchy during practice and at night while you both cuddled up on the couch and watched some old western you could care less about—Joel really loved them, though, so that had to count for something.

He makes you nervous, anticipatory of his next move, waiting for him to put your misery and break the metaphorical seal over your relationship—if you could even call it that, but it never happened. It would have to be you, a choice you made entirely on your own.

Your heart races as you take a step back, clutching the hat to your chest like a shield.

Joel's eyes follow your movement, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his face before he schools his expression back to that easy, warm smile. It’s subtle, but there.

"I get it," Joel levels, "You're afraid of losing momentum.”

You shrug, unsure if that was fully true.

“C’mon,” Joel beckons, uncrossing his arms to offer his hand, your eyes following it with hesitance.

Joel chuckles to himself and pulls the hat from your grip before placing it on your head, fingers circling your wrist before they trail toward your hand and lead you toward the kitchen, through his expansive living room until he’s guiding you toward one of the few barstool, silently ordering you to sit down.

Almost immediately, he squats behind the island to rummage through the liquor collection he kept stored away for the occasional celebration or nightcap, avoiding it mostly out of preference while you trained, but he’s sliding a glass of whiskey over before you can fully piece together what he’s doing, rounding the counter with his own glass in hand.

“Happy early birthday to me, I guess,” You joke before taking a small sip of the whiskey, knowing your 22nd birthday was on the horizon but enjoying the reaction as Joel’s face contorts through phases—first confusion, then fear, before he’s attempting to pull the glass from your grip as he realizes his mistake

You giggle and stretch the glass out of reach, “Oh, calm down—I’m old enough to drink, Joel. Old age is really getting to you, isn’t it? I didn’t celebrate last year because I was so focused on the show, but we all know how that turned out,”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?” Joel asks, downing the rest of the liquid in one go.

He’s drifted closer now, palm pressed into the counter beside your arm, his free hand rising up to tip the brim of your hat up, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth with an impish gaze.

“I’m just so young and impressionable,” You feign innocence, “I blame you.”

Joel's eyes darken, a mix of amusement and something more intense swirling in the depths of brown. Holding his eyes, you slide the glass against the counter and reach for your hat before placing it back on his head, a little on the snug side but still wearable.

“Kinda like it on you better,” You decide, adjusting the brim before your fingers trail toward his shoulders and settle there, feeling the muscle underneath twitch as he laughs, though you find yourself deadly serious and sincere, no longer meeting his eyes as yours trail toward the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, a solid wall of muscle follow—Joel wasn’t defined, but he was large, intimidatingly so. When he wasn’t riding, he was building, working with his hands, lifting and moving things around the ranch, it was mouthwatering to watch.

“Eyes up, sugar,” He warns, not realizing how dangerously low your hands had trailed before your fingers were folding over the open seam of his jeans and how blatantly obvious it was that Joel wasn’t wearing anything underneath and how his cock had swelled slightly with your proximity and innocent touches.

You feel a rush of excitement as your fingers brush against the warm skin just beneath the waistband of his jeans. Joel's breath hitches, his hand moving to grip your wrist firmly.

“But, you’re—”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, “Can’t help that part—bein’ around you ain’t easy lately.”

In any other circumstance you would take those words harshly, but you can see the pain on his face, the self-restraint he’s holding himself to.

“I can—we can,” You offer, legs spreading on their own as you turn toward him, fitting him between your thighs as you lean into him, “I mean—it isn’t like you’ll be stealing my virtue. I’m not that innocent, Joel.”

Joel's grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenching as he struggles to maintain control.

You can see the conflict in his eyes—desire warring with his sense of propriety.

Impatient, you surge upwards, pressing your lips against his with a hunger he hasn’t seen from you before, taking advantage of his parted mouth and dragging your tongue across his top lip, feeling the restrain in the way he kisses you back subdued with his hesitant touch.

“Think about—what you’re—askin’ for,” Joel interrupts through hurried kisses, his hand curling around the side of your neck to push you back, “What this’ll mean for you.”

“I think you should fuck me,” You respond crudely, “besides—you kissed me first.”

His resolve wavers, and you seize the opportunity.

Your free hand slides up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Joel's eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft groan escaping his lips at the indecent sight of you looking up at him, lips parted on a breath and eyes wide with desire.

Joel never made great choices, only what felt right in the moment.

And somehow, it has led him here.

“We shouldn’t,” He says softly, “s’just another distraction.”

“My mind has never been more clear, Joel,” You argue.

Joel’s resistance is weakening quickly and with a low growl, he’s capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand leaving your wrist to grip your hip with a natural possessiveness, the same touch he lends while you’re riding, not an entirely different circumstance, but the intention is loud. You moan into his mouth, arching against him as his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, flicking at the hat, your laugh breaking through the tension as Joel parts for a brief second, watching your fingers fold around the hem of your shirt, “help me?”

It’s devious, you know, he knows it.

But, he listens.

The moment your shirt is thrown to the floor, Joel’s jaw slackens.

Instinctually, his thumb drifts over your nipples, circling the areola before he’s using the full expanse of his grip to cup your breasts, maneuvering the barstool until you’re leaning against the marble top, his lips latching onto your skin, tongue alternate as they circle the sensitive buds.

He’ll repent later, much later.

A gasp escapes you when he grazes his teeth against your nipple, sending a spark of pleasure through your body.

"Joel," you breathe, arching into his touch. He hums against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He knew exactly what he was doing, hesitance out the window and replaced with newfound confidence.

His hands slide down your sides, rough calluses catching on your soft skin as he explores every inch of you. When his fingers reach the waistband of underwear, he pauses, looking up at you for guidance and surety.

You nod eagerly, lifting your hips in time with his tug, pulling the damp fabric down your legs and leaving you bare. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Joel's eyes rake over your naked form, hunger evident in his eyes.

And you learn quickly that his skilled hands and fingers aren’t entirely for show, two fingers to start as they push inside of your cunt, head tilted back into his empty hand as he watches you carefully - the quickened breath as he curls his fingers, eyes fluttering shut when he reaches a sensitive spot deep inside of you, gasping for air while he brushes it once, twice, until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess, crying out his name until you come over his fingers, the butt of his palm pressed against your clit for added measure.

“She loves me, don’t she?” Joel teases, the gall of that man.

You offer a pathetic sound of acknowledgement, Joel's eyes never leaving your face as you come undone, drinking in every gasp and shudder. As your climax subsides, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His tongue darts out, cleaning up the mess you’ve made, his chest rumbling with a deep groan.

You’ve had enough.

You reach for his jeans, fumbling weakly as you push them down, desperate for as much of him as you could consume—all of him, preferably.

His arousal is evident as you rid him of his jeans, watching as he kicks away the tangled mess to fit himself between your spread legs, his cock bobbing freely against his stomach, thick and heavy against your thigh as you pull him closer. You wrap your hand around his cock, stroking slowly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his hips buck involuntarily.

"I’m good," You assure him without elaborating, guiding him towards your entrance—you could talk later, too desperate to feel him inside of you.

Joel hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes. Whatever he sees seems to convince him, both of your breaths holding as he presses inside with slow, hesitant thrusts.

The sensation steals your words, knowing just by the sight of him that it would be pushing what you were used to, and no fumbling hands either, sure in every touch he laid upon you.

The way he squeezed at your hip and curled his other hand around the back of your neck, protecting you from the hard edge of the counter before he’s slinging your arms over his neck and nearly knocking the barstool to the floor as he leans into you, his hips picking up in their intensity as he listens to your body and your voice, distant and soft but there, floating in some ethereal plane of pleasure.

Your fingers dig into Joel’s shoulders, moaning at how he fills you in the most satisfying way, amiss to the bite of the counter in your back as the chair creaks and rocks with Joel’s hurried movement, breath hot against your neck where he’s buried himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He sighs, mouthing his way to your ear, hissing at the sting of your grip and with that his thrusts become deeper, more forceful— each one pushing you further over the edge. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.

Joel’s lips find yours frantically, in desperation as he groans, a low rumble that seeps into your own mouth, “Gonna gimme one more,” He tells you,

You nod fervently, barely able to form words as Joel's movements grow more insistent.

His hand slips between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a precision that leaves you breathless. The dual sensations of his thick length filling you and his skilled touch on your clit quickly push you towards the precipice.

“Good, good,” He coos, soothing your weak cries with his mouth as your voice muffles under his guise, kissing you soundly, “go on—let go for me,”

His words push you over the edge and you come undone while Joel follows, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan, coming forceful and deep, fucking his spend deeper inside of you as reality resurfaces too soon.

“You alright?” Joel asks almost immediately, slipping out of you with a soft grunt.

The barstool creaks ominously as you adjust yourself and Joel chuckles.

“Probably not the sturdiest spot for that,” He jokes, thankful for the levity as he helps you stand, unsteady on your legs and held up by his firm grip, “I’m blamin’ you for that one.”

The grin it brings out of you is worth the slight discomfort you feel.

You shrug, nonchalant and admit defeat, “Guilty,”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s not supposed to be here.

There was always a plan, something tucked away in his back pocket.

This time it was the element of surprise and a mix of fear, eyes landing on him for the first time since he rushed onto Joel’s property, half-cocked and throwing out demands where he had no position or right.

He knows what he’s doing, eyes locked with yours from several feet away.

“Guest speaker?” Joel asks, the words biting as they leave his mouth, “Seriously?”

“It’s okay,” It was a mantra to yourself mostly, but Joel hears you, “I know what he’s trying to do—it won’t work.”

“You say the word, I’ll take care of it,” Joel promises.

You smirk slightly, rubbing your hand against his cheek and offering a reassuring squeeze.

“Easy, cowboy,” You offer lightheartedly, “I can handle myself.”

Joel’s Ranch, Two Months Ago — Flashback:

You knew he’d figure it out eventually.

For a while he believed the lie—that you had been transferred to a beautiful place in Florida that dealt with injury and rehabilitation for your line of work and he accepted that, kept his distance.

He almost followed through on his reconciliation with Joel, that is, until he sees you at his side.

It was such a natural moment for the both of you now, Joel’s arm slung around your waist as he pulled you in, lips pressing against your temple before you both called it for the day, Honey’s head slipping between your hands as she noses at your head, suddenly whining at the shadowed intruder as he grew close.

At the sound of his voice, you fade away.

You’re still here, standing, but Joel’s protectiveness jumps out instantly.

The words were loud and harsh, but the moment you snap back is as your father’s hand squeezes at your bicep and yanks you forward, immediately met with resistance.

“I forbid it,” He shouts, “whatever brainwashin’ you’ve done to my kid, it’s over.”

“Forbid it?” You counter, “Do you hear yourself?”

“Always liked makin’ a show of things,” He sounds bitter, he is, “come on, we’re leaving.”

“No,” You tell him, voice unrecognizably strong, “I’m finally doing something for myself.”

Your father's face contorts, a mix of anger and betrayal etched into every wrinkle. He takes a step forward, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "For yourself? You think leaving everything behind and letting him influence you is for yourself?"

Joel shifts behind you, a ghosting of his fingers against your back but you don’t waver.

"Yes, for myself," you say, shocked at the steadiness in your voice. “I deserve a chance to figure things out my own way, I don’t have to follow the same path you did.”

Your father scoffs, shaking his head. "Your own way? You don't even know what that means, honey. All we built together, you’re ready to throw that away for him—”

"We?" you interrupt, feeling a surge of frustration. "You built that, Dad. I was a kid, I did what I was told.” It was clear he still saw you as a young girl, his protege, destined to take over after he was gone and carry on the legacy.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your father's eyes narrow, searching your face as if seeing you for the first time. You weren’t the same young girl who stared at him wide-eyed, amazed by his ability to wow the crowd and commit to everything he did. The disappointment in his gaze morphs into something else—hurt.

“I’m not gonna sit and wait around if he breaks your heart,” Your father tells you, “let alone how inappropriate it is—you try justifyin’ that to the public. I see what this is and what you did.”

His eyes land on Joel.

Fortunately, he couldn’t be more wrong.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The truth was, no one cared.

You and Joel had created an amazing partnership with natural chemistry and it seared the crowds, grabbed their attention, all eyes on you when you finally took your run out in the arena.

It was weeks that had built to this, following through your routine almost masterfully and without missing a beat, ending with a flourish trick as you stood on Honey’s back for the hundredth time it felt like now, not a single waver in your movement and lasso’d the cowboy hat from the middle of the ring and yanked it in, placing it on your head before the crowd erupted in a loud cheer.

It was the feeling you had searched for since you were younger, fulfillment like no other.

Your father’s appearance couldn’t be further from your mind and as you dismounted Honey and took your bow, your eyes searched the side for the one face that mattered most. Joel's proud grin beamed at you from across the arena, his eyes locked on yours.

In that moment, the roar of the crowd faded away and it was him.

Joel’s Ranch, One Month Ago — Flashback:

You feel guilty for the way your eyes linger on his back as Buttercup trots around the ring, distracted and smiling to yourself as you step onto the railing and lean over with your forearms.

“Focus,” Joel chirps, “c’mon—put on your best voice.”

You clear your throat dramatically and lower your tone a bit, fighting through the giggles.

“You know him, you love him,” You bellow from deep in your chest, “It’s Old Timer!”

Joel chuckles, “That was horrible, baby.”

“So what?” You shrug, “I know him, I love him—point proven.”

It was rare to get a glimpse of Joel like this, back in his element as you watched him run-through your routine without all the flair, offering a slightly different view—though, he knows it won’t help.

You were barely focused on the routine, preoccupied with how easily Joel could capture a room like this, noticing your glossed over gaze as he finishes and hops off his horse, walking over with a knowing smirk.

"You weren't paying attention at all, were you?" Joel teases, his voice low and intimate.

You feel a heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze.

"I was... distracted," You admit sheepishly.

His smirk softens into a tender smile. "By what, exactly?"

“Not Joel,” You clarify, grabbing hold of his collar as you pull him close, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “I like it when you ride, Old Timer.”

“All I gotta do is hop on a horse to make you swoon?” Joel asks, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the emotion as he blushes at the affection.

“Among other things.”

“Done and done, sweetheart.”

divider graphics: @saradika-graphics <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #kedsandtubesocks wild ride #my writing

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littledes1re · 1 month ago

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How to disappear | Chapter: one

Summary: after the passing of your mom, you and your dads best friend get close. You find comfort in him and he does the same because he also once lost something. While a relationship between you two sounds wrong and taboo, your feelings grow stronger. But Joel is an old man, guilt and the fear of losing you too, overwhelms him. So he leaves you.

Warnings: Angst, grief, heartbreak, lots of emotions, (fluff as a flashback), joels alcohol problems, dad that doesn’t care for his daughter, age gap! (23 and 61), crying, kind of depression, smut (as a flashback)

A/N: Okey Okey, I may said next week but I was already done with it so finally it’s here. Some dbf and Oldman!joel angst hehehe. Ngl I kinda hurt myself with this one.

Dear joel,

i‘m still thinking about the first time you kissed me, gentle, careful, caring.

I wish you‘d see how much I love you, how much I love being in your presence, how much I love our midnight talks.

We are both broken, something connected us. You made it a reason to leave me, I made it a reason to call you my soulmate.

I feel heartbreak. I cry myself to sleep, tell me..is that better than us comforting each other and having fun?

I miss our conversations, I miss your smile and your ability to comfort me.

Dad is asking why you are distancing yourself.

I love you, always.

Winter felt like forever.

A never ending cycle of dark and cold days, where the world stays still when snow falls. Lingering loneliness creeping up, as you fall for the hopelessness of it all and allowed the weather to dictate your mood while in the back of your mind the soft touches and whispers swam around of someone you where aching to be revolved around with once again.

Joel Miller.

Your last conversation stuck in your mind like the withering words only an enemy can say to you. Repeating itself over and over till there is only a echo of two words. We can‘t.

But there was no flicker of rejection in his eyes as he touched you, no regret as he cuddled you after his release, no shimmer of a different personality you weren‘t aware of, you knew him long enough. At least you thought so.

The aching in your heart and tummy was one that didn‘t go away no matter how much time had passed. The sadness clinged on you, wrapping tightly around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. It was one that grew each day for the past season, now coming to the point that you feel yourself getting sick from it. Flashes of memories startle you while you want to go on with your day. The glimpse of his brown eyes, landing on your face, soft and gentle the way you always knew him. Faints laughs of you two whenever it’s quiet.

And somehow underneath all of this it remembered you of your mom. The day she passed, the darkness that fell on you, the ability to not think straight as your eyes were hurting from crying. The shock not letting up, moving like a ghost trough life, pretending to function. Time would heal, but it didn’t. Time just showed you how to carry the pain without showing it.

You wanted to be small again, cradled by your mother’s hands, soothed by her voice.

“It feels like time has stopped for you and the people around you don’t care. You somehow have to function, but the person was your sole reason to function.” His eyes were emotionless.

Joel stopped crying after five months. He became a vessel of a man who once showed his kindness through actions and words and now someone who shuts everyone off. Grief is not predictable. It changes, buries itself deep beneath the skin and eats you alive. Joel never asked for comfort. But he gave it to you. He thought he didn’t deserve warmth, he thought he didn’t want to feel joy. But he let you feel all of those things.

The rough patch of his beard tickled your skin as you laid on top of him, nuzzling your face into his neck. The tears were dry on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red as a headache started to form. His big hands rubbing circles on your back, soothing you to sleep.

“She is watching over you.”

The line that was crossed was blurred. The day you caught feelings was unknown. You just knew that there had been this silent connection between you two right after he decided to knock on your door to check on you.

“How y’doing, kiddo?”

Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t except it from him. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was distant after your mom’s passing. Maybe it was the fact that both of you lost something.

A man you should suddenly avoid because of his alcohol problems; your dad’s sayings. After his daughter’s passing he developed an alcohol problem, something that was clear whenever he was in your house, his eyes hazy, movements too unsteady. Your heart ached for him, never understanding how people do that to themselves. But after your mom, you did. His actions spoke louder than his words. He still helped your father around the house, with his job, with other things. He was there ,only his emotions were completely submerged, a veil placed over them so no one could recognize his true feelings.

That night, changed it all. He calmed your nerves, gave you the comfort you’ve been aching for the past eight months, and after that he finally let you in his heart. Told you what he was feeling. Guilt, anxiety and anger. His lips were quivering, eyes dark and swollen. Jaw clenched, as if he was trying to bite back the sob clawing up his throat. His breath shaky.

“I should’ve been there.” The only thing that he would murmur and then silence. A rather comfortable and understanding one. You don’t say anything, you just watch. Seeing the same emotions going through him as the day you lost your mom. His eyes would finally lift, and they would shine but not with kindness but with anger and sorrow. You could see it.

“An-and I feel selfish. For now coming in here and telling you this while you also lost someone.”

“Hey, hey. No.” Your hand gently lands on his shoulder, slowly moving to his hair caressing through his curls, while looking at him. His eyes softened, suddenly filling full of worry, bottom lip pouting. Looking at you like a kicked puppy. You felt tears leaving your eyes, landing on your thighs, you wanted to hug him. You knew how he was feeling. You also wanted to give him comfort.

“Don’t even think like that. You’re not selfish for speaking it out. You’re human, joel.”

He tilts his head slightly, you doing the same. A flicker of something knowing passing through your gaze.

“And if you really think thats selfish, then i’m selfish too. For wanting to hear it. You should’t carry it alone.”

For the first time, joel let’s go of the breath he has been holding for a long time. It doesn’t fix anything— but in this quiet moment, something shifts.

A piece of his sorrow, no longer carried alone.

He came over more often. Opened your door, sneaked in your bed and cuddled you, whenever your father was at home, you went to his place. He didn’t care anyway. You two had small road trips, where he drove you to his favourite places, music in the background, your head out of the window, enjoying it. It felt safe, it felt right.

Every worry in your head disappearing when he put your head on his chest. Soft humming and fingertips caressing the skin. Your conversations were not only about loss. They were flowing easily, they were funny.

“This thing is gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying to find the right buttons to put it on silent.

“Ain’t working like that, wait—you have a nokia? Where the hell is your phone?” You asked widened eyes, after you snatched his supposed phone out of his hands.

He snatched it back, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about it? Tommy bought me one because they are easy to use.”

“No, no. S’nice.” You tried to suppress a giggle. And as you swallowed you looked around his house, he looked at you with a grumpy expression.

“What? I can’t keep up with your new generation shit.”

“Oh I bet, I bet. I just find it funny.” You finally giggled, laying back down on his couch, holding your tummy.

“Y’know what’s real funny? You don’t even know half of these movies that I showed you.”

You gasped, sitting up again. His face all smug, a smirk on his lips.

“What? They are cult classics c’mon now—“

“Yeah, for old people.” You rolled your eyes playfully, seeing his face all serious now.

Giggling, you stood up as he abruptly did so too, stretched out his arms to reach for you.

And you knew what that meant. You laughed just more, running around his coffee table and he followed you, trying to grab you. And suddenly he did, throwing you gently on the couch and began tickling you.

“J-joel” you couldn’t breathe from the laughter.

You thought your dad would comfort you and be there for you after what happened, you didn’t think it was going to be joel. But your dad locked himself up, ignoring his dad duties. Leaving you alone, not showing his emotions, not letting you show yours. His demeanour was cold, distant it felt like living with a stranger. You understood why. You understood that he also lost someone, but he never once asked how you are, never once opened the topic of Mom again. Deleted it from his life like it never existed. And while doing that he also deleted you slowly.

Your friends stopped texting, one didn’t know how to comfort you. The other one was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. So you also deleted that topic from them, from your father. Joel was the only one who heard you talking about your mom.

And then he left you. So now, you were completely alone.

But maybe you didn’t really love him. Maybe you just loved his comforting. Maybe you just needed someone and he was there. Would you love a man forty years older than you if your father acted like a father? The way he looked at you, worshipped you, made you feel good. Made you feel special. Took care of you. Something connected you two. Wasn’t those signs of love?

“Hurting?”

“No, think i’m good.” You whispered to him. The stretch was unusual, nothing that you haven’t had before but it felt different. It was with joel.

