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tsukkireei · 4 months

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WHEN A GIRL CHEERS FOR YOUR MAN IN FRONT OF YOU

𝘀𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘀 : a random girl screams his name at the top of her lungs, loudly than yours.

𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : tsukishima kei, miya atsumu, kageyama tobio, suna rintarou

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) : possessive act, y/n's jealousy, insecurities, harsh attitude, a little ooc for the characters, pet name calling to his s/o, and some typographical errors if found.

𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘆 : my first haikyuu headcannon! and a slightly new to tumblr so if there’s any mistakes found i apologize in advance :)

THERE’S ONE THING TSUKISHIMA KEI DISLIKES ABOUT, FANGIRLS.

he’s uncomfortable when some random fangirls screams his name loudly. he just ignored them, clicking his tounge in annoyance.

“kei! good luck, i love you!” that’s when he heard your sweet voice. he looked up at the bleachers, seeing you waving your hand at him. he let out a small smile, waving his hand at you a little.

the match goes on, the boys seemingly getting tired of it, but didn’t give up. their match with shiratorizawa was clearly getting you uncomfy as you saw how tired kei was. but nonetheless, you have faith in him that he won’t give up, and you smiled as you saw his serious expression.

yachi shuddered beside you, seemingly worried about their stamina. you patted her back comfortingly, telling her that they’ll be okay.

suddenly, a group of girls came to the karasuno’s cheering section, sitting at the next line of chairs. they internally squealed as soon as they saw the boys.

“oh my gosh! look how handsome they are! especially the blondie over there!” one girl said, and her friends agreed with her.

kei blocked one of the opponent’s spike, but before you could cheer for him, the girls stood up, screaming your boyfriend’s name.

“keii!”

“you’re so handsome!”

“be my boyfriend!”

you let out a scoff, glaring at them in your peripheral vision before looking towards at the match.

but the girls heard your scoff, and turned towards to you with a harsh stare.

“hey, you.” a black haired girl pointed at you, and you looked at them. “what?”

“what’s wrong with you? i heard your scoff.” she sneered at you, and you rolled your eyes.

“nothing, it’s just annoying when some squealing pigs try to cheer for my boyfriend.” you said, and they laughed at you.

“hah, girlfriend? are you being delusional? kei wouldn’t be with someone like you. i mean, can you look at yourself?” she looked at your form up and down, with a disgust look at her face.

her words hit your heart a hurt pang, but you ignored it. “we’ll see about that.”

the match ended like it seems forever. you walked down the stairs and ran towards to him. but before you could, the girl earlier ran faster than you and quickly reached him.

“hi kei! you did so good earlier!” she fangirls at him, and you scoffed. the girl smirked at your way, but her smug face quickly faded when kei ignores her and walks to your way.

“hey love.” he greeted, kissing your forehead. you blushed and smiled, holding up a towel to wipe his sweat.

“congrats, love. you did well! i‘m proud of you.” you kissed his cheek, and looked behind him. there spotted a fuming girl who has her fist clenched in anger and jealousy as she watched the sight before her.

she then rolled her eyes, “whatever.” she said, walking away from the two of you.

you sighed, holding up a bottle of water to him. he whispered a small thanks, chugging it down.

the team was now riding a bus on the way home after a joyful celebration. you sat beside kei, looking at the window.

“hey.”

kei’s voice made you looked up at him, “yes?”

“are you okay? you seem quiet.” he asked, looking at your features to see any signs of answers. you just sighed, and shook your head.

“it’s nothing. go to sleep, kei. we still have two hours to get to the school.” you said, and he glared at you.

“no, unless if you tell me what’s bothering you then i’ll go rest.” he said, and you chuckled. he won’t give up in situations like this.

“remember the girl from earlier?”

“no, who?”

“the girl who walked up to you.”

“oh. what about her?”

you fiddled your fingers, “well she said some harsh things at me when i was at the bleachers. she said you won’t date someone like me.”

“...”

he cursed underneath his breath, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders and bringing your face closer to his chest.

“don’t listen to her. she’s merely just a stranger and some fangirl who’s jealous of you. remember that i only love you, and no one else’s. you’re mine and i’m yours. no one can change that. you’re so beautiful, y/n. if that dumbass said some things that made you overthink about yourself, then you’re stupid to believe that. i didn’t love and date you because of your looks. it’s what inside made me attach to you.”

he tighten, but not hurtly, his hug around your form, and you let out tears, you didn’t know how much the girl’s words impacted you until kei said that. you hugged him back, sniffing a little.

kei brushed your hair away from your neck, and softly kissed it. thankfully, the boys were sound asleep so they won’t see you. his lips travelled to your cheeks, then to your lips, staying there for a couple of minutes.

“i love you, y/n. you will be my first and last love. i won’t leave you. i vowed to my self that you’re the girl that i would marry one day.”

MIYA ATSUMU HAD A LOT OF FANGIRLS THAT YOU CAN’T EVEN COUNT.

he told you to just ignore them and keep cheering for him because he will only look and listen to you. but it seems his words were not enough to comfort you.

the girls around you kept screaming mostly atsumu’s name. you cursed at yourself for having such a handsome and hot boyfriend, not that you were complaining though. you didn’t care about it though, but the girls pointed out how handsome your boyfriend was.

“hey, do you guys know? atsumu has a girlfriend?” one girl whispered behind you, and her friends gasped.

“wait, really?!”

“yeah! i saw her with him last week. i must admit that she’s so beautiful! though, i didn’t see her face clearly but i saw her eyes. it’s so pretty.” the girl gushed, and her friends awed. you smiled to yourself, touched by her compliment.

the girl beside you let out a smirk, “believe it or not, i’m his girlfriend.” she boasted and you raised an eyebrow. the girls behind you looked at her with confused faces.

“i don’t see any resemblance though-”

“it’s because i had my contact lense last week. so my eyes are different now.” she chuckled, flipping her hair.

they looked at each other, and choose to ignore her. you snickered, and the girl besie you switched her attention to you.

“is there any problem?”

“oh, nothing.” you chuckled, glaring at your boyfriend secretly. she narrowed her eyes at you, but then ignored you.

on the other hand, atsumu was having a trouble in the match. he can’t hear your usual cheer for him, saying ‘good luck’s and ‘i love you’s to him. he only heard an irritating voices of random girls that made him distracted from his game.

he finally looked up at the bleachers, glaring up to them and the girls went quiet as soon as they saw his expression. his eyes landed on you, and saw your glare. atsumu shuddered under your sharp gaze, and gulped down nervously as he continued playing.

after the match had ended, as usual, they won. barely, i think? atsumu wasn’t on his usual self as his concentration lost. that earned him a scolding from his coach and an angry twin.

you went down, and he quickly ran towards to you, ignoring the yelling of his name by osamu. once he reached you, he pouted.

“i didn’t heard your cheers for me, darling.” his cheeks were puffed out, and you restrained yourself from squishing his cheeks.

you sighed, whispering an apology as you looked down on the ground.

before he could say anything, the girl from earlier approached him.

“hey babe, you did so well earlier. i’m proud of you!” her sickly, sweet tone cringed you, as she wrapped her arm around him and looked at you, glaring.

“look, i don’t know what’s your business with my boyfriend, so hurry up-”

“can you let go of me?” atsumu brushed his hand off, and she looked at him surprised. he walked up to you, and kissed your cheeks. the girls around you gasped.

“it’s okay, love. we won, anyways.” he smirked, and you giggled.

“i knew it! it’s her!” the girl from the bleachers yelled, and you looked up to her, letting your features to see it clearly for her.

“omg! you’re so pretty, atsumu’s girlfriend!”

“i’m so jelly but you’re an exception!”

“i might be gay after seeing her, oh my gosh!”

you giggled, and atsumu stood proudly beside you as he listened to the girls’ compliment at your beauty.

the random girl behind you was gritting her teeth in jealousy, and walked away from the both of you, anger filling her. not that you cared, anyways.

atsumu looked at you and pouted again, “as i was saying, you didn’t cheered for me.”

you looked at him and pinched his cheek, “blame that girl for getting me distracted on the whole game. she kept saying to those girls that she’s your girlfriend.” i raised a brow at him, and he laughed at you.

“awe, my girl is jealous, i see.” he teased, patting your head, and you glared at him. “shut up.”

“don’t worry, my eyes are only looking for you, and my heart always searched for your love. no girls can’t take my faith and loyal away to you. so don’t be jealous and be proud because you have me, your handsome and awesome boyfriend.” atsumu said proudly, and you giggled.

“whatever.” you said, and blushed. he chuckled, and pecked your lips, making everyone on the stands gushed at your sweet interaction with him. they’re still there?

“you’re cute, i love you.”

YOU HATE THE WAY KAGEYAMA TOBIO IS OBLIVIOUS THAT HIS FANGIRLS ARE CLEARLY FLIRTING WITH HIM.

you don’t mind that his fans are cheering for him, because tobio assured you that you’re the only one for him. but that didn’t assured you well.

the girls from the stands kept annoying you as they loudly cheered for your boyfriend, well it makes sense, because they didn’t know tha you were tobio’s girlfriend.

you calmed yourself down, preventing yourself from telling them to shut up, but you didn’t want to cause a scene that will interrupt his game, so you kept quiet.

the match ended rather quickly, obviously his team won against their opponent. every girls around you are so loud that you almost covered your ears. you looked down to the team, as they bowed and thanked us for cheering them.

tobio made eye contact with you, and smiled. you were about to wave at him, but the girls behind you yelled.

“oh my gosh, tobio smiled at me! aaahhh!” they shouted altogether, waving at him. you sighed, bringing your hand down.

the gym were now almost empty, and you just got down at the stands, waiting for him. he came back with two cartons of milk on his hand, handing you the one.

“here.”

“thanks.”

tobio looked at you weirdly, and cleared his throat. “is there something wrong?” he asked, as the both of you followed closely behind at his team.

“no, i’m fine.” you replied, drinking the milk that he gave you. he shrugged, continuing the walk to the bus.

as the bus drove towards to the school, and he kept looking at you side-ways. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he knows that there’s something bothering you, but he can’t figure it out.

“alright, y/n, there’s something bothering you. speak up.” he said, and you jolted from your seat.

“i said there’s nothing.”

“clearly not.”

“can you just be quiet?”

“no, tell me what’s wrong.”

you sighed, and he waited for you to speak. “the girls from the stands.”

“huh? what about them?”

“they kept cheering for you.”

“is there something wrong about it?”

you exhaled, trying to calm down and not get mad about how oblivious he was. “what do you mean “what’s wrong”? they keep screaming your name loudly than mine.” you said, finally saying the problem.

“it’s not like i’m going to do anything about it.” tobio mumbled, and you were about to snap to him but he cut you off, “even if i tell them to stop, they won’t. if i tell them thay you are my girlfriend, they’ll probably target you and get yourself in trouble, i don’t want that to happen.” he said, and your mouth agaped on his words.

