#also the tragedy if this happened and then one-one didn't even remember her

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over. 

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you. 

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity. 

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you. 

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that. 

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters. 

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?” 

-

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband. 

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open. 

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at. 

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her. 

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe? 

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized. 

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom. 

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away. 

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time. 

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head. 

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full. 

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy. 

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you. 

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind. 

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game. 

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing. 

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you. 

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl. 

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now. 

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still. 

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again. 

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one. 

-

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat. 

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat –  fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now. 

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out. 

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now. 

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well. 

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him. 

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you. 

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all. 

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind. 

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard. 

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

-

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile. 

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes. 

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father. 

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for. 

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes. 

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something. 

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection. 

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now. 

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit. 

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad. 

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won. 

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone. 

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore. 

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house. 

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was. 

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers? 

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask. 

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved. 

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief. 

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never. 

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie. 

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say. 

-

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts. 

-

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were. 

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this. 

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that? 

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need. 

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you? 

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good. 

End.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel miller #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller/ reader #Joel Miller/ you #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us au #Joel Miller au #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[yumeka-sxf]

I've been waiting to see Yor's epiphany chapter in the anime and it did not disappoint! I felt like analyzing more than usual because I loved this episode so much~ 💖

I hope that any anime-only viewers who at this point still had the opinion that Yor's just ditzy/submissive, one-dimensional, or whatever negative traits associated with her, have changed their minds. Throughout the cruise arc we've seen so many sides of her character: how she's struggling to understand the exact reason why she's taking on these dangerous assignments when her original reason for doing it (supporting Yuri) no longer exists, how her internal desire to seek her own happiness - live a peaceful life like Olka - is at constant war with her diligence to complete her mission, her yearning to be with Loid and Anya and how sad she looks when she has to tell herself that they're just a cover-up family and she'll have to leave them without a word if anything drastic happens, and how much more confident she is when doing something she excels at - assassinating - yet still retaining her kind and polite demeanor (Unlike Twilight, who dons the mask of Loid Forger, Yor Forger is not a mask for Thorn Princess, at least not in terms of personality. So everything she says as Thorn Princess can be interpreted as her true feelings, including the now two times she's hesitated during fights because of the thought of having to leave the Forgers).

And, in the moment where she's facing death right in the eye, all the doubts she's had since getting this assignment culminate, not only causing the samurai assassin to get the upper hand, but causing her to take a deep, introspective look into her reason for fighting...if it's not for the same reason as the other assassins, what is it?

What's even more amazing is that these things about her character did not come out of nowhere just for the sake of a flashy climax. We saw in previous episodes that not only does she understands that being in the Forger family makes her happy, but most importantly, how she's lived her life only thinking of the happiness of others above her own. And what's most tragic is that, upon finally realizing that her original reason for being an assassin is gone (since Yuri no longer needs support) she's ready to die then and there...until she remembers Olka's words about wanting to live a peaceful life, which in turn makes her remember her core reason for becoming an assassin was to not only support Yuri, but to make the world he lives in all the more peaceful by eliminating the villains in it.

Despite how naive Yor is about many things (due to her upbringing), she's certainly not ignorant about the needless tragedies that exist in the world. And here is where she makes her decision to keep doing her assassinating, not because she enjoys killing people, but because the result of it will make the world a better place...because now, she has even more people whose happiness she desires to protect.

Even if she sacrifice her own happiness by leaving the Forgers, that's not as important to her as preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones, or the world in general. And these thoughts are so similar to Twilight's reasons for becoming a spy! Coincidently, as Yor has these thoughts, she thinks of how Loid complimented this aspect of her personality way back when they first met...and the thought that the man who she trusts and respects so much would approve of her decision, gives her the final push to keep on going (I love that they reanimated this scene too and didn't just use the exact frames from episode 2).