“S’good, real good.” He nodded his head to you. Under the covers, vulnerable, you two were naked. There were goosebumps all over your skin, and his too. Joel lets you adjust on his shaft, worried eyes scanning your face to see if you show any sign of discomfort.

The atmosphere in the room was calm, lights dimmed and if felt comfortable. The first time you really made out with him and laid your hands on his bulge he stopped you. “Wanna do it right.” He took his time, kissing every inch of your body, teasing you, loving on you. Calling you his pretty girl. Making your eyes almost tear up of how much love he was giving you.

He was extra careful as he started to thrust into you, little breaths leaving his mouth, your hands gripping his biceps. A little moan leaving your lips, feeling the pleasure in your belly slowly fill.

His gaze never left you, he noticed it all. The smile you give him, cheeks flushed, trying to breath right and suppress a loud moan. The way he handled you with gentle hands cupping your cheek, kissing your forehead.

“Joel—please.” A coo leaving his mouth, speeding his thrusts into you.

Joel would bite back a groan, his thrusts sometimes sloppy, sometimes losing the rhythm because it’s been so long. But you didn’t care. You loved feeling him all, you loved being with him.

And when he came his face would twist, you would gently touch his face. He would bury himself into you on last time and then hide into your neck, leaving wet kisses while catching his breath. While you didn’t come, you were still content and satisfied to have him on top of you. But of course he realised it and ate you out for one hour, taking his time, giving you the best orgasms of your life.

You never got an answer from the letter. You never got an answer on your countless texts and calls. He cut you out. And you were trying your best to be angry, you really were. But deep down, the sense of understanding was spreading. You knew how much trouble you two would be going through if your father or anyone in your family found out. Anyone in his family too.

The age gap would let everyone turn their heads in the streets.

Your friends, colleagues everyone would think he is a weirdo. That you are a weirdo.

But then you ask yourself why?

Why did he let you develop these feeling for him? Why did he give you a reason to think that he was in love with you? Why did he comfort you? why did he give you this feeling that everything is going to be fine? Why did he make you believe that there was a connection between you two?

A knock pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Can you help me set the table? Joel is also coming—oh and his girlfriend too, apparently.”

AAA this took so long, but i’m actually proud of this. Please if you see mistakes or want to give feedback, feel free to do so.

Thank you so so much for 900 followers, it’s truly unbelievable.🥹🥹

Chapter two!

My Masterlist!!!

Taglist:

@vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @cuntyhunty22 @glitterspark @tikikiki @millerdilfs @lovelystrawberrysblog @millersdoll @mani-pedro @simp4pedro @angelic1angel @hazzzy418 @valitagun @throttlepascal @speaktothehandpeasants @mystickittytaco @whatwouldsookiedo @sage-babydoll @umadirectioner @neobangverse @stvrl1ghtt123 @midnightmischief10 @ccmoonshine @dendulinka6

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #dbf!joel #dadsbestfriend!joel #dbf!joel miller #angst #hbo tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller series #joel miller fluff #tlou 2

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gallifreyanhotfive · 1 year ago

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What Would Have Happened If The Other Doctors Stepped on the "Boom" Land Mine

One: The land mine is diffused by the power of parental love much sooner. Splice and Mundy join the TARDIS team after he decides that Splice will be his next fill-in granddaughter.

Two: Plays the recorder instead of singing. Jamie attacks the ambulance with his knife as soon as it attaches the lines to the Doctor, and it's only Zoe that stops him from getting killed. The detonation happens much sooner because the Doctor gets antsy and plays with the fiddly bits.

Three: Expertly controls his blood pressure to stop a premature detonation. Tries to keep his companion far away, but they discover the land mine anyway. Takes the land mine with him after it is diffused to use for spare parts in the UNIT lab.

Four: "Harry, I'm standing on a land mine." Doesn't bother with a counterbalance and just stands on one foot for the whole episode. Snacks on some jelly babies while waiting for the right moment.

Five: Has an in depth conversation with Nyssa about how he is regulating his biology on a molecular level. They use a cricket ball from the TARDIS as a counterbalance, meaning that he never gets shot or targeted by the ambulance. One of his companions still ends up getting shot, at which point he falls over, immediately self destructs, and blows a giant hole in the planet.

Six: Gets far too irritated for his blood pressure to stay low. Could really do with some of Evelyn's cocoa right about now. The land mine blows up because he cannot calm down enough to disguise his presence.

Seven: A much longer conversation on how the Doctor is a complex space-time event. The countdown finishes, but the land mine doesn't blow because he had disarmed it at the beginning of the episode. The entire time, he was just pretending the land mine was live in order to teach his teenage companion a life lesson.

Eight: Forgets he's standing on a land mine and blows up. Gets into a passionate conversation with his companion about the war industry complex. Soliloquizes about life and death. Almost sacrifices himself in an inferno of self-loathing, but his companion saves the day.

War: His associates go back in time and extract him before he steps on the land mine. This new version of him continues fighting the Daleks while the time echo standing on the land mine is used to blow a hole in the nearby Dalek command ship.

Nine: Has flashbacks to the War while standing on the land mine but somehow manages to stabilize his blood pressure thanks to the presence of Rose and Jack. Jack manages to diffuse the bomb while he is on it thanks to his experience with Villengard tech.

Ten: "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Tries to convince his companion to evacuate as much of the population into the TARDIS as possible because they would be safe there. Almost lets himself blow up, but his companion forces him to find a way to survive.

Eleven: The mine blows up in about ten seconds because he can't stand still. The entire planet is blown to smithereens, but his friends are okay because he locked them in the TARDIS.

Twelve: Gets into mind games with Clara while she is trying to figure out what he is standing on. Clara tries to take his place, but he doesn't let her. Missy eventually shows up and disarms the land mine because she wants to be the one to kill him.

Thirteen: Only manages to stay still because the Fam calms her down. Is oddly stoic about the entire thing and disappears into the depths of the TARDIS for several days after it happens. She never brings it up again even though Yaz tries to get her to talk about it.

Fourteen: God damn it this guy is supposed to be retired. He's supposed to be having a break. He talks about how much he loves his companion and how so, so sorry he is that he can't fix this.

Fugitive: This is a normal Tuesday for her. Probably has some sort of anti-land mine device in one of her coat pockets.

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 2 months ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)

but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?

Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx

“Say It Again?”

TBB x Fem!Reader

You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.

They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.

Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.

Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.

Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.

Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.

And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.

“You alright, cyar’ika?”

“You look tired, cyar’ika.”

“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”

You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.

But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.

So, naturally, you asked Rex.

And Rex choked on his caf.

“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.

You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”

Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”

You froze. “What?!”

“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”

The blushing.

The flashbacks.

All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…

You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.

“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.

You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”

The room went dead silent.

Echo dropped his ration bar.

Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”

Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”

Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”

“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.

He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”

Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”

You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”

“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.

Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”

“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.

You stared at him. At all of them.

Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.

You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”

And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.

⸻

You spent the rest of the day spiraling.

Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.

They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?

It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.

And scary.

Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

⸻

The next day, you avoided them.

The next day, they let you.

The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.

You looked at him.

He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”

⸻

So, one by one, the boys showed you.

Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.

Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.

Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.

“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”

Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.

And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.

⸻

It wasn’t instant.

But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.

You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.

And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”

He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”

Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”

He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.

Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”

He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”

⸻

By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.

You just smiled.

Because now you knew.

And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.

You’d always been the reason they smiled.

310 notes · View notes

harryspet · 1 year ago

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homestead [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, implied jj x reader, kidnapping, DUBCON, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Hello guys, I know a lot of you asked to be tagged but I am only tagging those who reblog AND give me your thoughts on the story. Please refrain from asking to be tagged especially if you are not interacting with the story in any other way. Enjoy!

word count: 3.0k

In which you start to adapt to your role in the life Rafe's chosen for you.

homestead masterlist

During one of the three bathroom trips you made during the night, you realized your bedroom door wasn’t locked. You slipped on fluffy slippers that you’d found in your closet and slipped out of the bedroom before you could overthink your decision. Admittedly, after Rafe showed you the rest of the house, spending so much time in your room felt wrong. You thought you’d feel stronger, faster, but every thought of him gave you flashbacks to his hands pinning your arms above your head and gripping your thighs so hard that they bruised. The threat of that happening again loomed over you, and Rafe seemed to know that and used it to his advantage.

You hadn’t known the time either, but the hallway was dark, and no light streamed in through the windows, telling you that it wasn’t yet daybreak. You moved slowly down the stairs, doing your best to reduce the creaking. You weren’t quite sure what your goal was. Escape, obviously, but it couldn’t be this easy.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you were met with a silent house, except for the slight hum of the refrigerator. The front door was perfectly in view, and you quickly approached it. It was locked, but you had expected that. You noticed a small blinking red light near the front door as you looked around for something to break a window or unlock the door. The camera was pointed right at the front door. Who knows what type of alarm would sound if you even opened it.

As you fully turned around, your eyes landed on a shadow looming at the bottom of the stairs. He crossed the walkway to the farther wall, flipping on a light switch, “What are you doing?” He asked as you rubbed your eyes, feeling blinded by bright lights.

“Getting some water,” You lied, not making much of an attempt to look less suspicious, “Couldn’t find the kitchen.”

You should’ve known he’d have more layers of protection. After all, you were the newest addition to the livestock he was keeping. You noted his jeans, workboots, and t-shirt, realizing that he was up to start his chores.

“Couldn’t find the kitchen?” He repeated back, his arms crossed over his chest, his face telling you he was close to lecturing you like a child.

“I got turned around in the dark,” You added, “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get you some water then,” He said, much to your surprise. You stepped towards him, and his hands found the small of your back again, and you instantly felt his hands everywhere. For you, he retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the refrigerator water dispenser, “Good morning, Honey.”

The clock above the stove told you it was almost five in the morning.

You reached for the glass, but he held it out of your reach. “Good morning,” you replied back obediently. He withheld it still, leaning down to press his lips to yours. Just like on the nursery floor, you froze, but you didn’t pull away.

When he finally let you have the glass, you tried your best not to shake. He was still watching you intently, even as you sipped at it.

“How’s the little one feeling?”

The way he spoke was so warm and part of you wanted to accept it, to accept the care and love and warmth he so obviously wanted you to feel too. You could choose to be happier and let your baby feel that happiness too.

“Good,” you answered, “He’s fine.”

He wanted you to say more but you stared back, maintaining your calm. If you stayed calm, it was easier for him to perceive your obedience.

“Good,” he echoed.

You’d decided then that you wouldn’t hole up in your room if you could help it. You knew less and less about his daily schedule within the confines of your room, and you needed to learn exactly when he left, when he returned, and how long he was gone each time.

“You should get some more sleep,” You were practically pinned against the counter. Rafe reached out to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ears, letting his thumb trace against your jaw, “When I come back, we can talk about how you can start helping out around the house. That should keep you busy. Less wandering that way.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

When he finally let you go, you headed back upstairs to your room. Neither of you acknowledged the unlocked door. You didn’t want to give him a reason to change his mind, believing he was trying to quietly show you that he had loosened his grip.

You woke again to a quiet house a few hours later. Your morning routine was beginning to consist of making the bed, taking a bath, and taking your vitamins. You found it strange when you got your own room at Pope’s house but now you found it even stranger to have your own room and not have to prepare to go to work.

After your bath, you started spending more time just looking in the mirror, admiring your bump and how the bags under your eyes were already starting to look less drastic. You hadn’t realized you’d been depriving yourself of sleep. You rubbed stretch mark cream gently over your stomach, and you actually had the time to talk to your baby.

Instead of your usual silk pajamas, you picked out a flowing white skirt and a blue button-up. The material felt light and breathable, which you usually required to withstand the summer heat in your current condition.

From your closet, you pulled out the wicker basket you’d been piling your dirty laundry into. It felt wrong to open your door again, but it was a reminder that you’d been rewarded for your decisions so far. You carried your laundry downstairs, finding Rafe leaning against the kitchen island, enjoying an apple. His eyes lit up at the sight of you despite just having seen you hours ago.

He looked dirty from the day already. His hat was turned backward to keep his long hair from his face, and sweat was on his brow.

“You look pretty,” He said, his voice softer than you expected given his appearance. Instinctively, you wanted to roll your eyes but instead your lips pressed into a thin line. Of course he thought you looked pretty. Undoubtedly, he hand picked all the clothing in your closet.

“Thanks,” You said, gesturing to the basket in your hand, “... I’m gonna start a load.”

He nodded his head to give you permission and you turned towards the laundry room. It was situated on a small hallway that contained the doors to the guest bathroom and a room he hadn’t shown you yet. The room was relatively small but there were tall white cabinets above each washer that seemed to provide a lot of storage. The washer and dryer themselves were updated and you assumed they’d be easy to use. You realized quickly that there was another laundry basket in the room, this one filled to the brim with what you assumed was Rafe’s work clothes. After finding the detergent, you started loading your dirty clothes into the laundry, deciding washing them with Rafe’s muddy ones would ruin the quality of yours.

Later, you thought. You wouldn’t mind doing a load for him later. What else was there to do around here?

When you returned back to the kitchen, Rafe asked, “You think you can handle making dinner tonight? Gonna go back out later and it would be good to have a meal waiting.”

Your mouth parted. The idea of making dinner made you more nervous than upset at the fact that he was already filing you into your role as his housewife, “Um,” You started, standing on the opposite side of the island, “What would I make?”

“Anything you want, really. There’s cookbooks by the window seal if you need ideas,” He crossed his arms over his chest as he thought out loud, “Fridge and pantry are stocked. We’ve got about a million eggs and I just had one of the cows butchered so there’s plenty of beef.”

“I can try,” You said unsure.

“Good, and I know it’ll be great,” He smiled as he rounded the island, “Make yourself something filling for breakfast and then come up to my office after, okay? The door across from the nursery.” His hands brushed against your waist as he walked past.

All you did was nod, your mind already calculating what you might possibly be able to throw together. You didn’t have much experience cooking, whatever foster family you were with when you were growing up could usually only feed you frozen stuff and ramen. With JJ, you lived the same and with Pope, his Mom usually did most of the cooking.

Rafe seemed to have more confidence in your abilities than you expected. Or maybe he thought it was such an easy task that not even you could mess it up.

You made yourself a bagel with cream cheese and after you finished it, you still felt like you were starving. You’d noticed that you’d started wanting to snack more often but you’d never had this much food available to actually do so. Rafe wasn’t nearly exaggerating enough when he said the kitchen was stocked. Knowing Rafe was expecting you, you grabbed a handful of blueberries and practically scarfed them down on your way up the stairs.

You glanced at the nursery for only a moment before you turned toward’s Rafe’s office. “Come in,” You heard immediately after knocking, You expected some sort of dungeon but the room was painted a light color similar to the rest of the house. His desk was large but pressed against the furthest window. Shelves decorated each side of the walls and the only other seating was a smal, comfy brown couch, “C’mere, Honey.”

He waved you closer and you walked until you were standing in front of his chair. On his laptop, you saw a screensaver of him and Wheezie out on the water in Kildare. You wondered if he’d told his little sister about you or if he was even planning on bringing his family around.

“Do you have everything you need for your room to feel comfortable?”

You nodded and he grabbed ahold of your hand, “Have you thought about anything you want to add to the nursery?”

The nursery was a room you’d like to not think about for awhile, “No,” You said, “It’s a little early to have everything ready, don’t you think?”

“It's not too early, Y/N. You have to like, you know, nest.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Nest? Like a bird?”

“It means to get your environment ready for the baby. It’s like some natural, primal instinct Mom’s have. Some shit like that.��

“Huh,” You still gave him a questioning look, “Still getting used to this environment. Probably will be for awhile.”

Rafe smirked despite the fact that you were poking at him, “You seem pretty comfortable already,” He added, looking you over, “Speaking of getting used to the environment. I wanted to go over my expectations.”

“Your expectations,” You mimicked.

“I’m expecting dinner tonight but, in general, I want you to get in the habit of preparing at least two meals a day. I’ll let you sleep in most mornings because I have to be up so early but lunch and dinner should be prepared.”

“Rafe, I—“

He interrupted you, grabbing your waist to pull you into his lap. You yelped in response but he continued on, “Keeping everything clean, vacuuming, mopping, doing the laundry, changing the beds, is also expected. I’m sure you can figure out how to do all those things.”

“Rafe—“

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you do all of that when it gets close to your due date but I think those chores are reasonable.”

“Is that what you expect of me forever? To stay inside and clean and cook?”

“Only for now. I’ll show you how to do some of the outside chores sometime soon.”

“…that farmers market you were talking about. Will you ever take me there?”

“What happens is really not up to me,” He pressed you closer to him, his hands started to trace the skin of your thighs, “Depends on how you react to things.”

It was a clear message despite the fact that you didn’t want to hear it. “I think I can do more than be stay at home mom.”

“I know you can do more, Honey. You have been doing so much more than one person should do,” Despite the fact that he was taking away everything you knew that you were, he managed to compliment you at the same time, “I can already see you’re gonna be a great Mom. Don’t you want time to just focus on being one? Yeah you’ll be home a lot but that’s so much time you can spend with the baby.”

Not everyone gets to do that. It was a privilege. You were starting to feel ungrateful for not thinking that way.

He continued, “Think about it. You can teach him everything, he’ll be so smart, and he’ll feel so loved because you’ll be right there to tell him — every morning, everyday, every night.”

You turned your face from him, your eyes staring to well with tears, “Of course I want that.”

“I want you to have that. You just have to be mine first, okay?”

You brought your hand to your face, wiping tears before they fell, but wanted to roll your eyes, “I should get started on all those chores.”

You tried to stand, to push away from him, but he gripped your waist tighter. He placed his hand around the side of your neck, turning your head face towards him. “Don’t do that,” he was almost pleading with you. “I know you need more time … I just . . . I can’t help but get ahead of myself.”

“You’re right,” You gritted, “I need more time.”

“But the way your body responds to me,” He pushed you closer until your foreheads touched. With his other hand, he gripped your thigh tightly, and his hand started to move closer and closer between your legs, “Makes me feel like the good ol' times.”

His voice vibrated through your body, and you cursed how he could simultaneously make you feel so much. You needed the closeness desperately, but this was all wrong. You should be this close with JJ, but now you are even further from him. It made your heart ache, but Rafe’s hands and compliments made it a bit less.

“Be gentle,” You warned.

“I can be gentle,” He smiled against your lips before he pressed his into yours. You hesitated to move them in response, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just wanted you closer. He kissed you until you were practically out of breath, “I can be good.”

“Rafe,” You whispered, trying to find your voice.

“Relax, Honey,” He hushed you, lifting you until you fully faced him, straddling his lap. As his hands moved up your skirt, you closed your eyes, trying to control your racing thoughts. Soon, his fingers were pulling aside your underwear, “You like it, baby. You wouldn’t feel this wet if you didn’t like it. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell on you.”

His fingers were slow and careful, and soon you were letting out a breath and letting go of the tension in your body. You could focus for a brief moment. Forget that Pope and JJ probably thought you were dead.

“Let me take care of you,” As you leaned forward, Rafe spoke in your hear. Your lips were tight, not letting a moan escape your lips but your body was shuddering, “That’s it, you’re doing so well.”

Your vow of silence didn’t last long when the waves of pleasure finally crashed over you. You moved your hips against him as he held you close, and he guided you through your orgasm. Of course, after the glow subsided, you regretted it, “The last time we did that, you were in the back of my truck,” Rafe said, and you could practically hear his smirk. He didn’t fight you when you climbed off his lap, fixing your underwear and skirt, “I believe you were wearing a skirt too then, your waitress uniform … You look even more beautiful now, though.”

That was hard to believe.

He watched you with a smug smile, clearly pleased with himself. The flash of the memory made you feel like some part of you really hadn’t grown up, even after all this time.

“I need to get started,” You said, your voice starting to shake.

Without hearing another word, you quickly exited the office, your mind a whirlwind again.

You spent the rest of the day immersed in household chores. You did yours and Rafe’s laundry, vacuumed the living room, and dusted wherever possible. The repetitive tasks gave you a sense of calm, a momentary escape from the emotions. You moved so you didn’t have to think, and the day seemed to pass faster that way.

Using one of the cookbooks Rafe mentioned, you chose a recipe and made beef stew with roasted vegetables and a fresh salad. It was your first time making food that didn’t come inside a box with instructions on the side. It was more meticulous than you anticipated, and you found yourself trying the finished stew over and over, adding salt, pepper, and other seasonings as you saw fit.

The aroma filled the kitchen, proving you a small sense of pride.

Rafe had gone back outside to work, but when he returned, he was slightly out of breath and carrying a rifle. The sight of it made your heart stop.

“What happened?” You moved closer, your voice laced with concern.

You watched as he tucked the gun into a compartment built into the wall near the door and he kicked off muddy boots, “One of our cows had a stillborn,” As he walked further into the house, walking further into the house, “Damn buzzards wouldn’t stop bothering it, and the mom was getting upset. Had to shoot off a warning shot to get them to go away. Had to bury it for her."

“Oh,” Was all you got out. The idea made you feel sick. You couldn’t help but get an ominous feeling. You rubbed your hand over your stomach protectively.

His demeanor shifted as he caught sight of you, his expression going from annoyed to excited, “Something smells good,” Rafe smiled; his mind had obviously moved on already.

“Yeah,” Luckily, you felt your baby move inside of you, a small reassurance, “Dinner’s ready.”

#dark fic #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #black!reader #obx fic

861 notes · View notes

kunareads · 3 months ago

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if i believe you | chapter five

train up a child

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4.2k

content: angst angst angst. a series of flashbacks where we learn why satoru and reader are Like That. toji/shoko/suguru cameo. childhood emotional abuse, neglect, misogyny, slight anxiety depiction.

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

eight years old

the room feels like a cavern, cold and echoing, silence stretching between the walls like something alive. satoru stands in the center, small and sharp-eyed, his white hair a stark contrast against the dark wooden panels. he’s still catching his breath from the last exercise, his hands flexing at his sides, tiny sparks of cursed energy flaring between his fingers.

instructors stand along a wall, murmuring amongst themselves. a few clan elders are present as well, hands folded behind their backs. their gazes press down on him, waiting, evaluating.

