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nmakii · 2 months

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SO DIM THAT SPOTLIGHT…

for, M— maisie, or maybe even miya osamu; my twin, my superstar, and my biggest blessing.

inarizaki doesn’t need memories, nor do they need to rely on their team manager; everything that matters happens in the court anyways. but, the week you’ve disappeared from practice— they can’t help but find themselves missing you.

fem!reader, atsumu kinda clingy, writeen on 0 hours of sleep, sum1 MIGHT be ooc… AESPA FANS RISE

inarizaki doesn’t need their team manager. they’re very adamant on their independence, especially atsumu. sure, it’s nice to be coddled after a long day of volleyball, but it’s merely a bonus! they don’t rely on you, definitely…

“where’s s/o?” atsumu frowns, looking across the gym for you. “coach said she had a family emergency…” kita says, a hint of worry in his voice. osamu tilted his head in worry. “family emergency? is something wrong?”

kita sighs. “coach didn’t give any further details.” to this, atsumu whined. “whaat?! is she okay?!” he yelled out, going on a path that goes nowhere. “he just said he didn’t get any further details…” suna deadpans.

“well, we shouldn’t dwell on it right now. next week is the inarizaki winter festival… we’ve been instructed to create a promotional video with our most flashy moves as to get more people to support us during nationals.” kita explains.

atsumu rolls his eyes, hearing what a ridiculous idea it was. “setting up a video… we already have a crowd full of fans… we should be practicing…” he mumbles, not that anyone in particular cares to comment on.

“right… well, i think we should shoot atsumu’s shots first since he’s is the most popular after all” kita says, preparing the camera while ginjima had set up the tripod. “just… do a strong spike serve, okay?” he instructs as atsumu bounces the ball, preparing for his shot.

atsumu takes a deep breath, preparing for his shot; the look on his face so serious, you’d think he was in an official match. he throws the ball into the air…

before miserably missing the shot.

the silence in the gym so thick, you could cut it with a knife. until osamu broke the tension with roaring laughter. “hah! what happened to being so perfect all the time?!” osamu points at him, laughing like a middle school bully. “shut your trap! i was just thinking ‘bout somethin’!” atsumu yells back, angrily marching to retrieve his ball. “thinkin’ ‘bout what?! about how ‘ya can’t even serve properly cause your dear s/o is gone?!” osamu scoffs, not particularly set on admitting how much he’ll miss your presence this week. still, he doesn’t have much time to think about that before atsumu steers straight into osamu’s path. “you..!” atsumu huffs, grabbing osamu by his shirt collar and wrestling him.

omimi runs in between the two of them, trying to break the fight as suna records the two, turning to kita. “maybe this’ll make good promotional content, everyone loves to see these two fight...” and in response, kita can only sigh at suna’s nonchalant attitude, pressing a palm to both of the boys’ chests. “fighting won’t do anything. stop it, please.” he says, unknowingly placing a somewhat hostile tone in his words, scaring the twins into backing off of each other.

despite whatever complaints the team had, the week passed by fairly quickly and soon enough, it was the inarizaki winter festival. there were snack carts, game booths, and of course, on one of the main screens, starred the boy’s volleyball team promotional video. and, exactly as kita said, it persuaded many girls to come support the team by the time nationals starts.

as the miyas inattentively chatted with the girls carrying fans with their names on it, both their eyes roamed the festival for an excuse to leave— when the stage announced a name they were all too familiar with.

“when is s/o returning? it’s already been a week, and she hasn’t returned, much less answer any of our calls…” kita asks, clearly worried for your wellbeing. coach kurosu can’t help but let out a slight smile, waving off the boy’s concerns. “she’s fine. in fact…” he trails off, turning to the stage.

confused, kita furrows his brow, and follows his gaze as to what he could mean.

“and, without further ado..! s/o from class 3-4, performing a solo cover of supernova by aespa!”

even from how scattered they were across the fair, they all froze, looking for each other as if to silently ask ‘is this real..?’. the lights slowly flashed onto you, as you sang the lyrics in what they could only think would be recognizable korean. hell, even if it was absolute nonsense, you’d still sound amazing.

your distinct and sharp dance moves were complimented by the cropped black tee and the baggy jeans you wore, making you look absolutely graceful as you danced. even the very fact that you were able to wear those kinds of clothes in the middle of december was commendable enough.

sparklers popped from the edges of the stage, as if you were at your very own solo concert, the lights dimmed to from white, to purple, to blue, as confetti streamed down. and when it came to an end, the audience roared in cheer.

you waved to everyone and bowed respectfully before running off the stage. the entire team was more than shocked to see that, ‘family emergency’, as if! almost every single one of then dropped what they had been previously doing and ran to the back of the stage, ready to praise you.

“s/o, that was incredible!” atsumu yelled, giving you a big hug before yelling at you. “why’dya leave us for a week?!” he huffed. “ahaha… practice, of course! coach had to cover for me…” you giggled, shivering a bit from how cold the snow was. “you… don’t wear revealing clothes in winter, you’ll catch a cold…” osamu sighed, wrapping his tracksuit around you.

kita went over to you, observing your condition. “i’m glad you’re well, s/o. i was starting to get worried when you wouldn’t answer our calls. your performance was amazing.” he smiled. aran agreed, greeting you with a soft slap on your back. “you did great! the way you did this..! and then suddenly you..!” he fumbles, imitating your dance moves.

it seems he’s exhilarated just by watching you perform…

and finally, suna makes it over to the backstage, giving you a thumbs up and a smile. “you did great. i only recorded halfway…” he says disappointedly, looking over the clip he took. “pfft, that’s okay, suna…” you shrug. “i’m really glad to be back with you guys, though” you smile contentedly.

aran glared at you as if you dishonored his family, “what are you even talking about?! with moves like that, you shouldn’t be stuck being a volleyball team manager; you’ve gotta become an idol! in front of millions!” he encourages you, before atsumu argues back. “haah?! like hell! she’s gotta stay here with us!”

“it’s her life, she should have control over what she does in life.” kita says, in an attempt to mediate. sadly, his attempt falls on deaf ears as the two argue like a married couple bickering on their child’s future.

you laugh, missing the chaos in your life. “hahah… i don’t think i’m gonna perform again anytime soon… it was terrifying, not to mention— so much effort. for now, i guess i’m stuck here with you guys…”

that wouldn’t be a problem though. not when it’s you.

inarizaki doesn’t need the memories. cherishing the present is much better anyways. but, maybe it is pretty nice to have a team manager. especially when they’re as talented as you.

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plutosbow · 3 months

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𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི , tgm — bradley bradshaw x f!reader

`` 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧' , 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧' ? ``

summary: a sunday morning of sleeping in calls for your specialty; half-burnt pancakes. but it's always the effort that charms bradley, anyway.

warnings: none! just some silly fluff and perhaps bradley pining over you (isn't he always?)

note: this is the first little blurb i've decided to flesh out more than others, lmk if i should start posting my stuffs :3, (i don't really know how tumblr works but if anyone has some requests for miles teller characters i'd totally try to do them!)

there was a soft light that beckoned itself into the bedroom, like a staircase to heaven as your dreary-minded eyes followed its path onto bradley's visage. right through the crack in the blind that he always complained about since it only ever reached his side of the bed — that thought made it impossible to stop a smile from tugging at your lips.

his expression twisted in his slumber, eyes wiring tightly shut in a feeble attempt to drown out the warm rays adorning his face. you always felt bad, but thanked the sun silently in the end because it allowed for domestic tidbits like this to be available to you - and only you. shifting at a snail's pace beneath the covers, you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his temple before rolling from the warm confines of the bed.

as much as you enjoyed your times of quiet with bradley, you enjoyed treating him to the little things in life even more. a day at home with your boyfriend called for celebration because you knew just as well as him that these moments were fleeting. downtime was barely even a word between the two of you, but that was the price paid when dating a pilot — and unfortunately, he was worth every ounce of worry that plagued you when he walked out the door with death hanging over his head.

but, he was here now. that's what mattered.

you were swift in preparing breakfast, perhaps a bit too swift as you clumsily forgot to spray the pan before pouring pancake batter into it. it spat and hissed at you, like it was wincing in agony and trying to bane you to hell before it died. you couldn't dwell on it, though, not when it still managed to make the kitchen smell like sweet dough and something nostalgic sprinkled in beneath the waft of burning batter.

a second pan was laid down, and this time it was methodical enough to have been prepped for eggs that plopped down into its gentle dip. a much kinder sizzle ensued, earning a satisfied hum from your lips as you went on tending to the curdling pancakes (could they even be called that, now?). the aroma of them crying for help was enough to rouse the grizzly bear from his surprisingly light hibernation — only let on by the groan that was pouty enough to put any sassy teenage girl to shame.

you didn't look back on account of the fact that you were trying not the burn the eggs — not on fire, which was a feat in itself — and you just assumed he would shuffle his way in and groggily mutter something about waking up 'so early', and then plop down at the counter while he waited for the meal. that was too generous of an idea, though, because his former growl from the bedroom had not been out of frustration (well, sort of), but out of a longing for you to have been in bed beside him.

thick, calloused fingers snaked their way around your waist and curled into the tender flesh of your hips, earning a soft hum from your throat. it was a sound that bradley had grown fond of, whether you be pining for his attention or whining at his incessant teasing — he could always count on that sweet, purring hum to fall from those pretty lips.

"my lady, my lady," he rasped, voice dry and scratchy as he recited his little morning mantra. his head dipped down, nose pushing your hair out of the way as his face pressed into your nape. you can't stifle the soft giggle that bubbles up in your throat at the tickle of his mustache and slightly stubbled chin. "i was expectin' .. room service .. on this fine mornin'?"

you scoff with a roll of your eyes, flipping the eggs and using this motion to elbow him in the gut. he tenses and grunts, hands gripping the gentle dip of your hips like they were a safety blanket to him.

"room service costs extra, mister bradshaw," you tut, grabbing the pancake-contaminated spatula to begin painstakingly scraping them off of the poor pan. "and i'll have you know, i am not a cheap commodity." your words earn a low chuckle from his crackling throat, lips migrating from your nape to your ear, his mouth finding your earlobe to give it a small nibble - just innocent enough for a morning like this.

"a high-end gem such as yourself must be making somethin' extravagant, no?" bradley chuffs softly, peeking down at the pans as his chin rested into the dip of your shoulder. he winces idly at the scraping sounds that ensue from your assault on the .. pancakes?.. his brows crease, and he bites his tongue for a moment.

you .. never were the finest cook in the world.

bradley found that worth more than any perfect dish.

"hm," he clicks his tongue before you even had a chance to respond, "flapjacks with a side of black tar 'n soppen eggs; gourmet." the pilot cooed, making you laugh and frown simultaneously at his unfiltered jab at your skills. you always knew the effort payed off more in his eyes than the actual taste of the food (thank goodness). you flip the ashy, flaking pancakes onto a plate and try tending to the barely edible eggs, but it seems all too lost as you resort to just turning the burner off.

even though you knew he never minded your ineptitude in the kitchen, it was moreso a personal duel when it came to your absentminded degradation over your failures.

"good-lookin'," came that husky voice, tinged with slight guilt after realizing you hadn't responded to his silly jab after some time now. a hand trails up your abdomen to let the pad of his thumb run along the edge of your jaw. you can't see his face, but one can assume his brows are quirked in silent question with a hint of a plea in hopes you'll forgive him (silly. over something that never even hurt you to begin with). it earns a soft giggle from somewhere in your chest.

"i bought extra syrup last errand run to make sure you can drown out the taste of mustard gas, my love." you hum, swaying a bit as you shift away from the counter and squirm around to finally face your big ol' grizzly bear. at your words, that exact expression you expected to see from before quickly lightened. a crooked grin curled up on his stupidly kissable lips and his head tilted almost expectantly.

"maybe i like my breakfast with a lil' bit of radioactivity." bradley retorts before burying his face into your neck, letting his stache poke at your flesh and make you squeal and wiggle around. now satisfied at your ticklish state, he grumbles something inaudible and presses open-mouthed kisses against your exposed collarbone. his tongue is too dry to really give you the full effect, so he compensates and gives your ass a good and satisfying squeeze.

you squeak at that, letting one hand curl into his tousled up locks while the other drifts down his bare back. he keens at the sensation of you tugging his hair, broad arms consuming you further like a moth to a flame — your body a burning star in his foggy vision. he keeps kissing, not lingering long enough to suck against the skin but it fills you with contentment anyway, because the softness of the embrace is far more fulfilling than sex could ever be in that moment.

he was more desperate than a starved dog, it showed in the way his grasping motions along your body were so fervent yet .. straining to be tame. your thumb rubbed against his scalp and you sway absently along the kitchen tiles with him, breakfast merely an afterthought as your bodies consume one another in their loving warmth.

"missin' ya so much. all the time, sweetheart." bradley murmurs, hoarse voice tugged by the vulnerability rearing its ugly head in his heart. you crane your neck and hum softly, lips pressing into his temple to leave a warm, wet kiss in their wake. it was an action that always hushed his aching mind when it was on the cusp of spiraling, something only you could ever do for him — a jockey who soothes their racehorse that froths at the mouth before each race.

"i'll always be here, honey. always gonna make you shitty breakfast, always gonna tolerate that loud mouth a' yours." you mumble against his prickly, stubbled face. the soft, whiney sigh that slips from his lips reassures you that your words, in fact, soothed the raging stallion in your grasp.

his mouth latches onto your collarbone once more, this time lingering for a beat too long and making a suctioned pop as he pulled back. cloudy hazel eyes peer down at you while his dry tongue flicks out for a second of thought.

"go lay down, sugar," bradley mutters - his voice stirring from deep within his rasped throat. it managed to make a familiar warmth bubble up in your stomach. ".. 'm gonna pour myself a cup of orange juice and give you some good goddamn art on this blank canvas 'a mine."

that thought alone makes you chew the corner of your lip to suppress a stupid, cheeky smirk, and you scurry off before he gets a chance to question you and your unbridled excitement for the mere opportunity to be adorned in his artwork (he never called those methodical hickeys of his anything different).

you can't help the fuzzy sensation that begins to pour down from your heart and sift into each crevice of your innards. you can't even recall the last time the two of you started off a morning so soft and tender, and it makes you pause in the hallway to glance at bradley while he looks through the fridge. a quick double take, just to make sure.

he was here.

and oh, he was so pretty, goddamnit.

PART 2 HERE !!

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw top gun #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #pete maverick mitchell #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fluff

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weebsinstash · 4 months

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Really like the idea of a yandere Vox who is so ride or die for his overconsumerist capitalist Musk-esque lifestyle UNTIL he sees it negatively affecting his darling and does a complete 180

like take that poly red string soulmate Vox x Reader x Alastor concept and, you've got Alastor KINDA warming up to technology and willing to watch TV and do other things with you but he's still not a fan of you being on your phone constantly and some of the video games and movies you consume. He's on the couch reading a paper and (affectionately) rolling his eyes as you and Vox take turns headshotting each other in a video game and hollering "hell yeah, suck my fucking dick!!"

Meanwhile Vox is just 200% chronically online and loving it until one day he asks you why you wear baggy clothes all the time and you're ever so casually replying "because my body is fucking icky, duh" and Vox has absolutely no idea what you're talking about until you break down on a tangent about it

I was watching a clip the other day where someone was pointing out that Marilyn Monroe was considered the 50s icon of beauty and there are plenty of photos with her with thick thighs or a visible belly pooch and, imagine Vox sitting there, the disbelieving 'are you joking?' smile falling off of his face as you just, go OFF, "why would I wear anything other than sweatpants? I have fucking CELLULITE VOX, I'll NEVER have leggings legs no matter how thin I am, and look at my hip dips, they're so fucking GROSS, and my butt isn't shaped right, I have banana rolls, and, do I have siren eyes or doe eyes?! Am I bunny cute or am I frog cute?! And look at how bad my facial balancing is! Ugh, where's my gua sha?! I'm so tired of being UGLY!!"