So yeah, if anyone who wasn't sure of how much depth Yor's character has, I hope this episode shed a lot of light! This is the right way to make a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

(I will probably reword a lot of this for my upcoming Twiyor analysis posts but I couldn't wait until then, lol).

#spy family #spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #yor forger #twiyor #sxf anime

[cringe-but-proud]

So I am totally in love with Regulus and I saw you were taking requests for him so I thought I would ask for an idea that has been on my mind for a bit.

So basically it’s grumpy x sunshine with Reggie and Fem!reader. Maybe there in the library and Reggie is listening to reader go over the books she's read like she rambling as Reggie just listen and occasionally comments you can add more if you like!!

If this makes you comfortable please feel free to ignore this request!

OMG YES. GUYS I FUCKING LOVE REGULUS BLACK.

Sorry. I'm normal.

Regulus black x Fem!Reader

A/n: I didn't wanna write about a book no one knew about, so I decided to play it safe and make reader like Romeo and Juliet. Also my requests are open (and I'm always happy to write about my babygirl, pookie bear, pathetic little meow meow, Regulus Black)

Regulus honestly didn't know how he got to this point. Y/n was never supposed to be anyone special to him. They'd been partnered up together for a Herbology project and as soon as it was over, he was supposed to never talk to her again.

But, of course, as always, things couldn't be that simple for him.

And now, here he was, studying with her almost everyday. Studying might not be the best word for it, a lot of the time it was just the two of them hanging out in the library together. But, he wasn't going to admit he enjoyed hanging out with Y/n. Just like how he wasn't going to admit that he'd developed feelings for her.

The two of them sat in the library like they did almost everyday. Y/n was rambling to him about a book she had to read for her history of magic class.

"I just don't understand why assigned reading is always so boring. That's the reason so many people don't like reading, I think. It's because they only read books that they're forced to read in school, and almost all of those books are boring, so they assume every book is boring, and then they hate reading."

Regulus was used to this. Y/n was always quite talkative. She could go on for hours about pretty much any subject. He didn't mind. He liked listening to her.

"The last time I remember actually enjoying a book I was forced to read for school was when I read Romeo and Juliet. But, a lot of people hated reading Romeo and Juliet, but I think that's just because it's written in old-time-y language, y'know?"

"What's Romeo and Juliet?" Regulus asked curiously.

Y/n paused at that. "Seriously?"

Regulus felt himself begin to blush. Was he supposed to know what that was? Did he sound dumb? "I mean, I know it's a book, but..." he shrugged.

"You've never heard of Romeo and Juliet."

He shook his head.

"How is that even possible?" She chuckled. "It's a classic! It's the classic. I thought-"

"Is it a muggle book?"

She paused at his question. "Well, yeah."

"That's why I've never heard of it. My mother doesn't let me read muggle books."

"Not even Romeo and Juliet?" Y/n shook her head. "That's insane."

"Yeah..." Regulus sighed. His mother was one of the reasons he couldn't admit he had feelings for Y/n. His mother would definitely not approve of Y/n. She wasn't the type of person that the Black family associated with. She was too bubbly, too kind, too accepting of others despite whatever differences they might have. Too happy.

"Anyways," Regulus shook the thoughts of his mother out of his head. "What's it about?"

Y/n smiled. "I can't believe I'm about to explain the plot of Romeo and Juliet to someone."

"Sorry..."

"No, no! I'm excited. It'll be fun." She said reassuringly. "Ok, first of all, it's not really a book. It's a play. But, you never get to just watch the play, you always have to read it in school." She explained. "It's a tragedy written by Shakespeare who's like, a super important guy who wrote a bunch of plays during the Renaissance."

Regulus nodded along as she spoke.

"His most well known play is Romeo and Juliet, which is a romantic tragedy about two starcrossed lovers."

"So..." He was curious now. "What happens in it?"

"Are you asking me to spoil it for you?"

"I guess."

"Romeo and Juliet both die at the end." She says. "Which technically isn't a spoiler, because at the very beginning of the play, there's a prologue where they tell you 'Hey, they both die in the end', but whatever."