“you can’t rely on that power alone,” a man says. “the six eyes are nothing without control. without discipline.”

satoru frowns. he’s heard this before—how his power means nothing if he can’t bend it to his will. how he’s an instrument, meant to contain the clan’s legacy and strengthen it.

but he’s a child. what is an instrument? what is a legacy?

“we don’t have the luxury of failure,” the man continues. “the gojo name is strength and prestige, and you will not disappoint. understand?”

satoru nods, brows drawn together. he’s already learned that questions only invite criticism.

“do it again,” someone commands, and satoru squares his shoulders.

he clenches his fists again and concentrates, letting his cursed energy pool around him. it’s heavy today, like it’s fighting back. but he’s not supposed to say that. it would sound like an excuse. so he forces it down, lets the power surge out, forming his infinity around him.

the instructors throw objects at him—stones, wooden rods, shards. infinity stops them all, but the strain leaves his shoulders trembling. he thinks about saying something—about how it doesn’t feel right today—but the look on the elders’ faces stops him.

“good enough,” one of them mutters, the words dripping with dissatisfaction. the bombardment stops, and satoru’s chest loosens.

but the relief doesn’t last. another elder steps forward, his gaze colder than the rest. “good enough is hardly acceptable. perfection is the standard here. his duty is to uphold it.”

satoru swallows down his confusion, the thing he hasn’t yet recognized as resentment. he doesn’t understand why it has to be this way—why he has to be this way. but he knows better than to question it when all eyes are on him.

“yes, sir,” he says, his voice small but his expression unwavering.

deep down, something begins to harden. a seed of defiance, of something too raw to name. he’ll get it right next time. he has to.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

your bedroom is quiet, bathed in the last slivers of sunset seeping through lattice windows. you sit on the floor, hands folded in your lap, willing your shoulders to stop shaking. your eyes burn as the tears spill over, and you reprimand yourself. you’re supposed to stay composed, even when it hurts.

your mother enters without a sound, her presence sweeping over you like a blanket. she sits beside you, movements fluid and controlled, her eyes averted from your tear-streaked face.

a soft hand rests on your shoulder. “you shouldn’t cry over something so small,” she says gently. “you’re stronger than this, aren’t you?”

you nod, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. her gesture only makes you feel smaller. her fingers trace through your hair, fixing the strands that came loose from your ribbon.

“there, now. we can’t have you falling apart every time something doesn’t go your way.” her voice is calm, almost soothing. but there’s something hollow in it, the words falling flat. “you must learn to carry yourself properly. you’re too old to be crying like this.”

you want to say something—to apologize, to promise that you won’t cry again—but your throat feels too tight. instead, you just nod, trying to control your breathing.

her touch lingers, brushing away stray tears with the corner of her sleeve. “your father expects more from you. we both do. a good daughter knows how to conduct herself. understood?”

“yes,” you whisper.

her hand drops away, and the space between you feels cold, like you’re being left behind. she rises to her feet with that effortless grace, pausing at the door.

“you’ll do better next time,” she says, a faint smile curving her lips. it’s more of a statement than an encouragement. “i know you will.”

when your mother leaves, the room is too quiet. you pull your knees to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut. it’s not the first time you’ve been comforted like this, and it won’t be the last.

and it’s not real comfort at all. just another reminder to be as quiet as possible. your mother’s words echo in your mind—you’re stronger than this. you’ll make sure of it next time.

eleven years old

the path is gravel, crunching softly beneath satoru’s sandals as he walks alongside an instructor whose name he barely remembers. the man drones on about refinement, control, mastery—things satoru has already heard a thousand times.

“you’re not listening,” the man snaps.

and he’s not. not really. his attention is elsewhere, his gaze drifting over the estate grounds, eyes half-lidded as if the sunlight itself is dull. the words filter through his mind like wind threading through leaves. meaningless.

he’s bored out of his mind.

but then, a prickle—faint but undeniable, slithering down his spine. the six eyes catch it before he does, sharpening his presence with a clarity that startles him. an unfamiliar presence. dangerous.

he turns, gaze snapping to the far end of the walkway where two figures pass. a man is there, someone satoru doesn’t recognize. black hair, stony expression, large build. but it’s the way he stands—soundless, predatory, and without the faint hum of jujutsu—that holds his attention.

his heartbeat quickens, and for the first time in his life, satoru feels something he’s not accustomed to feeling: uncertainty.

“eyes forward.” the instructor’s voice cuts through the moment like shattered glass. satoru’s head jerks back around, the man’s scowl deepening.

“you think you’re above learning?” the words are practically spit at him. “pay attention. your arrogance is going to get you killed one day.”

his mouth opens to argue, to tell him it wasn’t arrogance, that something—someone—was there, but there’s no room for argument. no room for anything other than obedience.

“what was i just saying?” the man demands.

satoru’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. there’s a stubbornness in his silence. a challenge. because if they won’t hear him, then what’s the point of explaining himself at all?

the man’s expression turns into a sneer. “if you think the six eyes make you untouchable, you’re more of a fool than i thought.”

it’s not the first time he’s been scolded for things that feel insignificant. but today his frustration turns into something colder, something hardened under the weight of expectation.

he holds the man’s gaze, unflinching. he won’t apologize.

“again,” the instructor growls. “this time, with your attention where it should be.”

satoru’s arrogance is blooming. not from confidence, but from the constant requirement to prove himself. the only thing he knows is that he can’t afford to be wrong. not when everyone expects him to be right.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・──

the room is too quiet. too empty. every sound feels too loud, like it’s trying to fill the space where words should be.

you sit alone at a low table, knees pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. the tea set in front of you remains untouched, its warmth leeching into the cool air. your mother and father aren’t here. they haven’t been here all day.

your mistake had been small. stupid, even. you had spoken out of turn when your parents’ guests were present. your voice had slipped into the conversation without thought, your curiosity blooming too quickly to be contained.

a quiet look from your father, a disappointed look from your mother. that had been all. no scolding, no raised voices. just silence.

it’s worse than punishment. worse than anger.

they simply pretend you don’t exist.

the hours drag on, pulling you apart piece by piece. you can’t focus on your studies. your hands shake when you try to write, the brushstrokes uneven, smeared. you spend the afternoon retracing your own mistakes, as if perfect calligraphy will somehow fix everything.

your mother passes you in the corridor without so much as a glance. your father’s voice filters through the walls of his study, discussing matters of importance as if you’re nothing but a shadow. the staff moves about their tasks, too frightened to acknowledge you.

it’s not just rejection. it’s erasure. and it’s not the first time.

your parents’ approval is everything. without it, you’re withering from the inside out.

this desperate silence is a weapon, you realize. a means of forcing submission without a single word. it’s punishment disguised as calm. indifference is worse than cruelty.

by the time night falls, your chest feels crushed. your hands ache from gripping the brush too tightly, your eyes burn from straining to perfect each line.

when you finally gather the courage to find your mother preparing for bed, it feels like dragging yourself through ice.

“mom,” you whisper, your voice trembling in the stillness. “i’m sorry i spoke out of turn. it won’t happen again.”

your mother pauses, her gaze sliding over you with the dispassion of someone studying a textbook rather than a child.

“we expect you to conduct yourself properly,” she says, her tone smooth and detached. “if you wish to be treated with respect, you must earn it.”

the words hit like cold iron, settling heavy and unmoving in your chest. acceptance is conditional. love is conditional.

you nod, a tiny, frail movement, your hands clutching at your sleeves like that alone will keep you steady. her gaze lingers before she turns away, her attention already drifting somewhere you can’t follow.

you stay awake for hours, replaying her words over and over, carving them into your mind. because if you can just be perfect, then maybe you’ll be allowed to exist.

fifteen years old

the air in the city is different from the air on campus. dirtier, sure, but lighter. satoru shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning as he takes in the busy streets and the scent of fried food drifting from nearby stalls. he’s not even sure where they’re going, just that they’re not supposed to be there.

“you think he’ll notice we’re gone?” shoko asks, lighting a cigarette.

suguru hums. “probably. but it’ll take him a while to track us down.”

“yeah, and by the time he does, we’ll be long gone,” satoru replies. “we can just blame it on someone else. say we got kidnapped or something.”

shoko snorts. “yeah, because that’s believable. who’d kidnap us?”

“hey,” satoru starts, feigning a wounded look. “we’re kidnappable. valuable, even. they could ransom us.”

shoko rolls her eyes. “the kidnapper would probably pay yaga to take the two of you back.”

suguru grins. “at least he’d be getting a deal.”

they wander through crowded streets, weaving between stalls and vendors, occasionally pausing to look at something interesting. satoru buys enough dango for them to share for the next three days, handing them sticks without looking.

“trying to buy our loyalty?” suguru asks, biting into the sticky sweetness.

“just making sure the two of you don’t pass out from low blood sugar. you’re welcome.”

shoko rolls her eyes but takes a stick anyway, a smile on her lips. “think yaga’ll be pissed?” she asks, glancing over at suguru.

he shrugs. “probably. but it’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

satoru huffs. “he’ll probably lecture us for an hour and then make us clean something. big deal.”

“maybe next time you should think about that before dragging us out here,” shoko says pointedly.

“me? i didn’t drag you anywhere.”

“you literally said, ‘come on, let’s go before the old man finds out,’” suguru adds with a raised brow.

“yeah, well, you didn’t have to listen.”

“you made a compelling argument,” shoko says. “it’s definitely better than sitting around listening to yaga drone on about discipline or whatever.”

they lapse into easy quiet, tokyo bustling around them. it’s nice, just being here. out of bounds, out of reach, somewhere that doesn’t feel so suffocating.

when they finally head back, it’s mostly because shoko’s tired of just standing around. satoru drags his feet, almost hoping yaga’s not waiting so he can claim victory. but as soon as they step back onto school grounds, yaga is there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

“you’re back late.”

shoko and suguru immediately point at satoru. “his idea.”

suguru shrugs when the man’s glare turns to him. “i tried to talk him out of it.”

yaga’s eyes land on satoru, who just grins. “don’t blame them. i was bored. figured it’d be good to let off some steam. they just followed.”

yaga’s expression doesn’t change, but satoru swears he can see a twitch in his eye. “so you dragged them into trouble because you were bored?”

“pretty much.”

“detention. all three of you. and you’re cleaning the training grounds.”

shoko snorts. “how are we supposed to clean grass and trees?”

yaga just keeps glaring at satoru, who sighs, thinking about how he’s going to get out of the worst of it. suguru’s shooting him a glare that clearly means you owe me, and shoko’s already wandering off like she doesn’t plan on helping at all.

worth it, satoru thinks. totally worth it.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・──

the sun dips low on the horizon, casting the world in hues of orange and gold. your lessons ended hours ago, your hands still sore from calligraphy practice. but now, the house is settling into evening routines. your mother is somewhere behind closed doors, your father gone on business.

no one’s paying attention.

you’ve always been able to hear the festival from your room. every year you catch conversations carried on the breeze, the low thrum of drums, the high-pitched laughter of children. this time, you don’t just listen.

you slip from the house with careful footsteps, out through the rearmost garden where the lanterns haven’t been lit yet. it’s reckless. dangerous, even. but that’s the point.

the festival stretches through the village square down the hill, music and voices tangled together in a wild, joyful mess. you can hear it clearly now, the noise a pulsing thing that makes your skin prickle.

you move closer. grass tickles your bare feet as you duck behind trees, creeping down the hill until the sounds of celebration grow loud enough to drown out your heartbeat.

you catch glimpses of children chasing each other through the square, their laughter bright and unrestrained. paper lanterns swing overhead, painting everything in soft light. the air smells of roasted meat and sugar, and your mouth waters at the scents.

it’s beautiful. you edge closer, letting yourself sway a little to the music, copying the steps you see from afar, stumbling when your feet don’t cooperate. but it doesn’t matter.

no one’s watching. no one’s there to scold you. for once, it feels like something is yours.

you twirl, your arms thrown wide, a laugh slipping out before you can swallow it down. your hair comes loose from its careful tie, strands whipping against your cheeks.

you’re just about to spin again when a voice cuts through the noise.

“miss? what are you doing out here?”

you freeze, heart leaping to your throat. you know that voice—warm, familiar, one of the staff who’s always been kinder than the others. the one who sneaks you sweets from the kitchen when no one’s looking.

you whip around to see the woman standing a few paces away, her expression hovering somewhere between worry and exasperation.

“do you have any idea what kind of trouble you would be in if someone else found you out here?” her voice is urgent, but her tone is softer than the words.

you swallow hard, guilt starting to curl in your chest. “i—i just wanted to see it. just once.”

her eyes soften. “you shouldn’t be here. come, let’s get you back before someone notices.”

you hesitate, your feet still rooted in the dirt. but you allow her to guide you back up the hill in silence, the sounds of the festival fading into the distance. by the time you reach the estate, the air feels thicker. the woman pauses, her gaze flickering over your disheveled hair, dirt clinging to your robes.

“you shouldn’t do that again,” she says, gentle but firm. “but i understand.”

it’s not a reprimand. not really. and it’s the closest thing to kindness you’ve heard in weeks.

when you’re left at your door, you stand there for a moment, listening to the fading footsteps. the memory of the music lingers like a thread you’re unwilling to let go of.

you slip back into your room, but even as you sit down to fix your hair and make yourself presentable, you can’t help but smile.

the thrill of it lingers. you did something you weren’t supposed to do. and no one can take that away from you.

nineteen years old

elders are gathered around the table like birds of prey, their eyes sharp and their words sharper. satoru leans back in his seat, hands folded behind his head, his posture deliberately relaxed. because if he looks too engaged, they’ll take it as obedience. if he looks too bored, they’ll take it as disrespect. it’s a careful balance.

“now that you’ve assumed your role as head of the clan,” one of them starts, voice brittle with age, “the matter of your marriage must be discussed. you’ve evaded it long enough.”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah, because keeping the clan safe and doing all your dirty work is just me avoiding responsibilities, right?”

frowns deepen across the room, but no one denies it. the corners of his mouth twitch up. a small victory, but not a real one.

“you’ve been indulged because of your abilities. but this is not a matter that can be put off indefinitely,” another one insists, tone dripping with condescension.

“and what exactly is the rush?” satoru’s smile is all teeth, its sharpness dulling the unease in his gut. “pretty sure the world’s not ending tomorrow. or is there something you’re not telling me?”

they don’t appreciate the sarcasm. he knows this, and it’s half the point.

“you are the future of this clan,” one of them says. “your bloodline is the most important thing we have. without a proper successor, everything is at risk.”

ah. there it is. not his safety. not his happiness. the purity of the gojo bloodline. the legacy. the replication of a weapon.

“yeah, yeah. i get it,” he says with a shrug, feigned indifference cloaked over his shoulders like armor. “you want me to knock someone up so you can have your precious heir. message received.”

“do not be crass, boy.”

“i’m just saying what you’re all thinking.” his gaze flickers from one face to the next from behind his bandages, searching for a hint of humanity. he finds none. “but sure, go on. tell me when the wedding is.”

“you misunderstand.” the oldest of them leans forward, his knuckles pressed into the table. “the decision is yours. but it must be made.”

it almost sounds like he has a choice. but he knows better. there’s no freedom here, just the illusion of it. a cage painted to look like an open field.

“great. then i’ll do it when i feel like it. now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“your duty to this clan is not something you can avoid indefinitely.”

it twists something sharp in his chest.

funny, he thinks. i thought my duty was to be your attack dog.

“i’ll do what’s required of me,” he says, the words coming out flat and cold. “but don’t pretend like it’s for me.”

they’re still speaking, but satoru’s thoughts have already drifted. he’s imagined his future before, even if he never admits it. he’s never expected love to come easily. he’s never expected his life to unfold like some fairytale.

but he’s always believed that marriage could be real. something worth building over time. companionship, understanding, the kind of warmth that comes from years of learning each other’s habits and secrets. a partnership built on effort instead of happenstance.

but the elders don’t speak of partnership. they speak of bloodlines and duty and preservation. it’s not marriage to them. it’s breeding.

their gazes are heavy, but he meets each one with a calculated grin. when he finally leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him, his hands are clenched so tight his knuckles ache.

they want him to be something he’s not. something obedient. something easily controlled.

and if he has to marry someone to meet their expectations, fine. he’ll do it. but it’ll be on his terms.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・──

the air is cool, sunlight filtering through paper screens in pale, gentle patterns. your mother sits across from you, hands folded neatly in your lap, her eyes distant but not unfocused. there’s a heaviness in her posture today, a weight she’s trying to carry with grace.

this conversation feels important. something you should pay attention to. something your mother has prepared for.

“you’re of age now,” she begins, her voice steady. “there are things you need to understand.”

you nod, your fingers woven together in your lap. this isn’t the first time your mother has taught you something—proper greetings, scripture recitations, the art of composure. you expect this to be the same.

“a woman’s duty,” she starts, “is to serve her husband. to provide for him in the home. to be a source of stability. of comfort.”

the words are familiar. you nod again, the phrases sliding into place like pieces of the puzzle you’ve been assembling your whole life. you’ve always been taught to be good and useful.

“there are aspects of marriage you’ve been sheltered from,” she says, each word placed with precision. her hands smooth over her skirt, fingers shaking slightly before stilling again. “things that are not meant to be pleasant for you. things that must be endured.”

a furrow forms between your brows. “endured?”

“yes.” her gaze sharpens, something like caution in her eyes. “it will hurt. that is to be expected. but pain is not the point. it’s simply a consequence of what’s necessary.”

your confusion deepens. what’s supposed to hurt? you open your mouth to ask, but the question feels forbidden. “necessary?”

“to produce children.” her voice softens, but it’s the softness of a practiced recital. “your ability to fulfill that duty is most important. nothing matters as much as building your family.”

the words hang in the air. you try to grasp them, to make them fit into the structure of your understanding. but they don’t settle. they twist and tangle, leaving you more confused than before.

“pleasure is indulgent,” your mother says, her tone taking on a rhythmic, rehearsed quality. “it is a sin. your responsibility is not to enjoy the act, but to endure it. to perform your duty and bear children as you are meant to do.”

her eyes are distant again. and this time, you see it—the melancholy straining through the calmness. like she’s teaching you something she never fully learned herself.

“do you understand?”

not really.

but you nod anyway, because it’s the right answer. the only answer.

her shoulders relax, just barely. “good.” she rises to her feet, the movement practiced, graceful. “you will pray for guidance,” she says. “for strength and for humility.”

the lesson feels like something fragile. something she’s been rehearsing for a long time. precious and ugly at the same time.

“of course.”

her eyes stay on you for a moment longer, like she’s waiting for something. forgiveness, maybe. or understanding. but she leaves before you can offer either. the door slides shut with a sound too soft to be comforting.

the silence that follows is heavier than the words she left behind. it presses down and you feel hollow, like something was taken from you and replaced with expectation.

you should feel grateful for her guidance, for her wisdom. but instead, all you feel is a quiet ache that you don’t know how to name.

327 notes · View notes

asprinkleoftism · 4 months ago

Text

505

"I'm going back to 505.

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty five minute drive

In my imagination, you're waitin' lyin' on your side

With your hands in between your thighs.."

-505 by Arctic Monkeys

Cecil Stedman x Reader

About: After a nasty fight between the two of you, you have had enough of Cecil for the last time or so you think.

Notes: AMAZING AMAZING COVERT ART DONE BY THE SUPERB @geddy-spageddy please go check out their art! They're super talented and kind! I love Arctic Monkeys and the idea came to me while listening to this song. I hope you enjoy it! Some toxicity angst, nothing abusive though, and some drinking use involved. Italics are past memories. Enjoy :3

"Darlin', I didn't mean it-

"You still said it though! If you didn't mean to say: 'God if you're so fucking tired then why did you say it?!" You cried out.

"Well, you ask so much from me all the goddamn time!! I'm the one busting my ass all the fucking time!" Cecil yelled back.

"Just because I ask you to be here for me doesn't mean you get to scream bloody-"

"Your room number is 505, ma'am."

The check in guy knocked you out of the flashback, even though the event just happened an hour ago.

"Thank you." You mumble, taking the room key from him.

You gave a friendly nod to him and turned to find the room, the room you've been accustomed to going to every once in a while.

505.

Seeing the room number felt like it was taunting you as if it were saying: 'Welcome to your second home.' You shook the thought of your head as you unlocked the door and stepped in. The all familiar beige basic walls with the white curtains, old boxy TV as well as the floral bedsheets comforted you in a sense. You shut and lock the door behind you and collapse onto the more than less comfortable mattress. This would be your last time coming here, for you were set in stone on staying here for a couple of days or so, however long it would take to find a new apartment for you to live in. All that you knew though was that you were done.

"Cecil..wake up."

"Hm?' Cecil grumbled.

He was still half asleep, but almost immediately woke up to your voice. It was like a sweet melody to his ears. You reached over and rubbed his back, hearing a half tired groan come from Cecil. Your touch sent chills down his spine, but in a good way. It was a reminder to what he has in his life. Cecil sighed deeply as he rolled over, facing you and immediately taking you into his arms. Cecil attached his lips to yours, bringing you even closer to him.

"This is the best part of my day." Cecil said once he pulled apart from you.

"Why is that?" You ask cheekily.

"Because I get to see your pretty self before I have to slave the day away."

You chuckled, attaching your lips back onto his.

The sound of the empty glass hitting the table was what echoed throughout the empty house. The only person there was Cecil. Normally you would be there, but you weren't. In fact, he knew exactly where you were at. But this time it was so bad that you both got in each others faces. So much screaming that his ears were still ringing from it. Cecil knew he was at fault for this and not just this time but for the many other times it has happened. He loves you, he really does. But damn it, he knew he was shitty. Cecil knew he was a shitty partner to you and knew he could do better. But it was the same old, same old. Cecil filled up his drink again, trying to wash away the events from earlier.

"I'm done! I never want to see you again!"

Your words echoed in his mind. Cecil said some stuff he shouldn't have but you did as well. It was just gasoline from one another to the already bursting fire. You had gotten in his face and it only caused him to get even more louder. Nothing physically happened, but it was a horrible screaming match to the point you threw your coat at him and walked out. The door slammed so hard that y'alls framed picture on y'alls anniversary fell and shattered.