Later that week Alastor is looking up from his paper to see Vox just, slowly entering the room, sloooooowly shutting the door behind him, looking to his old friend, "so hey! Funny idea, stop me if you've heard this one before but, I was thinking we could uh, maybe take their phone away annnnnnnnnnd... not give it back?" and here's Alastor, "oh, funny story! So earlier today they asked me if I 'wouldn't like them anymore' if they got COSMETIC SURGERY, yeah, ON THEIR FACE BELIEVE IT OR NOT, so, naturally, I'm already one step ahead of you :)" as he just casually gestures to the smashed wifi router in the garbage can in the corner of the room

You just get home from work one day and Vox has his CRT head back on and you're told 'if you want to look something up online, you can use the desktop in the computer room, and only 3 hours of screen time' and it all but blasts you 15 years into the past 💀 no more nights where you're gaming for 5+ hours straight and ruining your sleep. No more skipping meals because you're hyperfocused and binge-watching an anime while also playing an idle game on your phone. No more Alastor and Vox finding out you're just smoking bowls for hours literally nonstop because you need some sort of extra stimulation while you doomscroll and watch 3 hour long roast reviews for shows you've never watched

Alastor catches you swiping through an app and you get a divisive video thrown in your face from some alpha dude bro podcast, "yeah, a real man knows how to protect his lady! She should be at home cooking and keeping the house clean, not running around like a tramp and doing dumb chick stuff! All women need to focus on is marriage and being good wives, you know, a TRADITIONAL relationship!" and Alastor is just, swiping that shit out of your hand, "he DOES have a bit of a point, repulsive as he is! I suppose I'll have to start looking at potential dwellings that can fit you, me, and, I SUPPOSE Vox too 🙄" and little do you know he's already got a cute little home in the 'burbs set up already. He's just... you know! Waiting for the right moment to let you and the annoying TV bastard know that you'll be moving! Maybe he'll just... wait until the day of! Nothing beats a fun surprise, right? ^^ he doesn't want either of you... trying to run away or anything after all haha!

#i actually have had an almost completelt finished vox fic w this conccept sitting in my drafts since like. February #yandere stuff #yandere hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hh #sinprompts

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paleroze · 4 months

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Blade Imagines 🔞

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Having a lover that is literally a wanted criminal, of course you would rarely see him. You, Blade's significant other that he always desires to return to after weeks, possibly months, of not touching you would always be his top priority once he sets foot in your shared home.

You knew of Blade's occupation, you're familiar with his work but never really dwell on it to keep you safe, according to him. Blade wanted to keep you out of trouble as much as possible, as his lover, you are meant to keep your relationship hidden.

He could only keep an eye on you when he's away, a quick visit in the town you reside secretly with him and you don't know of such activities he's done when stalking you, just to keep you safe.

It has been a month since he was gone, and as soon as his script was finished, Blade travelled back home as fast as he could.

Weeks since he last saw you, Blade searched around the house in hope to hold you again. Fortunately, he found you just stepping out of the kitchen, a food in hand.

Your eyes widened as soon as you saw him standing in the living room, placing down the food you were holding and ran up to him, hugging him tightly as he returned the gesture, kissing your neck in the process.

"I've missed you.." You muttered, pulling away from him. You smiled as you inspected him, no new wounds on his body, and he looked.. he still looked handsome.

"Have you eaten?" You asked, despite you pulling yourself away from him, Blade still holds your hand.

"I did." A white lie for you to not get worry, Blade ate like hours ago before he was finished and out of the Stellaron Hunter's base.

"You should rest, you're probably tired." You turned off the screen that has been playing for a while now to keep you distracted and led him to your shared bedroom.

You have so many things to tell him while he's away, and Blade knows you do. The man had stalked you once a week while he was out on a mission, and you were unaware of all of it.

You urge Blade to lay beside you, and he takes off those agonizing layers of clothing, keeping only his pants and he lays beside you, holding you close as he rests on top of you.

Blade held you close, as soon as his body touched yours, his mind drifted somewhere else. He kissed your body that stops you from speaking. But he urged you to keep going, wanting to hear your voice.

"Then I.. bought you something. Ah–" He bit your neck stopping your thoughts from forming.

"A gift for me?" He whispered. You nod, "I think I already got it." Blade sits up from crushing you, even if you liked the weight he puts on you.

You aren't dumb, you know what he meant and he waits for you to prepare yourself. "Okay.. if that would make you happy." You spoke.

"I am more than happy, Darling." To be able to touch you like this, Blade was in euphoria and he knew he would dive deeper as soon as he gets to taste you.

Blade traveled down until his face was on your crotch, he pulled down the shorts you were wearing and he almost moaned to the sight in front of him. He didn't waste any time and Blade rested both of your legs on his shoulders and wrapped his arms around your thighs, leaning down to kiss your pussy that has begun to leak.

"Blade..." You moan his name, your fingers tug on his hair and you push yourself closer to his mouth, aching for him to go deeper. Both his arms remain locked on your thighs, keeping you in place as you push and pull, despite knowing of wanting more of his tongue on your pussy.

His head, trapped between your thigh and your legs wrapped around him locking him in place as if he would want to pull away from the meal that is presented to him.

Breathy moans kept the room in noises, along with his tongue lapping on your hole as he sucked your clit earning him a thrust of your hips and his name escapes between your lips in a whisper.

You kept your mouth shut, shy to make a noise but the whimpers. He slaps your thigh, a warning to not hide the moans he adores after not hearing your voice for several weeks.

His tongue flicks on the bud, thrust and laps on your pussy, his content moans suppressed while he keeps his face between your legs. His eyes remain fixated on you, adoring of how you look at being pleasured and the teary face of yours made his cock throb.

You can feel him getting faster, eating you out as if it was his last, and you couldn't keep your noise anymore, barely holding on to the thread that kept you from release. His large calloused hand caress your hips, with a suck on your clit, you came with a cry, spilling on his mouth and you pull him closer with your legs. Blade choked from the pull and he swore he's in dreamland from how your thighs wrapped around his head and your pussy pulsating from the release, he continues and you tried to push him away to avoid being overstimulated but Blade is a stubborn man, and quite a mean one.

"Mn s-stop..! Bla-de, stop! I'm– oh...!"

You cried out, the heels of your feet jab on his back, begging for him to pull away, your hands tug on the messy hair of his to push him away but he's persistent to keep you on coming.

You sob as tears fall on your cheeks, unused with too much pleasure despite how many times Blade had fucked you to the point you would pass out till he gets satisfied.

"S-stop I'm gonna cum again! 'm gonn- cum!"

Spurts of liquid cover his face, the mess beneath him is just your fluid that he desperately laps on.

Your back arched from the bed as you ride out your second orgasm, clawing on the sheets and you hide your face on the pillow to hide your embarrassment.

Minutes have passed and your body shakes from the overstimulation, Blade kissed and cleaned you with his tongue, eyes too hazy and focused on your glistening pussy.

His hot breath on your hole made you shiver once he pulled away, he trailed kisses up to your body until he's face to face with you. Blade kissed near your eye and your shaking arms wrapped around him, holding him close and his lips met yours.

His skilled tongue explores your mouth, and you try to keep up with him only to drown to the bliss of his gentle hold he could muster.

Blade unbuttoned his pants and pushed down until his cock was free from its confinements. He aligned himself in your pussy and thrusts in while you were distracted, the sudden intrusion made you gasp from pulling away, feeling how big he is and missing the feeling of your walls clenching around his thick cock.

He moaned from the tightness, "Calm down.. Breathe." He eased, caressing your side.

Once you've gotten used to his size again, Blade experimental thrusts slowly into you which causes a moan from you. His lazy thrusts build up your orgasm once more.

"Hm?" You whined, unused with how Blade is going slow rather than his usual fast thrusts. You're more familiar with his rough treatment, but with how things they are right now, Blade was being rather gentle.

He chuckled, "I love you.."

Even if he was being slow, his thrust was still hard and met your satisfaction, his tip kissing your cervix and your inside clench around his cock.

It didn't take time for him to chase his own release, his movements getting faster until he spills inside of you. You came one last time with him, mixing with his cum, he continues to thrust into you that some even spilled out of your pussy.

Blade kisses you as he lays down on the bed, switching the both of you until you're on top of him, his cock still inside you and he made no plans on pulling out.

You rest your head on the crook of his neck, leaving marks, a reminder that he's taken.

Eventually, you fell asleep first. Blade plays with your hair and traces his fingertips on your body he worships.

His touch has never been this gentle, and making love with you is what he has been looking out for ever since you came to his life, and Blade would cherish every moment he's with you.

#pale writes 18 #blade smut #blade x reader #hsr blade #blade x y/n #blade x you #blade x female reader #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr smut

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kingtomura · 6 months

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Vitality | 2

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home. Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you. All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, found family LoV, mdni wc: 3.2k | prev | chapter 3 | m. list | read on ao3

There are tunnels under the bar. They wind and they twist and they are very easy to get lost in.

That’s the point, Shigaraki tells you when you ask about the arrangement the next day. It had been a struggle to keep up with Kurogiri as he led you to your new living quarters for the first time – now you were able to get away with asking him to teleport you there instead.

But you agree.

They should be confusing so no one can easily find where you sleep.

But not only are they confusing, they are dark, dusty and kind of spooky. Like an ancient vampire's lair or something silly like that. The rooms however, are not so creepy. They are oddly normal and have everything you need.

Your room contains a desk, bed and empty shelves — ready and waiting to be filled with books.

The sheets were neatly made and there was a small rug near your bed. You assume it's to break up the bland look of the concrete, but it's fine. For some reason it feels safer than what you've had before.

A bed, desk and a door with a lock. Yeah, much safer.

There isn’t much time to dwell on the interior design of your new room because a knock at your door shakes you from your thoughts.

It’s a little late at night for a visitor, but you push past the feeling, spouting a firm come in and waiting on the guest to make themselves known.

You have to will your face to stay neutral as Tomura Shigaraki walks into your room, absently closing the door behind him. He’s wearing the hand-mask, but you can still make out the carmine red of his eyes in the dim lighting of your room.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he starts, voice sounding anything but apologetic, “but there are a few things I need to know.”

You watch as he stands by the door, hands in his pockets as he goes on, wasting no time questioning you. And you should answer him, especially if you are going to be staying here with them, but your mind cannot process whatever it is he’s saying.

Everything around you seemed to come to a stop as your eyes and focus pinpointed on the closed door behind him. The feeling of being shut in with another person, another man, makes your throat feel dry and your hands shake.

Shigaraki is watching, waiting for an answer but you’re frozen — stuck as the walls suffocate your words.

He tilts his head, another question ready to be fired off, maybe to ask about your lack of response, but you beat him to it.

“Could you… open the door? Please.”

It catches him off guard, but his eyes never leave yours. “Why?”

There is no bite to the question, no malice. Just curious.

“I just don’t like when doors are closed.” You shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. Desperate to keep some of your diffidence inside, “makes me feel claustrophobic.”

Shigaraki hums, answer seemingly good enough for him as he turns back to open your door, wide enough that you feel comfortable, but still enough to give you privacy. You feel like you can breathe again.

“Like I was saying,” he picks up again, not missing a beat and pulling out your desk chair to take a seat. “I need a little more information. You say that you stumbled upon Giran, but how? What were you doing before?”

There’s an odd feeling in your chest. One of solid dread that weighed more than a thousand pounds. It made your eyes water and your chest tight, but you willed it all away. You would not break down here in front of a man you knew next to nothing about.

You clench your fists and meet his eyes, there was a decision to be made right now. If this place were to house you then you must do what you could to be honest. Not completely, but enough.

“I… hurt someone. And I ran away before anyone could find me.”

“And who was the unlucky fellow?” His words are light and dripping with a sarcasm that made you feel like you were walking on eggshells.

“It was,” you stall, pondering if giving him the information would backfire. You decide that it is not something you should hide. There was no erasing the past. “My father.”

There’s a chill that passes through your body as the words leave your lips. The sticky sweet falsehood of the name makes you nauseous. That man is not your father, but it is all you know him as — and who were you to challenge that? Even without his presence.

Tomura says nothing for a while, drowning the room in a still quiet so thick you almost think he hadn’t heard you.

“Is he dead?” He asks, raspy voice finally breaking through the quiet.

“What?” You ask, confusion lining your features.

“Did you kill him?”

You shake your head, and it feels like you're in the moment again — shattering glass, splash of blood and then silence. The memory of him laying out on the living room floor, blood beginning to pool under his head sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don't know.” And it's the truth, he could very well be dead, “and I couldn’t risk sticking around to find out. But I didn't mean to–”

“Can you defend yourself?” Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat, unphased by the possibility of you murdering your father and undeterred by your obvious incoming breakdown.

You look to the floor, eyes focused on the rug below your bed, its curving patterns and the difference of its color against the gray cement floor. “Why?”

“If he’s not dead, if he looks for you — are you able to fight if it comes down to it?”

You can’t. You know that you can’t. You’ve never been able to hold your own against him and it eats you alive every night. So, reluctantly, you shake your head. “No.”

Tomura watches you, it feels like he’s analyzing you with every passing second. He hums, taking your answer in and standing up. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” You question, thinking there would be more to his questions. You may have killed someone and he doesn’t seem to care. Just who was this guy?

Shigaraki turns back to you, feet stopping just before your door, “Oh, yeah. We’ll get you a phone in the morning. Business only. Also, there’s a meeting tomorrow around three. Try not to be late, I hate when people are tardy.”

You can only nod, watching as he turns away from you and leaves the room. Silence falls in his absence, a thick and loaded tension as you are left with your thoughts.

The idea of your father still being out there, alive and waiting for you makes you feel restless. Your mind races as you curl up under the sheets that were newly yours and pray sleep finds you sooner rather than later.

—-----------

The meeting is uneventful.

It was a basic introduction, while discussing the plans and next moves for the League of Villains.

All of it feels surreal. One day you’re home wondering if the hell you lived was all your life had in store for you, and the next day you’re free.

As free as one can be with a group of villains.

You notice a few things in your first week amongst this new group you’ve joined.

The first being that the league can be noisy.

It’s all you can think about as you take your place on a vacant barstool in front of the counter.

“Would you like something to drink?” Kurogiri wastes no time, glass already prepped and ready, with two cubes of ice waiting.

You shake your head, politely declining, “No, thank you. Alcohol’s not really my thing.”

“Understood.” The man responds, shadows flaring around his figure like whips, “we also have nonalcoholic drinks.”

You give him a short sure and he pours you a glass of fizzy, clear soda.

Shigaraki is a few seats down, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the obituaries of a newspaper — easily ignoring the commotion behind you both.

It’s hard to tune out the noise, but you try. You’ve been caught up in your thoughts all day, in the idea of your future. There is no guarantee you will be safe amongst villains, but there is nowhere else for you to go. And then there is your father.

What really came of him? You’ve searched on the new phone Shigaraki gave you, but there are no news articles and no public meetings. If you really did kill him, if you really are free — just what does that mean for you?

“Bullshit!”

You turn back to the group playing a game of cards. Spinner is losing against Mr. Compress for what he claims is the third time in a row.

“C’mon Spinner, it's the rules! No, he’s cheating!” Twice and his two-toned persona calls out. The noise in the room was beginning to rise, bringing your anxiety with it. You can’t focus in here, but you don’t really know your way back to your room.

Someone slams their hand onto the table and the sound makes you jolt, spilling a bit of your drink onto the table.

You curse under your breath, grabbing a few napkins and cleaning the area. It’s a decent distraction and with it you try to calm your breathing down. Maybe getting lost in the depths of the hideout wouldn’t be so bad. At least no one would notice your absence.

But someone would.

“Hey, now,” Shigaraki starts, not taking his eyes off the newspaper in front of him. “Are you trying to give our location away? Lower your voices.”

And just like that, the tension in the room dissipates — taking your brain fog with it.

Your shoulders relax and the group is now being subjected to Mr. Compress and his never-ending magic tricks.

By the time night fell you were more than ready to retire to your room.