Regulus didn't expect that. "And you... liked reading this?"

"Yeah." She shrugged.

"Why?"

"Well..." She thought about it for a moment. "I've always liked romance. And even though this one obviously doesn't have a happy ending, it's still a classic. And I like seeing all the different adaptations of it."

"Adaptations?"

"Oh!" She lit up. "That's another thing! Another reason it's so popular is because there are a bunch of different versions of the story. People make movie versions of it all the time, there's this really good musical, west side story that's based off of it." She gasped. "We should watch one together!"

He blushed at the thought. Watching a movie with her? Like a date? "We should?"

"Yeah! I mean, only if you want to. But, I think it'd be really fun!"

"So..." He looked away. "Tonight?"

"What?"

"I mean, do you want to watch it tonight?"

Y/n was a bit surprised he was so eager to do this. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." She smiled. "We can make popcorn, and get a bunch of blankets and pillows, make it a whole experience." She gathered her things from the table they were sitting at. "Does that sound good?"

Regulus nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sounds amazing."

"Great." She gave him a quick hug. "I'll see you tonight."

Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, but she could've sworn she saw a blush creep on to his cheeks before she turned to walk away.

#x reader #fanfiction #regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #regulus black fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction

[yan-lorkai]

Can I request a Mother!Reader x Ciel? Like the reader became a shinigami before the fire consumes her (she has knowledge about demons, angels and grim reapers) so that she can still see and protect her son alongside Sebastian.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ The occult fascinated you when you were younger and although this type of knowledge was highly frowned upon by the society you lived in, you were always the type of person who did what you wanted. You spent hours studying and reading everything you could about demons, their classifications and rankings, their names and positions, you also learned about Shinigami and angels. At that time all of this was just to satisfy your curiosity about the beings on the other side that all humans feared so much.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ During your life you have met many of these beings, some by coincidence, others through rituals or things like that. The occult followed you into adulthood, but you let it all go when you married Vincent. You didn't want supernatural beings to continue to follow and seek you when you intended to build a family with your husband, so no longer did you spend afternoons studying and talking with other occultists, living peacefully for several years until tragedy struck you and your little family.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ The passage of time for you became blurred as your soul was collected by the shinigami and, instead of being laid to rest as is done with all others, someone turned you into a shinigami. You couldn't say who specifically since you had no friends among them nor did you know why anyone would risk their reputation for you but you were grateful for being alive again.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ By all means, your "rebirth" is abnormal and strange and if the other shinigami realize what an anomaly you are then they will hunt you down and eliminate you, so for a while you are left wandering in isolated places, brooding in guilt and grief. You've just lost your entire family and your humanity, that's a lot of information to process at once, however, your world turns upside down again when you discover that your eldest son is alive.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ As any good mother would you return home, a bundle of nerves and anxiety as your fist slams against the door and you find yourself face to face with a supernatural being. You know Sebastian as soon as you see him, your heart pounding inside your chest as you swallow hard. It seems that like you, Ciel ventured into the occult more than he should have. You return home, but everything is so different, so sad and cold, the place where the family photo once stood is now empty - a painful reminder of everything that had happened.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Ciel's reactions when he sees you are diverse, every quiver of his lips, every erratic breath and the barely contained tears in his eyes, you can see everything. And even if he doesn't immediately hug you in front of his demon pet so as not to show weakness, you hold him in your arms. At least you still have each other. Each other until the contract is finalized, you remember with regret, knowing that there is nothing stopping Sebastian from getting what is owed to him in the end.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ However, you again find yourself with your books. Reading each one almost obsessively to learn how to break a contract or how to kill a demon - if Sebastian knows what you're doing, he hasn't done anything to stop you or told your son yet.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Whether you find a way to break the contract or not, you and Sebastian fiercely protect Ciel from any and all threats that may come his way. It's tiring having to predict assassination attempts, poisoning or kidnapping, but with the strength and knowledge you now have, everything is easier. Holding your death scythe feels so right in your hands, as if it were custom-made, capable of cutting through almost anything.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ There is still distrust in you about everyone around you, about any imminent danger and on nights when you find yourself tossing from one side to the other in bed, you stand at the door of Ciel's room, listening his breathing heavily and snoring. Hearing him being alive. On these nights it is common for Sebastian to find you and stay by your side, talking, exchanging experiences, although he doesn't really like reapers he seems to tolerate you if only because you are the mother of his contractor.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ciel phantomhive #yandere ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive x reader #yandere ciel x reader #ciel x reader #platonic yandere