“nothing will exactly happen. i’ll just ignore them and pretend that they don’t exist. i’m only listening on your cheers for me. you’re the one that i always search whenever we have a game. you’re the only girl who made me fell in love crazy with you.” tobio looked at you, and you blushed. “y/n, i love you.”

“tobio..” you trailed off, and he brought you close to his chest.

“no matter how loud their cheers are, i’m always listening to you. now matter how they want my attention, they won’t get it. you’re there and that’s what it matters to me. i love you so much that even those girls won’t take my love away from you.”

THE GIRLS BEHIND YOU SCREAMED FOR SUNA RINTAROU, THEIR LOUD VOICES ARE ENOUGH TO MAKE YOUR EARS BLEED.

you clicked your tounge in annoyance as you watched the game before you. every time suna scores using his torso to spike, the girls screeched and cheered your boyfriend’s name.

you crossed your arms, your eyes twitching as you calmed yourself down.

the team called for a time-out, they are about to win this game, and you hoped for them to win. rintarou looked at you in the stands, and you smiled at him and waved. he looked away, and you giggled, knowing that he’s probably embarrassed.

the match continued, and you decided to cheer for him. “rin! go for it!” you shouted, making sure he will hear it. though, it seems that he heard that as he aggressively spiked towards to the opponent, scoring their team.

you smiled, and he looked at you, smirking. you giggled, and heard the girls behind you clicking their tounges in annoyance.

“oi, you. shut up. he won’t notice you.” the girl behind you sneered, and you looked at her, confusedly. “as if he will notice you too, i mean, you keep screaming that you might end up distracting them and it’ll be the reason they’ll lose.” you tilted your head at her, and she narrowed her eyes at you.

“as if they’ll lose! they’ll even thank me for cheering for them, especially rintarou-kun.” she said, and her friends giggled.

“alrighty then, whatever your delusions make you happy.” you shrugged, and sat back down. you heard her cursed underneath her breath, and ignored you.

the match ended and they won, you cheered for the whole team, the girls behind you interrupted by you but you’re not sorry for it.

you got down, and rushed for him but you were about to reach im when the girl from earlier pushed you aside harshly, making you fall down on the floor, and approached your boyfriend.

“omg, rin! you’re so amazing! here’s a towel, you seems so tired-” she was interrupted when rintarou pushed her hand away and glared at her form.

“who do you think you are, rudely pushing my girlfriend on your way?”

he walks up to me, helping me to stand on my feet. “are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded.

“w-what do you mean girlfri-”

“don’t make me repeat myself, she’s MY girlfriend.” he said, scowling at the girl who was shaking in fear by his gaze. “say sorry to her, now.”

she looked at you, and hesitantly spoke. “i-i’m sorry.” she bowed a little, and you didn’t utter a word at her.

“now scram.”

she stumbled a little before running towards to her friends who check up on her as they disappeared on the crowds.

rintarou sighed, and looked at you as he brushed your hair away from your face. “whatever that idiot said to you, don’t listen to her, okay? you’re my girlfriend, and the one that i will marry someday.” he said, and your face turned crimson as he said those words. atsumu looked at the two of you with a smug face and was about to tease him before his twin, osamu, smacked him on the head, telling him to leave us alone.

“o-okay..” you smiled at him, and he let out a small smile, kissing your forehead. thankfully, his body was covering your face to his teammates so they won’t see you expression.

“i love you, y/n. you’re the reason why i kept going, and i’m proud to say that i’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

𝘃𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘆 : thank you so much for reading! hope you like this. ^^

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #suna rintarou #tsukishima kei #kageyama tobio #miya atsumu #anime

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minafeu · 1 month

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I'm not the greatest at writing when tired and it's 11 pm before I got to school the next day but I thought I'd give a snippet of what I have so far. The chapter will be called "Girl, So Confusing" because the tension I've written is utterly divine and fits the title because the way Red be acting is so confusing to Chloe.( @uhhhh-em-draws-stuff this is for you pookie 😘)

Theatre class. A place where many don't have academic rivals but Chloe was unlucky enough to have her academic rival in her Theater class. Today they were doing line readings just to make sure the teacher picked the right people for the roles. Chloe reading for Juliet and Red reading for Romeo. An irony Chloe could care less for but still funny none the less. Red takes her hand as per the directions of staging "If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." Red had an annoying sly smile on her face, knowing she was slightly getting under Chloe's skin.

She take a deep breath and begins her line. "Good Pilgrim, you do wrong your hands to much, which mannerly devotion shows this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch. and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." They make eye contact whilst Chloe recites her lines lines. It's obvious to Red that Chloe has honed the craft of theatre for many years which is almost impressive if it weren't for the fact she acted slightly cocky about it. It elicits a small chuckle out of Red, it being humorous that Chloe thinks so highly of herself.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers' too?" Reds voice is soft but firm. Chloe laughs slightly and states "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." She give an unserious smile, emulating the character of Juliet. It's almost impressive how well Red is doing as Chloe has never seen her so theatre. Red simply brushes off the slight look of disbelief on Chloe's face and responds. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Her smile growing more cocky, her head tiltes slightly to the side as she watches to see how Chloe react. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake" Chloe speak softly, shaking her head lightly during my lines. She lightly looks Red up and down as she recites Red next lines.

Red steps a bit closer to Chloe. "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take." She takes Chloe's chin in her hand, just a few inches from her face. "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged." Chloe rolls her eyes lightly, breaking character for but a moment. She clears her throat, takes a step back from Red and delivers the line promptly. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took." Chloe's gaze is questioning with a hint of innocence, replicating how a child of Juliet's age would have said it. "Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." Red looks into Chloe's eyes, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And scene!" Their teacher calls out.

After a few moments, Chloe goes to her seat and grabs her things, intent on getting to her next class to have peace for just a few moments. The only bad thing about next hour being AP history was perhaps the fact that the seating chart just had to have Red sitting right next to her. It was the only class they sat next to each other and every moment felt like hell on earth. As the teacher begins to give Red compliments on her compelling acting Chloe checks her phone and texts back her mom. After about a minute, the teacher begins to compliment Chloe who dutifully takes them. Red simply rolls her eyes. Ah yes, little miss perfect taking compliments like it's nothing. It's almost as if she isn't Satan incarnate in academia clothing and a pretty smile.

(now published as a full chapter on ao3)

#glassheart academic rivals au #glassrose #glassheart #charminghearts #redcharming #chloe x red #red x chloe #red of wonderland #red of hearts #chloe charming

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evvlevie · 8 months

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Are you desperate to manifest? Then read my advice.

Hello my sweet followers! It's your favorite shifting/manifestation Blogger Evie again, and today I am here to soothe your nerves.

See, if you are anything like me, I know you. I know the way you have been obsessing over this particular desire of yours, closely watching every single possible hint of this desire arriving in your 3D and continuously over-consuming content on social media regarding manifestation/shifting content.

And since I have been there, I know what kind of advice you are craving. What kind of "hack" you are desperately seeking to finally unlock you having everything you have ever wished for. Coming across thousands of methods, overthinking their legitimacy, doubting everything, feeling like you are pushing your desires away, and then panicking, genuinely panicking, over the fact that you are sabotaging your own self and your desires. All of this ending with asking yourself why you deny yourself heaven.

Let me guide you through this.

First of all:

forget everything you have over-consumed in the last days/weeks/months. All of this extracurricular type of knowledge that you acquired regarding manifestations and all of that. Allow the two of us to start with a clean canvas here.

... you done? Thank you, my darling ♥️

Now let me tell you something about manifestation ...

Key, and I mean 🔑 K E Y 🔑 to manifesting things, is trust and faith.

yes. It's that easy, but also that hard.

Due to the way our society is constructed, we life our lives with the expectation that everything good only comes after a lot of hard work, a lot of pressure and most importantly : control.

There you have reason number one why people get in their own way when manifesting things. They doubt their manifestations can arrive "just because" they wished on it or believed on it. They can not trust into the fact, that that is all it can take, they believe they need some sort of control over their blessings. They want to know how it arrives, when it arrives, maybe even why it arrives. They want to control something, because that would satisfy their belief, that nothing comes from nothing.

Y O U are a spiritual being. Y O U are consciousness. Y O U are also the physical environment that you are in. Your 3D is Y O U.

But your cute little desperate, over-consuming ass knows that already doesn't it? Of course you do. And I am here to reward you with your own little ✨A+✨ for effort, but you need to understand the essence of what it means that the 3D is Y O U.

Your 3D is a direct, and I mean direct, translation of your soul. You and your physical environment are tied together. You are conjoined twins. You might seem like two separate entities, but on every level that matters, you guys are one. Your moods get reflected into the 3D, just like the 3D can affect your mood by presenting you a certain situation. But it is important to note, that everything starts with your assumptions, and ends with your 3D producing the physical version of that. Let me say this again: the 3D is a P R O D U C T of YOUR ASSUMPTIONS. Anything that you see, feel, smell whatever, is old news. It is the physical shape of your PAST thoughts.

So now, when you are affirming that your neighbor is in love with you and is going to ask for your hand in marriage, and he doesn't do it the very next day, do you assume your manifestations have failed? Maybe. Are you panicking now, because you have thought a negative thought and the entire internet has taught you, that this negative thought has now prevented you from ever attaining your desire ever? And do you now affirm against your accidental self sabotage in the way that you are drowning your head in forced positive thoughts that you are not believing a single bit? And are you now back to panicking because you know that you don't believe your forced positive thoughts, and you are anxious that this has now pushed your manifestations further back away?

I have been there. In fact I can only type out this scenario because I HAVE FELT THAT WAY.

But rest assured, because here is where my 🔑 K E Y🔑 of trust and faith ties in.

When I tell you, that you are a spiritual energy capable of changing your physical reality as much as you like, as enormously as you want, I want you to think of yourself like a greek god, or a magician of some sort. As if you had a blank notebook in front of you and anything you write in it happens. 100% Guarantee. How powerful would you feel? That's your exact, and I mean exact, power. The 3D is not your commander. You are like a child with infinite fantasy and the 3D is just play-doh that you mold to your liking. Realize your power. And most importantly: ACCEPT it. Accept, that even the bad stuff that had happened to you, happens BECAUSE of you. Nothing ever starts from anything else other than you. Remember: the 3D is like your conjoined twin. It is not your enemy, because it's delayed production shows you things you dislike, it's simply just you.

✨Now imagine this:✨

Let's say you want to manifest, that you get a brand new car. A MINI. Let's say a red one (totally not suggesting this because I drive a red MINI). And let's say you want that car so bad, you look up at the sky and shout at it : "Please god! Let me have a red MINI! Preferably with a heated steering wheel!" AND TO YOUR SURPRISE a woman right next to you overheard your little prayer there and tells you this: "Lucky for you, I am a fortune teller! And I can see that you are driving a red MINI with a heated steering wheel AND it even has Apple Car-Play!" You jump up and down out of joy and nothing can stop you. Your mother just told you that you guys can't afford another car insurance but you don't care, because the fortune teller already told you about your crazy cool red MINI. Suddenly the every MINI-dealership on the planet is destroyed in a hurricane, but you don't care because you know from your fortune-teller that you will get a red MINI, so why would you bother? Two weeks since then have passed, and out of nowhere your father confesses to you, that he has partaken in a crazy poker-game where a random rich dude has gambled with his brand new, red MINI-Cooper and that your very own dad (who you didn't even know, knew how to play poker) has won this amazing car for you (and it even has heated seats!).