“Kurogiri,” you start, hoping to keep your voice low enough to not draw attention. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you help me to my room again? The tunnels have still got me beat.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki raises a hand to stop Kurogiri's response. “Ah, Kurogiri, she’ll never learn if you just do it for her every time. Let me.” He offers, tone a little too flippant for something that should be an inconvenience. It feels like a trap.

You go to refuse, tell him you really don't need the help and you could probably find your own way, but he stops you — one hand held up and waving you off. You swear you could see the hint of a smile underneath the mask.

“Don’t worry about it. We want you to feel welcomed here in the league.” He goes to stand and you follow, knowing it’s best to go along with it and not against.

The walk is quiet and the tunnels are long.

It's dark and decrepit while the cold air makes goosebumps spread across your skin like wildfire.

Although, you could probably owe some of your unease to your unlikely walking partner.

You did a little bit of research on your new phone that was given to you. A little deep dive on your new leader, Tomura Shigaraki, and just who he is. For starters, he is a villain who has one of the most destructive quirks you’ve ever seen.

Decay.

Tomura Shigaraki is a man with many dreams, those of which supposedly align with another villain — Hero Killer Stain. You don’t know how much of that is true, but you do know that he is dangerous, volatile and not afraid to kill to carry out his dreams.

It's odd how fate brought you together. All you’ve known is to heal others while he seems to be a professional in death and destruction. Polar opposites.

In your research you came across an article of the USJ incident, how the Symbol of Peace had been targeted. Shigaraki was the mastermind behind it all.

It’s almost impressive how he seems to have captivated the attention of the public.

And now the very same Shigaraki is walking you to your room, insisting it is to make sure you don't get lost. Apparently that’s what a good leader would do.

But there is no such thing as a free lunch.

“You know,” he starts, interrupting your trail of thoughts, the never ending loop coming to a halt at his words. “There's something about you that's really gotten under my skin.”

Your breath hitches and you wait for him to elaborate. The quiet stretches thin between you both as your steps echo along the tunnels.

“What’s your purpose here?”

It catches you off guard. “What?”

“Everyone in the league has a goal that they are fighting towards. The goals are like power-ups. I can't figure out yours.”

He’s got you. You don't have a goal, unless he counts survival. But they’re all just trying to survive aren't they?

“We’re all fighting for something or another. Money, freedom, revenge. Those are all important things that will drive you the extra mile in a pinch.” He keeps his tone leveled, innocuous. But you knew better. This is to gauge your resolve and you weren't sure what would come of you if you failed this test.

“What are you getting at Shigaraki?” You can't help the way your eyes narrow, waiting and watching as he brings a hand to the mask on his face.

“I’m only asking to help you out. You can’t just go with the motions forever, you know.”

This guy thinks he’s so smart, like he’s got you all figured out. It’s irritating. “I’m not!”

Your eyes are glued to him as you both come to a stop. Your hands tremble as you watch him remove the hand from his face. The abrupt action makes you falter and you absently wonder if he’s shown anyone else in the league his face.

Even in the dim lighting of the tunnels you could still see Shigaraki’s red gaze.

His eyes consumed you so much that you had to take a step back. And he followed — close, but far enough away.

“You are. You did what you had to do back then, but what will you do when you’re forced to make a choice like that again?”

The chill air of the tunnels do nothing to calm the heat you feel in your body. The fear and anxiety within your mind manifesting before you in its form of trembling fingers and labored breaths.

What would you do if you needed to choose again?

This situation could be over just as much as it could still be lingering. Watching and waiting for you. What would you do then?

You hate how his tone makes you sweat.

You hate the way his words make sense.

“An animal backed into a corner has no choice but to fight.” He continues, and you stare — taking in his features in the low light. His skin is pale and there’s something about the scars on his face that make you want to reach out. To see if you could heal them.

To see if he would let you.

You don’t. All you can do is stand before him, dumbfounded and speechless as he tells you the reality you face.

“There will come a time when your ideals are challenged. What lengths are you willing to go to maintain that freedom? How hard would you strike at those who want to keep you down and dirty like a dog?” Shigaraki tilts his head, hint of a smile gracing his features but it is not one of joy.

“This is your life. You are the one in control. Not me, not your father — you. I don't expect you to have all the answers now, but never regret making a choice that granted you freedom.” The words make you swallow, how someone could see right through you so easily… It felt absurd. “And don’t underestimate the lengths you should go to maintain that.”

Shigaraki looks at you for a moment — as if to make sure you’ve taken his words in and then turns away. The silence was thick as he continued his route down the hallway. You drag your feet along to follow, unable to find the words to respond.

You're both arriving in the hall where your room awaits and you bite back a sigh of relief. This trip feels like it took years.

You both pause in front of the door, staring each other down. It's like you're on another planet completely.

“Goodnight.” He whispers, voice low as if there were others around to wake.

Shigaraki places the hand back on his face and brushes by your side, his steps echoing in the vacancy of the tunnel as his words reverberate in your mind.

Tomura Shigaraki is right about one thing.

You would do anything to keep your freedom.

—------------------

The following days within the league have been mellow.

As the resident healer you come across all kinds of injuries and scratches that don’t take much effort to heal. It gets you into a routine of some kind.

Toga, with her minor cuts and bruises, to Spinner who had a massive gash in his arm from lack of practice with his katana. It’s all simple and easy.

Your current patient, however, is not simple and easy.

Dabi is someone you have had little to no interaction with, the man choosing to spend his time elsewhere and makes his stance with the league known.

He couldn’t care less for any of it.

Far too focused on his own goals and motives, Dabi tended to be out and about on his own business.

Your hands tremble as they hover over his bloody arm. Apparently there was a fight and one of the guys caught Dabi off guard. He only managed to cut his arm before being incinerated.

The heat of his quirk lingers before your hand as you focus your energy into restoring his arm. It was hot and you could only imagine the waves of his flames.

He says nothing as you work, opting for a comfortable silence in the air of your room. The door is cracked allowing more light of the hallway to bleed into the space. His body is not one that you could ever fully heal.

The burns were permanent, and with his constant quirk use you don’t think he would stay healed if you tried.

Your eyes trail up his arm and you notice the glint of the silver staples along his body. Then up towards the silver lining his face. You can't imagine how painful something like that must feel.

Your eyes trail further up until you meet the cerulean blue of his. The sudden contact makes you instantly dart your gaze to the floor and the realization of being caught staring leaves you feeling unsettled. You’re not sure how long he’s been watching you, but it makes your stomach turn.

Shigaraki has no use for harming you, but you didn’t know Dabi.

You finish healing him and he stands, boots loud against the cement as he makes his way to the door.

He pauses, opting to give you one last look. “You should really work on that.”

You know he’s not talking about your abilities. Your demeanor could use a lot of work.

You can’t help but agree.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura x reader #my works #mha x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #mha fanfiction

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albertasunrise · 24 days

Text

Hope You Can Forgive Me - Hope

Masterlist

GIF by olisgifs

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (So here is my first fic update since having Lando! I hope this was worth the wait and I can't wait to hear what you all think. There is some time hopping in this chapter but it's all necessary. Enjoy ♥️)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The words hung in the air between you. Swirling around in his head as he processed that he was sitting at a table with you after all this time. That you were smiling softly at him, not growling at him in frustration because he’d gotten on your nerves for the final time.

“Tommy told me that you ended up going back to the hospital after you left that day and I-“

“You mean the day you tossed me out?” He interrupted, surprised by how he suddenly felt 10 years of anger surge to the surface.

“Joel I-“

“I don’t need your sorries.” He stated plainly and you nodded numbly “What I needed then was for you to see how badly I was doing but you couldn’t.”

He couldn’t say he blamed you really. You were facing life with a partner who was never going to walk again whilst you had to raise his toddler and the newborn baby you shared.

‘Dwelling on the past isn’t going to change it so let's just agree to move on.” He piped up after a tense pause and he could have laughed at how your shoulders dropped and you allowed yourself to relax.

You both sat in awkward silence for a while before Joel finally broke it. His question brought a proud smile to your face.

“Noah’s turned out to be a fine young man.” He stated as he took a sip of his coffee “Sarah’s besotted with him.”

“He’s just like his father.” You gushed “Patient and kind.” You continued as you looked down at the wedding band and engagement ring that you still wore “He’d never said a cross word to me till recently. Learning that he and Sarah had been inseparable as babies was tough on him.

“He pleaded with me to reach out to you but I confess… I didn’t think you’d want to speak to me after everything.”

“I never stopped caring.” Joel stated honestly “I have spent the last decade blaming myself for that crash… it should have been me that-“

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” You pleaded as you stared at him with round, tear-filled, eyes “The accident was not your fault! The truck driver is the one to blame for what happened and it was wrong of me to blame you.” You let out a long sigh before taking a large sip of coffee before continuing “I was pregnant and hormonal and facing having to care long-term for my partner as well as raise a toddler and a newborn.

“Life looked bleak and I just needed someone to blame… but I shouldn’t have blamed you.” You choked out, voice wobbling as you spoke that last statement.

Joel remained silent. Watching you as you pulled yourself together before continuing.

“I should have seen that you weren’t well, you're right.” You started again after a few tense moments of silence “After Tommy told me what happened… my mind started to replay everything and it was so obvious that something was wrong. I should have seen it… not shut you out so I could wallow in my own misery.”

“I get it… I do-“

“But it doesn’t excuse it, Joel.” You interrupted “I should have done better by you and I’m sorry.”

Joel nodded. Giving you a small smile before downing the last dregs of his coffee.

“Well… now that all the tense formalities are out of the way… shall we get another coffee and catch up properly?” He asked with a grin, instantly lifting the mood.

“That would be wonderful.”

2 months later…

Joel watched from the patio as Noah and Sarah played a heated game of swing ball, Ali watching from the sidelines as she cheered her brother on. Tommy was at the grill, having promised Joel that he could ‘cook some damn burgers’, leaving the older Miller to watch the two childhood sweethearts play. Memories of a little Noah showing an even smaller Sarah how to throw a ball flashed in his mind. They had always played so well together.

Some things never change it seemed.

Joel’s attention was torn away from Sarah and her beau and towards you, as you placed the salad and condiments in the centre of the table.

“Foods up!” Called Tommy and soon the table was filled with chatter as everyone dug in.

It felt like old times. Only, someone was missing.

Once the food was consumed and the dishes dealt with, Sarah, Ali and Noah slunk away to read their books under the tree at the bottom of Joel's garden, leaving you, Joel and Tommy to sip at your cold beers and catch up.

"How's things been with you?" Tommy asked you as he turned to face you. It was something that you had always liked about Tommy. When he was talking to you he gave you his undivided attention and never butted in when you spoke. Something that Alec and his family had always done that had driven you to distraction... But never the Miller boys. They always listened to what you had to say.

"Yeah, they're good." You nodded as you replied and placed your bottle on the table "Starting to meld well with the nice team. Making some friends too which is nice."

"Any hot men in the office catch your eye?"

Tommy's question took you by surprise and you couldn't help but glance at Joel a moment before you answered. He was looking anywhere but you and Tommy as they both awaited your answer and you felt a small pang of hope fill you. Why, you weren't sure.

"Not really looking for anything at the moment." You said, shrugging your shoulders "Been so focused on work and the kids the last few months that I haven't really thought about what comes next."

Your eyes drifted to Noah and Ali who were talking animatedly about, you assumed, something that had happened in the books they were holding. Both had ended up bookworms like their dad, something you were glad of as they had grown up. Buying them books to distract them from the reality of how sick Alec had been.

"Plus Alec hasn't been gone long. Would be wrong for me to just move on."

"You're entitled to be happy." Tommy stated plainly as he gave you that signature Miller look "He would want you to live life to the fullest. Lord knows you've earned that."

"I guess." You shrugged.

Truth be told, since coming back into the Miller's lives your feelings for Joel had started to stir again. He had turned out to be an incredible father, not that you had doubted him for a second but he had been forced to take on parenthood completely on his own when you had left. Ali's parents had died a few years after the accident leaving Joel with just Tommy for family but he had been in the army. So he had to take it all on by himself and he had flourished. Sarah was a kind, polite and caring young girl and the spitting image of her mother. Something that had made you both happy and sad. Happy, that she had turned out so beautiful, but sad because there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't miss Ali. So much so that you had named your own daughter after her.

"How about you brother?" Tommy asked, taking the attention off of you "How's things been with that chick you're dating?"

"We've been on like two dates Tommy." Joel sighed but his brother shrugged.

'Still dating her." He chuckled as he took a long pull of his beer "Given her the Miller magic yet?" Joel choked on his beer as the words settled between you and your stomach sank.

He was dating?

Of course, he was dating. He was an attractive young man, why wouldn't he? Yet this information felt like a punch to the gut. You knew you had no right to feel this way about Joel seeing someone yet it was a fight to keep the tears at bay. You would later realise as you analysed your feelings over a large glass of wine at home that a small part of you had always held onto the hope that one day, you and Joel may have had your chance.

That after all these years, he would realise how you felt and would return those feelings. You would later realise that that was a fool's hope.

You had broken things beyond repair with Joel all those years ago.

There was no hope for the two of you now. There was no way he felt the same way about you.

Oh if only you knew.

You had found yourself quickly falling into old traditions with the Millers. Regular gatherings at Joels where food and laughter are shared only this time Noah and Sarah weren't babies anymore. You found yourself missing their antics. Howthey used to hide behind the wooden castle climbing frame that Joel had built Sarah before she'd even made her entrance to the world. They would crouch behind it and giggle, thinking no one knew they were there and you would all chuckle at them and how perfect together they were. Even from such a young age.

You had found yourself wondering if Joel had ever thought about having more kids. He was still young after all, having had Sarah in his early twenties same as you had had Ali so young yourself. You had definitely thought that there would have been more children in your future but Alec's health hadn't allowed for that and so that dream of another baby had died along with him.

When Sandy had stepped into the fold, you had had your question of whether Joel wanted more kids answered from the moment she'd opened her mouth at the annual pre-Christmas get-together. She was young, late twenties and perky. Both physically and personality-wise.

She had sat there for hours talking about how she had no interest in having kids. That she liked them but that it had never appealed to her personally. You had asked Joel if he had thought about having any more to which he'd replied "Nah, one and done for me."

It had shocked you how blasé he had been about the subject and it had stung you. Why, you weren't sure but you supposed its because you had secretly hoped you'd have one with him one day.

Now though, that pipedream seemed an impossibility that Sandy was in the picture. You hated her for it...

You knew you had no reason to. She was sweet. There didn't appear to be a bad bone in her body but she grated on your nerves with her big eyes and sickly sweet smiles.

Your feelings for Joel may have had some bearing on your opinion of her you supposed.

Those pesky feelings had only continued to grow the more time you spent with Joel. You and he would alternate some nights during the week for dinners or movie nights. Ali and Sarah had become fast friends, something you had worried would irritate Noah now that his relationship with Sarah seemed to have developed a third wheel but on the contrary, he seemed to welcome her.

They still managed to find time to spend together without his sister hanging around but he didn't begrudge her presence when she was there. He'd always been a great big brother to her.

But now it seemed that you had become the third wheel in Joel's relationship with Sandy. These once peaceful evenings had been overtaken by her loud personality but Joel seemed to lap it up, completely oblivious to how you were starting to pull away. Unable to watch them be so sickeningly happy.

It all came to a head three months later. Unable to keep up the fake smiles any longer.

"So, I found a new taco recipe I want to try for Taco Tuesday this week." Joel stated as he dried the last dish and placed it on the drying rack beside the sink "Churizo with fried potatoes, avocados, onions and Cilantro... Read it in a magazine this week and I knew I had to try it."

"Sounds good." You answered numbly as you picked up the last few dried plates and cutlery to put away "I'm sure the kids will love it."

"You okay?" Joel asked upon sensing your tone.

"Mhmm." You knew your reply wasn't fooling anyone.

"Okay, what's up?" He asked, letting out a sigh as he turned his whole body to face you, rested his hip against the counter and crossed his arms, accentuating his strong arms and broad shoulders.