[kimi240302]

Come back to me Part 1

A/N: Before you read this, I want you to know that my native language is different. So I am very sorry for any mistake. Nevertheless, I hope you will like my story and enjoy it.

Summary: The love story between Alec Volturi and Y/N Swan, was an unexpected one. Both didn't know what to make of each other when they found out they were soul mates. But they worked on it and created a beautiful strong love that not even Bella's hatred for the Volturi could destroy. But as in any good love story, tragedy was impossible to avoid in theirs. It came as unexpectedly as their love itself, and made the Cullens and Bella seem to win, while Alec and the Volturi were losing their light in the darkness.

Alec Volturi x Swan!Female!reader

Main Post / Twilight Masterlist/ Come back to me Masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------------

"I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night me met I dont know what I´m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you"- Lord Huron/ The Night We Met

Helplessness or powerlessness

Alec didn't know exactly which feeling had been eating away at his insides every day for the past two months, or was it perhaps both? Ever since he'd gotten the call from the Cullen Doctor that the woman he loved more than anything in the world was on the verge of death, Alec had felt like he was in a freefall into darkness. He was not present and yet not absent enough to be able to shut off his emotions from the pain he felt all the time.

Lost in thought, he looked down at his mate and ran soothing motions over her hand that lay in his. Y/N was still lying in the hospital bed in the hospital room in the city that Alec Volturi had learned to hate even more in the last two months than he had hated it before, Forks.

He had not been told exactly what had happened to her, because no one knew for sure how Y/N had left the road with her car and ended up in the lake. There was no storm that evening, no wet or slippery roads or anything else that could have caused the accident. The rest of the facts were also just speculation. Y/N had managed to get out of her car, but the temperature of the water was too cold for her to have the strength to swim to the surface afterwards. She had lost consciousness and only survived by pure luck. This lucky charm was called Jacob Black. He and the other wolves had heard the crash and had run as fast as they could to the lake.

"I always thought that our twentieth birthday would be the only bad memory that would burn itself into my brain and never want to leave." Alec looked away from his sister and ran both hands over his face. He felt something he hadn't felt in several centuries, tiredness. The vampire would love nothing more than to lie down next to his mate, close his eyes and simply sleep away Y/N's absence. But he had long since lost this ability, something he had never regretted until this moment.

Jane, who was standing at the window, looked at her brother in shock. It was the first time she had heard him speak since Y/N's accident, she had come back to check on him every now and then and had never been able to get more than single words out of him. The second thing that shocked her was that she and her brother had never spoken about what had happened, not since they had both turned. Jane sat down in the chair next to Alec and looked at him searchingly. "I'll be honest with you, brother, I've forgotten exactly what happened. Either it was too long ago or my memories are trying to protect me." Alec turned to his sister in surprise. "Really? My memories want to torture me, in this case, I guess. I remember every little detail."

He fell silent for a few moments, turned his gaze away from Jane and looked through the window at the cloudy sky. He had to grin slightly. He hated this town and yet its weather seemed to know exactly how the vampire felt at that moment.