This scenario, is what manifestation is for you, every day. Persisting in a fact that you already have something, despite the 3D showing you different, is trust and faith in yourself as the one and only creator of your reality. YOU are your own fortune teller. YOU know, that your desire is on its way to you, because you decided that it is. Every single time, you manifest things and the opposite is showing up, you need to be your own best friend, your own hero, your own fortune teller and your own creator and remind yourself, that you have all of your desires on their way, because only you can make a decision in your realm. You look outside of the window and there is no MINI in the driveway? Well I guess the translation into the 3D is slow again, because I know I manifested one.

Things have always taken its longest way to me, when I desperately tried to control. Tried to monitor and tried to micro-manage the way stuff happens. And when it didn't come quick enough, I would blame myself and question my powers. But there is no reason to question your powers, when you as the creator are prefect in creating. Your production might be slow, It might be weird and it produces in unexpected ways, but it's for sure reliable. When you put oranges into a juicing machine, you get orange juice. You just have to trust into your own production company that its producing your products (and they are).

There is no reason, no room for anxiety, for overthinking or doubts. The process is simple. You order, you get. Every time. Nothing else. And sometimes you see your old orders before you see your recent ones, but that's okay your recent ones are still on their way. If you were to bawl your eyes out the moment your mother told you, she won't buy you a red MINI, that wouldn't have changed the fact that the fortune teller already predicted you that car. You would just be crying for no reason, but idk maybe you just need to? Who am I to judge the reason someone is crying, bestie?

Manifesting with this anxious overthinking scenario I showed you earlier can feel heavy, but I am here to remind you, that your anxious 3D-reactions are not postponing your manifestations, if you as a creator decide, that you are allowed to react without consequences, or at least without the consequences you would disapprove of. If you panic, and you feel like every single thought matters and manifests, then yeah obviously. The trick is to realize, that there is a cheat code to everything, and in this case, it's deciding that certain things just never happen because you don't want them to.

So finally I want you guys to remember:

be your own fortune teller, and trust into the fact that you always predict correctly.

yours in every reality,

Evie <3

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 1 year

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I don't even know your name | joel miller x f!reader, 8.3k

Summary: Your life changes dramatically and you turn to your best friend, Trish, for help. Trish is Joel’s cousin and little did you know when you met him by chance in a bar, before Trish officially introduced you to one another. He’s emotionally unavailable -or so he thinks-, you have lost faith in people -or so you think. Basically, two idiots who fall in love and decide to torture themselves.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, angst, slow-burn, Joel is 45ish, reader is 35 with two baby girls, allusions to smut, dirty thoughts, swearing, no physical description of the reader (but she will have long hair for smut purposes later on, hehe), no use of y/n, I’m not good at warning people, tell me what am I missing!

A/N: This has taken me forever, my life is a f’ing mess, but I didn’t want to abandon it. I’m splitting the story to parts, otherwise you’d been reading it until The Second Coming. 😅😏🫣 Thank you to anyone who’s taking the time to read this, I love you and I hope you enjoy it!😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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“Guys?” you drag out the word, “Do we really have to have the talk?” you try to avoid the conversation, knowing yourself and how you usually respond to these kind of questions, damn your spontaneity, shifting restlessly into the couch. Joel’s presence, sitting across the room on the comfy armchair, near the lit fireplace, isn’t helping in the slightest. He looks too invested in your point of view, but you already expected that. You try to avoid his gaze for as long as you can.

“Yes! Get the conversation going, babe, don’t be shy!” a female voice comes from a different part of the house. Joel doesn’t respond, looking quite nonchalant, in an effort to not seem.. eager. But you know better.

“It’s not a matter of shyness, on the contrary, you know I’m in the habit of not holding my tongue, and that can often get me in trouble..”, you sigh, shaking your head.

I have a few ideas involving that tongue of your- Stop it. Joel suppresses his thoughts audibly, by clearing his throat. “How come?” he finally joins in. You love the sound of that word on his mouth. Shaping into a different meaning inside your mind every time he uses it, pumping all of your blood to all the right places. Four months into knowing him and you quickly came to realize if you let your guard down, you would be done for. And now was not the time. You had a million loose ends to work out.

“Oh, you know, people tend to get the wrong idea, assuming things about me. I wish I could shut me up sometimes.” Oh, the ways I could shut that pretty little mouth, darlin’. Get it together. She’s not good for you. Or maybe you’re not good enough for her., he’s looking away, focusing on Trish, his cousin and your dear friend, who rushes out of her kitchen holding your -God knows what round of- drinks, almost stumbling on the carpet, while Joel’s trying to clear his head.

“What’s the rush Trish, anything to get off your chest?” you ask, squinting at her in a shut-the-fuck-up way. She bursts into laughter before she can even begin to talk, not taking the hint. Or pretending not to. Definitely pretending. Menace. “You remember that time, where were we?” She’s clicking her fingers together in an effort to jog her own memory. “With that dude? Who thought you wanted to talk your way into fucking him? Like he needed any convincing whatsoev-”

“We’ve met a lot of dudes together Trish; you being the main reason we’ve met them in the first place.” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at your friend. Joel is raising an eyebrow, looking back and forth between you and her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific. Actually, don’t, you already embarrassed me enough!” you hold back a smile covering your face with one hand, as you pull your feet on the couch, bringing your knees to your chest in an effort to create a barrier between you and the space surrounding you, to feel some kind of protection around you.

Trish is looking so amused, she’s having a hard time concentrating. “I don’t remember nor the place or the dude, but you were defending, quite passionately I might add, womens’ equal right to one night stands and how we should have the same amount of pleasure as men without the guilt that comes with it; Joel you should see her, she almost raised the flag of revolution!” Where are you going with this Trish..?

“Did she, now..” Joel runs his eyes up and down, taking you all in, sipping his whiskey slowly, licking his bottom lip after he swallowed. Jesus, that neck.

You groan in frustration, “Here it comes. Another one who speculates. Ok, let me have it.”, you almost snap, observing the way he’s checking you out. But he knows better. There’s an intensity radiating out of him, you can almost feel the warmth of it on your skin and you let your mind wonder how he would feel like over you, under you or in any way he would choose to manhandle you. Manhandle? Where is this coming from?

“Hey, she’s the one who said ‘passionately’!” Joel raises his hands up in defense, his brows raised and knead together, clearly amused on the information he’s extracting so effortlessly. Trish takes her seat next to you to the couch, enjoying the moment more than she should, looking at the two of you.

“I’m not- I don’t- uuuuh, Trish why are you doing this to me?” you whine in exasperation, looking up to the ceiling, and rolling your eyes shut.

“Because maybe you should! Come on, live a little!”, she grumbles, grabbing your forearm, shaking you dramatically. Trish was actually living, more than a little, her life, full of experiences, lovers, you name it. Sometimes you wished you could live so carefree. She has been desperately trying to pour some of her carnal wisdom into you. For years. Now, given your emotional status, she believes it’s her best chance. So, she pushed.

“Should do what?” Joel interjects curiously.

Trish opens her mouth and spills it out before you can stop her, “Fuckarounds!” -her take on one night stands- “or at least something casual, since she insists that one flavor is better than a sea of delicacies.”, she winks dramatically in your direction.

“Yeah, no, that’s- that’s great, let’s bring Joel into this conversation” you sigh, rubbing your forehead and tilting your head down.

“Oh, I thought-” he looks genuinely confused at your reaction. At this point he’s confused about a lot of things.

“Yes! Exactly! Of course you thought! That’s what I meant before. Just because I can’t bring myself to do it, it doesn’t mean that it’s wrong, or that I’m judgmental of people that do it. Hell, sometimes I wish I was those people.. That’s what I was trying to explain to the dude-”

“You see?” she turns to Joel for backup, “quite the lawyer we have here! And the dude didn’t get the memo.”, she turns to you once more. You shake you head at her and you both laugh at the memory.

“She’s insufferable sometimes, but I’ll get her mind around, don’t you worry!”, she adds, taking her eyes from yours to Joel’s, smiling at the implication, almost like.. you’re spoken for?? What the fuck, Trish? Your face feels like it’s on fire and you’re pretty sure it’s showing, too. You can always blame it on the heat of the fireplace. Now it’s Joel’s turn to shift to his seat uncomfortably. He, thankfully, rises from his spot and let both of you know he’s heading to the kitchen for a refill.

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you hiss at her. “He’ll think I put you up to this.”

“Up to what?” Trish plays dumb, but failing monumentally.

“Dude, you can’t have your cousin think that I’m into him, it’s not right. I didn’t asked you to. Quit it.”, you whisper in despair.

“Love, seriously, you need to at least de-stress yourself.” Trish pressures on. “It’s been, what, six months since the divorce, four months in, leaving with me, I mean, that’s unacceptable.”

“Look, I’ll move, the first house I’ll find, I promise, I don’t want to overstay my welcome-”

“Hey, I’m talking about letting four perfectly good months fly away without getting any. Especially, when you have such a skilled babysitter. You're not taking advantage of me enough.” She moves her hands around her body, showing herself. “And I told you, you and the girls can stay here indefinitely. I fuckin’ mean it.”

“Well, less of the ‘f’ word in front of them, if you do!”, you tease. “Thank you, but I’ll find a place. I need to. I want to bring some kind of normalcy back into our lives. Their lives.”

“I know, baby. But seriously. You’re fucking 35. You act like your life is over. He’s not worth it.”

“We’ve been through that before Trish, it’s not about him, I just-” you exhale, shaking your head, “l don’t think there’s anyone out there for me, you know? I feel like I’m too old for any of this. Point me to the direction of one guy, just one, who would even consider to engage with a 35 year old divorced mother of two and I’ll take him, Scout’s honor.”

She opens her mouth to say something but reconsiders, trying to find the right words. She knows you have a point. “That’s why I insist for you to.. FUCK AROUND! No strings attached. How sweet of you to help me prove my point!!”, Trish exclaims triumphantly.

You pretend to be in deep thinking, finally concluding, “You know what, I’m done with men. Not worth the energy spent. Hey, maybe I’ll date you; we love each other, we practically live together, it’s a done deal!” You both laugh at the idea.

“Aaaaaw, I’m fluttered hot mama, but maybe you should give ‘em men a chance, before you flip the coin!”, she pushes on.

You really look at her now, trying to see her point of view. You were lonely, you were touch deprived, you longed for intimacy, but intimacy in your case meant sentiment. And sentiment comes form some kind of attachment. You wanted, you needed, hell, you craved to connect. “You know, you always insist on all that casual thing, but I’m in a place in life that.. what’s the point?”