"Nothing it's just... I won't be able to make Taco Tuesday this week. Or movie night on Thursday." You replied, not looking at him as you spoke.

"Okay, I'll save that recipe for next week then."

"I can't go next week either." You replied bluntly and his brows furrowed as he looked across at you.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to be busy the next few weeks is all."

"Few weeks?" He questioned and you simply nodded.

"Yeah."

"Care to look at me whilst you lie to me?" He growled and you let out a long sigh before returning his gaze.

"I'm not lying to you, Joel." You growled "I have a lot going on with work so I won't be able to make our usual arrangements for a month or so.

"But the kids-"

"Can do all that shit without me." You replied, more snappy than you'd meant to.

"That shit?" Joel pushed, his tone sounding a little wounded "Is something going on? Did I do something?"

"No." You replied as you sighed loudly "You haven't done anything wrong."

It wasn't exactly a lie. His dating Sandy wasn't wrong. It just hurt you to watch.

Joel didn't push but he knew you weren't being honest with him. You had always been easy to read, wearing your heart on your sleeve for the world to see but he didn't understand why you were suddenly going cold on him. Things had fallen back into place so easily. He thought things were good. He didn't push it any further.

"You're still coming to the cook out week after next though right?" He asked and your heart broke at how hopeful he seemed.

"Yeah, I'll be there." You lied, hoping he would believe you and would drop it.

He seemed to buy it because his shoulders relaxed and he gave you a small smile. You smiled back but your stomach twisted painfully. You had two weeks to come up with a decent lie for why you couldn't make it. You knew it had to be believable or Joel would be around yours banging on your door and you knew you'd not be able to lie to him if that were to happen.

You left with Noah that evening barely gracing Joel or Sarah with a goodbye and it was from that that he knew something serious was up. Just didn't know how to find out.

...

Sandy had arrived a little after you had left. Cuddling on the couch, she instantly picked up on Joel's distracted state and didn't wait to question him on it. So he told her about how weird you had been that evening. How you'd suddenly become cold and closed off.

"I don't know what I've done." Joel sighed "She was just so off this evening and then she's suddenly telling me that she's going to be busy for the foreseeable and I just... I don't get it."

"Oh Joel, baby, you're such a typical bloke." Sandy chuckled sympathetically as she turned her top half to look at him "She's obviously got feelings for you."

"She doesn't have feelings for me." Joel scoffed "Don't be absurd."

"Why else would she suddenly stop hanging out with her friend the moment he meets someone?"

"I-"

"I've had my suspicions for a while but the last few times we've hung out it's been pretty clear that she's got feelings for you Joel."

"But she..."

"Would you like it if you had a crush on someone and their new beau was there all the time?" She asked and Joel sighed "I am happy to back off a little if you want to spend more time with her but I don't think she'll want to."

"She can't have feelings for me." He muttered and Sandy chuckled as she watched his mind whir.

"Perhaps you should go see her and find out." Sandy shrugged, smiling sweetly at Joel as he looked up at her "Give her some closure."

Joel parked across from your house before wiping his clammy hands on his jeans and willing his heart to slow. It had been a few days since that conversation with Sandy and what she'd told him played on repeat in his head. Did you really have feelings for him? He had never dared hope that maybe one day you would feel the same way he did.

He had been practising what he wanted to ask you all evening. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do if it transpired that you did feel the same. He supposed he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Tommy had agreed to watch Sarah for the evening so that he could come to speak to you. He wasn't sure how this was going to go but he had wanted the option to stay a little later if things went the way he hoped they might.

Finally, as he had willed his heart to slow, your door swung open and grabbed his attention. He watched as you stepped outside slightly, looking at someone who was out of Joel's eyeline. You were smiling at them as you spoke, words that he could not hear from the cab of his car but you seemed to smile shyly at whoever you spoke them to. He hoped that youwouldn't notice his truck parked across the street as he watched you from the shadows. His stomach twisted when a man he didn't recognise stepped into view and leaned closer so he could place a kiss on your lips.

A myriad of emotions flooded him at once. He felt a pang of despair fill him as he watched you say your farewells for this man, but it quickly morphed into anger as he watched the man get in his car and drive off.

You hadn't bailed on him because you have feelings for him. You bailed because you wanted to focus on your new boy toy. You'd rather spend time with someone you barely know over him and his family. You had other priorities now.

And Joel wasn't one of them.

Next For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #last of us #the last of us #joel miller gif #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gif #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #last of us fanfiction

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katnissmellarkkk · 1 year

Note

tis I with a prompt: I request the first time post war Katniss lets Peeta into her bed again 🥺

AN : wrote this the night you sent the prompt but I absolutely hated it until now. I finally got around to cleaning this up a bit and now I think it’s cute? Lemme know, all of y’all, if you like it! And my writing muscles are rusty so send me a prompt if you like, to try and work me out please! Can’t make any promises about what’ll trigger my brain but I can sure try! Anywaysss hope y’all enjoy this lil post-mockingjay-pre-epilogue drabble here!

I watch with dread as Peeta scrubs away the last bit of sauce still dried to his plate.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I murmur halfheartedly from where I lean against the counter, watching him.

“It’s rude to not wash your own plate after dinner,” he says, his tone somewhat coy. He’s teasing me, I realize. He’s maybe even flirting with me but I can’t be sure and even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to make of it.

“I never wash mine after eating at your house,” I mumble, mostly to myself. I know he doesn’t care about cleaning off my plate for me. I know that he knows that I don’t mind washing his plate either.

But I don’t push the point and neither does he. Because we’re both stalling the inevitable.

It’s past ten at night and it’s time for Peeta to go home now. This time comes every day and we should be more prepared for it by this point, but every single night when the sun has long since left the sky and you can barely make out five feet in front of you without a flashlight, Peeta walks out the front door and my chest aches, as he disappears out into the night.

Ask him to stay, a tiny voice that sounds weirdly like both Haymitch and my mother — at the same exact time — pressures me.

But my tongue won’t cooperate and I can’t make the words form on my lips and I feel my stomach flip as I stutter out an awkward goodbye instead.

“Goodnight, Katniss,” Peeta says evenly, his face smooth and peaceful and totally level as he reaches out and squeezes my hand before moving to grab his coat.

He’s walking towards the door and I feel the familiar dread — the dread that’s been my constant companion for longer than I care to remember — rise up in my stomach and for a split second I want to reach out and grasp his elbow. For a split second I want to grab onto him and stop him from leaving.

And for a moment I plan to ask him to stay, to come upstairs with me, to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth by my side at the sink, to crawl beneath the sheets and hold me until we hear birds begin to chirp with the morning light. In that moment I plan to ask him to do exactly what we used to do on the train, exactly what we used to do every single night, back before everything between us completely shattered beyond recognition.

My hand drops midair before I can make the contact with his arm but it catches his attention just the same.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires, his face becoming concerned.

“Nothing,” I brush off tightly. Instead of saying what I’m thinking, instead of saying what I want, I just force a smile and lightly graze his hand. “Get home safe.”

At that, he shoots me a bemused look. “I live three houses from you. Somehow I think I’ll be fine.”

I nod and chuckle as he leaves, as he disappears into the night, making the shortest of journeys home, unwittingly leaving me to dwell in regret for all the things I wish I’d just come out and said.

As soon as the door shuts between us regret the size of an elephant lands on my chest.

And I know, without a doubt, this is going to be one bad night for me.

The funny thing about my nightmares is they never lose their edge. Not with time, not with practice, not with comparison. I’ve seen Cato get eaten by the mutts hundreds of times. I’ve watched Clove stab me with her knives and Brutus chase me through the jungle and Enobaria break my neck with one hand, more than I could possibly count.

I’ve witnessed my sister detonate, as if I’m still standing right there, in the city circle of the Capitol. I’ve witnessed it thousands of times since that day. I’ve witnessed it more often than I’ve managed to actually sleep since that day.

And it never gets easier. It never becomes routine. I’m never ever prepared for it.

Instead I’m left paralyzed as the same dreams plague me over and over and over again.

Other things do change though. I used to thrash around, kicking and screaming as the dreams tortured me for minutes on end. I used to wake up, sweat covered and coiled up in my bedding, trapped in a physical sense that only manages to make my dreams even more intense somehow.

But over time something shifted and somehow, between the bomb that killed my sister and taking down Coin and the trial I scarcely remember, the thrashing stopped and the walking began.

For months now, I’ve woken to find myself in strange rooms, in small crawl spaces I didn’t know existed, inside cupboards and beneath beds no one’s ever used in guest rooms I barely recognize.

But I’ve never found myself outside before. Never, in all the time I’ve dealt with these dreams, have I ever once ended up in my front lawn.

Never, in my wildest imagination, did I picture myself waking from my nightmare, facedown in some dirt, ripping grass from the ground as I let out a rabid scream.

“Katniss,” I hear a voice softly murmur, like speaking to an injured fawn, terrified of scaring them away. “Katniss, it’s okay.”

And my lips cry for the voice before my brain fully recognizes it. “Peeta?”

“It’s just me,” he says, and I feel his hands grasp the tops of my arms, gently pulling me upright. “It’s only me.”

I pry my swollen eyes open and take in Peeta’s kind, worried face, mere inches away from mine.

“You’re here?” I croak, still groggy and confused. “What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare,” he explains, thumbing away my tears as more come pouring out. “But it’s over now. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” His hand cups my cheek softly, holding the weight of my head.

I nod plaintively, my body still completely exhausted despite the fact I was just asleep. “I’m okay,” I try to say but all that comes out is a guttural raspy sound and I watch as his face softens even more.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside,” he whispers, offering me his hand.

I take it without question, but find that I’m not upright for long. The moment I’m standing, my bare feet touching the dewy grass, Peeta bends down and scoops me up in his arms.

I don’t question it though. Maybe secretly I wanted him to do that. I definitely didn’t want to wait around to see if Haymitch came outside, asking why I was screaming at this hour of the day.

Peeta carries me into the house as if I weigh as much as Buttercup, kicking the door shut behind him and walking over to the couch. He sits down with me on his lap and drops his arms, as if to let me decide the next move. I could either crawl away from him, put some distance between us, or I could remain where I am.

To me, the choice barely takes any consideration.

I curl up closer to him, the images from the dream still too fresh to handle alone. I press my face into his neck and fold myself into him and hope he reciprocates in kind.

It doesn’t take more than a second for him to respond. As soon as I initiate it, he’s there, pulling me tighter, cradling me against him, rocking me back and forth like I’m something precious to behold.

“It’s okay,” he repeats again and again and again, as if we entered a time warp and we’re back on the train, back in the Capitol in our little apartment, sharing a bed, guarding against nightmares we stupidly thought would be the height of our troubles. “I have you, Katniss. I won’t let anything hurt you now.”

I cry into the collar of his shirt, drained and shaking and still half-crazed, feeling slightly better only when his fingers begins to smooth my hair away from my face.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Peeta whispers gently, his hand moving from my hair to my lower back, rubbing soft, soothing circles there to alleviate my trembling.

Time begins to pass. My tears dwindle to nothing. I feel the shaking come to an end. Every last ounce of energy I have left seeps from my body. My eyes grow heavy.

And pretty soon, I feel myself lifted once again, into strong, protective arms, cradling me like a baby as they carry me up the stairs and down to the end of the hall.

I’m tucked into bed gently, with the utmost care. The covers are brought up to my chin, my hair is brushed off my forehead and his fingers lightly dance upon my cheek. But it’s not enough. I still crave more.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, and my voice still isn’t mine, it’s someone else, someone who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants. For who she wants to lay beside her in the darkness.

“Okay,” he murmurs and it sounds like a promise but as he sits down on the side of my bed and takes my hand in his, planting a soft kiss upon the back of it, I know he doesn’t understand what I’m truly asking.

“No, Peeta, that’s not what I meant,” I say, shaking my head, before pushing the covers back. “Can you get in? Can you stay with me?”

I don’t really grasp my word choice and all the underlying meanings until it’s already slipped out and too late to take back again.

But I only have a moment to be filled with regret. Because that’s how long it takes Peeta to slide in beside me.

And as I curl into him, wrapping my leg around his waist, burrowing my face in the curve of his neck, basking in the feeling of utter safety and happiness that I have never, ever found in another pair of arms, he whispers the only thing that could erase my chagrin.

“Always.”

#everlark #thg #hunger games #thw #Katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #300 #my drabbles #my writing #drabble #everlark drabble #thg fanfic #everlark fanfiction

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vampirzina · 8 months

Note

Bi han and kuai liamg with a vaternian/vampire reader pleasee how they met how they are together ect

𓆩𓆪 ┆ vaeternian!reader (w. Bi Han & Kuai Liang) hcs

tw: gn!pronouns, sfw, mdni, blood speak, nitara, wu lae and tomas mention

notes: this req wait i’m geeked ?! also quick reminder, requests are closed as of right now! any requests made after jan. 31 won’t be done, this request came in prior to the closing

masterlist

You “met” Bi Han before things got all-around bad for everyone. Though Vaeternus has their own realm to live, it’s known that there is not enough supply to feed your kinds’ severe population problem. You haven’t been there in years, even before the coven decided to scour the realms for food—you were always ten steps ahead. You descended upon the Lin Kuei, and that’s when you met Bi Han.

Initially, you and Bi Han had a deal. You wanted to feed, and Bi Han wanted to keep you from eating up his initiates. Obviously, Liu Kang left this decision up to him, who was determined to make a pawn out of you—he’d let you feed from him if you didn’t drain his ninja and you ran errands for the Lin Kuei. Somewhere down the line he’d become selfish of you… You noticed that when he begins to note when you hadn’t bitten him in a while, as if he’s expecting you or keeping track of your eating habits, and you mention that you’d eaten already (who fed you?).

With Bi Han, there’s no promises that he can keep his temper in check. There’s so many things that upset him; so many things that are on thin ice that one should not hope to fall through. Bi Han’s blood becomes chilled by the cryomancy running through his veins, and, as you guess, can make him a meal akin to gallons of ice cream. Brain freeze happens so easily with him and you have to remind him to chill out.

Once you and Bi Han make it official, he wants you to only feed on him. Perhaps it’s a human thing, but there’s just something intimate about feeding from someone else that a man like Bi Han does not enjoy. He knows you’re loyal and would never do anything to upset him on purpose because you’re just having a meal, but you seeking out someone else to eat from makes it seem like he’s inadequate when he’s far from. In order to make this a reality, Bi Han suggests you just live with him early on.

An unlikely pair Bi Han makes with you, by all accounts. You were the one to suggest the relationship, but that didn’t mean Bi Han didn’t dwell on the thought of having you in his bed. The deal you both struck up was a mere hollow hideaway for his true feelings for you—despite you unable to walk out into the sun, needing to feed on blood and everything that makes you a vampire, you were strong and powerful, and Bi Han liked that. Sure, maybe he likes a submissive partner who does what they’re told, but he’d be lying if he said he wanted a total helpless do-nothing who couldn’t protect themselves if his enemies find out who he keeps close.

₊˚⊹꒷

For the last time, you thank the nurse. Your wings tense at the simple brush of your own fingers against the bandage of your wrist. You’d sprain it on a solo mission and though you would be fine, you let out a little sigh. This’ll be annoying.

You hear the nurse mutter and step aside on the way out. You look up.

The nurse gone, Bi Han is already shutting the door behind him. His brown eyes don’t look at you, but your wrist—and his face paints itself a small frown.

“I did it,” you follow his gaze down to the injury. “You wanted to send a message, right? He won’t be bothering the Lin Kuei for a while.”

“Thank you. You did well,” was all Bi Han said in return. It didn’t even sound thankful but you knew he meant it; he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about something. The grandmaster stops close to you, close enough that he could touch you without strain.

You watch with warm eyes Bi Han inspect the injury.

“If you’re thinking what I think you are, no… Wu Lae couldn’t have laid a paw on me,” you explained in him even though he hadn’t asked. “Just did not quite stick the landing coming back.”

His frame visibly relaxes, and he’s so close to you that you can faintly feel him exhale through his nose.