Alec noticed how his sister's gaze seemed to bore deeper into his side profile with every passing second of his silence. His gaze lingered stubbornly outward as he continued. "I remember how you, me and mother were eating dinner when the villagers kicked down our door. I remember them chasing us through the forest with flaming torches and insults. I remember how we were captured and dragged to the dock on the shore. How we were tied to a stake on a pyre and insulted further. I remember mom trying to get to us and fighting against the people holding her. I remember how she broke free. How they grabbed her just before the stake and pushed her to the ground. I remember how she was kicked by the people she had known since childhood. I remember her choking on her own blood." Alec turned his head back to Jane. "But you know what the worst memory from that day is?" The blond vampire shook his head. "The flames. I remember the pain and the smell of our skin burning off piece by piece."

There was an intense silence between the two siblings for a few moments.

"Since when do you remember every detail?" Jane's voice had changed to a soft tone that she only used with her brother and Y/N. Alec's eyes drifted to his mate, reflecting the pain of the last few weeks. "Since the day I saw her lying here like that. Since then, I can't get it out of my head that fate always manages to sweeten my life, only to ruin it afterwards." The black-haired vampire jumped up and walked over to the window. "Alec, Y/N is alive. Carlisle…" "The Cullen doctor, doesn't know if she's waking up. He doesn't even know if she'll ever be able to breathe on her own again without that machine." Alec ran his fingers through his hair again.

His gaze wandered to the machine that displayed Y/N's vital signs and beeped along with her heartbeat. He looked at the machine, from which a tube led into his mate's throat. Alec knew that if it wasn't for that tube, his lover wouldn't even be breathing. The vampire took a closer look at Y/N. Alec swallowed, because there was hardly anything left of the girl from two months ago. Her skin was white and stretched against her body so tightly that you could see every single bone. Her cheeks were sunken and black spots had formed under her eyes. Her hair looked dull as it had lost its shine.

"I should have kept her in Volterra and bitten her the first time we met. Then she wouldn't have had the idea to come back here." Jane stood up instantly and stood in front of her brother, drawing his gaze from his mate. She put her hands to her brother's cheek and looked deep into his eyes.

"Alec, if you had kept her in Volterra the day she was dragged into our world without any preparation and turned her against her wishes, do you really think Y/N would have fallen in love with you? Do you think she wouldn't have listened to the Cullens and seen you for the monster you are to that clan? She would have hated you for the rest of your immortal lives. You would never have been able to reach her." Sadly, Jane turned her gaze to Y/N and back to her brother. "If she doesn't survive this, which I hope she doesn't, at least you had a time together with her that you would want to remember. Y/N loved you and always will. Hold on to that Alec, I beg you not to lose hope now."

Alec let his head grow heavier in his sister's hands. "What if I bite her now…. Maybe I can end this nightmare." Alec lifted his head stepped away from his sister and began his pacing. "I should never have let her go to Forks. The Cullens and her sister don't care about her safety like me, you, or the rest of the Volturi!" His eyes wandered helplessly back and forth between his sister's face and the lifeless-looking body of his mate. The feeling of powerlessness spread through him again, drilling into his bones like a disease.

Jane shook her head. "Carlisle said that our poison might just kill her faster and you couldn't stop her from coming to Forks. After all, she wanted to say goodbye to her father. You know she wouldn't have been able to see her father after her transformation." "Then I should have gone with her…" "Alec, you can't undo what happened. So stop blaming yourself." "I can't lose her Jane, I can lose anyone but her." Jane nodded knowingly. "I know Alec." She whispered. Alec stopped and accepted his twin's embrace. He tightened his hands in her top and lowered his head into the crook of her neck.

They were both there when their master Marcus lost his mate and how he was broken by it. They also saw how he suffered every day. Jane didn't want her brother to suffer the same fate. That's why she had taken the message that Y/N wanted to be turned very well. That way, the young girl would be out of the danger of being human. But ever since the call had arrived in Volterra saying that Y/N was on the brink of death, the thought that Alec could end up like Marcus was a shadow of every action the siblings had taken. Jane couldn't lose her brother and even if the blonde vampire didn't want to admit it, the same was true for Y/N. For the young girl had burned herself into her cold, non-beating heart. Jane also knew that it wasn't just her, but every single vampire who lived in Volterra.