“Um, the point of someone else giving you an orgasm?”, she deadpans.

“Oh God..”, you drug your hand down your face, feeling defeated. “Seriously? Because I’m pretty sure this coffee table here,” you point at it with your brows, “can find my bud easier than half the men out there.”, you blurt out in frustration. Joel coughs, choking on his whiskey. You both jolt from your seats on the couch at the sound, turning your heads, one in amusement and one in embarrassment, seeing Joel standing at the living room entrance, frozen in place. Neither of you heard him approaching. If you could hold your tongue for once, woman. Just once.

“So..” he drags the word out, “what about the other half?”, he shakes off the awkwardness of the moment and sly his way into the conversation. You both look at him with a dumbfounded expression on your faces.

“Joel, how long have you been standing there?” Trish wonders, raising one brow devilishly.

“Enough to know I was right to have been standing there as long as I have.” he smirks into his glass, swallowing another sip. You’re too mortified to register the question as non-rhetorical. You almost stop breathing, praying that would make you invisible, hoping he‘d somehow forget his question.

“So?”, Joel insists, looking at you through his lashes, crossing his legs and leaning against the doorframe that connects the living area with the kitchen.

“Excuse me?”, you manage to breathe out, feeling exposed.

Joel doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind you exactly what you pointed out, moments ago. “You said that half the men can’t find y-”, he pauses, inhaling sharply, imagining how good you would look, all naked and spread out under him, but hearing in his mind how intimate what he’s about to say sounds, he corrects himself. “Uh, a woman’s bud.” He moves his hands in the air in a generic motion. You feel so embarrassed, you think you might explode if your heart rate doesn’t drop down. “So, what about the other half of us?” his eyes are burning coals, piercing through you. You pick up the insinuation immediately. He knows his way around a woman’s body. Ok, thank you for the burning image of you eating me out, fingering me to death or rubbing me to completion, Joel. But where the fuck is he going with this? He knows by now that you’re candid like that and you’ll answer accordingly, so he presses all your buttons on purpose, he’s got to be. You devil, we had a fucking deal. You smile, accepting the challenge as you decide to answer him. Two can play that game.

“Oh, you mean the emotionally unavailable half?”

He certainly didn’t expect this response. His face drops suddenly, his jaw flexes; you are positive that a nerve has been touched. He looks embarrassed, like a child caught with his hand in the honey pot and you immediately feel sorry for him. You hate making people feel bad. Even if you’re right. Damn people pleaser.

Too forward? Too soon? Maybe both? You open your mouth to say something -anything- but your mind goes blank. He looks down at his half-empty glass and goes “Huh.”, before he empties the poison of his choice down his throat in one gulp. He calmly leaves the now empty glass on the coffee table, forming a one-sided kind of knowing smile on his face and he leaves the room quietly, leaving you feeling guilty.

You realize that you need to breathe at some point, so you take a sharp breath, after you hear the front door closing behind him.

“Well.. that went well.” Trish comments, looking at her nails.

You snap your head at her, feeling ready to explode. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“No, but it leaves you minus one penis.”, she deadpans.

“I’m not interes-“ her eyes move up to yours so quickly, staring at you in a don’t-bullshit-me way, that you don’t dare finish your sentence. “Even I would be interested if he wasn’t a relative.” she feels the need to exaggerate.

“He’s not what I’m looking for, Trish.”

“But he might be just what you need.” Damn, she’s on a roll tonight. “Is there something going on? I mean between the two of you.”

Panic rises fast inside of you like waves crushing on rocks. You think you can hear your heartbeat. “No, of course not.”

Trish gives you an investigative look, as if staring at you long enough would make you admit the truth she thinks she knows. “Are you sure?”

“Joel and I couldn’t be further apart, trust me.”

BEFORE

He observes you sitting on the bar stool for a long time, almost memorizing your every curve and line. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t take his eyes off of you. He can’t even see your whole face, but something makes him stare. You stand out to him for some reason. Maybe it’s the intense antithesis against your surroundings. Still, while everyone moves. Sad, while everyone laughs. Quiet, while everyone yells into each others’ ears. Lonesome in a sea of people. Your gaze is soft and detached, like all the burden of the world is on your shoulders. Holding your beer for far too long, sipping slowly straight from the bottle, like you’re trying to prolong your stay at the bar, or maybe avoiding going back to where you came from. He’s standing up.

You’re sitting on the bar stool, looking absentmindedly at the bartender on the other side of the counter, moving around, serving drinks. And you’re just sitting there. Alone. Wondering how the hell did you come to this. You always thought it was kind of strange going out on your own. Never done it before. But here you are. Here you are.

It’s been a week since you left your whole life behind you, leaving everything you knew and hold dear, moving to your best friend’s house, temporarily. Until you figure out what you’re going to do. She insisted to babysit so you can go out and have fun. She was funny that way. Have fun. All you wanted was to just disconnect from the world. Not think of anything. Not worry about anyone. Not much of a choice when you are a parent though. Worrying is on top of your list when you have kids. Two little girls, two and a half years old and an almost six months old.

That’s what you did for the past couple of years. Giving birth and raising a baby girl. And then giving birth again to another one. Until your husband decided all of a sudden that he can’t do this anymore. You’ve become too cold, too distant, he felt under-appreciated, pushed away.

The fact that he was always gone, always working and not contributing the hours that he indeed was at home, the fact that you were practically all alone in this, was not taken into consideration.

Everything happened fairly quickly. In the course of four months you got separated, he didn’t even want to try to fix things. Not even for the sake of being able to say that you at least tried. And then other suspicions began to enter your mind-

“You really look like you need a drink.”, a deep voice distracts you from your thoughts. You would be almost thankful for the distraction, growing tired of thinking the same things over and over again, like a broken record, but your bad mood wins over this one. Without turning your head to look at the direction of the voice, you raise the hand holding your beer, motioning at it, in silence.

“Nuuuh, that’s practically water, darlin’.”, the man insists, leaning forward as he stands next to you, his body turned your way, his left foot crossing over his right, his elbow resting on the counter, holding his glass of whiskey. You still don’t turn to look at him and with all the patience that is left in you, you raise the bottle to your lips, taking a sip. “Nope, still beer.”, you answer and keep your gaze to the shelf with the drinks behind the bartender. God, you’re too old for this.

The stranger huffs a small laugh and pushes on. “At least lemme buy you a cold one. That one must taste like a piss by now.”

“Oh, you must have been watching me, then.”, you try to embarrass him in order to leave you alone.

“That, I have.” Oh, he’s got a pair.

“Well, don’t.” you snap and you finally turn to look at him.

Holy shit.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so beautiful. Someone, your kind of beautiful. Masculine and broad and dark but with a vibe of kindness and safety in his presence. He’s looking at you, patiently, with a hind of a smile on his lips, like he knew that you’d change your mind once you’d lay your eyes on him. You take a deep breath to compose yourself and start over. “Look, I’m sorry, you look like a decent guy, but I would just be a bad company.”

“You don’t have to apologize darlin’, you have every right to choose your company, or the lack of it for that matter. It’s ok.” he says and he’s starting to move away from you slowly like he’s going to leave you alone. And now he’s making you feel like an ass. Kill with kindness they say?

A thousand thoughts are crossing your mind, you haven’t done this for what it feels like ages, you’re out of your depth, you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t even remember the woman behind the mother, he’s gorgeous, why the hell is he talking to you? Ok, you know what? You’re going to fucking enjoy yourself. Just make conversation, fool around, it’s not like you’re gonna see him ever again. What do you have to lose?

You exhale hard, rolling your eyes to yourself and you grab his wrist lightly to ask, “Beer offer still standing?” surprising your own self. Damn, he’s warm. Pleasantly warm. I-want-you-to-envelop-me-in-your-arms warm. He turns his head to you, his eyes drop to your hand holding his, then back to your lips and then to your eyes. He lingers for a second too long and then turns to the bartender to order. You reluctantly let go of his hand and smile coyly.

You stare at each other for a moment and you both smile, waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. “I swear I’m not trying to do small talk or throw a bunch of lines your way,” he begins playfully, “but, you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

You audibly laugh and you raise your brows in surprise. “That’s weird,” you reply scrunching your nose, “I thought that’s what people do when they’re talking to total strangers at bars.”

He snorts a laugh, fuck he’s handsome, nodding his head, “You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?” he asks amused, looking at you through his lashes.

“Well, it’s either that, or you really want to get to know me for my striking personality” you answer, gaining more confidence by his reaction. It’s not like you’re gonna see him again, right?

He nods his head in amusement, “You didn’t answer my question, though.” he reminds you. You roll your eyes playfully before you tease him, “You’re right, I’m not from around here and technically that was an observation, not a question.”, you raise your cold beer pointing it his way, nodding your head in a silent thank you and then you drink from it.

He stops with his glass midair, brows raising, smirking at you. “Ok, fine, you want a real question, I’ll give ya one. Why do you look so damn sad?”, his head tilting to the side, his ear almost touching the shoulder of the arm he rests on the counter. His eyes are piercing holes in yours, making you feel vulnerable. “Uh, I-, I-, shit; that bad, huh? And there I was, thinking I was holding my own.” you mutter.

“Darlin’, someone like you, sitting on your own, not looking around to notice the number of eyes ogling you, lost in your own thoughts, doesn’t take much to figure it out..”

“Someone like me.. you mean troubled?”, you try to clarify, troubled being the only translation your mind could manage.

“I mean beautiful.”, the man delivers. Oh. His voice and his gaze determined and serious as he speaks, making you weak on the knees.

You give him a shy smile and deflect the compliment. “Most men don’t observe half of what you just said.”, you deadpan and as he opens his mouth to answer you, you add “but you’re not most men, are you?”

He’s really looking at you now, it feels like he’s savoring your details and he just smiles. A beautiful, honest, kind of sheepish smile. It fades away quickly though, his face going serious again. He keeps his eyes on you, hitting you with his perceptiveness. “What did the fucker do?” you hear him ask you, suddenly.

“Wha- How did you- what makes you think-“, you are genuinely shocked, losing your train of thought.

“Humor me.”, is all he gives you, in a low voice.

His question felt so to the point, that there was no reason for you to deny it or avoid it, so you look back to your beer, fearing to see the denigration in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and simply state, “He left me, two months after I had our second daughter.” You exhale. It feels odd to hear your own voice, to feel your tongue move in your mouth, saying those words. You haven’t talked about it enough, actually -at all, if you’re being completely honest and it feels like you talk about someone else. It’s like you’re out of your body looking at you.

And now you wait. You wait for the pity, the uncomfortable silence, the unavoidable retreat. But none of those things come. You turn to look at him and he’s standing there, looking pissed. His body stiffens, his gaze darkens and you’re pretty sure that glass of whiskey in his hand, doesn’t have much life in it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ..” it’s all he mutters as he closes his eyes in frustration, rubbing his free hand over his face.