"Shit, shit." Cecil had cursed as he went to retrieve the picture that fell.

He moved the glass shards away, realizing the picture was still in tact and the frame just needed to be replaced. In the process of it, Cecil's hand was cut up from the glass, but he didn't care. For the first time in a long while, Cecil felt some strand tears fall down his face. This was it. It was over.

"Please just..leave me alone."

"I'm just trying to help you out, Cecil." You say.

"Okay well maybe I just want some damn piece and quiet after work."

"I just want a fucking hug or even a hello from you, Cecil! Not just you grumble in, go and have a drink and give me the stank eye when I ask you about your day!!"

"I just want to be left alone for Christ's sake!! You're always jumping down my throat for everything!!"

'And now for the four o'clock news..'

The lukewarm soda went down your throat nicely, followed by the salt goodness from the potato chips. You were chowing down, trying to eat your feelings away and distract yourself. Despite the news and the badly made sitcom shows that you skimmed through, you still felt the frog in your throat. You wanted to cry but you held it together. This was ultimately the final straw. Lots of screaming and cursing at each other, sleeping in separate rooms, and lots of drinking to cope. Despite all of that though, you loved him. You love Cecil deeply, even at times like these. Great cuddler, great sense of humor, great in bed, and great at being..loving. Your mind started reminiscing on the good times. The honeymoon stage was your favorite. Cecil was more like himself then and was much more open. Over the years he started building his walls up and up slowly against you, even though there was no reason for him to do so. Granted you knew what he did for a job, being director of the GDA and all, but it killed you inside that you just wanted to help him.

"You look absolutely ravishing in that, darlin'." Cecil complimented you.

You turned around to find Cecil in the doorway. There was a company dinner party happening and of course you were going to go with him. You were his significant other after all. He trusts and loves you so he wasn't afraid of you knowing about anything.

"Thanks." You say.

Cecil approached you from behind and ran his hands down your body in a romantic way. Sure, Cecil liked to admire how you looked and how blessed he was to have you, but this was all romantic, not lustful. Cecil then leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on your temple, feeling the rough edges from his cheek scar.

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"For?"

"My cheek, I know it can be irritating."

"Why would it be?" You ask genuinely.

Cecil sighed deeply, placing a peck on your cheek.

"We'll talk later, hun. We need to get going." Cecil said as he squeezed your hips.

"Alright, you cheeky bastard." You response making him giggle.

Every time you both argued, Cecil would go out for a drive in his car. It often helped him clear out his head, more than alcohol ever would. He waited until he was sober enough to do it of course, despite wanting to do it right away. But despite both of you being mad at each other, Cecil would never do anything intentional to get back at you. Sure he would cuss at you and say hurtful shit out of anger, but he would wait until he was sober enough to drive. Driving relaxed him, and made him feel like he at least had a little bit of control in his life over something. You made him feel content with life but the more often this was happening, the more he felt like he was going to loose you. He didn't want that. As he sat there in that kitchen, contemplating on getting another drink, Cecil made a decision. He wants you. He wants to be with you till the end of time. Even if the world explodes due to his negligence, he wants you there. Cecil wants to hold you in his arms, caressing your face, whispering sweet nothings to you in comfort. And as the sky turns orange, his chapped, cracked lips will connect to your lips, squeezing your hand tightly in comfort as it all ends. He wants you.

"Darlin', shh, I got you."

"Not even a text or nothing, Stedman?! I thought you were dead." You pushed him away from you.

Cecil just approached you again but you walked away, trying to hurry to lock yourself in the bedroom out of anger. You slammed the door.

"FUCK!" Cecil exclaimed.

The door flew open as he stood there in the doorway. He knew you were upset at him, hell when were you not upset at him? Cecil was such a fuckup that he wouldn't be surprised if the world blew up because of him.

"Hun, I'm sorry. Okay? I-I should've texted you and told you. I'm sorry." Cecil apologized, making him sound like a broken record.

"Cecil I'm fucking pissed because I love you and just want you okay!"

"Why?!" Cecil almost tearfully yelled, "why do you love me?! All I do is treat you like garbage! I don't..shit." Cecil grumbled, running his hands through his hair.

Cecil leaned against the wall and slid down on it, sitting on the floor. His hands were resting on his temples as he looked straight down on the ground. You didn't know whether to approach him or give him space. You hated when things were like this between y'all, but you really do love Cecil. He had a kind soul deep down and he loved you too, he just wasn't used to anyone caring for him so damn much.

"Cecil.."

"Just..just leave. You deserve someone better than me."

Your heart shattered upon hearing that. Despite all of the damn fights you both have and how bad they can be, you still loved him deep down. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You sat down next to him, gingerly grabbed one of his hands, and held it. Cecil looked at you. His face had softened, and his eyes seemed to be glimmer, which was a first for you. You sat closer and brought his hand close and placed a soft kiss onto it.

"I'm here, Cecil. Forever and always."

Cecil blinked, and tears fell down his face. He cleared his throat as he was trying not to bring attention to that. Ever so slowly, did you reach your hand to his face to gently wipe the tears away from his face. You didn't know it at the time, but the action made Cecil the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. More tears fell down his face, and you could ever so slightly hear his voice breaking. You leaned against the wall, sitting up taller than Cecil. You both sat there in silence, trying to come up with something to say, anything at all to break the silence. And suddenly, in the midst of the deep silence between you two, you felt a light weight on your shoulders.

All of the snacks and soda were gone, and all you could do was hold the pillow against your chest as you silently sobbed into it. You felt that this was really the final straw between you two. You didn't want it to be, but you knew it was for the best. Cecil and you live in different worlds and just aren't good for each other. You were slowly going through your phone gallery, deleting photos of the two of you. It was best to get it over with, just rip the band aid off. Each photo you deleted, more tears went down. You were hurt and was already missing him.

"Goodbye, Cecil." You mumble as you deleted the last photo of you two.

You tossed your phone across the bed and held the pillow out of anger. You knew you were at some fault for what happened but you just wanted Cecil to let you in. He had put walls up, walls that he wouldn't let anyone break down. As angry as he made you, you fucking loved him. You just wanted-

*KnockKnock*

Your heart raced as your eyes locked with the door. It was locked with the door knob and the chain lock. There was silence except for the nonsense that was on the television. Your conscience told you not to get up.

Don't do it. You know who it is.

"Darlin'?"

You felt your body go numb upon hearing Cecil's voice from the other side of the door.

"Stedman, it's over." You shout in instinct.

"Please just open the door." Cecil begged.

"I'm through, Stedman." You yell back.

You stiffled your sobs into the pillow, hoping Cecil wouldn't hear them but he could. And Cecil felt a heavy weight in his chest upon hearing your sobs you were trying to hide. But he knew begging wouldn't get him anywhere, it would just make things worse.

"Okay if you won't open the door, will you just hear me out?" Cecil asked.

As much as you wanted him to just go away, you didn't leave him much to say when you left the house. It was the least you could do.

"What do you want?"

"I know I'm a piece of shit. I know. I treat you horribly, yell at you, take shit out on you. I do it all, I'm aware. And I'm an asshole for not changing when I said I would. You deserve better, I meant that. You deserve someone way better than me. But.." Cecil paused, gathering the right words to say, for he has never been this sentiment before in his life to anyone other than maybe Donald, his number one. "You. You have done fundamental change for me. More than I could ever put into words. Hun, I see light in this world now. It's not much, but fuck, it's something. It's more than I ever have in my years of living and doing what I do. I know you hate me and don't want nothing to do with me anymore, but please. I am literally begging you to give me one last chance. And you know me I don't ever fucking beg for anything, not even my own life."

Hearing Cecil quite literally beg for you to give him another chance for the first time ever did a number on you. Not only did it increase the tears falling down your face, but it brought back the happy memories you and him have. Through the bad ones though, the more you thought of it, the good ones slightly oversaw the bad ones. The many dates y'all had, the nights you both would stay in and be with each other, the drinks and food y'all would engage with, the intimate, loving moments, they all came souring back into your mind.

Fuck.

Despite it all-

"I love you so much, darlin'." Cecil's voice cracked, "Please."

-you fucking loved him.

Without answering, you put the pillow onto the bed, slowly crept to the door and held your fingers over the chain link. Was this what you wanted?

Yes, yes it was. Cecil has never professed his love like this for you before ever in his life. Something changed. You weren't sure what it was but it was enough. It was enough for you. You slid the chain lock undone, undid the lock on the knob, and swung the door open. Standing there in front of you was a different Cecil, a Cecil you have never seen before. His face was red, with fresh and old tears staining his face. His expression softened once you opened the door and he saw you. Cecil even cracked a smile. You couldn't help but do it back to the ol' southern bastard. The ol' southern bastard that you loved and wanted to be with.

"Can..Can I come in?" Cecil asked.

"Yes, Cecil."

#invincible #invincible show #asprinkleoftism #cecil stedman #invincible cecil #cecil stedman x reader

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w1w2 · 7 months ago

Text

Taste

Karina x Fem!Reader feat. Winter

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: Amid the shimmering lights of an exclusive party, Y/N finds herself drawn back into the orbit of a complicated past. Memories and emotions collide as she faces unspoken truths and unresolved tensions with two familiar figures. As the night deepens, Y/N is forced to reckon with what she’s lost, what remains, and the strength it takes to walk away.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The venue exuded understated elegance, its high ceilings and minimalist decor a perfect canvas for the glamour of the night. Warm golden light spilled from modern chandeliers, catching the shimmer of sequins and polished champagne flutes as Korea’s entertainment elite mingled and posed for photographers.

Y/N stepped inside, the click of her heels muted by the soft carpeting. She wore a sleek, tailored dress that hugged her frame, a vision of quiet confidence. The air was alive with the hum of conversations, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses.

Her lips curled into a practiced smile as Irene, tonight’s host and star, approached.

“Y/N,” Irene said warmly, her shimmering gown catching the light. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Congratulation.” Y/N replied, her tone as smooth as the champagne she plucked from a passing tray.

They exchanged pleasantries—industry updates, compliments on Irene’s solo debut—but Y/N’s attention began to waver, her eyes scanning the crowd over Irene’s shoulder.

She’s here.

The realization hit before she even saw her. There was an electricity in the room, a pull she couldn’t ignore. And then, as though drawn by instinct, her gaze found her.

Yu Jimin stood near the far wall, radiant as ever. Her long, dark hair framed her sharp features perfectly, her elegant black dress accentuating her tall frame. She was smiling, laughing softly at something Kim Minjeong had said.

Minjeong.

Y/N’s throat tightened as her eyes shifted to the smaller woman at Jimin’s side. Minjeong’s blonde hair fell in soft waves, her white dress glowing under the golden lights. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her laugh bright and unrestrained as she leaned closer to Jimin.

They looked perfect together. Too perfect.

"Oh, I leave quite an impression. Five feet, to be exact."

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line as the lyric echoed in her mind, bitter and sharp. She forced her attention back to Irene, nodding at something she’d said, though she hadn’t processed a word.

“Excuse me,” Y/N murmured, lifting her champagne glass in a half-toast before retreating toward the bar.

The bar offered a small reprieve from the crowded room, but it did little to quiet the storm brewing in Y/N’s chest. She tapped her nails against the glass, her thoughts racing.

She hated how easily Jimin still got under her skin. The way her presence filled a room, the way her laughter—so effortless—could drown out everything else.

And yet, here Y/N was, stuck in her orbit again.

Her eyes betrayed her resolve as they flicked back to the far side of the room. Jimin had leaned in closer to Minjeong now, her hand resting lightly on the small of Minjeong’s back. The touch was subtle, casual even, but it screamed intimacy to Y/N.

"You’re wonderin’ why half her clothes went missin’. My body’s where they’re at."

She clenched her jaw, the memory slicing through her composure. Did Minjeong know? Did she know about the stolen nights, the whispered promises, and the way Jimin’s voice used to tremble when she said Y/N’s name?

Y/N turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink.

Flashback

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Jimin teased, leaning against the kitchen counter as Y/N searched for a coffee filter.

Y/N spun around, brandishing the empty box. “You’re telling me you live here and don’t have coffee filters? What kind of monster are you?”

Jimin laughed, that low, melodic sound that always made Y/N’s heart skip. “A tea person. Obviously.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. She stepped closer, the box still in hand. “This is unforgivable.”

“Is it?” Jimin asked, her voice softer now. She reached out, her fingers grazing Y/N’s wrist. “How are you going to punish me?”

Y/N tilted her head, her breath catching at the way Jimin’s eyes softened, her teasing replaced by something more vulnerable.

“I’ll think of something,” Y/N murmured, leaning in until their lips met.

End of the flashback

Y/N blinked back to the present, setting her glass down with more force than she intended. The memory still clung to her, its edges bittersweet and raw.

From across the room, as though sensing Y/N’s turmoil, Jimin’s eyes met hers.

The connection was immediate, electric. Jimin’s laughter faded, her smile dimming as her gaze lingered. For a moment, the noise of the party seemed to dull, leaving only the unspoken tension crackling between them.

Minjeong, oblivious, tugged lightly on Jimin’s arm, pulling her back into their conversation. Jimin tore her gaze away, her expression unreadable.

Y/N exhaled sharply, her chest tight. She turned back, signaling for another drink.

Y/N took the fresh glass of champagne from the bartender, her fingers wrapping around the stem as if it were her only anchor. She hated how easily Jimin still got under her skin. The way her presence filled a room, the way her laughter—so effortless—could drown out everything else.

And yet, here Y/N was stuck in her orbit again.

Does she know?

The thought twisted in her mind, sharper than she wanted to admit. Did Minjeong know about her? About the stolen nights, the whispered promises, and the way Jimin had trembled in her arms? Did Minjeong know that, even as she smiled so sweetly now, Jimin still carried the ghost of their time together?

Y/N clenched her jaw, her polished exterior barely holding under the weight of it all.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned, startled to find Irene standing beside her. Irene’s sharp eyes missed nothing, though her smile remained polite.

“Fine,” Y/N replied quickly, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Just needed a breather.”

Irene studied her for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching. “A breather or a distraction?”

Y/N chuckled softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re too observant for your own good.”

“It’s a gift,” Irene replied, her tone light but her gaze pointed. She glanced toward Jimin and Minjeong, her expression unreadable. “You know, some things have a way of lingering even when you think they shouldn’t.”

Y/N’s lips tightened around the rim of her glass, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes flickered back toward Jimin, unbidden. The sight of her, standing so effortlessly close to Minjeong, stirred something sharp and restless in Y/N’s chest.

The room felt warmer, the noise of clinking glasses and muted laughter pressing in. Y/N took a steadying breath, her fingers tracing the edge of her flute.

Irene seemed to sense her unease. “Don’t let the ghosts win,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the hum of the crowd.

Y/N blinked, turning to look at her. “What makes you think they have?”

Irene smiled faintly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she offered a polite nod and slipped away, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.

As Y/N let her gaze drift back across the room, her breath caught. Jimin’s eyes flickered toward her, the connection immediate and electric.

Jimin felt Y/N’s gaze like a static charge in the air. It prickled at her skin, pulling her attention no matter how hard she tried to focus on Minjeong.

“Jimin?”

Minjeong’s voice was gentle, her head tilted in that familiar way that always made Jimin feel safe.

“Hm?” Jimin blinked, realizing Minjeong had asked her a question.

“Are you okay?” Minjeong asked, a hint of worry creeping into her tone. “You seem... distracted.”

Jimin forced a smile, giving Minjeong’s hand a light squeeze. “I’m fine, just a lot on my mind.”

Minjeong seemed to accept the answer, but her eyes lingered on Jimin’s for a moment too long. There was a quiet curiosity in her gaze, as if she sensed there was more to Jimin’s distraction than the weight of the event.

“Okay,” Minjeong said softly, her voice tinged with a gentle reassurance. She turned her attention back to the room.

Jimin exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly when Minjeong wasn’t looking. Her gaze wandered again—inevitably—to Y/N.

Y/N, leaning against the bar, looked unshaken on the surface. But Jimin recognized the tension in her posture, the way her fingers traced the edge of her glass as if holding herself in check.

For a brief second, Jimin allowed herself to linger, her chest tightening with the weight of everything unspoken.

Y/N was halfway through her second glass of champagne when her resolve finally cracked. The air around her felt too thick, the noise of the party too loud. But it wasn’t the room that suffocated her—it was the unanswered questions, the lingering tension that stretched between her and Jimin like a taut string.

Y/N had just set her glass down when she saw Jimin approach. Her movements were deliberate, her expression poised, but Y/N could see the cracks beneath the surface.

“Y/N,” Jimin said softly, the sound of her name almost lost in the noise around them.

“Jimin,” Y/N replied, her tone smooth but edged with something sharp.

Before the tension could unravel further, Minjeong appeared beside Jimin, her timing impeccable. Her expression was curious but polite as she took in Y/N, her smile warm and unassuming.

“Hi,” Minjeong said, offering a small nod.

Y/N’s chest tightened. She managed a faint smile. “Hi.”

The silence stretched, awkward and palpable. Minjeong glanced between them, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Minjeong,” Jimin said, her voice unusually tight, “would you mind grabbing us some water? I’ll be right here.”

Minjeong hesitated for the briefest moment but nodded. “Sure.” She touched Jimin’s arm lightly before walking away, her presence leaving a noticeable void.

Y/N didn’t wait for Jimin to speak. “She’s sweet,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

“She is,” Jimin replied, her voice quieter now.

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “And yet, here we are.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, but she said nothing, her eyes darting to the glass in her hand.

“Funny,” Y/N continued, her voice low but cutting. “She doesn’t seem to notice the way you keep looking at me.”

Jimin opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The tension between them was a living thing now, thrumming like a heartbeat.

"I heard you’re back together, and if that’s true, you’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you."

Y/N took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Does she know, Jimin? Does she know that when you touch her, you’re thinking of me?”

Jimin flinched, the sharpness of the words slicing through her composure.

Before Jimin could respond, Minjeong returned, her bright smile cutting through the haze like sunlight after a storm.

“Here you go,” Minjeong said, handing Jimin a glass of water.

Y/N stepped back, her mask slipping back into place as easily as a curtain falling over a stage.

“I’ll see you around,” she said smoothly, her gaze flicking between them before she turned and walked away.

As Y/N disappeared into the crowd, Jimin’s grip tightened around the glass, her knuckles white against the delicate crystal. She drew in a slow breath, but it did little to steady the weight pressing down on her chest.

She turned back to Minjeong, who was mid-conversation with another guest, her soft laugh cutting through the noise of the room. For a moment, Jimin envied Minjeong’s lightness—the way she could immerse herself so fully in the moment without the shadow of someone else pulling her attention away.

Jimin’s gaze darted back to where Y/N had been moments before, but she was gone. The space she’d occupied felt like a void, lingering in the back of Jimin’s mind like a stubborn echo.

The sound of laughter from the far side of the room blended into a dull hum as Y/N leaned against the bar. Her polished exterior—so carefully constructed—was starting to falter, and she hated it. Every glimpse of Jimin and Minjeong together chipped away at the armor she had built around herself since the breakup.

The memories came unbidden, vivid and cruel, pulling her back to moments she thought she had locked away.

Flashback

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jimin had whispered, though the way her hand lingered on Y/N’s wrist told a different story.

Y/N smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe not. But here I am.”

They were in Jimin’s hotel room, the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the world outside nothing but a distant hum.

Jimin looked at Y/N like she was a question she didn’t know how to answer. There was hesitation in her eyes, but it was overpowered by something deeper, something hungry.

“You’re trouble,” Jimin murmured, her voice soft but unsteady.

Y/N tilted her head, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You like trouble.”

Whatever restraint Jimin had been clinging to snapped in that moment. She pulled Y/N closer, her lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. Y/N’s hands found their way into Jimin’s hair, tugging gently, earning a soft gasp that sent a shiver down her spine.

For a while, it was just them—no consequences, no questions.

End of the flashback

Back at the bar, Y/N’s fingers curled around her champagne flute as the memory faded. She exhaled shakily, her chest tight.

"Every time you close your eyes… Just know I was already there."

The lyrics twisted in her mind, bitter and taunting. Y/N took a sip of champagne, willing the ache in her chest to dull.

Flashback

“What are you smiling about?” Y/N asked, her voice soft and teasing.

Jimin turned her head, her cheek resting against the pillow. Her dark hair was a mess, her face bare, and her expression unguarded in a way that made Y/N’s heart ache.

“Nothing,” Jimin said, though her smile grew.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, rolling onto her side to face her. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Jimin laughed, the sound low and melodic. “Okay, fine,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I was just thinking… this feels nice.”

“Nice?” Y/N repeated, pretending to be offended.

Jimin rolled her eyes but leaned closer, her hand finding Y/N’s beneath the sheets. “You know what I mean.”

Y/N’s teasing faded as she took in the sincerity in Jimin’s eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I know.”

They stayed like that for a while, tangled in the quiet morning light, the world outside their little bubble forgotten.

End of the flashback

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she watched Jimin from across the room. She leaned in to whisper something to Minjeong, earning a soft laugh in return. The sight sent a fresh pang through Y/N’s chest, though she refused to let it show.

She used to smile like that for me.

The thought was bitter, yet undeniable. Y/N knew she had left her mark on Jimin, even if she’d been cast aside.

Flashback

“You’re really going back to her?” Y/N’s voice wavered despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

Jimin stood near the door, her arms crossed, her expression conflicted. “It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“It is,” Y/N said, taking a step closer. “You’re making it complicated.”

Jimin’s shoulders slumped, and she turned her gaze to the floor. “I can’t… I can’t keep doing this. With you. With her.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to speak. “So, what? You’re choosing her? After everything we—”

“It’s not about choosing!” Jimin interrupted, her voice rising for the first time. “It’s about… it’s about history. And safety. And not ruining everything I’ve worked for.”

Y/N froze, her chest tightening. “Ruining everything?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin’s expression softened, regret flashing in her eyes. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Y/N said, cutting her off. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You meant every word.”

Jimin reached for her, but Y/N stepped back, shaking her head. “Just go,” she said, her voice breaking. “If that’s what you want, then go.”

And Jimin did.