“Anyway, I had plans to eat when I came back but you look tired,” you rasp, hands coming to massage Bi Han’s arms. You could feel satisfied by just the juicy feel of it, the blood, but you know better.

“I’m not,”

“You are,”

“Eat from me,” he interrupted you into silence, a silence which you honored to hear him. “We’ve been over this. There is no excuse, no reason for you to go looking when I’m right here.”

It took a moment of staring between you two to finally give in. You guide Bi Han’s arms around you and your legs around him, and his breath hitches when you keel him over.

“Fine. But don’t complain when you wake up with a sore body.”

───

Bi Han likes to read you by the way your wings move.

Thanks to Nitara, you and Kuai Liang met. It’s unclear whether or not you two would have even had the chance to meet if she weren’t trying to attack Kuai Liang and his brothers. You’d spotted them long before she was sent by Shang Tsung and his backers, and you were quick to place your dibs. So when she swooped in despite your claim to the food, of course you saved him. It was a short conversation of gratitude and greeting, but the spark of a flame nonetheless.

After watching Bi Han’s betrayal from afar, you couldn’t bear to keep hunting Kuai Liang. You were a vampire, not morally depraved—but now you didn’t know what to do. With your hunger growing and the inability to find sufficient meals to get by running from you, you eventually became weak. You’d only think to go to the very new Shirai Ryu and collapse on their doorstep in a silent plea for mercy. Kuai Liang, the man he is, “sacrificed” himself for you to eat; it was the least he could do after you saved him. He and you formed an attachment this way when he let you keep coming back.

Inadvertently, you teach Kuai Liang to control flares in his temper. Whenever he gets angry or upset, it sounds comical but his blood quite literally boils; his blood takes a while to cool, and you’ll burn yourself if you don’t take caution. Whenever he wants to get angry at something/someone, he thinks of what that’d mean for you. Kuai Liang is almost too mindful of you when it comes to not just his emotions… A lot of his thoughts are about you. The bond you’ve formed with him turned soon into a relationship, and you both hit it off.

While Kuai Liang sleeps at night, you don’t. Because Vaeternians can’t necessarily see the sun (lest they want to die), it only makes sense that your kind is most active on cloudy days and nights. For a while you have to reassure him that you’re fine alone while you hunt; he’s not really the type to get jealous if you find someone else to eat from, because it’s food. However, he subtly suggests that if you’re unsuccessful or unsatisfied, you can come back to him. You remind him he’s your boyfriend. You’d hope so.

Kuai Liang installs blackout curtains in his room when or if you move in. For obvious reasons. He sacrifices getting up on time for a long while and becomes reliant on you to wake him up.

₊˚⊹꒷

You land, beating your wings twice to stabilize you on the grounds of the Shirai Ryu. The sky had turned a deep blue hue to reflect the sun rising east. You fold the wings inwards as you retreat just in time to hide away until nightfall again.

Were you sated tonight? Better than yesterday. But all of that adrenaline wanes when you step foot inside.

You’d fully expect to see Kuai Liang greet you, as he’d usually do—when it’s time to get up and work overlaps when you’re worked out and tired—but it’s quiet. Not eerily so, though. You continue to move silently until you find your shared space.

There, in bed, Kuai Liang hugs tightly a pillow.

It’s so pitch black in here and he’s still so sound asleep that you don’t think he realizes that’s not you. Lucky for him, he needs no longer a substitute. You change into more comfortable clothes than the ones you discard to the side.

Kuai Liang stirs when you slip into bed.

“Good morning,” you quietly singsong, and the sound of your voice has him abandoning the pillow with the quickness—tired eyes search the dark while hands feel for you, to which you humor. Kuai Liang forces you to bunch your wings impossibly further as he pulls you into him.

You shudder at the heat he radiates. “So warm…”

“I dreamt of you, that’s why,” Kuai Liang groggily jokes, burying his face into your collarbone where he sears kisses. “How was it?”

“Enough for now,” you answered, tangling your legs in his to plant yourself further in his embrace. “And I think I know how well you slept, so—ha—there’s that. Now it’s my turn.”

You feel Kuai Liang frown on your neck. He’s been needy lately and wants to stay and cuddle you away the whole day, but he can’t just leave things to poor Tomas. It’s not fair.

“Sorry, flames,” you frown yourself, apologizing for something not your fault. “Don’t rush to get things done, either. I’ll probably be staying tonight.”

“Did something happen?” Kuai Liang looks at you from where he is with light concern.

You deny. “Just want you.”

───

Kuai Liang wants you to wrap your wings around him more often.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

info

#mk1 x reader #mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat x reader #bi han x reader #bi han x you #bi han hcs #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang x you #kuai liang hcs #vampirzina

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the-modern-typewriter · 9 months

Text

And so they all lived happily ever after.[1]

Theodore could finally breathe.

The two of them had bought the quiet, peaceful cottage that they had always talked about[2] and filled it with things[3] because they were allowed to do more than simply need now.[4] They were allowed to want, and build a home because home no longer had to be wherever the resistance had camped up for the night. Honestly, Theo had thought he’d be dead before that ever happened. Being born the chosen one, nobody had ever expected him to survive fate long enough for the aftermath, least of all him. [5]

Didn’t that mean he had the earned the right to be happy, now?[6]

“Theo.” She sat opposite him at the kitchen table, and took his hand, and looked at him like the world still needed saving, like he hadn’t done enough. “This isn’t working,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

It came out of nowhere.[7]

***

“I don’t have nightmares,” he said.[8] “We won. I killed the Shadow King, if anyone should have nightmares-”

He forced his expression to ease. He shouldn’t resent Adina her nightmares, if she had them. He knew the battlefield they had met upon. In a world of blood and conquest and power that made him feel like he was going to sizzle from the inside out, she had been a cooling balm. She had made him a man, instead of something out of legend.

“I know you were there too,” he continued, because she was acting like he’d somehow forgotten that. “But it’s over.” Didn’t she see that it was over? “Whatever nightmares you have, we’ll get through it together, yeah? They’re only dreams.”

“Memories.”

His jaw clenched. “They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”[9]

Her mouth clicked shut and she swallowed hard. At some point, during the argument, they’d both surged to their feet. Her arms were crossed against her chest, defensive, like either of them should have any need for defences anymore. They were safe with each other. She knew that! Before she started this conversation, they had been fine. Hadn’t they been fine?

“If there was a button that could make me feel differently,” she managed. “I would hit it in a heartbeat. God. I’m not – I know this isn’t your fault. I’m not saying that. I know you’ve gone through enough. I know this isn’t fair, but I—”

“You just need time.”[10]

They had time now, didn’t they? Walking through the woods filled him with a calm he’d never known before. The green trees, dappled by sunlight, made it impossible to dwell on the cold feeling of bloodied stone against broken bones. Everything was light, and air, and the freedom to run.

There were no people to be responsible for, no important envoys to encroach upon the time they managed to snatch together, always wrenching them apart. It was him, and her, and they didn’t have to live in a stolen moment anymore. Wasn’t that enough?[11]

“How can you be so okay?” Adina’s voice crumpled on the question, so small, and it felt like a knife between his ribs because it sounded like an honest question too. “After everything…” Her eyes were big and desperate - he recoiled. He could finally breathe, and she would have him drown.

After everything, he was allowed to be okay. Was he supposed to live forever feeling guilty for everything he could have done better? Was he supposed to have died too?[12]

Maybe, yes, in her story he should have.

It was easier to love a legend than a man. It was easy to make promises to someone who wouldn’t live to hold you to them. For a second, he hated her, more than he’d ever hated the Shadow King. He didn’t want to be a thing of hate anymore. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Everything?” He repeated, oh so softly. His fists curled, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood and he didn’t want to ever draw blood again either. He stopped. He relearned how to breathe. “You do not get to hold ‘everything’ against me, Adina. I did everything you asked of me. That all of you asked of me. For you. For this.”

“Theo…”

“We love each other.” He turned away because he couldn’t look at her. “That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this. Happily ever after.”

She flinched in the corner of his vision.

“Please.” He closed his eyes. “You want to talk about everything? After everything, let me have this. Give me this. It is the only thing I ever asked of you.”[13]

She exhaled a shaky breath. The silence stretched. Then, she kissed him sweetly, gently, like everything was okay. She whispered the words against his lips:

“I’ll try.”

***

It was better again, after that. Their fight became another battle of the past to be buried with their dead and forgotten.

In the mornings, they would paint the sunrise that they had once spent hours trying to picture, when the endless night of the Shadow King’s reign felt like it never might never break. The first time Theo had seen that the sky could truly be pink he thought maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t made it through after all. But he had. In the afternoons, they would walk hand in hand through the woods and he would tell her about all of the new growth he was learning about. He liked the names. The colours. The hope.

It wasn’t perfect. Now that she’d pointed it out, he stirred sometimes in the night to find her awake still. When he caressed her face in the dark his hand would come away wet with silent tears.[14] On those nights, he would kiss her honeyed and slow because he didn’t have to kiss her like she was oxygen anymore, until she melted in his arms and smiled again. [15]

The weeks turned into months, which turned into years.

She stopped crying, with time. She healed.[16]

The shadows were gone.

And so, they all lived happily ever after.[17]

----

[1] Happily ever after! It was just another bloody thing to fail at, wasn’t it?

[2] He’d always talked about it. He was happy. The cottage was perched in the middle of the woods, far enough away from civilisation that she could pass days without seeing another person. Sometimes, it felt like they must have lost, because the world that she knew wasn’t there anymore.

[3] She shouldn’t resent him his clutter. He deserved clutter. She knew he deserved clutter, his houseful of little wooden figurines he carved, after everything.

[4] She hated the clutter.

[5] It was a terrible thing to want happiness, but not know what to do with peace; she’d learned to love him fighting. But now, he loved gently, sword forgotten, armour laid to rest, and that was not the version of him that she’d fallen love with.

[6] She missed the man she’d fallen for.

[7] She couldn’t do this anymore.

[8] Because he was the only one who had truly suffered.

[9] Was it so simple? Had she got it wrong? Was she merely not trying hard enough to move on? His expression told her that, yes, she needed to try harder. They were supposed to be a team but, to his mind, when it came down to it…he’d been the one alone against the Shadow King, hadn’t he? So, if he could heal then why couldn’t she? She hadn’t been the one buckling under the weight of prophecy. She had no right.

[10] That was the other thing everyone always said, along with happily ever after. Time healed all wounds. She just needed time. But how much time was that? Too much, it seemed. There had been a woman she met in the aftermath of the battle at Sunburst fields. She had lost her lover. Adina couldn’t remember the woman’s name, only what she had confessed when no one else was there to hear her.

[11] The woman said, “I’m not allowed to mourn her. No one knew we were together, you see. She had a husband. But she loved me, and I… no one will ever know now, and I must mourn her like she wasn’t mine to mourn. Like I might mourn a stranger.’ The woman’s voice dropped barely audible. "And I think it might just kill me. How do you heal a hurt when you have to pretend it’s not there? Like it’s a papercut instead of a bullet wound?"

[12] He fought to protect her. To protect all of them. In his story, she was the victory he came home to. She was his happy ending. She was not supposed to be broken.

[13] He had fallen in love with her when she was selfish. A good, selfless girl did not love in a stolen moment, after all. Stolen moments had to be taken from someone. But he didn’t want selfish now. He didn’t want someone who had done battle, who had hurt, and been hurt. He didn’t want a woman with a shadow in her heart.

[14] And, so, he fell out of love with her in the way that a person forgets their wallet on the train – with that stabbing sense of panic, of leaving something vital behind, without yet being able to place what was gone.

[15] Instead, he fumbled and groped for the debris, the receipts, the bits of change and dust at the bottom of the bag of them that had meant something important once. He began to look at her like a stranger when she reminded him that she was sharp. That he had loved something sharp, once.

[16] He looked for clues for what was missing.

[17] He would never find her.

#Not sure the footnotes work for tumblr but here goes #but another story of mine I don't think I've shared on here #happily ever after #short story #writeblr #fiction #creative writing #original fiction #fantasy

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ellethespaceunicorn · 11 months

Text

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Cabin in the Woods

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: You search the woods for the house you were taken to that night. It’s been hours and you’re lost. Your phone has no service, it is getting dark, and your dumbass didn’t tell anyone you were going on an adventure.

Warnings: mutual pining

A/N: A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. I really hope y’all enjoy this one. It was a tough one to write, Walter was so feisty!

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

When you arrived at the hospital, you had another nurse and colleague check out your head injury on your next shift. Armed with a clean bill of health and a brain bursting with unanswered questions, you try to go about your day.

The entirety of your workday was spent having coworkers break you out of a trance. Every few minutes, you’d gaze off into nothingness until those around you noticed and snapped their fingers in front of your face. You kept thinking about the wolf and Walter, trying to piece the two together.

After work, you change your clothes and put on your hiking boots. Even though the drive from the cabin to Liv’s house was short, that was in a vehicle. On foot, you will need to cover a lot of ground. You decided against driving your car down the road that splits the forest.

If you parked at the entrance to the forest near the park grounds, you could easily sneak back to your car and bypass the curfew checkpoint at the tree line. Not that you planned on being out until nightfall.

Parking your car in the gravel-filled lot, you tighten your scarf around your neck and start your journey into the woods. Walking takes you about ten minutes to get to the clearing where you and Olivia enjoyed wine coolers. It didn’t seem like it took you this long to get to the clearing a couple of days ago, but you don’t stay long enough to dwell on it.

Retracing your steps, you walk for another few minutes in search of the tree with the giant roots jutting out from the forest floor. After ten minutes of wandering, you think about giving up because daylight is in short supply. Looking down at your phone, you curse when you see the battery percentage looking back at you. Eleven percent wouldn’t get you far should you need to make an urgent call or use the flashlight since you forgot to bring one.

After another few minutes of traipsing through the forest, you trip over a large root and accidentally find your tree. Following the roots, you find the little alcove that you had planned to hide in during your game with Liv. You notice the setting sun as you turn to sit on the higher roots.

Taking out your phone, you realize that it had shut off due to low power. Shoving it back in your pocket, you stand up and wipe a hand down your face. You’re pissed off, cold, and now have no way to contact anyone should you need to. Anger boils your blood as you stand in the now-dark forest.

Pacing for a few seconds doesn’t calm you down. You start to hear all the little nocturnal animals coming alive and usually, you would find this peaceful. However, you would give anything to hear a certain howl. But it’s just crickets, frogs, and owls out tonight.

You don’t know what else to do but…

“Fuck. Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck!” You scream out into the void, it would seem.

Until you hear a response in the form of a huff behind you.

When you turn around, you're only a little surprised to see the same wolf from before walking toward you. You stand still until it stops about a foot from you. You look down and study its paws, large enough to rip your throat out. But the wolf just sits down as a dog would and looks up at you before yawning, showing off its sharp teeth and long dusty-mauve tongue.

If this were a dog, you would have reached out a hand to pet it. But the sheer size of it was enough to keep your hands to yourself. You didn't have to think about that for long before the wolf was back on all fours walking around you and nudging at your leg as it started to walk away. It doesn't make it far before it turns around to look at you.

"Oh, am I supposed to follow you or something?" You feel silly asking the wolf a question, but only less so when it huffs in response, "Okay. Following a wolf wasn't on the itinerary. But it isn't attacking me so whatever," You finish, mostly to yourself.

Following the wolf, you notice you are going in a completely different direction through the forest. Of course, the last time you were here was an inebriated adventure but you could've sworn you would go right instead of left. Either way, you're putting your faith in a four-legged carnivore so you stop thinking about what should or shouldn't be happening.

A light in the distance can be seen through the trees and once you reach it, you find yourself in front of a medium-sized cabin. There is a light at the little fence encircling the property. The black Ford F-150 that Walter drove is parked to the side in the driveway. You have to admit you didn't expect to see this place look so...normal. It almost looks quaint.