“So much for small talk, huh?”, you continue laughing, trying to relieve his tension. It doesn’t take, though. Why did he took it so personally? He opens his eyes again, looking at you seriously with a deep frown on his face.

You begin to feel uncomfortable, so you do what you always do best. Try to make everyone else comfortable. You start talking to fill the silence. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve made mistakes, I wasn’t always the best wife, I was tired, I felt helpless at times, especially when raising two little girls with such a small age difference all on my own, not that that’s an excuse-“ you stop talking as he’s raising his hand in front of you to interrupt.

“Are you seriously blaming yourself right now?”, he sounds frustrated and confused, borderline offended.

“Well I’m not saying that what he did was ideal, I’m just trying to explain how hard it is to be practically all alone with two kids and how much it takes from you, how the balance is changing between the couple-”

“Ideal? That’s an interesting choice of word.”, he observes once again. Nice, you didn’t think he would catch that.

“You can’t keep anyone in your life by force. I won’t. I can’t control his feelings. It was the way he handled things that pained me the most.”, you explain.

He’s staring at you like you’re a fucking puzzle.

You sigh and continue, taking a deep breath, feeling defeated already. How you could possibly explain and how he could possibly understand? “I know most men don’t get it; you can’t understand how difficult it is to be responsible for two little people, making every decision, every second of every day, it’s exhausting, it drains you-“

“I know..” he whispers, looking at his glass, nodding his head in understanding.

“No, you don’t..” you mutter, mostly to yourself, shaking your head. He’s examining you for a second, considering if he wants to elaborate. He does.

“Sweetheart, I’m a single parent from the moment my daughter was born. Trust me when I say I know.”, he explains softly. “I get it.” His voice feels like honey to your ears.

You snap your head in his direction, shocked at his admission. He sees the cogs turning in your head, the sorrow starting to appear in your eyes and he adds with a bitter smile, “No, she didn’t die, she just left.”

Your eyes widen, unable to imagine what could have led a mother to that decision. But you immediately stop yourself. You don’t have the whole picture and it’s none of your business. You don’t get to judge. All you can say is “Fuck. That must have been hard for you.”

There’s a shift in the air, like some invisible little string connected you somehow, each of you with their own story, finding an understanding in each other.

As the conversation progresses he can’t help but wonder how did he get to that point. He was looking for a good time, maybe a blowjob or quickie in the bar’s bathroom and he ended up talking to you about his life. His daughter, his struggles. Voluntarily. And it felt good, easy, natural.

You laugh softly, out of context, shaking your head and he wants to know why. “I just-” you think again before you speak, “when you approached me I wasn’t even sure I could do that.”

“Do what?”, he asks in confusion.

“Talk to you.”, you admit.

“How do you mean?”, his brows furrow and his head tilt on one side, the edges of his mouth turning slightly upward. Stop doing that. It’s sexy.

“You know, me, sitting in a bar, talking to a stranger, it felt like I haven’t done this in forever.” It feels oddly liberating talking to him, almost like a confession.

“And how does it feel now?” he wants to know, his voice soft but commanding.

“It feels good.”, you give it to him. He makes you feel good and you want him to know.

“Good girl.”, he responds, his voice low, keeping his gaze on you, wondering how you’ll react. Oh, boy. Well, your panties are ruined. You bite your bottom lip and play along. See where it gets you. He sees that. The longing starts to become apparent on your face, in the way your lips part, your breath becomes shorter and your body subconsciously reacts to him, because you turn around in your seat, facing him fully. You clench your thighs in an effort to relieve some pressure between your legs. He sees it all.

“Although it’s a shame I didn’t get to witness you do your thing.”, you let him wonder.

His brows are raised in question, “My thing?”, he looks intrigued more than he’d like to admit. Gotcha.

“Yeah, I burdened you with my shit and I missed the chance of you flirting with me.” Someone feels ballsy. You don’t recognize yourself right now, but who cares, right?

“What makes you think I wanted to flirt with you?” he questions, almost genuinely. Almost. You freeze for a second, feeling like an idiot, but then you see him wink at you behind his raised glass.

“Right,” you drag the word, “so, you really wanted to get to know me for my striking personality”, you smile back to him.

He laughs. Genuinely. Beautifully. “Do you want me to flirt with you?” he pushes you, testing the waters. But not really. He knows he has your full attention.

“Sure, you seem like you can handle yourself.”, you answer before you overthink it and freak out.

He chuckles softly and he leans to you, right next to your flushed face, looking behind your shoulder and then down at you, his lips brushing your ear, his sparse beard tickling your cheek, one hand still on the bar and the other moving at the back of your seat, caging you. His scent invades your space, making you feel lightheaded. “Baby, you have no idea.” Your whole body is vibrating with want.

He doesn’t want to take you in the bathroom anymore.

He can see you; clearly than you can see yourself. He knows you now. He understands. He can see your path, the struggles, the challenges, the worries that lie ahead on your way. He walked that path. He bled that path. He navigates it with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.

He doesn’t want to take you in the bathroom anymore.

He wants to take care of you. To breathe pleasure into you, to give you all that he abandoned for his daughter’s sake, to make you feel wanted and loved. He wants you to know that you matter to someone. That he’s gonna take his time with you, savor you, taste every inch of your body, spread you out on his bed and make you scream his name, while you tremble under his touch, his mouth, his cock.

You don’t feel like a bathroom quickie anymore. He wants more. Even if it is just for one night. Just one night. Suddenly the thought becomes unpleasant.

You turn your head to his side and search for his eyes. He responds to your plea by looking back at you. Your lips are inches apart, nearly touching. You stare at his brown, chocolaty orbs, then his plush lips, slightly open and can’t help but imagine your tongue entering his mouth, penetrating them.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally. You want to feel him any way you can, right fucking now. You want his touch, his tongue, his cock but you’ll accept whatever he’s giving you.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

You want this. You got this. You slowly exhale through your nose and you nearly press your body against his chest to stand up. Your nose almost grazes his. You look at each other, both of you full of desire.

Full of promise.

He’s curious what you’re gonna do but he’s praying you won’t do what he expects you to. Not the bathroom, not the fuckin’ bathroom, he keeps chanting internally. Lemme take care of you. You put your palm on his chest lingering for a second, “Show me, then”, you whisper in his ear and you finally make it to the bathroom. That, took every ounce of courage you had in you. Goddamn.

As you enter inside, thankfully it’s empty, you look at yourself in the mirror. You try to comprehend who are you right now, what you’re about to do. You don’t even remember how it feels to have someone else giving you pleasure. To touch you. To make you-

You hear the door opening and closing, followed by the sound of the lock. He slowly walks to you, letting you study him, through his reflection on the mirror. Giving you time to change your mind. Please change your mind. He looks so good. So good that you have to turn around and face him.

His salt and pepper hair tousled but neat at the same time, his curls above his neck making you want to tug them. Hard.

His eyes are dark, full of hunger and desire. Your eyes fall at his parted lips and then to his chiseled jawline with his sparse hair for a beard. You wanna bite every inch of it. Hard.

His frame is imposing; tall, broad, his thick forearms bulging through his black shirt, his toned thighs strained by his dark jeans. And then you see his bulge. He looks big, considerably big.

“Like what you see?”, he smiles confidently, his low timbre making you realize that you’ve been staring.

You blush in embarrassment, looking down and biting your bottom lip. He enters your comfort zone now, his hand pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head upward to look at him. “No need to be shy, sweetheart; I like what I see, too.”, his thumb rests lightly on your bottom lip and presses down, to free it from under your teeth.

His other hand holds your waist drawing you close to his body, his erection touching your lower stomach. You let out a small sigh.

His scent is intoxicating. It’s a mix of his fainted cologne, the smoke of cigarettes lingering in the air, the alcohol on his breath and something unique. Something his entirely. His sweat absorbed by the fabric of his clothes. The more you inhale it the wetter you get. Saliva pools in your mouth, making you swallow hard.

You squirm in your place, squeezing your legs together. He notices. Of course he notices, like he did back at the bar. Reading between your words.

He caresses your ear with his lips, whispering, “It’s ok sweetheart, I'm gonna take good care of you.” He places one hand behind your head, gently bringing you closer to him. His other one rests on your back, slowly making his way down to your ass. You look at him, surrendered to his touch. Oddly, you feel safe.

“Fuck..” you breath out.

He smiles, a little full of himself, normally it would piss you off, but right now you don’t care. He ghosts his lips along yours and he softly kisses the edge of your mouth. He places kisses along your jawline and leaves an open-mouthed kiss between your ear and your jaw. Your body shakes with goosebumps, making your knees almost buckle, his hold on your ass tightens, keeping you in place.

You can’t think of anything right now and that’s exactly what you want. Not your soon-to-be ex-husband, not your messed up life, not even the poor attempt of an outfit you wore tonight out of boredom. Plain black jeans and a lingerie black shirt. Of course with a black lacy bra under it, you’re not that adventurous.

His mouth travels to the column of your neck licking it softly from top to bottom, biting gently where it meets with your shoulder. Your cunt clenches hard, pooling more of your arousal on your already-drenched underwear. His tongue is so warm and velvety, making your eyes roll in your head. Your hands- where are your hands? One on his toned shoulder and the other on his hair, tugging his curls.

You realize that he’s softer in his touch than you would imagine for a bathroom fuck. He moves so fluidly, expertly, you feel mesmerized and a tiny part of you inexperienced and self conscious.

“I- I haven’t done this before..” you feel the need to confess, worried that you’ll do something wrong.

“I thought you had two kids.” he raises his head, tilting it, while looking at you through his lashes and bites his cheek to hide his smirk.

You stare at him for a moment and then you both burst into laughter.

You shake your head in mocking disapproval and explain, “..not the deed, the- the one-time thing..” and you bite your lip in discomfort afraid of his reaction.

His eyes are searching yours and he finally asks, “Who says this is a one-time thing?”. Bold. Surely he’s messing with you. Your breath catches on your throat, that was the last reaction you would expect. You try to read his face but he gives you nothing. You can’t figure out if he meant that or was just teasing. He nudges your nose with his, relax, baby, he whispers and he resumes his kissing path down your neck and to your chest.

He’s taking his sweet time with you. He wants to get you out of this damn bathroom. He wants to fuckin’ wreck you and he can't do that here. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable either by proposing a different setting, in case this is indeed how you want it, so he does what he knows. He’s driving you crazy. He’s gonna make you beg him to get out of here. To take you somewhere else, more comfortable. Anywhere but here. Unless someone interrupts you, making you take this elsewhere. Either way works.

You’re both panting from desire, his head moving back against yours, your foreheads touching together. He grabs the sides of your head with both his hands, while yours move around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. He’s going to finally kiss you, your lips almost touching each other’s, breathing one another’s exhale.

A loud knock on the door startles you and you jump in place. “Come on, man! Are you done yet?” The stranger smiles against your lips, pleased with his plan. He’s so ready to take you out of here, worship you like you deserve.