End of the flashback

The memory still felt fresh, even now. Y/N closed her eyes briefly, the noise of the party becoming a distant hum as her thoughts spiraled.

"You can have her if you like. I've been there, done that once or twice."

She hated how true the words felt, how much of herself she had given to Jimin, only to be left behind.

When she opened her eyes again, she caught Jimin looking at her from across the room. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded.

Y/N held her gaze, refusing to look away, even as her chest tightened with everything unsaid.

And then, just as quickly as it happened, Jimin turned back to Minjeong, her expression unreadable.

Y/N exhaled slowly, setting her empty glass on the bar. The night was far from over, but she was already exhausted. The air felt too thick, the noise of the party too loud, pressing against her like a weight she couldn’t shake.

She glanced over her shoulder, half-tempted to slip away unnoticed, but something held her in place. A pull she couldn’t resist.

Her gaze drifted across the room, searching for the source of her unrest.

The crowd ebbed and flowed like a tide, vibrant and alive, but Y/N stood still, her gaze fixed on Jimin and Minjeong across the room. They looked effortless together, a picture of ease and harmony that made Y/N’s chest ache.

Minjeong’s laugh was bright and unrestrained, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. She had an openness about her, a warmth that drew people in without trying. Y/N watched as Jimin leaned in closer, her tall frame almost curling protectively around Minjeong’s smaller one. The movement was subtle, instinctive, and painfully familiar.

She learned that from me.

The thought hit Y/N before she could stop it, sharp and unrelenting.

She couldn’t unsee the parallels. The way Jimin tilted her head just so, nodding along as Minjeong spoke, her lips curling into that soft, private smile. It was the same smile Jimin had once saved for Y/N, during late-night conversations and whispered secrets.

Y/N’s grip tightened on her glass as another laugh rang out. Jimin was teasing Minjeong now, something clever and understated that had Minjeong giggling and swatting at her arm playfully. The sound of Jimin’s laugh—low and melodic—sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

"She’s funny now, all her jokes hit different. Guess who she learned that from?"

The thought was bitter, yet undeniable. Y/N had taught Jimin how to wield humor like a weapon—lighthearted but disarming, a way to draw someone closer without them even realizing it.

Jimin glanced up, her gaze flickering to Y/N for the briefest of moments. Her expression remained unreadable, her polished composure firmly in place.

But Y/N saw through it. She saw the crack beneath the surface, the hesitation that lingered in Jimin’s movements every time their eyes met.

“Jimin,” Minjeong said, her voice cutting through the moment. She tugged gently on Jimin’s hand, smiling up at her.

Jimin blinked, her attention snapping back to Minjeong. Her lips curved into a smile. Warm, reassuring, but not quite reaching her eyes. “What is it?”

Minjeong tilted her head toward the dessert table. “They’ve got those little tarts you love. Want to grab some before they’re gone?”

Jimin hesitated, her gaze darting back toward Y/N’s direction, but she caught herself quickly. “Yeah,” she said, squeezing Minjeong’s hand lightly. “Let’s go.”

The two moved together, weaving through the crowd, but Y/N’s eyes followed them like a magnet.

Y/N set her glass down on the bar, her fingers tracing the rim absently. She hated how much power Jimin still held over her, even from across a crowded room. But there was something else there, something she couldn’t ignore.

Pride.

Despite everything—despite the heartbreak and the bitterness—Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small, stubborn sense of pride in the way she had shaped Jimin. Their time together had been brief but intense, and it had left an imprint on Jimin that couldn’t be erased.

The way Jimin leaned into Minjeong now, her touches gentle but deliberate, mirrored the intimacy they’d once shared. It was a habit Y/N had teased her about endlessly, back when they’d stolen moments away from the rest of the world.

From the dessert table, Jimin glanced over her shoulder, her eyes seeking out Y/N once again. Minjeong didn’t seem to notice, too busy chatting with the person next to her, but Jimin’s focus wavered.

Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but the words died in her throat. The weight of Y/N’s gaze, the history between them, lingered like a ghost in the air.

Minjeong turned back to Jimin, holding up a tart with a playful grin. “Got one for you before I ate them all.”

Jimin laughed softly, shaking her head. “Thanks,” she said, her voice gentle.

But as Minjeong handed her the dessert, Jimin’s hand trembled slightly, the crack in her facade growing just a little wider.

Minjeong, ever perceptive, tilted her head curiously but said nothing, her focus shifting to a nearby conversation. Jimin’s eyes darted back toward Y/N, the weight of their shared history tugging at her chest.

Across the room, Y/N noticed the hesitation. The tremor. The way Jimin’s gaze flickered toward her as if she couldn’t help herself.

Y/N exhaled slowly, letting the tension settle in her chest. She didn’t need to fight for Jimin’s attention; she already had it. Every glance, every hesitation, every joke Jimin told was proof of the mark Y/N had left.

But it wasn’t enough—not anymore.

Her gaze shifted away, back to her own reflection in the bar’s mirror. The woman staring back at her looked composed, confident. But underneath, she was tired. Tired of being haunted by someone who had chosen stability over passion.

"You’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you."

The lyric echoed in her mind, bitter and unyielding. Y/N straightened her posture, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

Let Jimin remember her. Let her feel the weight of Y/N’s absence every time she touched Minjeong. Y/N wasn’t going to fight for someone who didn’t choose her—not anymore.

The thought gave her a fleeting sense of closure, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the restlessness thrumming in her chest. The noise of the party felt louder now, the air heavier.

She needed to get out, to find some space where she could breathe without feeling like the walls were closing in.

Y/N turned away from the bar and slipped through the crowd, weaving past clusters of chatter and bursts of laughter until she found a side door leading to the balcony.

The balcony was quiet, the distant hum of the city below muffled by the soundproof glass doors behind her. A faint breeze teased at the edges of Y/N’s dress, the chill of the night air biting against her skin. She leaned against the railing, her champagne flute dangling loosely from her fingers, the golden liquid untouched.

The room inside had become too much—the laughter, the stolen glances, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on her chest. Out here, under the glow of the moon and the soft glitter of city lights, she could breathe.

But not for long.

The sound of the door sliding open made her stiffen. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Y/N.” Jimin’s voice was soft, hesitant, but it carried through the still night air like a whisper in a cathedral.

Y/N didn’t look at her. “I was wondering when you’d come,” she said, her voice steady but devoid of warmth.

Jimin stepped closer, her heels clicking against the stone floor. “I just... needed to talk to you.”

That made Y/N laugh, low and humorless. She turned, leaning her hip against the railing as she finally met Jimin’s gaze. “Talk?” she repeated. “Now you want to talk?”

Jimin’s lips parted, but no words came. For the first time tonight, her polished composure wavered, cracks appearing in the armor she’d so carefully built.

“I saw the way you were looking at me,” Y/N continued, her tone sharper now. “Or maybe you were just trying to see through me. Is that it, Jimin? Hoping I’d disappear if you ignored me long enough?”

Jimin flinched, her hand tightening on the clutch she’d brought with her. “That’s not fair,” she murmured.

“Fair?” Y/N took a step forward, her voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “You think this is fair? Watching you play house with her while you look at me like—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

Jimin took a shaky breath, her voice quieter now. “I didn’t plan this, Y/N. I didn’t plan on you being here tonight.”

“And yet, here we are,” Y/N said, a bitter edge to her words. She swirled the champagne in her glass absently before setting it on the railing. “So, what do you want? To explain? To apologize? Or are you just here to make yourself feel better?”

“That’s not why—” Jimin started, but Y/N cut her off.

“Spare me,” Y/N said, her voice laced with exhaustion. She looked at Jimin, her eyes sharp and unyielding. “You chose her. Again. And maybe that’s what hurts the most—not that you left, but that you always seem to come back just to remind me of it.”

Jimin’s carefully constructed walls began to crack, her breathing uneven. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice trembling.

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head. “Congratulations. You failed.”

For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of traffic below.

“I still think about you,” Jimin admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her gaze dropped to the ground, as if saying it out loud was too much to bear. “I see you everywhere—in my head, in my jokes, in the way I…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she tilted her head, her lips curling into a small, wry smile. “You’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you.”

Jimin’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and glassy. She looked like she wanted to respond, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Look, Jimin,” Y/N said, her voice softening slightly, the sharp edges of her anger dulled by exhaustion. “I don’t want to be your regret. But I know I’ll always be your ghost.”

Jimin flinched at the word, her composure crumbling further. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but no words came. Instead, her hand lifted halfway, fingers trembling like they were caught between reaching for Y/N and letting go entirely.

“Don’t,” Y/N said quietly, her tone not harsh but resolute. The single word carried a finality that made Jimin’s hand falter. It dropped back to her side, and she took a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her own indecision.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispered, barely audible over the soft hum of the city behind them.

Y/N’s gaze softened, but her expression remained unreadable. “Yeah,” she said after a long pause, her voice steady but distant. “Me too.”

The silence that followed was deafening. They stood there, inches apart but separated by a chasm neither of them could cross. The memories between them felt alive, pressing down on the air, filling the space with everything they couldn’t say.

Jimin looked at Y/N one last time, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said, her voice breaking.

Y/N’s lips quirked into the faintest, bittersweet smile. “I know,” she replied, her words softer now. “But you did.”

For a moment, Jimin hesitated, as if she might stay, as if she might say something more. But the moment passed, and with visible reluctance, she turned and took a step back.

Her hand hovered on the glass door, her reflection ghosting over the city lights beyond. She paused, casting one last glance over her shoulder, her face shadowed with regret.

Y/N met her gaze evenly, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. There was no anger left in her expression, just a quiet resolve that made Jimin’s chest ache.

Jimin finally slid the door open and stepped back inside, leaving Y/N alone on the balcony.

Y/N didn’t move, even after the door slid shut behind Jimin, leaving her alone on the balcony once more. Her chest felt hollow, her breath shallow as she leaned back against the railing. The chill of the metal seeped through her dress, grounding her even as her emotions churned.

She tilted her head back, letting her gaze drift to the stars scattered across the vast, inky sky. They seemed impossibly far away, distant and untouchable. For a moment, she envied them—their silence, their constancy.

The tears came quietly, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. She didn’t fight them. It wasn’t the kind of grief that demanded sobs or outbursts; it was quieter, more resigned. It wasn’t about what could have been anymore. It was about what never truly was.

There was no collapse, no shattering. Just a slow, aching acceptance of something she had always known deep down: Jimin had been a ghost in her life long before tonight. A flicker of light she had tried to hold onto, even as it slipped through her fingers.

Y/N wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t a smile born of joy, but of understanding—of the weight finally lifting, even if it left a scar behind.

The city stretched out before her, endless and alive. The buzz of traffic below, the distant glow of streetlights, the muffled hum of voices inside the venue—they were reminders that life continued, indifferent and unstoppable.

She was still here.

She straightened, pulling her shoulders back, the breeze teasing her hair as she turned to glance at the glass door. A part of her wondered if Jimin would come back, but the thought didn’t linger. Y/N no longer needed her to.

The party was beginning to slow, its earlier energy now replaced by a quieter, more reflective buzz. Conversations grew softer, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter that seemed to echo in the half-empty room.

The golden glow of the chandeliers felt warmer now, casting long shadows across the thinning crowd. The music had shifted too, slower and subdued, as if the night itself was winding down alongside the guests.

Y/N stood near the edge of the room, a fresh glass of champagne cradled in her hand. She hadn’t taken a sip yet, the glass more of a prop than a comfort. Her gaze wandered over the room, though her focus was elsewhere, her thoughts still tethered to the balcony.

Ghost.

The word lingered in her mind, heavy but strangely freeing. She had spent so much time fighting to hold onto pieces of what she and Jimin had shared, clinging to memories as if they could somehow make her whole again. But out on that balcony, as Jimin had walked away, Y/N had finally felt something shift.

It wasn’t closure—not entirely. Closure suggested an ending, clean and final. What she felt was more like an exhale, a slow loosening of the grip she had held on something she no longer needed.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The familiar voice drew her back to the present, and Y/N turned to find Irene standing beside her. The singer’s earlier, crowd-working smile had softened into something quieter, more personal.

“Not worth that much,” Y/N replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

Irene chuckled, raising her own glass to her lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve had that look all night.”

“What look?”

Irene tilted her head, studying her. “The one that says you’re carrying something too heavy to set down, even though you want to.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, letting out a quiet laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me, maybe,” Irene admitted, her tone gentle. She set her glass down and leaned in slightly. “You don’t have to tell me, but... if it helps, you’re not alone. Everyone’s haunted by something.”

The words hung in the air, simple but resonant, their weight settling over Y/N like a warm blanket. She let the silence stretch between them, her gaze shifting back toward the far side of the room.

There they were—Jimin and Minjeong.

Minjeong was speaking animatedly, her hands gesturing as she laughed at something Jimin had said. Jimin was smiling too, that soft, private smile Y/N had once known so intimately. They looked happy, a picture of comfort and stability that could have made Y/N ache.

But as she watched, Y/N caught something else. Jimin’s fingers tapped lightly against her glass, a nervous habit Y/N recognized all too well. There was a faint crease between her brows when Minjeong wasn’t looking, a flicker of something unspoken in her expression.

She’s carrying it too, Y/N thought.

The realization didn’t bring comfort exactly, but it brought something close to peace. They had both been changed, scarred in their own ways, but Y/N was no longer tethered to that pain.

She exhaled, the breath steady and deliberate, her grip on her glass loosening as she set it down. The weight wasn’t gone entirely, but it was lighter now, easier to bear.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” she said, turning back to Irene.

Irene nodded, her expression soft with understanding. “Sometimes leaving is the bravest thing you can do.”

Y/N smiled faintly, the corners of her lips curving upward with a quiet gratitude. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it carried weight—a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Irene’s words. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, the movement simple yet deliberate, as if shedding the last remnants of hesitation.

The walk toward the exit felt longer than it should have, every step echoing with memories she was letting go. The golden glow of the chandeliers flickered over her, each footfall a quiet rebellion against the weight in her chest. Conversations buzzed faintly around her, their cadence softer now, as if the party itself was winding down.

As she reached the door, her hand brushed against the cool metal of the handle. Something made her glance back—a pull she couldn’t entirely resist.

Across the room, Jimin and Minjeong remained in their own world. Minjeong’s laugh floated through the air, light and uninhibited, and Jimin’s lips quirked into a smile that once had been reserved for Y/N. The pang in Y/N’s chest flared briefly, a sharp reminder of what was and what would never be again. But there was a difference now—an unexpected softness to the ache, like a bruise fading under time’s patient touch.

She turned back to the door, her fingers tightening briefly around the handle before she pushed it open. The night greeted her with a crisp embrace, the chill biting against her skin yet somehow refreshing. It was a stark contrast to the warmth of the venue, a reminder that outside those walls, life stretched on in endless, unpredictable patterns.

The city spread out before her, alive with a thousand stories, none of which she was beholden to. Y/N paused at the edge of the sidewalk, her breath visible in the night air. Tilting her head back, she let the city lights blur into the stars above, her heart settling into a calm rhythm she hadn’t felt in months.

“If you want forever, and I bet you do. Just know you'll taste me too”

“She’ll taste me every time.” The words slipped out softly, carried away by the breeze. They weren’t bitter or triumphant—just an acknowledgment of the truth she had lived.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of those words settle. They weren’t about holding on anymore. They were about release—a final reminder to herself that she had left her mark and didn’t need to keep proving it.

When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed sharper, more vibrant. The streetlights flickered against the pavement, and the distant hum of traffic reminded her of everything waiting beyond this moment.

With a steady breath, Y/N straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she began walking, each step sure and unwavering. The night stretched ahead, vast and full of potential, and for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to embrace it.

She didn’t need to look back.

She was done looking back.

The memories, the pain, and the lingering echoes of Jimin’s presence—they would always be a part of her, but they no longer defined her. Y/N was more than what she had lost. She was the sum of every moment she had survived, every choice she had made to stand back up.

As the cool night air wrapped around her, Y/N allowed herself a small, private smile. This wasn’t the end of her story—it was a new beginning.

She was ready to reclaim herself.

#karina x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #gg x reader #girl group imagines #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #karina x fem reader #yoo jimin x reader

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keep-wonwooing · 6 months ago

Text

— Two Boyfriends

synopsis ᝰ.ᐟ

⤷ ˗ˏˋ "I want two boyfriends so i can dress them up like twins!" ˎˊ˗

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ

⤷ idol!seongcheol x chubby fem reader x idol!mingyu

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ

⤷ poly, fluff, & physical touch (can't think of anything)

"Kim Mingyu, get back here!" My yell echoed through the house. My boyfriend of one years and 3 months, Kim Mingyu, who’s also an idol, had taken my PC holder that featured an official photo of Joshua—my bias.

"No! This is supposed to be me, not Joshua hyung!" he whined, hiding behind the couch.

He always whines like this, but normally, he’s fine with it. I don’t know what got into him today.

"Come on, baba, give it back, please?" I pouted, already feeling tired from chasing him around the apartment.

Shaking his head, he bolted upstairs, disappearing from my sight. I sighed and flopped onto the couch.

"I’m home!" I heard the door open, revealing my other boyfriend, Seventeen’s leader, Choi Seungcheol.

"Baby… Mingyu took it again!" I whined, rolling dramatically on the couch.

"Hi there, love," he greeted me warmly, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

Amazing, right? I have both of them as my boyfriends. It all started when I met them at an offline fan meeting.

flashback

⤷ I’m currently on my way to Seventeen’s offline fan meeting, and I’m super excited because this is my first time attending and seeing them up close.

While waiting for the guards to let us in, I’m double-checking all the bags containing the gifts I prepared for the boys.

Finally, the doors opened, and the Carats and I began lining up to keep everything organized. I noticed most of the fans were with their friends, while I stood alone. I’m not great at making friends with strangers, so I stayed quiet.

As I was checking my bags again, I suddenly heard squeals, and then Seventeen started appearing one by one.

I couldn’t help but smile as I saw them waving at us. As a fan finally seeing them up close, I enthusiastically waved back. I caught Hoshi looking at me, and he waved directly at me—I’m sure he noticed the tiger-themed t-shirt I was wearing.

"Say the name!" Seungcheol began, his voice loud and confident.

"Seventeen! Hello, we are Seventeen!" the members chorused, bowing after their greeting.

A staff member handed Seungcheol a microphone so he could speak.

"Good afternoon, Carats! We really appreciate all the effort you made to attend this offline fan meeting, and we hope you’ll enjoy your time with us. Thank you!" he said, looking around the crowd while waving.

Oh my gosh, he’s so handsome in real life! I fanned myself, trying to calm down my blushing face. Who wouldn’t be flustered with these guys standing on stage, looking absolutely fine?

The members finally took their seats, and the staff began assisting some Carats onto the stage. While the first fan interacted with Seungkwan, the other members started engaging with the rest of us in the audience.

"How are you guys feeling today? Isn’t it a little cold?" Dino asked, earning mixed answers of “yes” and “no,” which made him chuckle.

"Yah! I saw a lot of Carats wearing tiger shirts today. Where did you guys buy those?" Hoshi asked, looking amazed.

"Shein!" I answered. I felt embarrassed when I realized I was the only one who replied, while the others just laughed, finding Hoshi adorable.

"Oh?! Really?! How much is it? I’m willing to buy it!" he excitedly said, making the other members laugh.

My number was 21, but they were still on number 4, so it was going to take a while for my turn. We were given five minutes to talk to each member, which I felt was enough time to enjoy the moment.

Am I being delusional, or is Mingyu really looking at me? I waved at him with a smile, not expecting anything, but when he waved back, my cheeks burned, and I quickly broke eye contact.

After an hour, it was finally my turn. I had just finished talking to Seungkwan, Dino, The8, and Jun.

"Thank you so much for this!" Jun said, pointing at the cat plushie with his name on the collar.

"You’re welcome! Bye-bye!" I giggled, waving at him before finally moving on to Hoshi, who had been eyeing my shirt.

"Hey there!" he greeted me, starting to sign my album.

"So earlier, you asked us Carats where we bought our clothes, and I was the one who said Shein," I began, hoping to make the conversation more personal.

"Yes, yes! I really wanted to know where to buy more shirts, especially with that kind of design!" he said with a surprised expression.

"You don’t have to buy anything, though, because I bought you two tiger-themed shirts. I was nervous you might not like them, but I still wanted to give them to you," I said quickly, handing him a bag decorated with a cute tiger cartoon.

"I will definitely keep this bag!" he exclaimed, examining the bag before opening it. The Carats behind us gasped softly, admiring the gesture.

"It’s pretty, Hoshi-yah!" a Carat called out, and he proudly stood up to show it off.

We laughed, and he sat back down, thanking me nonstop. "I guess you’ll want more? I’ll tell you the shop then," I teased, giggling.

The next person was Joshua—my ultimate bias since the first day I started stanning Seventeen. He had always caught my attention.

"Hello, you’re really pretty," Joshua said softly, smiling as he began signing my album.

"You’re even prettier!" I replied, making us both giggle. I handed him a bag with a cinnamon roll plushie and a simple necklace featuring their group picture.

"Woah~ So I really do look like Cinnamon Roll, huh?" he joked, making me laugh and nod.

"Really! You’re both so cute," I replied.

"Oh my gosh, how much is this? I really love it!" he said, admiring the necklace.

While Joshua and I were talking, I felt someone staring at me. I glanced over and saw Seungcheol, who had just finished speaking to another Carat, looking in my direction.

"Thank you so much, really!" Joshua said, before the staff guided me to the next member.

"Hi there," Seungcheol greeted me with a warm, handsome smile.

I was stunned and stuttered when I greeted him back. "H-hello!" I nervously replied, making him laugh.

"How’s it going? Are you having fun?" he asked while signing my album.

"I’m really enjoying it so far! This is also my first time attending an event like this," I said, smiling.

"Woah, really? I’m happy you were able to attend this one," he said sincerely, looking at me with kind eyes.

He slowly held my hand, and I blushed so hard. I had held hands with the other members too, but Seungcheol had this special effect on me. Maybe it’s because he’s one of my bias wreckers.

"Here’s my gift for you!" I said, handing him a cherry hairclip along with one for his dog, Kkuma. "This one’s for you, and this is for Kkuma. I hope she’ll like it."