You shuffle on your feet and are suddenly too nervous to propel you forward. Whining at your side reminds you that you aren't alone. You absentmindedly reach your hand out to stroke the wolf's fur. Thick, coarse fur slides through your fingers. Glowing, yellow eyes look into yours and your fear starts to dissipate. The wolf licks at your hand and then takes off around the back of the cabin.

You think about shouting after it or running after it, but instead, you walk up to the fencing. You could swear you hear a door being closed in the back of the cabin, but you can't be sure and you don't want to snoop. Opening the latch to the gate, you walk through the front yard dragging your feet. Your fight or flight response makes an appearance when you hear movement in the house.

'It's now or never,' you think, raising your hand to knock on the door.

Three sharp knocks and you shove your hands in your pockets, waiting for the door to be opened. You jump at the sound of something crashing to the ground and soon the light above the door is turned on. You hold up a hand over your eyes as the harsh fluorescent beams down on you in the dark of night. The door is opened and you take your hand down to see Walter standing there. You’re once again under the spell of him.

He stands tall at about 6’1", and his hair is a disheveled mess but it only adds to the sex appeal. His brows are scrunched together and it doesn’t look like he needs you at his doorstep right now by the scowl across his pretty pink lips. He’s shirtless, sweaty, breathing hard, and smells like a wet dog. The denim shorts he wears are tattered at the ends and his defined calves are on display. His bare feet are a bit dirty as if he’s been running barefoot.

Your eyes shoot back up to his, a faint glow makes his blue eyes look almost golden. He blinks a few times and the glow is gone, aquamarine replaces gold.

You run through a mental checklist. Wet dog smell, check. Frayed shorts that were probably thrown on in a hurry, check. Golden eyes, check. You feel so stupid thinking about the last item. Walter’s hair color is the same as the wolf that brought you here.

“Are you going to come in or are you going to just stare at me like I’m a–”

“Werewolf?” You blurt out, cutting off Walter’s sentence.

“Just come in, and I can explain everything,” He opens the door and steps aside to let you in, but you don’t move, “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Please come in?”

His sincere tone and pleading eyes get the better of you. You sigh, chewing the inside of your cheek. Walking in, you step just inside the living room, giving Walter enough space to close the door behind you. You notice a side table knocked over, a lamp, and small knickknacks on the floor next to it. You turn back to look at him and his face is that of a kicked puppy.

Of course, it is.

“Look, I didn’t–”

“As much as I want to have this conversation right now, I can’t get over how much you smell. I’m gonna need you to take care of that ASAP. Go get clean and I’ll tidy up. And where is the kitchen? I need coffee if I’m gonna have this conversation sober.” You say, taking off your coat and laying on the back of the couch.

Walter walks you to the kitchen and watches as you busy yourself with the coffee maker. You tell him politely to get out of his kitchen and go shower. He opens his mouth to talk but closes it when he sees your eyebrows raise and your hand go to your hip. He simply nods and walks away. You hear him walk up the stairs and soon the faint sound of a shower being turned on before a door is closed.

You fill the coffee maker with grounds and water, setting it then make your way to the living room. Picking up the end table, you turn it right side up and set it on its legs. You bend down to pick up the figurines from the floor. You’re not surprised when they turn out to be two wolves, the larger one made of light wood and the smaller wolf a dark mahogany.

You hear the coffee maker sputtering and go in to check on it. Pulling out two mugs from their spot in the corner cabinet, you fill one and leave one for Walter, not sure if he even wants coffee so late at night. Did werewolves even drink coffee?

So, that’s it. You’re just entertaining the idea that werewolves not only exist but that you’re in a cabin with one. In the back of your mind, your grandfather’s tale of the Claw Creek creature demands attention. You were going over it when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You bring your mug to your mouth to take a sip when Walter appears in the doorway, just as beautiful as when you saw him for the first time. His wet hair curls around his ears. He’s wearing a tighter-than-necessary heather gray henley, the front of it holding onto his pecs for dear life while the sleeves are pulled up to show off muscular forearms. A pair of jeans hug his meaty legs and boots cover his feet.

“You stare a lot.” His words break you out of your ogling and you finally pull down the mug from your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Wolfie,” you comment, suddenly hyperaware that you may have just said something rude.

Walter’s chuckle surprises you, and you’re put at ease, “Wolfie?” He challenges, walking toward you.

You shrug your shoulders and stand your ground, looking up at him as he stops in front of you. He nods to the coffee maker and you step back to let him make a cup for himself. He takes a sip and hums at the flavor. He turns to ask you about it and you answer before he can open his mouth.

“Cinnamon. Just a few shakes and it takes away the sharp bitterness. Now, if you’re done talking about coffee, can we talk about how you can turn into a wolf?” Your frustration peeks through and Walter nods, leading you back into the living room.

Once you get to the couch, you set down your coffee on the table in front of you and turn to face Walter. He takes the cue and starts to speak.

“So, what do you want to know? Do you want me to go through my entire lifetime? It’s quite long, so far. Or start where I was attacked and bitten by someone I thought was a friend? Should I dispel werewolf myths about uncontrollable shifting during the full moon?” He rambles on, probably trying to confuse you or overwhelm you.

Luckily, you’re already overwhelmed so his attempt is in vain.

“I have a couple of questions. The first one is: Do you eat people? The second one is: Could you follow my scent to find me?” you offer, pulling your leg up to sit on it while leaning against the back of the couch.

“I don’t eat people. I don’t think Werewolves as a whole, ever eat people. Attack? Sure. But no, I don’t crave human flesh,” he pauses, looking down at his hands, “How’d you know about the scent thing?” He’s suddenly super interested in his fingernails.

“I didn’t know about the scent thing. You just confirmed a hunch, is all,” You reach for your mug, bringing it closer to your lips before taking a sip, “One more question and I’ll release you from the hot seat. Are you safe out here? Like, I mean, with the animal mutilations in the town, they were talking about sending hunters out to look for whatever was doing it.”

“That wasn’t me, just so you know. I’m safe out here. I actually live in town, I just come here to shift and get some time away. No one comes out this way. This used to be an abandoned shack, but I fixed it up over the past years. Got electricity going and made it...wait. You care if I’m safe out here?” he presses, a toothy grin showing off his sharp canines.

“You saved my life, I can’t care about your wellbeing? I’m being nice, don’t push it, Wolfie,” you snap, a little harsher than you meant to. You did feel lied to, but he was being honest with you. You shake your head before insisting, “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot. And I need you to know that I was really pissed off with you in the beginning, but I know why you didn’t tell me. Safety and all that. Maybe you can drive me back to my car so I can start the drive back home?” You were cut off by an intense yawn that came out of nowhere.

“Speaking of safety, you look like you’re ready to fall over. You’ve had all of about two sips of coffee and that yawn almost unhinged your jaw a bit there. Just, I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re tired behind the wheel,” he admits, turning concerned eyes on you.

“You know, as a wolf, using puppy dog eyes on me should be considered unfair. And how do I know this is not some elaborate excuse to get me into your bed so you can have your way with me, huh?” you huff, squinting at him as his eyes glimmer in the low light of the room.

“Do you want me to have my way with you?” he leans back, head over his shoulder, and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Your hand flies out to slap his bicep. You figure that was easier than giving him the answer that was on the tip of your tongue.

He rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch, pointing to your coffee cup in your hand and motioning for you to give it to him. He takes both of your unfinished cups to the kitchen and when he comes back, he heads for the stairs. “You coming, pup?”

“Pup? Is that because I called you Wolfie?” You stand up from the couch, tilting your head at him before walking to follow him up the steps.

“I don’t know, give me time and I’ll think of something better.” He winks at you and smiles when you duck your head.

Once Walter shows you to his bedroom, you don’t hide your urge to look over everything in the room while he leans against the open door. You almost get upset when you see that his bedspread isn’t a large picture of a wolf’s face. Somehow you thought it would just fit in with his vibe. But the midnight blue damask comforter that covers the bed is actually way more fitting.

“Wait, where are you gonna sleep if I sleep in here?” You question as you sit on the bed and take off your boots.

“I figured I would sleep on the couch. I don’t need much sleep anyway. Unless that was an invitation…?” he smirks and is surprised when you look to be thinking it over.

“Can you stay in here ‘til I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.” you confess, looking everywhere but who you were talking to. You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, but you also know you won’t sleep in a bed that’s not yours all by your lonesome.

“Are you alright? I mean, of course, you’re not. What am I saying?” he rambles, coming into the room fully and hunching his shoulders so he can seem less intimidating.

Walter walks over to the bed, pulls back the bedspread, and motions for you to crawl under the covers. Once you are comfortable, he turns on a low light on his dresser and turns off the overhead light of the room. Coming back to the bed, he sits at the edge and toes off his boots before you pull him to lie down next to you.

Turning to face him as he lays on his back, you stare at his face as he looks up at the ceiling. You’re interlacing your fingers so that you don’t reach out and trace his jawline when a thought pops into your head.

“When’s the last time you had a woman in your bed?” You breathe, mentally kicking yourself for not thinking longer before you voice your thoughts.

“It’s been a while. Years. I don’t really...mingle much.” He murmurs, eyes never moving from one particular spot.

You refuse to acknowledge the “lone wolf” analogy, instead, you steady yourself before putting a hand on his. “Thank you for saving me, Walter. Goodnight.” Taking your hand back, you close your eyes and let tiredness take its course.

“You’re welcome.” His soft voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s the last thing you hear before you’re fully asleep.

To be continued…

A/N: Wow, you mean to tell me I got these two folks in bed together and they’re both dressed still? What?! Don’t hate me!

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titaswrld · 1 month

Text

daddy issues!

description: wade comforting you after having some serious daddy issues!

paring: wade wilson x fem reader

contains: angst, comfort, some dark themes, kinda 18+, daddy issues, dark descriptions of alcoholism, homelessness, just kinda sad

w.c: 1.7k

|an: lowk self indulgent highkey sad, i feel like this is kinda butt but lmk, also couldn’t decide if it should be wade pre or post deadpool so it’s up for you 🫵🏽 to decide. smut next i promise.

your dad has been a reoccurring factor in your life since you were nine; your parents divorced, he fell off the wagon, and he was almost a deadbeat alcoholic. except, despite it all, that was your daddy. that’s what hurt the most. you loved him, and he loved you, but he loved alcohol more.

your relationship with your dad was hard. he was your hero growing up; he was the coolest person you knew. playing his guitar, showing you the best kind of music, making you the best food, and showing you the best of film when he was sober. when he was drunk, he was unhinged and emotional, always terrorizing anybody and anything in his path.

as you grew up, you learned to just shut him out, accepting him for who he was. He tried rehab; it didn’t work. after he missed your high school graduation, your eighteenth birthday, and your college graduation, you learned to accept him when he’s sober and shut him out when he’s not. it wasn’t worth it. you spent half of your teenage years convincing him to quit; you spent too long trying to show him how much his drinking affected the people around him, but no dice. you learned to “forgive” him for the lost time, or more so, just get over it—the trauma, all of it. It still affected you, but convincing yourself you were “healed” worked better in your favor, as opposed to dwelling on what cannot be fixed.

it’s been a year since you’ve seen him face-to-face, and despite the occasional text telling your dad you love him and little life updates with the occasional response, he didn’t know much. a lot has changed about your life since then. that loser boyfriend your dad knew of, you dumped. a few months later, you meet your boyfriend, wade wilson. he was a character, and you loved him for it. you wish your dad could’ve met him before the alcohol got to his brain; he would’ve loved him.

honestly, you don’t think about your dad often, but when you do, you really go through it. it’s hard to hear how he’s doing, knowing his health is slowly declining, knowing you’ll never get your old daddy back; all these memories with him are just memories now, and you’re likely to never experience things like that with him again. Wade knew of this; he knew all about your dad. and he hated his guts, which he knew upset you, but he couldn’t help it.

he knew you were blindsided by the love you had for your father, but he fucking wasn’t. hearing about the things he’s done to you, the things he put you through, the things he wasn’t there for, and the way he traumatized you, he thought he was nothing but a selfish asshole, but of course he never said those words to you; all he did was hold you as you spoke about it and wipe your tears as he calmed you down with crude jokes, your favorite chick flicks, and takeout.

wade had his own daddy issues, but he killed his dad in cold blood, so he knew to just keep his mouth shut on the matter and do his boyfriend duties, comforting you and making sure that at the end of the day that you were okay.

today, you and wade were sitting on your bed, watching ta, and eating your favorite snacks.. until your stomach dropped as you saw that you received a text from your dad.

Hi, beautiful daughter. 😘

nothing bad, good…good. he seemed sober enough, so you decided to type out a response. hiding your phone from wade, as he laughed at something that happened in the show, he always told you to stop responding to him: “he’s drunk, he’s alone, and he wants someone to. bother; don’t let that drunk fuck ruin your days like that.” he’d always tell you..you never listened.

Hey dad! What’s up?

when your phone started ringing with an incoming call from "Daddy🩷,", you knew you were screwed. he always called you when he was drunk, and you always ignored him, saying you had bad signal, or were out and about, and he’d keep calling back and fourth until he eventually gave up.

“fuck!” you exclaimed. wade turned his head to see why you had shouted, and when he found out why, his expression dropped. jesus christ. but wade was sensing something off; you kept staring at the screen, your thumb inching toward the green button, as opposed to the one that read “message” to type out an excuse.

“youre going to accept the call? have you been smoking too much ganja? you need to lay off sweetheart.” he’d stated, wide-eyed and bewildered, that you’d accept the call. you always told him about what he’d say when you’d occasionally accept those calls.

“i kind of dug myself into a hole; he knows i’m on my phone. i can’t just ignore it, plus it’s been months. can..can you just stay in the room, please? i’ll put it on speaker; if it gets too much, i’ll just hang up. i can’t be alone when i talk to him.” you responded, panicking, trying to get all the words out before the phone stopped ringing. you knew it was stupid, but you felt so bad. you didn’t have the heart to ignore him today, knowing he was drunk and alone. you were all he had.

wade audibly sighed, seeing you so panicked and scared. how could he say no to you? “okay, okay, yes, answer it.”

you let out a shaky breath and answered the phone. you and wade heard a drunken “hey princess!” and you responded. long story short, it was the most transforming, life-altering, traumatizing conversion of your life. he told multiple stories, telling you about how he’s friends with all of these celebrities, having meetings with keanu reeves and brad pitt, how he was homeless and living on the streets for weeks until he finally found a hotel to stay at, how he got jumped, died for 8 minutes, then came back, how he’s famous, and how your mom was using him for fame.

all these stories proved to you how far gone he really was and how he’s not the same dad you knew and loved. you sat at the edge of the bed listening to every one, letting out the occasional response while tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. wade watched with a sad expression on his face. he rubbed your back to let you know he was there and you weren’t alone.

but then your dad started talking about how sorry he is, how sorry he is that he didn’t attend your high school graduation, how sorry he is that he hasn’t been much of a daddy these past few years, how he misses you and wishes he could hold and hug his beautiful daughter, and how proud he was that you were his daughter. how he was so proud of you and all your accomplishments.

as he started talking about this, his voice cracking and your drunken slur fading, you’d crawled into your boyfriend's lap, phone in hand, and hot tears rushing down your cheeks. this is when he started showing that he was still there; pieces of him were still in tact. you wanted to save him so badly, but that wasn’t your job, and even if there was no way to achieve that, he was gone, and you knew that.

wades expression began to crack as he felt a pang in his chest. as he felt your body wrack with more silent sobs, he cradled you in his lap, his nose nuzzled into your scalp, placing a lasting kiss so you knew he was still there. listening to everything your dad told you—in the flesh, he couldn’t believe it. the way he got mad at you for begging him to stop being so negative, the way he got mad and told you he wasn’t worth your tears once he heard your sniffles and strained voice—he’s never wanted to kill someone more, but knowing it would break your heart, of course he refrained. wade had never been this silent in his entire life.

after an hour of holding back, wade finally tapped the mute button in the middle of another one of your dad's drunken rambles.

“hang up; it’s over; it’s done with; you don’t need to listen to him anymore,” he stated sternly.