But the spell is broken. You come back to your senses. You’re in a dirty bathroom. With a total stranger. A handsome, funny, sexy stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. What are you doing? This is not you. This is not how you do things. You have two kids back home waiting for you. You try to shake the thought out of your mind. You are a woman, too. You have needs. Needs that this man can meet with ease. No, there are people outside, waiting to use the bathroom. How are you gonna get out of here? Everyone will know what you’ve done. What are you doing?

The man detects your stiffness, the change in your breathing. You’re starting to hyperventilate. “Hey, hey, are you ok?”.

Your brain is overwhelmed, you don’t know how to respond. The knocking on the door gets louder now, more insistent.

“Give me a goddamn minute!”, the man shouts behind his back. His attention returns to you, full of concern, talking to you like all the time in the world is yours, like nothing else matters. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You wanna get out of here?”, his hands are still on the sides of your head, his eyes full of worry now.

“I- I need-” your breathing is getting harder and harder. “I’m sorry, I need to get out of here, I-” you push his hands away from your face.

He lets you, raising his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok darlin’, my truck is parked just outside, let me-”

“NO- No,” you don’t let him finish his thought, “I’ll leave on my own, I’m sorry, I can’t-” you just want to disappear, you know how you must sound and look but it’s out of your control.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that darlin’, I just wanna make sure you’re safe-”. But you’re not listening to what he’s saying to you, not really.

He wants to touch you again, hold you, make you feel safe. Protected. He wants you- no, needs you to know that it’s ok.

But he’s a stranger to you, so he resists the urge.

You walk away from him, unlock the door, open it forcefully and burst out of the bathroom, looking down. You don’t want to meet the eyes of the intruder outside the door. Any eye contact would make you feel vulnerable right now, exposed. With your head down you reach for your bag and jacket left on the stool you were sitting on, -what were you thinking, you could have been mugged- and you run to the exit door.

The man is right behind you, searching for you in the packed bar. You grab the handle, you open the door and you stand still for a moment turning your head to look at him one last time.

His eyes catch the door movement and his gaze locks with yours. His expression is sad and worried, not an ounce of anger or disapproval.

I don’t even know your name, you think with sadness.

He’s making a move to come after you but then you let yourself out of the bar. The stranger doesn’t have time but to whisper “I don’t even know your name..”

ONE WEEK LATER

You’re looking yourself in the mirror while you’re getting ready for dinner. Trish wants to introduce you to her cousins; although you and her are best friends, you never got to meet them. Maybe because you both lived out of Texas, before. She came back not so long ago, you followed to get your life back. Now that you’re living with her, she wants the four of you to hang out. She says they’re great guys. Joel and Tommy. Whatever.

You’re looking harder in the mirror now, searching for any sign to indicate what happened a few days ago at that god’s forsaken bar was real. A bruise, a bite, a redness, anything. But there’s nothing. Like he didn’t want to leave a trace. Like he was a figment of your imagination.

Half of you wants to forget about him, half of you is hanging on tight on every little detail you can recall of that night.

Of him.

His deep voice, the warmth of his eyes, his smart smile, the way he put your body on fire with minimum touch. You wish he would have fucked you hard and fast against the sink, before you had time to overthink, before you became a coward, to leave you with something more to remember him by.

You still feel the burn between your legs every time you think about him. And as many times as you tried to extinguish this fire inside you, with your fingers, or your pillow, or your vibrator, it just. Isn’t. Enough.

Just- get him out of your head, you force your mind. You don’t even know his name. You spilled your guts to him, almost fucked him and you don’t even got his name. Who does that?

Well, he didn’t get your name either, but obviously that was not the same. He looked like he knew what he was doing and if he does it that often, at the end of the day what does another name matter?

Joel is grabbing his wallet and cellphone off the console next to the door yelling to Tommy and Sarah, “Guys, you’re coming yet? We’re gonna be late, Trish is gonna be all over us, come on.”

Tommy and Sarah pause the movie they’re watching with an audible groan and emerge from the living room, putting their shoes on. “What is tonight about, again?” Tommy asks in boredom.

“Uh, not really sure, we’re gonna have dinner together and some lady friend of Trish is gonna be there, I think she’s letting her stay with her for a while.” Joel mutters.

“Oh, a lady friend,” Tommy insists, winking his eye to Sarah and she rolls her eyes to him. “Is she hot or what?”.

Joel glares at Tommy “Don’t know, don’t care Tommy, I think she’s got kids or something. Take the toolbox to the truck to fix the bathroom cabinet since we’re going.”

Tommy looks disappointed “Damn, not my cup of tea, then.”

“You and me both.” Joel sighs through his teeth. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

You hear the doorbell ring and you check on the girls before you make your way downstairs. They’re asleep on their beds. You can finally relax. You hear Trish calling you, “Hey, babe, they’re here!” As you go down the stairs you see a handsome man with dark curls entering the hallway along with a young woman in her twenties.

“Heeeey, you’re here!!” Trish sounds so exited. “Hey cousin, it’s been a while!” Tommy responds, hugging her with one arm around her waist. Sarah takes her turn hugging her aunt in silence and with a warm smile.

Then the three of them turn to the sound of your feet on the stairs. “And that’s my friend I was telling you about!” Trish introduces you by name and you approach Tommy and Sarah to handshake them.

When you look at Tommy’s face from a closer distance he seems familiar to you in a strange way, but you don’t give it any more thought. He looks like someone who likes what he sees, judging by the flirty smile he gives you. “Hi, darlin’, nice to meet you!”, is his first response to you. You smile politely “ You, too!”

You turn your attention to the young lady then, Tommy’s eyes still linger a little too long for your liking. Not because he’s not easy on the eyes, far from it. You’re simply not ready for that. And you proved that to yourself last week. You let the most handsome stranger you’ve ever met, slip through your fingers. You didn’t even got his name.

Idiot.

Jesus Christ, not now, let him go, focus. “Hello Sarah, I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s nice to put a face to the stories!”.

Sarah laughs, glaring at Trish “I bet the stories are really funny! I only hope my aunt exposed herself, too, in the process!”

You give Sarah a one-sided smirk, looking at her conspiratorially, “Well, you know Trish, she’s never holding back!”, you all laugh vividly.

You already feel more relaxed, Tommy and Sarah seem so nice, easy going, it will be great to make new friends. Trish was right for wanting you to meet them so soon after you arrived here.

It brings an air of normalcy, it feels like, although slowly and fucking painfully, your life takes an actual.. shape. You’re here. You exist. You are being seen as a living human being. You are talked to, admired, cared for, building a circle of people in your life, each one with their own place and role in your heart. And that means you’re trying. You’re not giving up, you’re moving forward, for you, for your children most importantly. These thoughts create a warmth inside you, a sense of hope that everything’s going to be ok.

And then it happens.

His voice is the first thing you register as he makes his presence known. “Goddamnit Tommy, I asked you for one thing before we leave the house. One.”, he addresses his brother from a distance. “Of course I have to remember everything myself.”, he mutters to himself, shaking his head disapprovingly.

The hair on the back of your neck is rising. You could recognize his voice among thousands. But that couldn’t be right. It can’t be. There is no way the voice will match the face. So, you turn your head to the entrance.

First, you see his boots going up the stairs of the porch, next your eyes land on his lower and then upper body, fit thighs, covered in dark jeans, thin waist hugged by a black belt, broad torso clothed in a black t-shirt and a green flannel. You don’t consciously recognize what -or who- you see yet, but your heartbeat spikes and your breathing becomes quicker.

You look further up, his head is tilted down, he’s trying to put his car keys in his front jean pocket, the salt and pepper curls looking oddly familiar.

And then he raises his head.

It’s instant.

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches on your throat, your mouth goes dry, you stomach clenches, your body feels on fire. Even your fingertips feel numb. Your mind floods you with memories of him.

His scent, his touch, the need he awakened inside you. His gaze locks with yours, like that night, stopping him in his tracks, right before the entrance of the house, both of you unable to look anywhere else. He keeps staring at your face, fearing that if he so much as roams his eyes to the rest of you, you’ll disappear.

You can’t quite read his expression, he looks- well he looks hot- but apart from that, he seems surprised, disturbed, almost.. pained?

Somewhere from behind you, you hear “Uuuuh, and this sunshine, is my brother, Joel.”

Joel.

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hephaestiions · 5 months

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author reclist: toomuchplor

a few months ago, when i was coming back to fandom in earnest, i came across this post from @sitp-recs. explorations of faith, divinity and worship are some of the tropes i find most furiously compelling, so i had to jump into o come, all ye faithful as soon as possible. i did, only to fall headfirst in obsessive, wide-eyed, awe-inspired love. @toomuchplor writes a desire that's both slow and heady, relentless and gentle, all-consuming and a rest stop to breathe easy. i couldn't help but read through (most of) their catalogue in a matter of days. this author's thematic range is astonishing, their characterisations lead to delicious stories where two headstrong, wilful and perennially longing men crash, fumble and rush into achingly sweet love and burning lust.

what always spools me in with plor, though, is their use of circumstance, especially in longer fics. every fic has a premise iron-clad in its fascinating, inventive, raw and exciting potential. more often than not, i've found them doing something i haven't encountered before in fandom at all, or reworking a popular trope in ways that make you go, 'oh. oh, i never thought about that happening, how did i never think of that happening?'

i've loved everything i've read from them, but here's a selection of some of my absolute favourites that i'll be going back to, over and over:

i've got a beautiful feeling (everything's going my way) (E, 3.5k)

“I’ve got such a boner,” Harry says, voice scratchy, just slitting his eyes open now, turning his head on his pillow to face Draco. “Oh, lovely, good morning to you, too,” Draco says.

a slice of life like the plush inside of a ripe mango— a love that's mature, constant, beating like a strong heart. the filthy, hilarious, gorgeous portrait of harry and draco's married life— the familiarity of sex, the rush of wanting each other as much as ever.

o come, all ye faithful & all the angels cry amen (E, ~22k total)

In which Draco finds faith in the church, and Harry finds faith in Draco.

an achingly tender rumination on faith as love, and love as worship. one of the most heartbreaking and realistic depictions of the reckoning it would take for harry potter to accept he has found refuge and rest in draco malfoy's arms. i loved the non-chronological, dual timeline storytelling— that particular form works so well when there's a taut, twinging thread holding both narratives together, and harry and draco's gravitational attraction to each other, fraught in parts and at peace in others was the perfect anchor.

time and too much don't belong together (E, 23k)

A Malfoy family heirloom gets triggered in a raid, binding Draco Malfoy to Ron Weasley; neither of them is too chuffed about this.

a masterclass in revelations. the reader can tell, from the outset, there's more here than meets the eye. the reader can also guess, from the beginning, what the dynamic in the shadows is. tense and breathtaking writing, you know what's coming, but every time you're fed a morsel you cling to it with both hands. one of the most inventive takes i've seen on the lust potion/spell trope in this fandom, and done in a way that makes you want to see it over and over and over again.

polar night/midnight sun (E, 54k)