"She will, I’m sure!" he replied, examining the clips with a warm smile. "Can you put it on for me?" he asked, pointing at his hair.

I nodded quickly, my hands trembling as I clipped it onto his hair. "You look even more handsome with it," I said, smiling shyly.

"Really? I’m glad then," he said, smiling back and gently holding my hands again.

"I hope you guys aren’t too tired with your schedules and are getting enough rest," I sighed and pouted. "I was really worried when I kept seeing articles about you guys being sick."

He patted my head warmly. "Thank you, but don’t worry too much, okay? We’re doing fine right now."

After my conversation with Seungcheol and the other members, Mingyu was the last one I met before stepping off the stage.

"Hi, pretty~" he greeted me with a charming smile, glancing at me briefly before signing my album.

"I have a gift for you," I said, handing him a bag. "It’s a shirt you can use for working out or just as daily wear."

"So, your name is Y/N?" he asked, and I nodded immediately.

"You have a pretty name—just like you," he said, making me blush.

"I... uh... thank you," I stammered.

"I’ll definitely wear this! You’ll see it on my Instagram or in a random Going Seventeen video," he chuckled, holding up the shirt.

"Are you going to the Follow tour concert?" he asked me.

"Yes, I hope so. I’m nervous I won’t be able to get a ticket," I pouted.

"Don’t worry—you’ll get one. And I’ll make sure to find you!" he exclaimed.

"Really? I was planning to get a VIP ticket so I could jump properly to Aju Nice," I joked, making him laugh.

"Time’s up!" the staff announced. I smiled at the staff before bidding goodbye to Mingyu.

---

A few months later, tickets for the Follow tour in Seoul went on sale. I was sweating in my room, juggling three devices, anxiously waiting for my turn. On my laptop, my queue number was 961. I almost cried—I had a real chance to attend!

---

The day of the Follow tour concert arrived, and it was time for the soundcheck. I was so lucky to have a spot near the barricade.

They were performing Don Quixote, and I saw Seungcheol walking toward our side. He stopped for a moment, then ran over to Mingyu, dragging him back to our section and pointing at us.

The Carats behind me cheered loudly as Mingyu smiled widely and waved at me.

---

A few hours later, the concert started with Super. Everyone was screaming their lungs out and singing along. The concert went smoothly, with a few interactions between me and the members—especially Mingyu, who kept coming to our side of the stage.

At one point, he even took my phone, ran around the stage, and recorded videos. I was shocked—who wouldn’t be? My bias had just taken my phone to snap a bunch of selcas with the other members!

During Aju Nice, the members ran freely across the stage. Mingyu handed my phone back to a security guard, pointing at me to make sure I got it.

I thanked both the guard and Mingyu as he walked away, my heart full of gratitude and excitement.

The concert had ended, and I was waiting to leave the venue when a staff member tapped my shoulder. “Excuse me, please follow me.”

I looked around nervously, hoping no one noticed. Luckily, most Carats were too busy chatting to see the guard opening the barricade for me.

I followed her, confused. “Why do you need me? Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Seungcheol’s manager. He asked me to find you,” she replied, leading me to a door marked Seventeen.

The door opened, and I saw Dino. “Oh! You’re the one who gave me the otter plushie! I brought it today—want to see?” he said excitedly before running off to fetch it.

He remembers me? I thought, stunned.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right? The one who gave me the necklace with our group picture inside?” Joshua approached me, holding a water bottle.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said, smiling shyly.

He smiled back warmly and gestured for me to enter. Inside, a few staff members were tidying up while the members relaxed.

“Here it is!” Dino returned, proudly showing off the otter plushie.

“And it’s wearing the Dino shirt!” I exclaimed, giggling.

“Ah, you’re here!” Mingyu appeared beside me, flashing his signature grin.

“Well, yes. But why am I here? Shouldn’t you guys be resting?” I asked, puzzled.

He nodded. “We are, but…” Before finishing, he gently took my arm and guided me to the side where Seungcheol was seated, watching us.

“Are you our noona?” Mingyu asked suddenly.

“I’m a ’96 liner, and I share the same birthday as Jun,” I replied with a laugh.

“Really?!” Jun chimed in from across the room, making everyone laugh.

Seungcheol spoke up. “The members and I really appreciated all the gifts you gave us. Some of us are using them, and others are keeping them safe.”

“I’m just glad you liked them,” I replied, still feeling a bit nervous being this close to them.

“Here,” Mingyu handed me a blanket to cover my legs since I was wearing a short skirt.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

Seungcheol continued, “So, we were thinking of inviting you to dinner—if you’re okay with it. No pressure!” He raised his hands reassuringly.

“Oh? I’m fine with it. But is it really okay? I mean, it’s a group dinner, and—”

“Noona, please?” Dino interrupted, giving me puppy eyes.

“It’ll be fun!” Jeonghan added, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

I laughed. “Well, if it’s okay with you guys, then sure. I’ll go.”

The room erupted in cheers, and the members quickly changed so we could leave for dinner early.

---

Dinner

We ended up at a restaurant enjoying pork belly. While the others drank lightly, I stuck to soda since I wasn’t great with alcohol.

I sat between Dino and Jeonghan, playing the famous hongsam game.

“Wow, I’ve only ever watched this in videos, but playing it with you guys is so much fun!” I said, laughing until my stomach hurt.

“Noona got it wrong!” Dino yelled triumphantly.

“Eh? I did?” I asked, confused.

He eagerly explained why, and everyone laughed, telling me to drink my soda as a penalty. I agreed, and we continued playing.

After dinner, Seungcheol paid the bill.

“Seungcheol must be rich!” I teased, making him roll his eyes.

“Aye, don’t be humble!” I added, and the others burst out laughing.

When they offered to drop me off, I initially refused but eventually gave in. I ended up on their bus, heading home.

“Thank you for today,” I said sincerely.

“You’re welcome. The boys really wanted to be friends with you, especially after the fan meeting—Dino in particular,” Jeonghan teased.

“Can we have your number, noona?” Mingyu asked, blushing as the others teased him.

I laughed. “Is it okay?” I asked Seungcheol, who nodded.

“Of course, don’t worry,” he said with a warm smile.

When we reached my stop, I thanked them again and waved goodbye. It wasn’t until I was inside that it hit me: I was now friends with Seventeen, and Mingyu had my number.

---

A Few Months Later

⤷I had grown closer to the boys and often stayed at Seungcheol’s house, where they all lived. Each member had their own room—it was basically a mansion!

“Noona! Seungkwan keeps saying I’m bad at badminton!” Dino whined, sitting beside me.

“Because you are! Right, noona? You saw how I beat him in TTT,” Seungkwan smirked.

“I did, but don’t tease Dino so much!” I laughed.

Suddenly, I remembered something. “Wait! Oh no, my ramen!” I ran to the kitchen and found Mingyu standing there.

“Is this yours, noona?” he asked, pointing at the pot.

I nodded sheepishly. “I forgot because I was watching a K-drama with the guys.”

“Your ramen’s ready. I’ll grab a bowl for you,” he said, opening the cabinet.

“Y/N?” Seungcheol’s voice interrupted us.

I turned to him. “Oppa, why?”

“Can you both come upstairs to the balcony?”

I glanced at Mingyu, who gave me a small smile. “Let’s go,” he said.

As we followed Seungcheol, I yelled back to the others, “Don’t eat my ramen!”

Their smirks told me they probably would.

When we reached the balcony, Seungcheol was already waiting. “What’s wrong? I’m nervous!” I joked, standing between him and Mingyu.

Seungcheol nudged Mingyu. “You should go first.”

Mingyu took a deep breath and looked at me. “Just tell her,” Seungcheol encouraged.

"Why me?" Mingyu whined. "Fine, I'll tell her," Seungcheol sighed.

"I know this might end up awkward, but... me and Mingyu want to confess something to you..." Seungcheol began. "The day we saw you at the fan meeting, we were immediately attracted to your beauty, and we couldn’t wait to have a conversation with you. We were so happy to have the chance to talk to such a beautiful fan. After that, me and the guys couldn’t stop talking about you, especially Mingyu. I told them that we should invite you to dinner if we got the chance, and we immediately took that opportunity after the concert. As time passed, Mingyu and I started to develop a small crush on you. We’ve been hanging out a lot, and now we just wanted to share our feelings with you, hoping it won’t make things awkward if you like one of us."

I couldn’t quite process what he said.

"H-hey, no pressure. If you’re not ready—"

"No," I interrupted, "I mean, uh... how do I explain this? I do like you both too, but I... I don’t know. I don’t want to pick between you two," I nervously said while playing with my fingers.

"I also like you both personally—not just because you two are my biases, but for who you really are. We’ve all become so close, and I was confused about who I liked, but I realized that maybe I just like you both equally..." I confessed.

"Really? Maybe we can make it work?" Mingyu said.

"I don’t understand," Seungcheol said, looking at Mingyu in confusion.

"Well, I’m gonna admit that I find Cheol-hyung attractive—"

I stopped myself from giggling, and Mingyu noticed. He shyly hid his face against my shoulder.

"Aye~ don’t be shy!" I teased.

"Stop it, noona!" He whined.

"Continue, Gyu," we heard Seungcheol say. Even though he was nervous, Mingyu continued.

"Well... yeah, I do find you, hyung, attractive, and might have small feelings for you and noona. So I’m suggesting that we should work it out and try to be in a relationship?" Mingyu continued.

"Ooh! It’s like a poly relationship?" I asked, and Mingyu nodded as an answer.

"I like reading that kind of genre, though, so I guess it’s a good idea. What’s your thought on that?" I said, looking at Seungcheol, who was quietly observing us.

"Well, me and Mingyu already talked about this kind of setup. We were just thinking that you wouldn’t agree and might find it weird," Seungcheol explained, leaning against the railing.

"I don’t find it weird," I replied with a smile. "But what about the boys? I’m scared that their perspective will change towards me when they find out about this," I said, sighing.

"About that, we’ve already talked to them, and they were fine with it. They were actually supportive," Seungcheol reassured me.

I took a deep breath, absorbing everything they just told me. The idea of being in a relationship with both Seungcheol and Mingyu felt like walking into uncharted territory—but it also felt exciting and genuine.

"So... you’re saying the boys are supportive?" I asked cautiously, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of Mingyu’s blanket.

Mingyu nodded, his expression soft and reassuring. "We talked about it because we wanted their blessing before confessing. They even teased us about how nervous we were."

Seungcheol chuckled, the sound easing some of my nerves. "Yeah, Jeonghan especially had a field day with it. He said he ‘saw this coming from a mile away.’"

I couldn’t help but laugh. "That does sound like Jeonghan."

For a moment, we all stood in comfortable silence, the city lights twinkling behind us. Then Mingyu reached out and gently took my hand in his. "Noona, we just want to make you happy. If this setup doesn’t feel right for you, we’ll understand."

Seungcheol nodded in agreement, his gaze steady and sincere. "We care about you too much to push you into something you’re not ready for."

Their honesty and thoughtfulness made my chest tighten with emotion. I realized that what I felt for them wasn’t just a fleeting crush or admiration. It was something deeper, built on trust and genuine connection.

"I..." I hesitated for a moment before meeting their eyes. "I want to try. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want to explore it with both of you."

Their faces lit up, Mingyu’s smile bright and Cheol’s soft and comforting. Mingyu pulled me into a playful hug, his excitement contagious. "Noona, you won’t regret this! We’ll make sure of it!"

Seungcheol’s arms wrapped around both of us, his warmth grounding. "Let’s take this one step at a time, together."

And in that moment, surrounded by their laughter and warmth, I knew I had made the right choice.

"So they finally had the guts to tell you?" Jeonghan teased as the three of us headed back downstairs.

"Shut up, hyung!" Mingyu said, making Jeonghan laugh.

- end of flashback -

back to present

⤷"What did he take?" Cheol asked, helping me stand up from the couch.

"My photocard!" I replied.

"Mingyu!" He called, and we saw him poke his head out from the door upstairs. I gave him a smirk after Cheol motioned for him to come down.

"Give it back," Cheol ordered.

"But love!" Mingyu whined before handing it back to me. I hugged him and leaned my head against his chest since he's taller.

"We both know you also have one, right? And it's always in my bag wherever I go," I said, making him nod sheepishly while smiling.

Cheol just laughed at us before dragging us to the kitchen, showing us the food he bought for us.

"Woah!" Mingyu and I exclaimed as we saw the spread.

"Thank you, baby!" I said, pecking his cheek.

"You're welcome, bab," he smiled, caressing my hair.

"Let's eat!" Mingyu cheered, taking the food out of the plastic.

I may or may not do a part 2 of this 😁 please tell me your thoughts about this at the comment section!

#seventeen fluff #seventeen poly #choi seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #polyamory #polyamarous #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x oc #mingyu fluff #mingyu fanfic #y/n

217 notes · View notes

kelstey · 1 year ago

Text

invisible string

mattheo riddle x reader

warnings : smut

REQUESTED

italics are flashbacks, each cut off is a different flashback/memory

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

"lights out everyone!" professor dumbledore yelled out. the silent movements of different rooms filled the hallway as everyone turned their lights off, no one was away to sleep - just yet, at least.

the first years had been allowed a trip to paris to celebrate the accomplishments of completing their first year at hogwarts.

a couple minutes passed by, the lock of the teachers' rooms could be heard, soon followed by a flick of the light switch. as if mattheo, theo, lorenzo, draco, and blaise's lives depended on it, they held their breaths as they wandered down the corridor, making their way to the room you were sharing with pansy and daphne.

the teeny, tiniest of knocks echoed through your room, signifying their arrival. the three of you giggled, having the boys sneak over into your room felt super grown up and who wouldn't want their crushes in their room?

you held in a breath as the door silently unlocked, opening the door to reveal the group of boys. "sh!" blaise smacked the back of draco's head as the floorboard underneath him creaked.

the five boys creeped into your shared room, trying their hardest to make as little noise as possible to avoid being screamed at by a professor for not only sneaking out - but sneaking into a room of girls.

you shut and locked the door, going over to your cramped single bed. it wasn't the most comfiest thing on earth but it would do for the meantime.

"hi," mattheo walked over, cramming himself into the bed with you.

"hi," you felt a blush creep up onto your cheeks. thankfully the room was only lit with the tiny glow of daphne and draco's wands.

"i can't wait to go to the eiffel tower tomorrow," draco gushed. he was sat on the floor against the wall, facing all three beds.

"who?" theo asked.

"me-"

"asked."

the seven of you laughed silently, draco buffed and puffed, unimpressed at the 'lame' joke.

"that's not funny."

"it's quite funny," pansy giggled, covering her mouth.

"whatever," draco crossed his arms like an angry toddler.

the room filled with mixed conversations, different duos and trios speaking amongst each other, occasionally joining in with each others conversations.

you leaned back against mattheo's chest, your eyelids growing heavy, fighting off each urge to fall asleep as you wanted to continue speaking with the rest.

he wrapped his arms around your torso, allowing your bead to fall back onto his shoulder. mattheo grew slightly confused when you stopped replying, looking down at you only to realise you were asleep.

he pulled the covers up over both of your bodies, his arms tightening around you secretly hiding from the others. mattheo continued to speak, careful not to be too loud in fear of waking you up.

he was also sure to hush anyone whenever they raised their voice, claiming it was just so no one would get in trouble, but really he didn't want them to wake you up, either.

not even thirty minutes after the boys snuck in did everyone fall asleep. numerous snores falling from mouths, theo's obnoxious one waking you up.

you tried to move but quickly realised the reason you were so restricted was due to mattheo's arms around you. a smile formed on your lips, he was the first ever boy you'd fallen asleep with.

"riddle! y/l/n! get back here right now!" snapes voice rang throughout numerous corridors. mattheo grabbed onto your hand tightly, your feet running at a pace that you didn't even realise you could go at.

"we're so fucked," you giggled, continuing to sprint through the corridors, weaving your way past other students, your veins pumped with adrenaline, giving you somewhat of a high.

"that's part of the fun," mattheo turned his face to look at you.

you looked angelic. your hair was being flown back as you ran, the brightest of smiles plastered on your face. mattheo felt flowers blossoming in his stomach, the petals tickling the inner lining.

you were always beautiful to him, but at that moment? it was like he discovered a new part of you. all these years he had known you, and only just then did he truly think he found you. he saw you. and he loved each singular part.

the two of you made a sharp turn, finding yourselves in a vacant corridor. your breathing was sharp, your lungs desperate for as much air as you could possibly receive.

you leaned back against the wall, the smile on your face reforming when you looked up to see mattheo holding back a smirk. your lungs burned, your legs moments away from giving in.

"you're such a little shit," you laughed. you felt a stitch on your side, your hand going up to your abdomen to press on it. the adrenaline was still coursing through your veins.

"stitch?" he took a few steps closer to you.

"hurts like a bitch," you panted. mattheo removed your hands from the area, massaging his hand to try relieve the pain.

"always works when i get one during quidditch," mattheo looked down at you.

he leaned closer, his forehead pressed tightly against yours. the tips of your noses brushed against each other. his warm eyes dilated as they gazed around your face, be opened his mouth to speak but a voice cut him off.

"you two!" the rage of snapes voice, once again, echoed down the hall.

"shit," and the two of you were off, once again.

"trust me this stuff will get you baked," the crackle of the lighter lit up the twisted end of the joint. "neville said it's some proper muggle stuff. some sort of cake strain."

"jesus," you spluttered, the smoke going straight to the back of your throat.

"yeah?" mattheo smirked, his tongue poking through the inner of his cheek.

you took a couple more inhales, the weed taking its affect in just a few moments. you passed mattheo over the joint.

"hurry, people are gonna wonder where we've went."

"calm it," mattheo chuckled. he leaned back in the chair, his legs spreading apart and moving his hips up to adjust his position.

"i am calm," you felt your eyelids begin to droop. the truo of you took some more hits, finishing the joint as soon as possible in order to return to the party happening inside.

mattheo took a few more drags, the icy breeze of the wind brushed over you, a chill running down your spine. the hairs on your arms stood up, your hands crossing over to salvage any body warmth you had left from being out on the balcony.

"here," he stubbed out the joint. he took his blazer off, bringing it over your shoulders.

"thank you," you smiled up at him. his eyes twinkled as the light of the moon shone down on him, he was truly gorgeous. "come on now, birthday boy."

the both of you returned back to the party and noticed everyone was already drunk or on the verge of it. you wandered over to a table where pansy, daphne, theo, and lorenzo were seated at.

mattheo followed you closely behind, a dreaded feeling of doom lingering over his head as his paranoia began to settle in. he sat down at the table leaving no space for you.

"you're really gonna make me stand?" you teased, getting between mattheo and pansy.

"mhm," a singular arm wrapped around the back of your legs, his hand resting on your outer thigh, his face nuzzled into your waist, dangerously close to the hem of your already risqué dress.

"it's okay," you muttered, running a hand through his curly brown locks, fingers trailing through his scalp which brought him ease, and he could've fallen asleep then and there. he looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he took in your features.

he truly believed you were moulded by the hands of a true goddess.

mattheo spread his thighs apart, pulling you down by your waist to sit perfectly on his groin. "you look beautiful," his lips murmured against the ticklish skin of your neck, the sensation sending a tingle down your back.

"you don't look too bad yourself," you blushed. the others were too far deep in the conversation to notice the two lovebirds - or maybe they were doing it on purpose.

all light sources turned off, the party falling silent with confusion. shortly after, a light illuminated the room. the source coming from a cake being held by tom as be walked into the room, his legs taking strong, confident strides as he made his way over to the table with you and mattheo.

everyone soon gathered, irrupting into the infamous "happy birthday" song you quickly moved off of mattheo's lap before tom got too close, not wanting to raise any suspicions for anyone who didn't already see the two of you already getting a little too handsy.

tom placed the cake atop of the table, clapping once the song ended. mattheo's smile was wide and as bright as ever, his teeth pearly white as the candle light reflected off of them.

mattheo stalled for a second before closing his eyes, a swift blow and the candles were out. he had made his birthday wish.

everyone began to clap, you included. you cheered on, your smile soon faltering when mattheo's girlfriend made her way between you and mattheo, pushing her lips roughly against his.

you could feel your heart drop, your ears muting out the cheers and banter of the guests as they celebrated. your heart broke into a million pieces, his hands holding her close before he moved her onto his lap.

you had just forgotten that the two of you were just friends.

the lights came back on, everyone returning to their conversations, the music continuing to fill the room yet again. "are you okay?" pansy stood up, whispering quietly in your ear.

"i think i need some air," you blinked away the tears, trying to hold back what felt like a waterfall as your waterline filled with a thin lining of tears.

pansy wrapped one of her arms around your back, her head leaning against your shoulder as the two of you made your way out the party. you could feel your lungs gasping for air, a cry escaping your lips as the two of you entered the bathroom.

"it's okay, baby," pansy comforted you. your body just about collapsed onto the floor, though your jagged, distressed breaths for air seemed to be collapsing your lungs as well. you brought your legs up to your chin, allowing the tears to run free. "just breathe."

your mind was fogged, a million thoughts racing non stop as you tried to contain yourself. your eyes were glossy, bloodshot red, looking up at pansy as she rubbed your arm. "i think i love him."

the abrasive smoke found it's way to the back of your throat, the paper of the joint crinkling as loud as ever in the dead of the night. you had started to reconsider your clothing decisions as the baltic wind breezed over you, goosebumps arising on your bare legs.

fortunately, you were wearing a cozy hoodie that you would always throw on when you snuck outside in the middle of the night to smoke away, wanting nothing more than to simply escape your thoughts.

you caressed your forehead with one hand, the other holding the joint. you hadn't spoke to mattheo in weeks and it was starting to take its toll on you, you wanted to give him space, not wanting to interfere with his relationship, but it was proving more difficult than you anticipated.

the usual laughter that would be shared in and between classes was now filled with an awkward tension, neither of you wanting to break the silence.

late night wanders turned into late night cries, not longer having your usual companion to accompany you whenever you were finding difficulty sleeping. you mourned the 'loss' of your friendship, wondering what would have happened if maybe you had realised the immense feelings towards him sooner.

your mind was too clouded, distracted by numerous thoughts, too preoccupied to hear the footsteps appear behind you.