“i can't—i can't—he has nobody else.” you looked up at him, cheeks red and puffy, eyes sunken and swollen. he could hardly stand looking at you this way.

“babe, hang up the phone. i-i can’t look at you like this, and listen to the things he’s saying to you.” he said, sincerity laced within his tone and a worried expression plastered on his face.

you unmuted and gave your father an unbelievable excuse that he fought against but ultimately gave up on after you wouldn’t let up. after your dad hung up, you got off of wade's lap, reclaiming your seat at the edge of the bed. looking like a shell-shocked soldier, you put your head in your hands and wracked out more sobs as your body shook along with them.

“lt’s okay, honey; let it all out.” wade said from your side as his hand slid under your shirt and on your back as he began to rub small circles on your exposed skin.

as you began to calm down, you wiped your tears. your eyes were finally tired of all the crying, and your chest was in unbelievable pain from all the sobs that had escaped your lips. you said nothing as you climbed into bed, curling up into his chest as he took you in kindly, bringing the bedsheets up over the both of you to conceal you in the warmth of himself and the blanket.

“i know exactly what you’re going to want after this,” he said, cradling you in his chest and stroking your hair.

“what?” you said, your voice hoarse and muffled in his chest.

“hmmm… you’ll want to cook dinner together while we listen to chappell roan…watch she’s the man... then have hot, mushy, passionate sex.” he said in a matter-of-fact tone with some playfulness laced in between.

“wow, you know me so well.” you laughed into his chest, sending vibrations through his body, which caused a smile to break out on his face, bingo.

“well, looks like we better start soon huh?” he said, getting out of bed and flinging you over his shoulder like a rag doll to the kitchen. heart swelling as he heard more of that laughter he knows and loves.

#deadpool #wade wilson x you #wade wilson angst #deadpool x you #deadpool angst #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool headcanons #deadpool x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #x men movies #x men

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saltysultry · 3 months

Text

Untouched: Part One

Pastor Lemuel Childs x OC

Synopsis: Pastor Childs has been lost this past year after what his family and the parish went through. But when a young woman comes into town, aimless and without guidance, the Pastor takes it upon himself to be her shepherd, and lead her out of the darkness... And into his arms.

Warnings: older man x young woman, religious exploitation (kinda), religious trauma, eventual smut, angst, OC is a virgin, Pastor Childs is not a great person but he sure is hot as hell, I apologize for any spelling errors

@justme12200 @its-in-the-woods @hiddlebatchedloki

Word count: 6.2K

315 miles between here and there. 1,663 feet between the home Virginia knew, in the town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and the old house in West Virginia, where her uncle used to live. If dwelling like a hermit is considered living at all, she mused.

By the 302nd mile, her rusty old truck, another inheritance by her father, had ceased to run, sputtering and spitting as it slowed to a stop on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. Virginia hadn’t been reckless, she had paid attention to the meter and was heading towards the nearest station when the tank was near-empty. She knew better than to overestimate the distance an empty tank could take her.

“Crud.” She muttered, hopping out the side of her car and slamming the door shut. She had a spare gallon in the back, but when she picked up the red jug only to find it empty, she cursed and threw it back into the truck’s bed.

Her phone was well-charged, though the lack of service made the attempt of contacting any help impossible. And so, Virginia knew she was stranded. Stranded somewhere in the woods of West Virginia, on the side of the road with the sun going down faster and faster. Damn autumn, why did the daylight have to go so quickly these days?

She would have to wait out her isolation inside her truck and flag down the nearest car. Virginia must’ve seen something like this in a horror movie before, a young woman stuck in the woods, at the mercy of the nearest stranger or strangers. It was getting colder by the minute, and after half an hour, she was shivering.

“I’m gonna die in West Virginia… Great.” She shuddered.

The house her uncle left to her ought to be a damn mansion if merely getting there cost her life. It should have impressive architecture, fountains, a zoo of lions, tigers, and bears. The toilets should be made of gold and the food imported from all over the world. The harder she shivered, the more Virginia cursed her uncle’s house.

Then, there they were. A pair of twin headlights floating between the trees far off in the dark. Perking up, Virginia sighed in relief and hopped right back out, waving her arm at the oncoming vehicle. It was another truck, rusty and old like her’s. Perhaps even the same year.

“Thank goodness!” Virginia said, pulling closer at her pathetic excuse of a coat.

The truck pulled over to the side, just a few yards ahead of Virginia’s. The driver parked it but didn’t shut the engine off. Soon, a figure exited the driver’s side and shut the door before slowly walking over to her.

“Are you alright, ‘mam?”

She couldn’t see him at first, but the voice suggested her hero was male. He was relatively tall, looked like he was dressed warm, and had a thick Appalachian accent. Must’ve been a local.

“Uh, yeah, but my truck’s outta gas. I was heading to the nearest station when it crapped out on me.” Virginia said, standing close by the driver’s door. “If it isn’t any trouble, would you be able to take me to the gas station? Or maybe to-”

“No trouble at all, miss.” The man said, waving his hand. “I can drive you to Slaughter’s, she’ll assist yah.”

Slaughter’s? Virginia paused. What kind of a name was that? Perhaps she was inside of a horror movie.

“Thank you, sir.” She said, forcing a smile. “Let me get some things.”

“Take yer time.”

Virginia grabbed her satchel from the passenger seat, The one possession that contained all forms of ID and basic needs, such as her phone, a couple of spare pads, her wallet, and a tiny booklet of sermons, a gift from her father.

She followed the stranger back to his truck and climbed into the passenger side, shutting the door carefully while he slid into the driver seat. Getting a better look at him, the man was rather handsome looking. He had a proud forehead, dark hair that grew only just past his ears, combed back over his head neatly with slivers of gray here and there. His cheekbones were defined, lips soft-looking and sun-kissed skin aged with lines. He must’ve been in his late forties or early fifties.

“Thank you so much, sir.” Virginia said as he put the car in drive, slowly merging back onto the dark road. “I was afraid I would’ve had to wait all night for someone to come along.”

“You’re lucky it was I who came along, miss. These woods aren’t exactly kind to standed women.” He said. While it was a warning, his soft-spoken voice suggested he didn’t mean to scare Virginia, merely inform her. “The name’s Lemuel, by the way. Lemuel Childs.”

Virginia repeated that name in her mind. Where had she heard that name before? Surely they had never met before. And yet, Lemuel Childs plucked the chords of her memory, as if she was trying to recall the tune of a song she used to know.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Childs. I’m Virginia Godwin.” She said,

“Godwin?” Lemuel’s brow furrowed as he stared ahead at the road, illuminated only by the lights from his truck. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Joshua Godwin, would you?”

Virginia perked up. “He’s my uncle! Well, he was.”

Poor uncle Joshua had suffered a sudden stroke only two months ago. He was buried in their family plot in Gettysburg, but he had lived in this backwater town in West Virginia most of his life.

“We heard about that. My condolences.” Lemuel said, glancing over at Virginia with a sorry expression. “He may not have been part of the congregation, but we always kept him in our prayers.”

A religious man? Of course he was, Virginia thought to herself. She had nothing against men of God, being a Christian woman herself who knew her good book well enough. But she always felt weary around the type who felt the need to announce to others about their good will, always praying for those who didn’t ask for it.

After Joshua’s wife, Virginia’s aunt Grace, had passed about fifteen years ago, he had pulled away from God. It was a stark turn around, being that Joshua used to preach himself at his local Methodist church. But Grace’s death had stripped him of his faith and confined him within his humble home, no longer interested in the outside world or what God did with it. In a way, Joshua had already been dead for years.

“You’re with his church?” Virginia asked Lemuel.

He shook his head. “We’re a small congregation, but we’re firm believers in the Full Gospel.”

So they were Pentecostals, Virginia realized. Being raised a Methodist, she understood the importance of one’s personal relationship with God. But speaking in tongues and divine healing always seemed borderline occult to her. She wasn’t one to judge how others express their belief in the Bible or God, given those who did weren’t dangerous to others. But she had reservations about those who preached against modern medicine and rejected man’s ability to reason outside of the word of God.

“I assume my uncle was rather unfriendly towards your congregation, then.” Virginia said. The last memory she had of her uncle Joshua was when he ripped her mother’s Bible out of her hands and threw it against the wall, cursing God. “He was very, erm, critical of religion.”

“Yes, he was.” Lemuel chuckled. “Unfortunately, those who’ve lost their way are more prone to slapping God’s hand away than accepting his love. But we aren’t the ones who should pass judgment on them.”

Hate the sin, love the sinner, Virginia remembered. It wasn’t for man to judge man, but for God to judge man. Of course, man did so anyway, because who else would carry out the word of God? Virginia liked to believe that God had forgiven her uncle and saw through his grief before he passed onto the other side. It was better than believing in the alternative.

“And you? Have you accepted Christ as your personal savior?” Lemuel asked. It was a loaded question, sure, but Virginia wasn’t shy of expressing her love of God and his Son.

“‘He who believeth in me though he was dead, yet will he live.’” She recited.

Virginia hadn’t attended church in years, but she still knew all the sermons she sat through and read growing up. All the times her mother made her sit at the kitchen table and memorize each page of the Old and New testament weren’t for nothing. It didn’t matter if Virginia understood what she was reading, just as long as was reading it. Knowing the good book front to back gave one credit amongst their congregation, according to Virginia’s mother.

“I take it you’re a Methodist like your uncle was?” Lemuel said, not at all impressed by Virginia’s quote. Reciting the Bible didn’t indicate one’s faith. Merely that they knew how to read.

“Well, I’m… Sort of figuring that part out myself.” She confessed.

Truth was, Virginia was a Methodist in association only. It was the only denomination she had been familiar with her whole life. But after leaving church and keeping her faith all the more personal, she had found herself lost. That aimless wandering was what brought her to West Virginia, to this mountain where Lemuel and her uncle lived. She believed that God had sent her on this path, to accept the inheritance and shack up in her uncle’s house, away from her parents.

Lemuel was intrigued by Virginia. “Ain’t no shame in being lost, so long as you’re open to pathways revealed to you.”

Virginia knew a veiled statement when she heard one. Lemuel, like many other preachers and priests, believed their way of worship was the correct one. She had believed the same thing when she was still a practicing Methodist.

“May I ask what brings you to our side of the mountain?” Lemuel continued.

“My uncle left me his house in his will.” Virginia sighed. “His will stated, ‘do what you will with it. Sell it, burn it, live in it if it’s still habitable by the time of my passing.’ I’m checking it out to see which of those options are more probable.”

“I see.” Lemuel chuckled. “He did have an interesting sense of humor from what little interaction I had with him. Now, I know we’re little more than strangers, but if I may, I believe that the Lord’s given you an opportunity to start something here in this community.”

A bold statement from a stranger, yet his shockingly accurate presumption of Virginia’s motivation for leaving Gettysburg touched her. She believed the same thing, that this opportunity was the Lord’s way of opening a door for her, urging her to find whatever she was looking for in the mountains of West Virginia.

Lemuel also had noticed the chain around Virginia’s neck, the pendant hanging from it a small, silver Jesus on the cross. She was a woman of god, she must understand the importance of God’s mysterious will. Or perhaps, he was just searching for a reason for this young woman to stay. It had been a while since a new face came to their remote town. More people had died or left than moved in, which Lemuel never resented until recently.

“I believe so too.” Virginia agreed with him. “I’m a little nervous about this whole ‘move’ though. I know absolutely nobody here.”

“Well, how about I tell you a little about myself. I'm the pastor at my parish, a small but dedicated congregation. We’re always welcome to newcomers, if you ever find yourself in need of some guidance or just want some company.”

Virginia wasn’t itching to go back to church anytime soon, but seeing that she was inside a preacher’s truck and he saved her from freezing to death… “How could I say no to my rescuer?” She said,

“See, now you know the local preacher. Not a bad start, eh?” Lemuel smiled at her before turning his eyes back to the road.

“If the others are as kind as you, my anxiety won’t be so bad.”

“I should warn you ahead of time, though, our way of loving Christ might come off as intimidating.” Lemuel confessed. “It might seem intense or scary, but our methods aren’t dangerous, despite what others might say.”

Virginia didn’t know what he could possibly mean. Speaking in tongues, while might seem odd, wasn’t scary. Unless they were sacrificing virgins and eating babies, they couldn’t have been that intense. She smiled politely and shrugged. Whatever their methods were, Virginia believed if their love of God was evident, it didn’t matter how they showed it. Right?

Lemuel brought Virginia to Hope Slaughter’s gas station soon enough. The place was still open, thank goodness, and an older, worn-down woman in a coat was inside, standing at the counter with a vacant expression as she flipped through a book.

“Hey Sister Slaughter.” Lemuel opened the door for Virgina, who thanked him under her breath as she stepped inside the shop.

Hope looked up from her book and closed it, shoving it under the counter before standing up straight. She didn’t smile, she didn’t even say hello back. She wore a cross around her neck, and while Virginia assumed she was part of Lemuel’s parish, this woman didn’t seem happy to see her preacher.

“Pastor.” She replied dryly before her eyes landed on Virginia. “Who’s this you got here?”

“This here’s Virginia Godwin. Her truck’s on the side of the road just fifteen minutes up Wind Whisper.” Lemuel explained. Virginia noticed he had trouble keeping eye contact with the older woman, who’s eyes bore into his soul.

“Couldn’t call a service yourself?” Hope asked Virginia.

“I would’ve but there was no reception.” She answered, put off by Hope’s glum attitude. Whatever beef she had with the preacher wasn’t her problem, so why was Hope gruff with her? Especially since she needed help?

“Alright. I’ll have my husband Zeke retrieve your truck and bring it here, fill ‘er up, and get yah to wherever it is yer goin.” Hope said. “But you’ll have to shack up at this here station until it arrives.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine!” Virginia said, relieved that this cold woman was at least helpful. She turned to Lemuel, who had been standing beside her, keeping his head down. “Thank you again, Mr. Childs. You really saved me tonight.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Godwin.” He smiled, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening. “Again, you’re always welcome at our parish.” Lemuel placed a gentle hand on Virginia’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly before leaving her at the counter, waving goodbye before exiting through the front door.

Virginia was a little sad to see him go, finding his company far more warm than Hope’s. But just as promised, her truck was delivered to her, filled up, and she was finally back on the road to her uncle’s. The whole time, Virginia thought of Lemuel, his deep, hickory-smoked voice, and those hazel eyes that looked at her with the feeling of pure belief, as if he already knew she would say yes to him and show up to service.

But before Virginia left the shop, Hope had said something to her. Something ominous, darkened by the withered grunt of her thick accent, like she was a witch in an old, mountain tale. Virginia couldn’t remember exactly what it was, being she was itching to leave the gas station, but she recalled the mention of Lemuel’s name.

...

Just as Virginia suspected, the house was mostly vacant. Uncle Joshua wasn’t one to hoard or collect. It was exactly the same as it was when Virginia was there last, The floors were all carpeted, save for the tiled kitchen, which was tiny. The walls were made of wooden paneling, the one couch and armchair were made of brown velvet, and the entire place still smelled of cigarettes, despite being vacant for months.

There was a stack of mail by the door that Virginia had to push aside to get in, most of the letters coming from banks, local shops, and even some from her own mother, Helen. Virginia didn’t know why they still communicated, given they hated each other.

There were no plants, no paintings or picture frames on the walls, save for the single frame on the side table next to the armchair, which was of aunt Grace. There were no instruments either, which was odd because Virginia remembered her uncle being an impressive cellist and pianist. Perhaps he sold the family piano and his prized cello after Grace died.

There were two bedrooms, one was converted into what used to be Grace’s art studio, sketch pads, canvases, and supplies strewn about the room messily. The other bedroom was plain, with the one queen sized bed, two bedside tables, one with a lamp sitting atop it, the other used as a bookshelf. There was a wooden dresser against the wall furthest from the door, and a chest at the foot of the bed, a folded afgan resting on it. Virginia remembered that afgan, aunt Grace had knitted it.