Harry travels to arctic Norway on the trail of dragon egg poachers, only to find he's been assigned to work alongside the only NorMagPol Auror north of sixty: one Draco Malfoy. It's been ten years since they crossed paths, and Malfoy isn't exactly what Harry expected or remembered. For one thing, he wears a lot more hand-knits? When a sudden winter storm strands the pair, unable to use magic to rescue themselves, they take shelter in a one-room Norwegian hytte.

exquisitely atmospheric. uses extenuating circumstances in some of the most delicious ways. builds character and interpersonal dynamics through those small little elements of storytelling (draco in knitwear! brynjar the dog! the mundane pillowtalk! the quirks of their miscommunication!) that go the longest way in having characters leap off the screen into your personal space. also the sex in this is absolutely mind-blowing, i was hooked on every glorious word.

truth to materials (co-written by lately) (E, 58k)

In which Harry learns to appreciate art and other pleasures of the flesh.

decadent. in premise, in language, in characterisation, just absolutely decadent. this version of harry, bewildered and captivated by draco's out-there artistry is one of the funniest and most endearing i've encountered in fic, ever. his head, so full of determination and good intentions and terribly flawed and completely believable thinking, was such a brilliant place to set this fic. and draco— lord. you know that moment of transition, that click, when a piece of art goes from something untouchable and distant to a soulful thing you keep close because you recognise it as a cultural, emotional response? this fic felt like a literary project trying to capture that click, except it's a shift in perspective about a person. draco— the cool, untouchable, subversive artist who becomes irrevocably, warmly, achingly human.

probationary action (E, 63k)

As part of the terms of the probationary contract, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY shall submit for inspection his WAND on the last day of every month, such inspection to be carried out by a duly registered and fully qualified AUROR in the employ of the MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and such inspection to include a PRIORI INCANTATEM spell to ensure that no PROHIBITED MAGICS as heretofore described have been practised by the aforementioned probationer.

*incoherent screaming*. a fic that starts with a premise so lighthearted and filthy that you think it's going to be a long, kinky fic about two rather hilariously perverted men getting it on, except it also gets into some of the most resonant discussions of post-war revenge tactics and human rights neglect i've ever read. the dynamic between harry and draco is simultaneously so light and so weighted, this is a fic that holds you down and keeps you there till you're done.

in conclusion: an entrancing author, a gift of a writer. i can't wait to see what else they have in store for this fandom.

#drarry #drarry fic rec #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #geets recs #hpdm fanfic #hpdm #draco x harry #toomuchplor #haven't stopped thinking about this author since i first read them #so i thought i'd do something with that #also WHY has tumblr ruined the quality of my header #i am not a reccer forgive me the fact that i have no clue how to rec #i tried

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nevadancitizen · 4 months

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-> O LORD, O LORD (WATCH OVER ME)

synopsis: joshua graham talks an awful lot about god and his blessings, and it leaves you curious as to what prayer is actually like.

word count: 1.8k

characters: joshua graham, courier six! reader

trigger warnings: mormonism, discussions of god + jesus christ

notes: this can be read as platonic or romantic, wasn't sure what direction i wanted this to go in :P also it was really hard to find information on mormonism without touching any mormon-affiliated sites but i rekindled my love for wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit!! everyone say thank you wikipedia <3333

The Lords of post-apocalyptic America are usually the ones with the most money, the most influence, the most soldiers on the ground. There is no bearded man in the sky, no Adam and no Eve, no christenings and no afterlife. When you die, you die, and there’s nothing beyond that. Nothing. Nothing remains. Someone might remember you for a little while after, but not for long.

And yet, somewhere in the cracks and caves of the canyon of Zion, there is still worship. There is still prayer and reverence and love for God and Jesus Christ and all his children.

But this is the first time you’ve heard of this mysterious “Jesus Christ” character and the weird way Joshua Graham talks when speaking of him.

He’s usually straightforward and blunt with his (and the Dead Horses’) needs and words, but when the topic of God comes around, he speaks in an almost poetic way – flowery, ornate. You usually only hear that type of talk from someone that’s day-tripping on Mentats, trying to sound smarter than they actually are.

But Joshua is smart. He’s a translator, with knowledge of language pouring over the cusp of his lips. His people are entranced by the inner workings of a professionally-crafted firearm, and he’s no different. He’s the prodigal son of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints. He’s basically a goddamn genius – in multiple fields, no less.

It’s only reasonable that you’d want to pick his brain as you sit, cross-legged, on the ground of Angel Cave, loading bullets into magazines. Joshua sits a few feet away, meticulously checking the numerous .45 pistols that lay across the table over and over again.

You clear your throat and the sound echoes a little in the small cave. “Graham?”

He glances at you, then returns his gaze to the guns in front of him. “Yes?”

“Is it – uh, this God thing…” You scratch the side of your nose. “You… I don’t really understand it. I mean, following a few laws and receiving eternal salvation and all that sounds good, but I just… don’t get it.”

“I understand,” Joshua says. He flips the empty pistol in his hand so that he’s looking down the barrel and pulls the trigger. A dull click. “Most survivors think that there is nothing more to this world: just a well-trodden trail that they’re supposed to walk, from the house of Birth to the house of Death.”

He flips the pistol so that he’s holding the grip and slides the magazine back in. “Those looking for faith had simply been trying to find offshoots in this path, other houses to occupy. That is, if they ever actually felt the calling of God, even if it was the voice of a false one. They say that there are only two houses, and only dirt connecting them. But this is untrue.”

You continue thumbing bullets into the magazine. “How do you know? I mean, I don’t want to be disrespectful, but…”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Joshua reassures. “I’ve met a menagerie of people, seen grotesque creatures that were birthed from mutations and chems instead of God’s perfect hands. I appreciate that you’re approaching this with an air of curiosity rather than judgement.”

Joshua sets the pistol on the side of the table of the pistols he’s already checked. He turns in his chair so that he’s facing you and sets his elbows on his knees. The pale blue of his eyes are stark against the burn scars of his skin as he looks down at you. “What would you like to know?”

Clips of his voice flash through your mind – “You’re a good neighbor to us,” “Good news is our most valuable commodity,” “The fire that had kept me alive was love. Their love. God’s love.” – but it settles on one: “It never stops burning. My skin. Every day, I have to unwind the bandages and replace them with fresh ones. Exposing my body to the air is like living through it again. But it's better to be clean than comfortable.”

“Well…” You shift under Joshua’s piercing gaze. “You’ve stayed loyal to God, right? All your life. You worshipped and prayed and… yeah.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet Joshua’s. The bandages that cover him in his entirety give nothing away. “So why did he let you be burned like that? If he’s, y’know, all-loving, all-forgiving, shouldn’t he have guided you away from Caesar? Or, let… let you die?”

Joshua stares at you, then blinks once, twice. It’s like he wants to be sure of his words before he actually speaks. “There are some things that you don’t want to do and you pledge to yourself that you won’t do. You forbid yourself, and then, suddenly…”

His eyebrows furrow. “They happen all by themselves. You don’t even have time to think about them: they just happen and that’s it. Then you’re left just watching yourself with surprise – disgust – and convincing yourself that it wasn’t your fault, it just happened all by itself.”

Joshua’s hands come together and the bandages make an abrasive sound as he folds his hands, his elbows still on his knees. “But things don’t happen by themselves. The Legion didn’t build itself – I had a hand in it. And so this is my punishment. My atonement for not noticing how things were changing day-to-day. Not noticing how translating became giving orders, how giving orders became leading in battle, how leading in battle became training, punishing, terrorizing.

“I am a wicked man, with a wicked soul. I can only pray to God that this is enough for everything I’ve done.”

Your eyes return to the half-loaded magazine in your hand, and the bullet in the other. You roll the bullet in your fingers as you think. It’s… weird, to you, Joshua’s relationship with God. He doesn’t sound all that loving and forgiving. So why worship him? Why make and keep covenants with him? It sounds contradictory and hypocritical.

“Okay.” You look up at Joshua again as you thumb the bullet into the magazine. “Then… praying. What’s praying? I mean, I’ve seen you doing the…” You set the magazine in your lap and bring your hands together, palm-to-palm. “Before eating. I know that’s part of prayer, ‘cause you told me. But can you, like, hear him? Or is it like talking to a wall?”

“I cannot hear him, no,” Joshua says. “But I know he is listening, and I offer every prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, who is a medium through which man can converse with God. I feel him touch my heart, and guide my mind with his blessings and counsel.”

“Blessings and counsel sound nice,” you say. “But what do they look like? Like, how do they manifest?”

Joshua tilts his head slightly, the bandages on his neck making a soft sound. “Rain in a time of drought. Dryness in a time of flooding. A bullet that makes contact in just the right place. A bullet that just barely misses. God’s blessings are diverse and many.”

“Sounds like I could use some of those blessings.” You laugh under your breath as you go back to loading the magazine. A few seconds pass as you fill it, then move on to filling the next. An idea pops into your head as your hands continue their repetitive actions.

Why shouldn’t you be able to get a blessing? From what you understand, it only takes a few words and an invocation of a holy name. It should be easy to get one – right? Or maybe not. Either way, you’d need it, especially with the way Joshua described the examples of blessings. Divine intervention sounds like it could literally be a lifesaver.

“What if, uh…” You scratch your cheek. “What if I want one of these blessings?”

Joshua narrows his eyes, the reddish burns of his skin cutting into the blue of his irises. “Do you… wish to pray? Do you want me to pray over you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you say. You glance up at Joshua, then look down at the magazine. Your hands fumble a bit, then correct themselves. “I don’t… really know how to, though.”

“I will lead you in prayer, if that’s what you truly want,” Joshua says.

All it takes from you is a single nod.

He gets up out of his chair and kneels before you, resting on the heels of his boots. You look up at him, and he’s looking down at you. You could swear he’s looking at you with some kind of hope in his eyes, but it’s hard to tell in the low light of the torches that illuminate the cave.

“Come on. Up on your knees.” Joshua takes the magazine from your hands and sets it aside.

You sit up on your knees, resting on your heels, mimicking Joshua. You clear your throat nervously. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay.” Joshua takes your hands in his, cradling your fingers with his and resting his thumbs on your knuckles. The bandages on his fingers are abrasive, but in a comforting type of way. “As I said, I’ll lead. Now bow your head and close your eyes.”

You do as he says, and his rumbling voice starts the prayer.

“Dear God, I thank you for this day, and I thank you for your allowance for life to continue prospering in this wasteland. Now, allow me to direct your attention to one of your creations: the one I’m praying with right now.

“Allow me to pray over this courier. I pray that no matter where they go, no matter how far off the trail of fate they fall, you will watch over them. Even if they fall to temptation – any temptation – that you will still protect them with all that you can, for I know you are merciful, and I know you are loving.

“In this world filled with defilement and savagery and violence and barbarity, the only comfort I can turn to is you. Allow me this comfort. Allow me to know that this courier, no matter what they do, no matter what sin they fall to or transgression they commit, is safe. In Jesus Christ’s name, amen.”