"i thought i'd find you here," you nearly froze, anxious at the thought of having been caught by a professor.

"mattheo," vou sighed in relief.

"that's me," he chuckled lightly. he closed the glass door behind him, taking a seat in the chair next to you. "you've been ignoring me."

"i figured you were too busy with your new girlfriend, now," you looked over at him. he looked disheveled, a faint stubble unshaved on his chin and jaw, his eye bags slightly darker than you remember, his eyes not as familiar as they once were.

"just because i have a girlfriend doesn't mean you need to cut me off," mattheo leaned back.

"don't do this to me."

"do what?"

you were brought back to the night of mattheo's eighteenth birthday, reminders of the tears that ran down your face when him and his girlfriend kissed, the way the world went silent around you but for everyone else; they were all happy for him and cheering.

"you know why i can't be your friend," you tilted your head as you looked at him.

"don't be stupid. you know you'll always be my friend."

"i don't want to be your friend, mattheo. that's the problem."

"what?" he was in a state of disbelief, wondering where all of this was suddenly coming from.

"i can't - mattheo...i," you fumbled around with your words, unable to figure out what you even wanted to say. now that it came down to it, every singular thing you wanted to say was suddenly stripped from your memory.

you closed your eyes, resisting the tears. you inhaled a sharp breath, trying to gather yourself as much as possible so you wouldn't break down in front of him.

"i don't want to see you with somebody else," your eyes fluttered open, a stunned mattheo looking back at you. "i can't just sit and pretend that i'm okay with the thought of another girl having you, because i'm not. i love you mattheo, but you're not mine."

you were unable to comprehend the emotion on mattheo's face. his eyes were wide, soft, but wide. his nostrils were flared, his fists tense by his side, his thumb rubbing over his index finger to comfort himself.

"say that again."

"what?" you breathed out, unaware of the deep breath you'd been holding in.

"say you love me."

"mattheo-"

"say it."

"i love you."

his movements were rapid, his hands finding their way to your waist, his lips fitting perfectly against yours. it took you a second to even comprehend what the fuck was going on, but you soon melted into the kiss.

his lips were rough, eager, but passionate as they moved. his hands roamed your body, longing to touch the body he knew so well. each curve, each freckle, each mole, each scar, his fingers traced

over.

an arm hooked around the back of his neck, your hand raking through his satin curls, a feeling you'd been missing for far too long.

mattheo's hands reached the back of your thighs, picking you up, your legs tightening around his waist. it didn't take long for him to find his way to your dorm, fumbling with the handle he finally managed to find his way in without dropping you.

his foot kicked the door shut, the steps he was taking felt like forever. you felt your body being placed against your familiar bedsheets, mattheo's body leaning over you.

it didn't take long for both of your clothing and undergarments to find their way onto the floor, discarded and forgotten about once mattheo's lips made their way back to your lips.

you'd never met someone with such soft lips yet rough kisses, light peppers and sucks as he trailed his lips down your jaw, making his way down to your neck.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he let out an exasperated breath, unable to come to the fact that you were fully real - and in love with him.

a mellow moan fell from your lips, mattheo's mouth falling around your hardened nip, capturing it with the light graze of his teeth. his calloused fingertips gently grazed down your body, one hand perfectly fitting around your other tit, his thumb toying with your other nipple.

you looked down at the boy, his brown eyes tainted with lust that consumed you, a fire igniting all over your body with how badly you needed him.

mattheo's fingers tickled their way down your torso, going right to where you needed him.

"fuck," he groaned, his fingers covered in a layer of your arousal. "so wet for me already."

wet kisses connect onto the sensitive skin of your neck, tilting your neck back to allow more skin for mattheo to mark and make his own. he let out a moan against your flesh, his hand pumping down his dick, lining himself up with you.

a gasp escaped both of your lips as he slowly began to slide into you, your walls stretching out against him. his hands found their way to your hips, his nails digging into your soft skin.

"fuck," he groaned, your nails dragging down the skin of his back, clawing away as he began to move his hips, rolling deeper into you.

he moved a hand from your hip, placing it around your throat. he squeezes around your neck, slowly adding more pressure as you let out even more unholy moans.

"just like that," mattheo grunted, your walls clenching around him with the feeling of his hands around your neck driving you absolutely insane.

"mattheo," you moaned. "god - fuck. please, i need you so fucking bad."

"good girl, tell me how bad you want me," his brows furrowed together, his pace beginning to fasten as he buried his dick further into your aching cunt.

"so bad," you gasped out.

"should've told me sooner," he threw his head back. "look so pretty under me."

you let out a whimper, your hands grasping at the sheets underneath you, twisting them tightly in your hand. mattheo's thrusts came in harder, your legs wrapping around the back of his thighs to get him even further inside of you.

mattheo leaned down, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, choked moans erupting from his mouth.

"my fuckin' god," he continued to roll his hips, unable to get enough of you.

"mattheo-" a whine fell from your lips, your stomach tightening as you felt your orgasm build up.

"fuck- keep doing that, doing so well for me," he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"shit," you bucked your hips up, mattheo's hips slamming down against you, his pace growing sloppier and harder with each second that passed.

"just like that, god, such a good fuckin' girl," your eyes rolled back, stars sparkling before your vision went white, your orgasm crashing down on you like never before.

"fuck," mattheo grunted, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his cum spilling into you.

you let out a whimper as he pulled out of you, his body rolling into the space on the bed next to you. his hand trailed down your thigh, massaging it gently to calm the nerves that twitched throughout your jelly-like legs.

"i love you," mattheo pressed a kiss onto your shoulder.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

#fanfic #slytherin #slytherin boys #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo smut #mattheoriddlesmut #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #fictional men #taylor swift #swifties

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 year ago

Text

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Nine

Summary - Eris and your found family make their move whilst in Velaris, you embark on the most dangerous game of all.

Warnings - depression, torture, angst, more realisations, flashbacks, slight fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

All that echoed about the chamber were her soft groans and pleading cries. It had gone on for hours. For hours the Princess of Velaris had been chained to a stone altar, writhing in unspoken agony as inch by inch her wings were carved from her body.

Beautiful wings of midnight purple, thick onyx membrane laced through the feather-like surface, they glimmered in the moonlight, the stars dying as they lay slumped on the blood-soaked floor.

It was a grave punishment.

No, it was a plan so evil that even the King of Hybern had shuddered in a mixture of fear and delight when his finest general told him of her movements.

To place a demon in the body of Prythian's most powerful creature.

Amarantha had crossed the room to the girl with the paled skin, the one with eyes of flame amongst an ocean of violet waves, and she had laid her talons to rest on her face, a momentary flash of care as she wiped her tears away.

Pain. It wouldn't even begin to describe the horrors inflicted upon her, for pain was too light to explain it.

"I know that this hurts, but it'll be worth it. I promise you," the girl couldn't move, she thrashed against her chains with all of the meek weakness in her bones, but she couldn't break free, she couldn't tear the thing apart that was taking her most sacred possession, carving it from her body like a butcher.

"One day, the demons will take over thanks to you and your position in this world. You will breed them, and you will rule them."

Soft sobs drifted from the girls mouth, she had been panting for too long, on the verge of death for even longer. The pets had taken their time on the Princess, that much was clear from the deeply embedded wounds inflicted into her flesh, in locations that were nowhere close to where they should have been. Amarantha would deal with them later.

For now, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

"What are you going to do to me?" That sickly paled mouth asked, her lips were tinted blue, her eyes had glossed over, and Amarantha knew that she was close to letting herself go, but she was meant for far more than an offending death.

The queen hushed the girl lay atop the altar, tutting at the soiled skirt of the thin nightgown she adorned, "I'm helping you," her eyes were wide and delirious, "You are already the most powerful thing in this world, with my help, you could be the most powerful thing in the universe," Amarantha dragged a talon down the centre of the girls chest, smiling to herself, "Your position means that you will one day marry a High Lord, your power and theirs will create the perfect host, an unstoppable being which will allow the darkness to spread across the universe, a body that our queen will like very much."

"You're insane," Amarantha was sick of listening to her loose and shaky breaths and muttered a simple perhaps in reply. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"No?" the woman craned over her, hovering mere inches from her face as she produced a small onyx stone that shimmered in the dim light, "Then how do I know that placing this tiny stone in your marred flesh will be the answer to all of our problems?"

The scene played out in the flames weaving between one another in the fireplace, Cassian had come to light it for you, knowing that there was no desire in your body to move from the comforter, but also knowing that in order for you to have the strength to get through whatever Rhys had planned that you needed to not freeze to death.

Looking from the window, you had no pull to go outside, and you were sure no one would allow it anyway. All it would take for Rhys' act to crumble would be one word to someone across the boarder, and then it would spread like wildfire. The entire image of the Night Court would be destroyed. Signs of his manipulation had showed when the first bouquet of flowers had arrived the morning after your return, they were from the priestesses at the library who must have heard of your return from someone at the House of Wind. More bouquets followed, from the art gallery you used to frequent with Amren, from the bakery that made the best beignets you'd ever tasted, flowers had even arrived from Hewn City, wishing the Princess a speedy recovery.

Nothing about your recovery was going to be speedy.

Some days had passed but you weren't sure how many exactly, not when you were grappling with the demon in your body who would occasionally allow you to step into the light rather than just have a hand on the wheel of your mind. A haunting hum sounded in the night, a soft stalking song rumbled at your chest, it was sad, every note was laced with your longing for freedom, for Eris, and you knew that it was the symphony to their guilt. The same song drifted over the city, a solemn cloud hanging overhead, reminding your people that all was not as it seemed, and it was up to them to decipher the message.

The door had been left slightly ajar after Cassian's last visit, he had left a tray of meat and roasted vegetables at the foot of your bed, a tray that had gone cold long ago. Cassian had come to you frequently to check on you, you didn't say much to him but you knew that his mind was reeling at the sight of you, at what was happening to your body and soul. A plan was forming within the Illyrian, a desperate one, such became clear when his finger drifted along your cheekbone and felt it freezing under his touch, that alongside the hallowing cheeks and pallid hue to your skin made him flinch with a pain that wasn't even his.

But it wasn't Cassian that had come to see you.

No.

Golden blonde hair poked around the edge of the door, her sultry brown eyes teeming with despair as she looked to you on the bed, wrapped up in your own embrace, humming softly and carrying your melody as far as it could go, "Hey y/n."

Mor's voice floated through the air to you. Stepping into the room, Mor closed the door with a soft click and lingered by the fire, waiting for you to acknowledge her but when you kept humming that awful song, Mor had no choice but to approach you, to pull you back to your horrid reality.

The song caught at your lips and you looked down to her hands resting on the forearms that were curled around your knees. Fluttering eyelashes welcomed her, you were confused but you dragged your eyes to meet hers, "Mor." There was no warmth in the depiction of her name, your voice was empty and monotone, almost as though you were in a trance.

"How are you?"

Shivering, Mor perched beside you, Cassian was right, a certain chill had taken ahold of you, the air shifted as soon as anyone would enter your space; it made them feel unwelcomed, watched even, as if they were under surveillance. The only one observant enough would have been you but there was no way that you were keeping an eye on them, not when you looked so ghostly and pale, not when all you did was hum that sickly sad melody until your throat went raw.

"I'd be better if Rhys stopped drugging the water," you motioned to a half-empty cup sat atop your bedside table, a table that still had yours and Mor's names scribed into the wood, where a strong aroma of herbs emitted, "It's not like I can go anywhere." Raising your wrists, a line of chains rattled at your movements, they connected your wrists and feet together so that if you somehow escaped you wouldn't be able to get very far at all.

Rhys had ordered a that your own supply of water be established, water that he had drugged with various herbs and tonics to subdue you, to make you more docile. It was barbaric. None of them wanted to believe what was happening, all they wanted to do was block it out and deny it, but they couldn't, not when you were suffering so badly.

There was little that could be done to bring you joy, there was no hope that life would return to the way it used to be. But, if all Mor could do was remind you of a time when you were happy, to hopefully coax you into holding on, then she would spend the rest of her life doing it, "Tell me about Autumn. What was it like?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at your chapped and broken lips, and it was the first time Mor had seen your eyes light up since your return, "It was magical. Everything about it was perfect." Gentle darting pupils told Mor that you were lost in a flurry of memories, ones that you would no doubt carry for the rest of your life.

"And Eris?"

"Eris," your eyes glazed over, his name was a whisper of air, "For the first time in my life I had someone who understood me. I couldn't stop myself from wanting him, not when all he had to do was smile and say my name to have me melting."

Mor shuffled closer, watching intently, "His scent still lingers on you. It's like its moulded with your own."

Because he's my Carranam.

If only you knew what she had sacrificed in order to protect that part of you.

"I know that you hate him for what happened," you looked to her, eyes glistening in a mixture of fire and alabaster moonlight, "But he means everything to me." A single tear rolled down your cheek, a faint line weaving between the streaks dotted down your skin, "I'll never see him again. I'll die here," your gaze intensified on your oh so gorgeous cousin that was almost crying at your broken words, "Tell him that I love him. I never got to tell him that," your sight shifted back to the golden valley beyond the window and you leaned against the headboard, falling from Mor's grip, "Thank him for me, for his patience, for teaching me more about myself in a few weeks than I ever learnt here. Thank him for giving me a home and for not being afraid of me. Can you do that for me?"

Mor was practically shaking, with sadness, with anger, with every emotion possible, "I'm not telling him shit," Mor rose from the bed, her eyes ablaze in the moonlight, a deathly clash of molten gold and silver, "You can tell him yourself when you get out of here."

Determination was rife in her features, "I'm not getting out of here."

A violent shudder coursed through you, the same one that occurred at least five times a day, that filled you with dread and darkness, like the bindings drinking your power were piercing you with their talons and draining every ounce of your energy.

The bindings were monstrous, so dark and hateful that Mor wasn't sure where exactly Rhys had precured them, who he had commissioned to create something so vile. Such people deserved to rot in hell. Mor had scoured the library the night you had returned wearing them, looking for any bit of information possible on their origin, unable to scratch the image of your marred black flesh beneath them from her mind. Amren had joined her, a knowing look between them confirming everything, that Rhys had lost his mind, that they had to stop him before he reached too far and destroyed everything.

"Even if I have to cut down Rhys myself, I will get you out of here and get you to Autumn. Your family is waiting for you."

A soft moment. Guilt poured from Mor in waves, tidal waves of guilt and love that crashed against you, "You'll always be my cousin, Mor," an olive branch, a chance to repair what had been broken.

Pausing at the foot of the bed, Mor gripped the railings and used them to steady herself, "Never accept the definition of who you are, from a person who's trying to hide the truth of who they are. Don't let him win, y/n."

As quickly as she appeared, Mor vanished from sight, gliding from the room and signalling her exit with a gently closing door. A moment passed before you sat up, cocking your head to the side and wiping the tears from your cheeks. The demon lurking within you caressed your mind in approval, slithering around your consciousness and muttering her praise.

Somewhere beyond the window, you wondered where Eris was, you thought of what he was doing at that moment.

Had he slept? Had Nesta made sure he’d ate? Was Lucien making him laugh? Was he crying?

Silent tears spilled from your eyes, a pain that no word or sound would ever be able to convey rattled you. The gravity of the situation was grinding down, forcing you tighter into the box that Rhys had crafted with his bare hands; he hadn't come to see you yet, he hadn't even drifted by your door, probably too sickened by your scent to bare being around you.

That link with Eris had been locked away, the key to it residing in the furthest part of your reach thanks to the other one living within you. It wasn't like you hadn't begged her to open it, for just a moment, just to tell him that you were alive and thinking of him, but she had willed you into submission, she had told you that the link between your minds would only hinder your collective progress.

Once we are done, you will be with him again. Hold on.

Squinting, you willed your eyes further, you begged the Mother for one glimpse, and you could have sobbed when the sky didn’t split apart and allow you one singular comfort. It was silly to command to the universe that he not be sad, you knew he would be, if their would-be faces had flashed through your mind that day at the boarder you wouldn’t have been able to cross it.

If Eris had-

No.

You couldn’t think about it, think about the reality where he came to you at the last second and convinced you that there was another way. It wasn’t the reality you were drowning in.

But it was the one you’d dream of.

A reel of endless possibilities paused on the centre stage of his mind, snippets of potential realities weaving between one another and your face was at the epicentre of each image. In some you were sad, in others you were consumed by the feminine rage you did so well to keep in check, in others you were laughing, and then there were a couple, the odd one or two where your body was shrouded in darkness, images where no life existed within you where shadows caressed you like an old friend.

Eris wasn't sure which image he found the most terrifying.

Willow sighed in his lap, her head rested on his thigh as he idly ran his fingers through the tufts of hair on her head, and from her furrowed brows over the closed eyes, he knew that she was thinking of you. There had been countless occasions where Eris would enter the sitting room or your chambers only to find you with Willow snuggled into your chest, most of the time you'd be sleeping, nuzzling your head into her fur and sighing gently. Eris smiled to himself at the thought.

The High Lord had found himself sleeping in your room, your scent lingered on the sheets and it brought him more comfort than anything else ever could. Crackling flames filled the space, giving some life to the emptiness that had taken hold of the manor. A chill had befallen the home, even the foundations cried in the night at the realisation of your loss; even the hour of golden sun that you adored so much felt less dim, like the sun herself had nothing to impress, like she had nothing to shine for.

A shuffle of weight beside him pulled Eris from his thoughts, albeit unwillingly, and he turned his head to the side to see Nesta, "Anything?" Eris enquired, Nesta had been holed up in the library for the last couple of days, scouring the towers of books for something, anything that may act as the key to your freedom.

Shaking her head softly, Nesta answered, "Not really," she fiddled with her fingers atop her skirt and Eris' eyes narrowed at the action, Nesta wasn't a nervous female, but something was bothering her, "That day, Under The Mountain, when I found out what happened to her," Nesta's voice drifted off, she was fighting her own mind, fighting whether or not to divulge another detail, "I didn't just find something, I took something."

Eris straightened, being careful not to move the hound dozing on his lap as he turned to Nesta, "Took what?"

Knowing that she couldn't keep it to herself any longer, not when you were suffering in the worst of ways, Nesta had no choice but to admit what else she knew, what she had kept from everyone, "Something that belonged to Amarantha, a book," A book that she didn't think to pluck from the library upon her exit from the Night Court, a book that was quite literally in enemy territory, "It details everything that was done to her, even things from before Under The Mountain."

The air shifted, a seething tension took hold of Eris that was directed toward Nesta's nervousness, at how her words stumbled over one another, "I need you to tell me," From the way her gaze darted about the room, Eris knew that it was no small nugget of information, actually, he knew that it was information that would tear him apart entirely.

Nesta didn't know where to look, at the floor or walls, at the bouts of dancing flame, or at Eris whose gaze was scouring her skin. Nesta chose the latter, "You've said before that there are gaps in your memories of y/n?" Eris nodded slowly, trying to anticipate what exactly was about to leave the lips of the eldest Archeron sister, "It was Rhys. He invaded your minds and stripped you both of one another."

"What?"

"Y/N was already far too powerful, she was already a threat to his title and position, and then they found out that your power elevated hers, and they had to stop it."

"Who is they?"

"Your parents. They instructed Rhys to remove you both from each other's minds. According to the book, it had been a rigorous and painful process. From what Amarantha suggested, it seemed like you two had been very much in love at the time."

That's why Rhys had been so desperate to get you back, it wasn't just because you had left and denounced the Night Court, it wasn't just because of his fear of your power, it was because you had left the Night Court and settled in Autumn, that you had settled in Autumn with Eris, the male that Rhys had plucked from your mind and washed away. Then you had been caged and the next time Eris remembered seeing you was on the night your wings had been taken, the same night that Amarantha did what she did.

The world was rumbling, the earth was shaking all around him, and it took all of his will to reign that anger back in, "Does Rhys know of this book?"

"No."

"And it's in the Night Court? In the library?"

Nesta hummed in approval, "In the House of Wind. Rhys wouldn't have taken her there, not when the priestesses could so easily see her."

Maybe, just maybe there was a key in that book, a way to open the gateway to those memories.

The room warmed upon Lucien's entrance, he sat down on the armchair opposite them sporting a wide, feline grin, and he slid his arm over Elain's shoulders who matched the grin of her lover, "What is this?" Eris motioned to the love-sick pair, his own desire writhing in agony at the sight.

Leaning forward in his seat, Lucien continued to grin, "We realised something. Something that will most certainly help us and in turn help y/n."

Elain squeezed Lucien's thigh, her gaze lingered on him a second longer than it should have, her eyes were bright and hopeful, "There are two people who value y/n as much as we do. Two people who have been vying for her hand for quite some time. Two people of very high standing in this world who would pledge themselves to her without question."

Nesta looked between them, confused, her eyebrows dipped low and lips parted in question. Then it hit him, of who exactly Elain was speaking of, and his query was met with russet confirmation from his brother.

"Who are you talking about?"

Of course, how could Eris miss it? How could he forget about the two males who constantly gravitated toward you and spoke nothing but the highest of praises of your character despite the vile word that had been born of you?

Grinning, Eris settled back into the comfort of the seat, "They're talking about Helion," he snapped his head to the side to meet the eyes of the woman whose own had widened in realisation, "And Tamlin."

"Helion could call a High Lord's meeting," a whisper from Nesta, her entire body shivered with the hope that singular notion brought her.

Rhys wouldn't be able to deny a High Lord's meeting, and once Helion knew of what was happening to you, of what had been done to both of you, Eris was sure that he would have no ill-feeling toward calling such a thing.

There wasn't a moment to waste, but as Eris looked to Lucien, it was clear that he had already taken the step, "You've summoned them?"

Lucien shrugged, sipping from his goblet of wine before setting it down on the table beside him, "They'll both arrive in the morning."

"What did you tell them?"

Elain chuckled softly, "That the High Lord of the Night Court is committing a crime so vile that if they allow it to continue then they may as well have a hand in the suffering of the Princess of Velaris. That they have a chance to better this world for all if all they can do is answer our call."