The one bathroom was grimey but bare, with only a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a comb, and a single bar of soap sitting on the sink. Uncle Joshua didn’t even have shampoo or body wash. He did look very hairy when Virginia saw him in the casket, which aligned with the fact she couldn’t find a razor.

She was grateful that the dwelling was bare enough for her to make small improvements upon it. Virginia didn’t need much, just a few potted plants, an air freshener, a radio, and maybe even a television set for the living room.

But the first thing she did was mount the wooden cross she took from her childhood bedroom onto the wall above her late uncle’s bed. While he might’ve forbade God from his home when he was alive, Virginia was eager to welcome Him back in with open arms.

“Lord, bless this house and may its previous inhabitant find peace in your love and grace. Amen.” She whispered to herself during her prayers that night.

And in her dreams, Virginia found herself once again seeing the preacher’s face. His enigmatic smile hadn’t left her mind ever since the ride to the station. There was something about it, how the way he looked at her gave way to the most confusing feelings within Virginia.

She dreamt that Lemuel was leading her down to a stream by the hand. When they got down to the edge of the water, he turned to her, smiled, and placed his hand over breast. His smile was as tender and kind as it was in the truck. It was as if he believed his touch was purely innocent and sweet. Virginia wanted more, but Lemuel didn’t move.

The next morning, she decided that day was all about distraction.

A woman’s ability to turn a house into a home was revered for a reason, and she would continue that tradition. It meant having to go out into town to get some things, but Virginia welcomed the adventure. She was curious to see what this small town had to offer. And it would give her the chance to meet more locals.

There was an antique store, a market, a nursery, a second-hand store that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 90’s, a tailor, some small family-owned restaurants, an auto-repair shop, a butcher, and a barber shop. While Virginia wandered around, familiarizing herself with the town, she couldn’t help but notice how tightly-knit all the people were when conversing. It seemed everyone knew everyone and everyone knew that Virginia wasn’t one of them.

“You the new inhabitant at Old Joshua’s?” The old lady at the antique shop asked her when Virginia purchased some paintings and a basket of fake ivy to place over the fridge.

“Yeah, he was my uncle.” She told her. Guess word gets around very quickly in this tiny town.

“My condolences.” The old lady grunted. She wasn’t going to miss Old Joshua for sure. “He was… Well, I’m glad he’s resting peacefully.”

“Thank you, ‘mam.” Virginia said with a forced smile.

If this was how every conversation in this town was going to start, she’d rather shut herself inside and follow her late uncle’s lead. She took her purchases under her arms, along with the receipt, and bid the woman goodbye before heading for her truck parked outside,

In her haste to escape the shop, Virginia had collided with a figure. “Oh, sorry!” She sputtered, dropping the fake plant onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, hello again, Miss Godwin.”

It was Lemuel. Of course it was. He bent down, picked up the fake ivy basket and smiled politely at Virginia. She awkwardly smiled back up at him, believing this moment was a test set by God to see how she would handle herself in Lemuel’s presence.

“Pastor Childs!” She cringed at herself, feeling stupid for running into him like a mindless bull. “I’m really sorry, I was just about to throw these into my truck.”

“Redecorating, I see.” Lemuel commented, walking with her to her truck. “Bet that empty house has been desperate for a woman’s touch.”

“You have no idea.” Virginia agreed, placing the collected paintings into the truck bed. “Here, I’ll take that.” Lemuel handed her the ivy basket, which she placed on the passenger seat.

“It’s nice to see you out and about. Bet our town seems incredibly small and unimpressive compared to wherever you're from.” He said, resting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I never really liked overly-populated areas. Too much noise.” Virginia crossed her arms over her chest, trying to warm her hands under her arms. “Also, the mountain’s incredibly beautiful in the daylight. I could take or leave the woods at nighttime, though, it’s pretty scary then.”

“Well, I hope you don’t have a habit of wandering around in the woods at night.” Lemuel joked.

Virginia shook her head. “Just when my truck isn’t running.”

Lemuel hummed, amused by her quip. In truth, a traditional man like he preferred it when women were driven, not driving themselves. Not that he believed women were incapable of the skill, just that they were meant to be taken care of, especially by their family. This lonely woman, without a man and without her parents in a new town… What was her mysterious past? Why did she come to their community alone?

“Have you thought about my offer?” He asked.

Virginia, in her loneliness and need for something to warm her body, had only thought of Lemuel in terms of satisfying her needs. She didn’t like the idea of attending a service where she’ll only be reminded of her lustful dream. She was already struggling with repressing the memory at the sight of him now.

“When’s the service?” She scratched the side of her neck.

“Tonight, just outside of town. I can write down the address for you.” Lemuel offered.

“Oh no, I can just look up the location.” Virginia said, taking her phone out of her coat pocket.

Lemuel sighed sheepishly. “It wouldn’t be on any GPS, I can guarantee that.”

“Oh, really?” Virginia’s brow furrowed. “This place exists, right?”

Lemuel laughed. “It’s a small dwelling, but it is real, I can assure you, Miss Godwin. It’s just remote.”

“Okay.” Virginia wondered what wasn’t remote on this mountain.

“How’s about I drive you there myself? I can pick you up this evening.” He offered.

Virginia wasn’t one to turn down a polite offer, and she wasn’t in the position to further distance herself from the people of this town by denying their preacher’s kindness. She would accept his offer and go home to her cross that hung above her bed and pray for strength.

Lemuel kept his promise, his truck driving up the gravel driveway. Virginia had spent the rest of the day cleaning things out, rearranging furniture and scrubbing down every inch of the kitchen and bathroom. By the time the preacher arrived, she had just plopped herself down on the velvet couch, which had been vacuumed, and was resting. She didn’t even have time to change into nicer clothes. In fact, after all the grinding, Virginia didn’t feel like going to service anymore.

“Hello, Mr. Childs.” She greeted him at the door. “Please give me a few seconds, I’m not yet dressed.”

Lemuel could see that, as she was in dirty jeans, an oversized t-shirt, and without shoes. “You didn’t forget, did you, Miss Godwin?”

“Oh, no! I lost track of the time. Please, come in. I won’t be two minutes.” Virginia opened the door to Lemuel and stepped aside, letting him enter.

He looked around, admiring how clean the space was. The floors were cleared of the dust and scattered mail, the walls were nicely decorated with scenic paintings of the mountainside, and of course, the familiar ivy basket sat atop the fridge in the small, but well-organized kitchen.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be in my room.” Virginia said before rushing down the hall, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Lemuel didn’t sit down. He was too curious about Virginia’s new home. And while it was small, smaller than his own house, it was comfortable. It smelled nice, seeing that she had purchased a vase of flowers and set them on the kitchen table. Lilies, fragrant and white.

There was little to nothing in the kitchen, save for some apples, a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, and some canned corn. This couldn’t be all she had to eat, could it? Lemuel figured she had stocked up when she got here. Perhaps she didn’t have time with all the tidying up she had to do.

Virginia emerged quietly from her room, her feet light and silent on the carpeted floor. She spotted Lemuel in her kitchen, looking around but not touching anything. She liked watching him, admiring his side profile. He was a simple preacher yet there was something regal about the way he stood.

“I’m ready when you are, pastor.” Virginia spoke, breaking Lemuel’s concentration.

He wouldn’t say it, but he was pleased with how she freshened up. She wore a long deep blue skirt paired with a baby-blue blouse that covered her modestly. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a braid that hung down over her left shoulder, with some loose strands falling around her face, framing her cheeks.

She was young and beautiful, Lemuel couldn’t deny that. He had put to bed his feelings of attraction after his wife passed years and years ago. His eye wasn’t known to wander, focusing his heart on the Holy Ghost. But Virginia, this mysterious woman from outside the mountain, standing before him in blue the Virgin Mary, bashful in his presence, gave him that familiar sensation he was once familiar with.

Lemuel smiled and escorted her out to his truck, opening the door for her like a gentleman. On the drive, Virginia remained silent, looking out the window while Lemuel drove. He wanted to compliment her, tell her she looked nice and that he was happy she was accompanying him to service. After the loss of multiple members within the past year, including some close to home, it felt nice to bring someone new and willing into the church.

Then, he remembered her bare kitchen. “I’d like to have you over for dinner after service, if that’s alright with you.”

Virginia was happy her face was turned away from Lemuel, for her cheeks were flushed. Dinner? She reasoned that it was merely a polite gesture. Lemuel had only been kind to her since he rescued her from the side of the road. But dinner, presumably alone with him, was so intimate.

“It ain’t forward at all, pastor.” She said, her hands fiddling with the tips of her braid. She then ceased the child-like tic and placed them flat in her lap. What was she, a shy school girl? “Thank you for inviting me. For everything you’ve done, really.”

“Everything I’ve done?” Lemuel glanced over at her. “Now, I didn’t do what any other man wouldn’t have done, Miss Godwin.”

“You’re the only one in the community that’s been so open and so welcoming.” Virginia said. It was true, most other members she had interacted with while running her errands were rather distant, especially when they knew of her relation to the late Old Joshua.

“Well, I know what it’s like to feel alone and in need of a kind soul.” Lemuel said. “Our church has suffered hardship. We understand what it’s like to be thought of as strange and unusual by others. And I’ll admit that history has made us hesitant to accept outsiders. But make no mistake, we’re just as devoted and loving as any other congregation.” Lemuel said, turning the truck onto a narrow dirt road that led deep into the woods.

Ahead was what looked like a shed with a neon cross above the sliding doors. Next to it was a sign that glowed “Holy Ghost Church.” Lemuel was right, it was a very remote and small dwelling. The lights were already on inside and Virginia could see some men arranging chairs.

“This is it.” Lemuel shut the engine off, turning to Virginia. “I’ll introduce yah to the boys.”

Virginia wondered if ‘the boys’ meant the gruff, burly men that came out to meet them. She recognized one of them, Hope Slaughter’s husband Zeke who said a polite “hello again” to her. The others were Hank, Aaron, and Otis, all fellow parishioners who were obviously fond of Lemuel. Zeke, however, seemed rather demure in the pastor’s presence, exhibiting the same hesitation to engage the same way Lemuel shied away from Hope Slaughter at the gas station.

“This here’s Miss Virginia Godwin, Joshua’s niece. She’s moved into his place on Pinewood.” Lemuel told them.

“Nice to meet y’all.” She smiled to each of them. “Your pastor was kind enough to invite me to your service. I hope that’s okay.”

“We’re always open to newcomers.” The oldest man, Hank, told her, offering his hand to her. She took it and he squeezed it between his calloused palms. “You’re very welcome, Miss Godwin.”

“We was sorry t’hear ‘bout yer uncle.” Otis said. “Was no believer, but still…”

“Thank you.” Virginia was tired of all the condolences, even if she had to accept them.

“Well, let’s get to fixin up. Can’t have this church half-set when the others get here.” Lemuel said, gently slapping Hank’s shoulder before leading them inside.

Virginia’s eyes were instantly drawn to the crates at the other side of the church. There were red lights illuminating the crates, which had mulch inside them. Getting a closer look, Virginia then saw that these crates contained snakes!

“Woah.” She stepped back away from the sight of them.

The other men were casual, gathering around them to observe the animal. Lemuel looked over his shoulder, seeing the look of shock on Virginia’s face. “Don’t worry, they ain’t gettin out.” He assured her. “Not until we handle them.”

“Handle them?” Virginia asked, stepping closer to Lemuel’s side as they approached the crates. The snakes were being fed live quails, their tails rattling before they struck their prey with a hiss. Virginia flinched at the sudden bite, sad to watch an animal kill another. “These are part of the service?”

Lemuel didn’t expect Virginia to immediately accept their form of worship. It was only natural for newcomers to feel fear and confusion at the sight of a dangerous animal. He and the other parishioners had handled the snakes for so long now, it was second-nature to be around them.

“We show our devotion to the Holy Ghost through our unyielding faith. Faith that even in the presence of serpents, we are protected in his love and strength.” Lemuel explained while they watched Aaron, a man no older than thirty, lead another quail into one of the other crates. “We respect them, but we do not cower to them.”

Virginia hoped that whatever this service entailed, it wouldn’t involve her having to go near one of those things. “Snakes terrify me.” She confessed, looking away from the animals. “Forgive me, pastor, I-”

“We do NOT cower before them, Miss Godwin.” Lemuel moved in close, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder while he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Look upon these serpents and give not into fear. But feel the embrace of the Lord’s protection, for his love is greater than any evil.”

Virginia felt pulled to him as he comforted her, his lips close enough to her cheek that she could feel his breath wash over her warm skin. She wanted to curl into his side and listen to him while he preached softly, assuring her of the Lord’s will.

Lemuel walked her over to the crates, allowing her to hold onto his arm as they went. It was natural she didn’t want to go near them. But if she wanted to understand the people of this community, she had to see how they expressed their faith. And in Lemuel’s care, she would be safe. Or so he believed.

Virginia looked over the crates and watched as the snakes consumed their prey, squeezing the quails before unhinging their jaws and devouring them bit by bit. It was violent yet peaceful, for the snakes took their precious time as they ate. They didn’t seem bothered by the presence of the others who watched over them, too distracted by their meal.

“You will not suffer, Virginia.” Lemuel whispered, the first time he ever referred to her by her first name. “If you accept Christ as your personal savior and allow him to guide you on your path, you will be made clean again in his image.”

“Clean again?” Virginia breathed, eyes fixed on the coiling creature beneath them. What did Lemuel mean? Was Virginia being a Methodist really so sinful in his eyes?

Lemuel had made an incorrect assumption about Virginia. He assumed, given she was so beautiful and young, that she had not been a virgin. Most unmarried women these days were open to sexual experiences, whether they believed in the consequences or not.

“I didn’t mean to imply-” Lemuel stepped away from Virginia, feeling foolish. “My apologies, it isn’t my place to make such presumptions.”

“It is not.” Virginia frowned at the pastor. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I am not unclean.” She lowered her voice so the other men wouldn’t hear. She got closer to the pastor, who now looked incredibly guilty. “I was raised a Christian, pastor. My methods of worship might not live up to your standards but my devotion to Christ is no lesser than yours.”

An unsoiled woman? Lemuel thought as he looked at Virginia. Her face was red, from anger or embarrassment he didn’t know. But he had overstepped the line, not just as a pastor, but as a new friend.

“Forgive me, Miss Godwin.” Lemuel tilted his head forward, an apologetic bow.

Virginia chose to sit close to the stage during the service, though she immediately regretted it when Lemuel called on her, asking the other parishioners to welcome her. The others said their hellos and warm welcomes, offering her kind smiles and words of encouragement. Virginia spotted Sister Slaughter a few rows back, sitting next to her husband Zeke, whose head was down. That couple always seemed to appear on edge, especially in the presence of Lemuel. What had happened between the couple and their pastor?

During the evening, Virginia would soon learn of Lemuel’s style of preaching. He was loud and passionate, just like any pastor she had seen before. He jumped up and down, riling up the congregation with his sermon, lifting his arms up to the ceiling as he shouted out “Amen!” The others responded to him well, raising up their arms, moaning and crying as their pastor continued, evoking the Holy Spirit.

Virginia couldn’t deny she felt elevated, as if she could rise off the ground and ascend to Lemuel’s preaching. His energy was contagious, his voice genuine and proud, and his words moving. She couldn’t help but shout “Amen” back at him, her eyes closed and mouth agape.

Then, Lemuel bent down over the crate to the side of the stage and opened it up, reaching in and picking up the snake gently. He held it up in the air as he continued to preach, his body shaking with excitement while the congregation collectively raised up their hands and praised the Holy Ghost.

Virginia felt as if time slowed while she watched Lemuel handle the snake. He looked right into the animal’s eyes without an ounce of fear in his body. She had never seen such an act of true faith before. He was so certain that God was protecting him from the dangers of the snake. And while Virginia was skeptical before, now she was starting to believe that maybe… Maybe Lemuel was right.

#walton goggins #them that follow #lemuel childs #pastor childs #the ghoul #this was supposed to be a one shot then i kept writing #walton goggins was so hot in this

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