Joshua lets go of your fingers and brings his hands away from yours.

You open your eyes and look up at him. You glance around the cave – nothing’s different. Everything seems to be exactly the same.

“Is that it?” You ask, then register how disrespectful that sounds. “I mean – I just didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“Yes, the prayer is over.” Joshua stands, then holds out his hand to help you up. You take it.

“Now, please, make yourself sparse.” He glances at you, then his eyes flicker over to the table stacked with .45 pistols. “I have some of my own praying to do.”

#riptide writes 🌊#joshua graham #honest hearts #fallout new vegas #fallout: new vegas #fallout nv #fallout joshua graham #honest hearts joshua graham #joshua graham x reader #joshua graham x courier #joshua graham x courier six

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gareleia · 2 months

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THE KNITTING SAGA BUT ODY PULLS A BRUCE WAYNE

update: my co-writer friend FINALLY got a tumblr account, so I can tag them now!!

previously: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

okay, bear with me for a moment. odysseus' perspective in all of this would be fascinating. and you know what is also fascinating? the way we can do whatever we want in this AU. so we can and will keep baby Astyanax alive.

to start with, Ody doesn't kill the baby. obviously. the reason is that, while he's having his fascinating little soliloquy about the morality of child murder in JAM, some terrified nursemaid that had been hiding somewhere in the room (I imagine her behind a conveniently shaped vase) picks up a dagger and stabs him in the shoulder from behind.

obviously she fails to do the deed, and he quickly and almost automatically kills her. but he's still stabbed. non-lethally, but enough to greatly hinder him.

Ody decides to go back to his people to get first aid. he can't bring himself to kill the baby, but he also can't just leave it there for others to find, because there's no telling if the remaining Trojans would rescue the boy, or if the Greeks would take him as a prisoner/slave or adopt/lose him somewhere where Odysseus can't ensure Zeus' prophecy won't come true. so Ody takes the baby with him.

the soldiers are,,, not impressed.

Eurylochus, looking at the infant: so, uh. what do you have here, captain? Odysseus, avoiding eye contact at all costs: a smoothie-

Eurylochus in particular is beside himself thinking about the implications. but overall people are too happy about finally going back home to really make much of a fuss about it, so it's fine (for now).

anyways Odysseus is still on edge about the baby's (and everyone else's) safety, so at first he tries to bring the boy with him everywhere. but his injured shoulder doesn't allow him to actually carry the kid too much. so that job falls to Eurylochus.

Eurylochus is soooo enthusiastic about the prospect, especially when the infant starts biting his chest, trying to nurse.

the baby: h o n g r y eurylochus: ARGH! GET YOUR GODS' DAMNED KID, BRO! odysseus: it don't bite eurylochus: YES IT DO

Odysseus prohibits everyone from using the baby's real name, both to keep its origins a secret from potential enemies, and to avoid getting attached to it (in case he actually decides he wants to kill it). so Eurylochus nicknames the baby Aphe, from greek "αφαιμάσσω", which means "to leech". because the damn brat keeps biting him.

eventually he and Poletes get into a heavy debate about whether or not it's mean to call a baby a bloodsucker, and Ody, who'd been having a crisis of faith, steps in and settles it for good.

from this point on, Astyanax the Prince of Troy is officially dead. and Odysseus is bringing home his infant son Aphemachus the Prince of Ithaca. etymology is somewhere along the lines of: afaimasso (to leech) + machos (war) = Aphemachus (the blood-sucking war; the war that sucked our blood)

Eurylochus is the one who Aphemachus had gotten attached to the most, due to all the carrying (and the biggest boo). He cries all the time when they're apart, and only Poletes seems to somehow be able to distract the boy, so they end up watching him in shifts.

aphemachus: *wailing in the dead of night* eurylochus, groaning: poletes, your leech is awake. poletes, also groaning: until the sun is up it's your leech.

Odysseus at the same time is still having doubts, so he doesn't trust himself to be too close to the baby.

those thoughts will haunt him for years, and will eventually play a huge role in their relationship, even after Ody starts forcing himself to spend time with his new son to forge a bond that would hopefully stop Aphemachus from destroying Ithaca.

Aphemachus indirectly saves Poletes' life. because when they reach the cyclops' island, Poletes stays behind with the majority of the soldiers to look after the baby. as a result Polyphemus doesn't kill him.

the downside is, Polyphemus almost gets a drop on Odysseus, and in an effort to push him away from danger Eurylochus gets severely injured. his right shoulder never quite recovers, and very deep down he blames Odysseus for needing help in the first place, because not freezing up in battle is the first and most important lesson they were taught as children, and then Ody went and froze up anyway.

sidenote, in Mutiny later on Odysseus will intentionally aim for said shoulder, exploiting the weakness that Eurylochus will have been very put out by and insecure about. just to add to the overall drama.

what none of them know yet, is that Odysseus had royally pissed off Zeus by ignoring his 'friendly advice' of infanticide. so much so, in fact, that Zeus tasks Ares with ensuring that Aphemachus grows up to destroy Ithaca.

as a result, poor kid grows up with the voice of bloodthirsty God of War in his head, constantly trying to convince him that everyone secretly hates and wants to kill him, that he's been stolen from Troy for nefarious purposes, and that it's his duty to avenge his REAL family. so, basically, your standard run-of-the-mill gods-induced paranoid schizophrenia.

odysseus: so, what do you want for dinner? ares: YOUR HEAD ON A SPIKE aphemachus: a bagel ares: NOOO aphemachus: two bagels

as you can guess, the poor boy's mental health is... Not Great™. he grows up a difficult kid, sensitive, too smart for his own god, prone to angry outbursts. think a cross between Damian Wayne and Jason Todd. he's also very paranoid, and remember that Odysseus still has doubts? Aphemachus can sense that, and that scares and angers him more, which makes him lash out, to which Odysseus also tries to keep his distance even more. he doesn't have much experience at actual hands-on parenting, and it doesn't help that he's not sure if he has a right to act as a father to the boy he had indirectly orphaned and directly almost killed.

poletes, exasperated: aphe, dear, we've talked about this. you know violence is never the answer, right? aphemachus: right. aphemachus: violence is the question, and the answer is YES-

so the most consistent positive influence Aphemachus has in his life are Eurylochus, Polites, Perimedes and Elpenor - until the latter dies and Perimedes decides to stay away.

Eurylochus is the stone-faced stern mother hen. he's the one that makes lists upon lists in his head of what the baby, and later toddler, needs. he enforces bed time, makes him eat as healthy as possible on the ship, etc. as such, his status as 'favorite' is quickly revoked once the kid grows old enough to complain.

the new favorite is Poletes, who spoils Aphe rotten and has a hard time saying no to anything. he's the fun uncle who's always down to play games.

Perimedes and Elpenor are like semi-responsible older brothers, who teach him about all kinds of stuff. Perimedes is the type to give Aphe lots of different chores to keep him occupied, and Elpenor, in contrast, tends to whisk the kid away to get him to relax and unwind. he also likes to teach Aphe about stars and constellations. meanwhile Peri 100% had handed toddler Aphe a knife as a prank to test everyone's situational awareness (think Stabby the Roomba), and got shit from everyone.

eurylochus: let me see what you have! aphe: a knife! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ eurylochus, going through all stages of grief simultaneously: NO!

Ares, while he detests lying and 'cheating', doesn't want to wait until Aphe grows up to make him wreak havoc. so instead he starts trying to trick the kid into accidentally causing bloodshed. and most of the time he targets Polites, because the peace-loving fool is an affront to everything Ares stands for.

this results in Aphe often running in between someone's legs at most unfortunate times, spilling liquid where people walk frequently, hiding fish hooks in food as a 'joke'…

it comes to a head with a contraption born out of every inch of cunning Ares possesses (not much), all Aphe's wild child imagination and many of Perimedes' trap-making lessions. it's a glorious thing, straight out of something between Home Alone and the Final Destination series.

Nobody ever really catches him, blaming the near-accidents on pure bad luck. Poletes never once notices that something is amiss, thinking he's just clumsy. the only reason he's still alive is because Elpenor is somehow always there to run interference.

Elpenor is the only one to suspect Aphe, but, since he's a dumbass alcoholic, nobody believes him, even his boyfriend Perimedes. Ares gets fed up with this and starts making Aphe target Eple instead, but before anything could really be done Ruthlessness happens, and they come to stay with Circe.

elpenor: I fear no man aphe: (✿◠‿◠) elpenor: but this thing… this thing scares me

it's only after Elpenor's untimely death that Perimedes starts to take his concerns seriously, but it's too little, too late. it's actually an honest to gods accident that Aphe has nothing to do with, but Peri had sat through so much paranoid, drunken rambling from Elpe that it just clicks to him. he blames Aphe, and, despite not voicing his concerns (because nobody would believe him either), he makes it abundantly clear that he doesn't want anything to do with Aphe anymore, to the boy's dismay.

finally, a few important notes on continuity:

in this AU the journey is a bit slower-paced than in canon, so instead of Act 1 happening almost at once after they left Troy, in the Knitting Saga after the Polyhemus fiasco, pissed off Poseidon decides to torture them first before the execution, so they are lost at sea for a couple years in between Remember Them and Storm, before Poseidon gets bored and decides to kill them for good. then they spend a year with Circe as she cooks up a way to send them into the Underworld, in the meantime hoping that Poseidon cools down somehow. then the Underworld and the Thunder Sagas happen a couple months apart, and then Ody (and Aphemachus, who is kept alive by the gods purposefully, so he has a chance to grow up and destroy Ithaca) spend 5 years with Calypso, and then another year trying to get to Ithaca.

Telegonus still exists in this AU, despite not being the son of Odysseus and Circe. instead, he is the unwanted son of Circe and some unnamed sailor from that first batch that she had taken pity upon and let her guard around. because of being born a demigod and living on a magical island his aging is a bit wonky, but he appears to be around 12-15 years old. he's a charming, confident, precocious child, who takes after his mother in personality and approaches. him and Odysseus get really close in the time that the crew stays on Aeaea, because Telegonus is not (as far as Ody knows, at least) prophecized to harm Ithaca and Odysseus desperately misses Telemachus; while Telegonus just imprints on the first dad-shaped adult he sees. Aphe is sad and desperately jealous.

aphemachus: d-daddy??|･ω･) odysseus: do I look like- ಠ益ಠ telegonus: you are my dad! you're my dad! boogie-woogie-woogie! (~˘▾˘)~ odysseus: awww!! yes!! what a good boy!!(✿◠‿◠) aphemachus: ಠ_ಠ

fun fact, Ody considers leaving Aphe on Calypso's island. Aphe, who's like 8-9 at the time, almost expects him to do so. only on the morning of their departure do they have a heart-to-heart about how Ody was a shitty, emotionally unavailable father, and how Aphe only ever wanted to be loved.

fun fact 2, telegonus will make another appearance later ٩(๑･ิᴗ･ิ)۶

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