Pride flowed about the room, it coiled around Lucien and Elain, for listening to the world close enough to be able to forge a path forward. It curled around Nesta, for having the strength to tell the truth no matter how dark it may be. And then it settled onto Eris, it caressed his soul, it soothed what he already knew, that you were made for him and he for you, and in that moment, as the weight of the oncoming struggle nestled itself into their embrace, did Eris feel the softest and slightest tug.

Author's Note

The way in envisioned the song she hums being the one with the girl harmonising with her microwave 🥺

Iykyk

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmtttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

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blahblahwritings · 6 days ago

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Collateral Souls - 5

Hello! Sorry I didn't post in a while - been so busy recently. Here is chapter five which means I need to find time to finish writing chapter seven. This is a shorter chapter but I make up for it I think in chapter 6. Just thought I should give more back story.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

Warnings: Flashbacks with torture and gore.

Word Count: 1393

Chapter Five - Shadow and Sin

Shame is a place. Guilt is the architecture.

You lie awake in your bed at Avengers Tower. The quiet feels unnatural. The sheets, too clean.

It had been a long and painful day. Training had been a waking nightmare. The exhaustion made you prone to losing control. You couldn’t get their faces out of your head. The way the team looked at you. Like you were dangerous. Like you were to be feared.

The thought left you with an ice cold ache in your bones. Your hands were freezing, tingling despite the heat of the room. Your powers had drained you.

But something warmer tugs at your chest as you remember the moment on the roof. Bob. How accepting he had been of your admission. How he took it in stride and simply offered reassurance and a foreign sense of comfort.

He had talked about how he was scared of himself too. How he had two other sides to him that he was scared of losing control over. How he understood the feeling of power surging beneath your skin and the need for release. The line to walk was a fine one. He'd said it was like being on meth again. Control felt like chasing a high—just a little more. Always a little more.

It felt good having someone understand something about you that felt so unnatural. So forbidden. So violent.

You breathe, staring up at the ceiling with a hand bent under your head. Shadows twitch faintly across the walls. They were reacting to your emotions and unease even though you weren’t consciously calling them.

You were exhausted, but your body won’t sleep—until it does, and it swallows you whole.

You’d recognise this place from its smell alone. Sterile. Metallic.

Machines hummed from all around you. Lights buzzed like a drill against your skull.

You sit in a glass cell. Younger. Strapped to a cold metal chair. A medical gown loose over your smaller frame. Your body was damp with sweat, trembling. The salt of it hung in the air.

The door slides open with a mechanical hiss. Two guards drag in another subject. She’s scared, young, crying. She has blonde hair, cut short and choppy, as if she had attacked it with scissors in an attempt to regain some semblance of autonomy. She was small. Too small. Bruised. Crying. Blood on her cheek. A cut like a slash mark across a doll’s face. Her pale eyes met yours. Your face was trained into a blank state, no emotion. But your frame shook, hands vibrating with all the feelings you couldn’t show.

The speakers screech to life. She flinches.

You don’t.

“Engage.” A voice demands. Cold, detached. You stare for a moment. Two.

“No.” Your voice cracks. Jaw clenching shut again.

A guard hits you with the hilt of his gun. You feel the pain shoot through you and you heave in a shaky breath. Your eyes find hers again. Then they shock you again.

The metal chair buzzes with electricity. The white hot pain rattling up your spine, forcing your muscles to contract. A scream rips through you, echoing off the walls. You smelled burning. You were sure it was your skin. Or maybe the gown.

It stops. Your body instantly flopping again as you suck in air quickly. Your eyelids feel heavy. You manage to just about raise your head back to its original position and look at the small girl in front of you. She must’ve been the same age. Younger. Sixteen, maybe?

“Engage.” The same voice crackles through the room. You spit blood onto the floor. You had bit your tongue.

“Fuck you.” You growl, but you shake still. Terrified.

Another hit to the head. This time your cheekbone. A fresh graze mirroring hers. A reminder that the roles could have easily been reversed.

Another shock, blindingly hot and you hear something break in your jaw as it clenches. A tooth in the back of your mouth. Something snaps in you. There’s a guttural, deep roar of agony that crawls its way up from your abdomen, creeping up your throat and ricocheting off the walls.

It happens in an instant.

It’s as if you unleash something primal and ancient from the very depths of your bones. It tears outward, lurching forwards.

Your eyes squeeze shut from the shock but you feel it. Hear it. Her bones pop. Blood splatters on your face. The burning smell is more intense. She doesn’t even get the time to scream. Two hard thumps follow.

The electricity ceases.

And when you see what you’ve done, so does your heart.

The two guards lay lifeless at your feet. Their bellies split open like pigs. Innards strewn across the floor as their blood pools warm between your toes. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

There was nothing left of her. Her tiny body had been reduced to a pile of viscera. Her head was barely recognisable. One eye gone. The other stared through you. Slashes and gashes cut clean through her skull. Her jaw hung loosely, barely attached.

Bile shot up your throat as you puked into your own lap. The acid burned. Your eyes brimmed with hot tears.

You killed her. She was a child. She was so small.

There’s a shift beside you. A familiar tuft of brown wavy hair. Your eyes meet. They bore into yours with horror and sympathy.

“Bob.” You gasp.

No. No. No. He wasn’t meant to see this. No one can know this.

The chair falls backwards.

You wake, shooting up, covered in a heavy sheen of sweat. Your clothes stick to your body. You suck in air desperately. Eyes panicked and darting around your room. You weren’t sure you were out of it yet.

Bob looks at you like he’s seen everything, because he has.

He stands, a hand on your shoulder. He was scared. Not of you. But of your reaction to him seeing it all, to him not controlling his ability as he tried to wake you from your nightmare. Your guilt. Your shame.

“No.” You whisper brokenly. “Y-you weren’t supposed to see that.”

He knows. He knows you killed her. Eviscerated her. There was nothing to bury.

He slowly kneels in front of you, taking your hands shakily in his. You shake your head vehemently. You didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve this kindness.

His hands were warm, soft, grounding. Darkened by the lack of light in the room, his eyes locked with yours. Not a single trace of anger or fear or hate. There was only empathy.

Shadows gently hover around him. Neutral.

“I’m glad I did.” He replies. His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear it. Your eyes are filled with unshed tears. One streaks down your cheek as you shake your head, your mouth opening and closing.

You realise the lamp that was on your desk had been flung across the room. A harsh smoky streak lay on the dresser opposite your bed. Evidence of your internal conflict made external. Visible.

“I heard a crash, so I knocked and came in. I’m sorry if that was overstepping a boundary.” He mumbles, eyes flicking away momentarily.

You couldn’t believe it. After what he had just seen you do, an echo of your past, he was apologising to you. You laugh. It’s disbelief.

“You just saw me murder an innocent child.” You say hoarsely, sniffling.

“I killed her, Bob. She was a kid. There was nothing left of her—and you’re apologizing to me?” A few more tears drip down your cheeks. He offers a small sympathetic smile and uses the cuff of his jumper to wipe them away.

“I guess so..” His words are sheepish and he has a lopsided grin as he fails to meet your eyes.

You take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, so light you’re afraid he will break. Or run.

“You’re insane.” You breathe. He huffs out a laugh.

“I tell you I have manic and depressive episodes and that I turned half of New York into shadows; you don’t batter an eye. But, I see something bad you’ve done, stay, and that’s what brings you to that conclusion?” He smirks, voice low. It gets a chuckle from you.

Shame is a place. Guilt is the architecture.

Tonight, you weren’t alone in the ruin.

Taglist:

@piston-cup @qardasngan @Inesbethari @avylanchce @mysticdelusionengineer @badbishsblog

#marvel #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob thunderbolts #movies #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #sentry x reader #void x reader #the void #slow burn

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olicohens · 1 year ago

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oh no you guys. i’m going to spew things i’ve realized while rewatching umbrella academy. I’m realizing were all being too sucked into fanon things after being stuck without canon content for so long. We have convinced ourselves Five acts like a mean mean dude to everyone but rewatching, i’ve realized he’s only stressed and is saying things out of panicked anger, especially in s1 with the apocalypse dooming over them. he acts soft to his siblings multiple times, he’s really not as mean as we write him in fanfiction. he is a little crap though, that’s for sure, and i love him for that <3

also realizing that the siblings don’t hate five. they just literally don’t know him at all. he came back a completely different person after 17 years for the siblings, they don’t know five, he’s a stranger so of course they’re gonna be cold to him. it’s like, “i don’t know you well, but you’re always going to be my brother in the end”.

ALSO. for those who ship some of the siblings, uhm… i’ve seen a lot of you guys try to prove that they don’t see eachother as siblings and more like academy students, but they very much say in just about every episode that they see eachother as siblings. they don’t actually SAY that word by word but they say things like “she’s our sister”, or “our dad”. if they say OUR dad… bro. i’m not even going to continue, you can put it together yourself. But, i do realize why people ship the siblings. I am not defending incest shippers but with umbrella academy i can see why people have resorted to it. only 3 of the characters in the main sibling cast has romantic partners. people like shipping people, people love writing romantic relationships, but with only diego/lila, dave/klaus, and sissy/viktor, (i’m not going to count five/dolores for now) people are desperate with the need to ship the rest of the siblings with someone, and since there are only a few actual canon characters in the show that interact with our main 7, people start shipping them together… yikes. anywho, that’s all for that peice. i blame the show writers as well for shipping luther/allison, they did not have to do that, but i’m hoping it was only to convey the severity of what childhood trauma does to people.

ALSO THIS HERE SHOOK ME. I actually think Reginald cares for the siblings. i hate to say it, but it’s true. caring for them does not mean being good, though. he was a horrible father, and person, but he genuinely did care for the siblings, in a like, “being the best is the best thing for you, i will make you better, for your sake, even if you don’t know it now, you will see that i am right” kind of way.

also why has NOBODY MENTIONED THIS. in season 2 when diego first reunites with five in the asylum, while he’s walking into the visitors room, he’s staring at five with this heartfelt, soft look, and then says “five…” in the most soft spoken voice ever 😭 your honor i love them

ALSO UGHHH THIS. IM GOING TO FREAK OUT ABOUT CAMERAWORK AND METAPHORS HERE SO BARE WITH ME. we as a fandom complain about the lack of flashbacks five has due to his ptsd. we’ve seen his first flashback since getting back to his family in s1 during the van scene when he gets triggered by those kids playing and starts thinking about his own childhood, i’m guessing. i ate that scene up, and was sad to see that be one of the only deeply vulnerable scenes he has in the season, and during my first watch i thought they’d never bring it back up. but they do!! i may be stupid for not realizing but whatever. in season 2, when five is trying to explain at elliot’s with all his siblings around that another apocalypse is coming, everyone starts talking about each other. as someone who studies film and camerawork, i love this scene. we see the camera focus on five as it slowly zooms in. it doesn’t switch scenes at all as the siblings voices overlap and echo over eachother. this whole scene conveys him getting overwhelmed and he starts to zone out, starting to think of the nuclear war he saw his siblings in. the scenes of the war start quickly switching through, showing many different scenes of it before it switches back to five, who says “guys, you all die. i want to forget it but i can’t” which just UGH its so well done there. if you think about it, he was starting to slip into another flashback. he was triggered by talking about their deaths in the war but was handling it well until the siblings started fighting, where we see the overlapping voices happen. it portrays him losing control and being unable to pull it back together with too much going on for him to focus on grounding himself. we DO however, see that five was able to pull himself out before he fell too deep into the flashback. i love how they show this through them still having the scene showing the war, but then fives voice starts talking over the scene which is still focusing on the war as if he was pushing it back and forcing himself to come back to the present.

thank you for reading if you’ve made it this far, i will continue to freak out another time <3

#umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #tua #theumbrellaacademy #umbrella_academy #FREAAAKING OUT #five hargreeves #number five #reginald hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #lila pitts #camera work #film #nerding out

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archivewriter1ont · 6 months ago

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Cadet Batch Incorrect Quotes

Cody: *after the 99s are cadetified* No, the cadet Batch will not be kept secret because they CANNOT be kept secret. The best we can hope for is to contain the damage.

Rex: What damage?

Cody: Imagine Fives and Echo as cadets, then multiply that by 12.

Rex: But...there are only four baby Batchers.

Cody: *having flashbacks to chaos on Kamino* MULTIPLY IT BY 12, REX.

(fic is here)

#the bad batch #star wars #commander cody #captain rex #cadet wrecker #cadet bad batch #cadet hunter #cadet tech #cadet crosshair #clone cadets #cadet tbb #fanfic Echo and the Cadet Batch

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kidasthings · 1 year ago

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Echoes of Eden by Kida

Noa x Mae - #thatcampfireisnttheonlyslowburn

Chapter 2: https://www.tumblr.com/kidasthings/750737651564478464/echoes-of-eden-by-kida

Next Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/kidasthings/751482584388829184/echoes-of-eden-by-kida?source=share

Chapter 3

They didn’t make it back to the village that night.

The small group of apes and the single human amongst them decided to set up camp before proceeding further into the midnight woods. The apes were tired; they had traveled many hours by foot, had a rather tense, life-threatening confrontation, and found the return trip too arduous to complete overnight.

The navy sky was littered with a splatter of stars, each winking in and out like fireflies. The group stopped at a tree-lined grove, the symphony of crickets and frogs serenading the night world. A breeze stirred the fingers of the trees overhead and leaves whispered secrets.

Noa gave the signal to stop, a welcome relief to Anaya. The poor ape was still shaken from the encounter with the Fort Wayne five and wanted time to recuperate. Soona gave a long, contemplative stare at Noa before her dark eyes darted to Mae with an equally dark look. Mae had trailed behind, following the simians like a sad shadow. The whole affair gave her a flashback to the time she spent on the heels of Raka and Noa before they had ascertained her intelligence to be that of more than a mere animal.

And now the creatures she considered beasts once-upon-a-time began to nest, gathering sticks and branches from the forest floor to create a few widely-spaced fires. Mae found Noa offset from the others, throwing dry tinder into a cluster as if he were waiting for her.

For a moment, she was brought back to the far-flung moment when he first gave her the blue blanket as she hovered, freezing, as close as she dared to a fire attended by a strange orangutan and distrustful chimp.

Raka.

She allowed herself to feel a bright burst of pain, sharp as a supernova, and then suppressed it. It was her fault he was swept away, after all.

He wouldn’t be gone if Sylva hadn’t been searching for her.

He wouldn’t be gone if she had found them another route besides that old bridge.

And he most certainly wouldn’t be gone if he hadn’t tried to save her life.

Yes, Raka’s death was on her. Two years ago, she would have said good riddance. One less ape on this planet was one more chance at humanity regaining a foothold within it.

And now? She felt nothing but regret she would never, ever admit to. Her fingers drifted upwards, their calloused tips running over the embossed pendant still hanging over her neck.

Noa looked up then, his gaze catching on the placement of her fingers over the necklace against her heart.

“Cold?” he inquired gruffly.

Fighting back another memory, Mae just nodded silently. She crept closer to the campfire, just as Noa ignited it in a burst of hungry flame.

“Why are you … traveling back with us?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he were only discussing the weather with an acquaintaince. There was a stick in one of his long-fingered hands, and he used it to stoke the fire and send up a spray of sparks.

“We need to talk,” she told him, settling down in a cross-legged position nearby. Noa leaned against a tree, not too far away, but Mae still felt there were miles between them.

Probably for the best.

“About?”

Staring stonily at the flickering light before her, Mae swallowed thickly. “I’d like you to let me look through their supplies.” Her eyes slid sideways in their sockets, assessing his reaction carefully.

Noa stilled. A few seconds skated by, and then he snapped the stick he was using as a poker in two and threw both halves into the fire. “I can’t do that.”

“It doesn’t belong to you.”

It didn’t belong to the apes. The same old, tired argument between them.

“Will you ever trust anyone?” Noa asked suddenly, sharply. His stare could cut glass.

Mae jerked her head up, jaw tense at the reprimand. She gritted her teeth, then jerked her head sideways and shuttered her eyes. “It’s not that kind of world that we live in.”

“It could be.” His voice is horrifyingly gentle.

Mae returned her attention to him again, the bright highlights in her wide, blue eyes jittering. The reflection of the fire danced on her face, creating an intense interplay of light and shadow.

“Raka…”

“Raka is dead,” she drilled back, cutting Noa off.

He nodded quietly, agreeing on that number. His light eyes were distant, a glazed look on his furred face. She hated seeing it that way.

“Please, let me look through the things you confiscated from them.”

“Why, Mae?” Noa’s features were calm, serene even, but his voice contained a dangerous edge. She caught a rustle of fur and realized he had stood up. He prowled closer, leaving her to crane her head back as he loomed over her. “What is so … important to you, to them?” His voice had something like heat in it, a nearly seductive slant she had never heard from him before.

She was imagining things. Certainly he wouldn’t…

The brunette found she couldn’t trust her own body’s responses. Her heart sped up, pounding in her ears, and she broke out in goosebumps as he stooped before her and crossed his arms so that his palms rested off his knees. He was so close she could probably breathe him in if she wanted to.

The two watched each other, spellbound, and then the dark downward slash of his mouth kicked up a little. “Well?”

“I think..” she began, completely at a loss of what to think. She could see the erratic pattern at the center of his iris this close, the burst of amber that bled into green. His eyes were really beautiful; the thought shattered her focus entirely.

Sputtering nonsensical noise, she scuttled backward on unsteady hands. “It’s nothing to you, trust me. It’s important to us.”

You. Us.

Other.

Noa grimaced. “Always back to that,” he sighed wistfully, turning his head back to regard the fire in moody contemplation. He seemed to mull over his next words, and then he spoke up when he was ready. “I will … make a deal with you.”

Mae forgot her unease for a moment and leaned closer, the damp soil shifting beneath her. “Yes?”

“You can look through … their things…”

Mae visibly brightened, an eager look painting her features.

“But…”

The hopeful expression vanished. “But what?”

“You cannot take anything. You will be … watched.” With a soft grunt, Noa moved back to his prior spot next to the fire.

Mae struggled to speak, and it took her three tries before she could formulate something coherent. “That won’t work. I need it!”

“Explain,” Noa retorted, exhaustion creeping into his rough tone. He seemed weary of the same, circular arguments.

“It’s...” Mae gave into an attempt to make him understand in a context he could comprehend. Noa was intelligent, yes, but he hadn’t been exposed to human technology, much less trained on it, like she had been. “We were expecting them.”

“We?”

“There are others like me. Sort of.” Mae made a frustrated motion with her hands, wringing them before her. “We made contact with that group and they travelled here to find us. They have something that will help us.”

Noa shot her a startled look over the tops of the licking flames. “How will it … help you?”

This is where Mae grew mute. She could not possibly verbalize the very thing that would not be beneficial to Noa. Instead, she took up a cross-legged position again and basked in the bobbing heat of the fire. “We used to be intelligent. We could speak. All of us.”

Noa blinked. “We came across books … in the vault,” he began slowly, like she might spook. “There were symbols in them. Ape..” He touched his chest, then pointed to her with two fingers and an extended arm. “Echo.”

Mae nodded encouragingly.

“The apes were trapped. Echoes watched the trapped … apes.” A gusty sigh followed and he shook his head, trying to dismiss the recollection of that time in that damnable metal hell hole. “No paradise … for apes.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Mae agreed, brooking no argument.

Noa scowled into the fire, and then shifted closer to Mae. “Echoes kept apes in pens.”

“You were like the humans are now, back then,” the woman provided carefully. “Something terrible happened and we became like animals. We deserve to reclaim our technology, our things, our lives..”

Our place.

“Will the things those humans came with … help you do that?” Noa queried, ever observant. “Will you find an … answer in their supplies?”

“A solution to help us, yes.” Mae grew quiet. It was no solution that would benefit Noa, but he did not need to know that just yet.

“How should I trust you and yours … not to harm us?” Now that the tables were turned, Mae found she had no answer. She watched him gloomily, her eyes narrowed. He came closer again, the long digits of his hand reaching for the pendant around her neck. “Caesar would want peace, so Raka would say.” Noa’s eyes burned holes into the diamond-star symbol of the pendant as he turned it thoughtfully with his hand.

Unbidden, Mae’s hand reached up and encircled his across the back of his hairy knuckles. They remained like that, her cross-legged before the fire with Noa leaning all of his weight on the closed fist of one arm while the other held Caesar’s medallion.

Her touch burned.

Their eyes met over the length of the chain, and once again neither could look away.

“Promise me,” he entreated huskily, his eyes darting desperately over her too-human face. “Promise me you will … look, not take.”

Mae wasn’t even sure what they were talking about anymore. She found herself giving in all-too-easily.

“I promise only to look,” she affirmed, lips half-parted in wonder. Breathing became a difficult thing.

Noa nodded slowly, an incline of his head. He seemed mollified, if partially, and leaned closer still as Mae trembled. He was so close, he could --

“Noa?” a female voice cut the moment like a sharp knife, cleaving it in two.

Two pairs of heads swept sideways to take in the unexpected speaker. Mae broke away first, pushing herself backward while a bright red bloom stained her cheeks.

Noa was less reactive. He gave the human woman a long, telling look before dropping into a crouch and turning to Soona. “Yes?”

“Would you like to join us … at our fire?” the female ape asked. “Anaya has finally fallen asleep.” Notably, her invitation only seemed to be extended to Noa. She did not look once in Mae’s direction.

Noa seemed to turn it over in his mind, examining all angles. Mae dropped her gaze and concentrated on the fire instead, shifting her expression into careful lines.

“No, not now,” she heard Noa tell Soona with no small measure of finality.

There was a poignant quiet, and then Soona must have acknowledged him through sign or a nod; Mae heard the female ape move off, the dead leaves crackling beneath her feet before fading away entirely.

“Mae,” Noa said simply.

She glanced up at the sound of her name.

“We have a deal.”

Mae pursed her lips, watching Noa's inscrutable face for a small eternity before she gave a lift of her chin.

Raka might be gone, but perhaps his influence wasn’t.

#kingdom of the planet of the apes #mae x noa #planet of the apes #monster romance #nomae #rise of the planet of the apes #kotpota #noa #noamae #mae #enemies to lovers #slow burn #fanfiction #fanfic

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