Y/N had earned the nickname "The Sunshine of the Volturi". Because no matter how many prejudices the Cullens and her sister had tried to put into Y/N to turn her against the Volturi. The young woman had created her own images of each individual vampire, which placed her in a special role for each one. For the three kings and their wives, she became a daughter, someone they all wanted to take under their wing and show everything the world had to offer. To Felix, Demetri, Santiago, Afton, Chelsea and Jane, she became a sister. For the rest of the Volturi guard, she became a friend. For Alec, she became his companion, the love of his life and his best friend. What united the Volturi was one thought when it came to Y/N; they all wanted to protect her, whatever the cost.

Alec detached himself from his sister completely, walked around her and sat back down by his mate's bed.

"I'm so sick of this hospital room." He murmured. Carefully, Alec reached for Y/N's hand and clasped it with both of his. Slowly, he brought it to his mouth so he could leave a kiss on her fingers. Alec cursed his vampire existence at that moment, more than on other days. Because she had taken away his ability to cry. All he could utter was a silent whimper. Alec carefully placed Y/N's hand back on the mattress. He leaned towards the bed so that he could place one of his hands on her cheek while the other stroked tenderly through her hair. His eyes clouded over with pain.

"Did you know that you are so important to the Volturi that even the kings themselves were here to see you? Although Master Aro could see you through Demetris or through someone else, all three wanted to see it with their own eyes." He paused for a few seconds. "I think by now every Volturi has been here once. Your sister and the Cullens throw a fit every time they see another one of us." Jane quietly sat back down in her old seat and watched her brother closely. He removed his hand from her cheek and placed it on Y/N's hand.

"What I want to say to you, my Love, everyone misses you and everyone prays, I don't know to what or to whom, that you will open your eyes and brighten our lives with your light again. Volterra is so cold and dark without you. I miss you, so terribly that I can't even describe it anymore." Alec bit his lips and squinted his eyes. Jane placed her hand over Alec's and Y/N's. "Y/N I beg you come back to me, don't leave me behind in this world."

Jane opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but she was startled and looked down at the hand she had placed on her brother's and Y/N. Alec's eyes snapped open too, his movements in Y/N's hair stopped.

"Tell me you felt that too! Tell me I'm not going crazy Jane!" Jane just looked stunned at their joined hands and then at Y/N's face. "Alec…" Alec took his eyes off the hands and looked at his sister. She pointed at Y/N with her free hand, "Look!"

Y/N's eyelids twitched slightly and all hell broke loose.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

@rosedpetal @bofadeezs

#twilight x reader #demetri volturi #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagine #the volturi #volturi x reader #felix volturi #jane volturi #alec volturi #caius volturi #aro volturi #alec volturi x you #alec volturi x y/n #alec volturi x reader #alec volturi imagine #volturi fanfiction #volturi guard #volturi imagines #volturi aesthetic #volturi kings #the twilight saga #the cullens

[hamsterclaw]

Fic Library: Yoongi (Pt 2)

My ult bias, it makes sense that there were too many to fit into one list. All of these authors capture the essence of my favourite tsundere king, check these stories out and show them some love. Part 1 here.

A Steamy Conversation by @madbutgloriouspond. Yoongi x f! reader. You walk in on a half-naked, dripping wet, tangerine haired Yoongi, he's mean and cocky and the inevitable happens. Smutty perfection from Memes.

Clockwork Heart by @vyduan. Yoongi x reader. The chaebol tsundere Yoongi that I'll never stop screaming about. A brilliant, capable reader, a hot Yoongi who does secret acts of kindness, and beautifully rendered side characters including wise and witty BFF Seokjin.

Knee-high by @jjungkookislife. Yoongi x reader in an established relationship. A sexy, skirt wearing, orange haired, watermelon chapstick using Yoongi with a lip piercing in a smutty, enjoyable read.

I'm not even gonna say it by @taetaespeaches. Yoongi x reader. An incredibly cute, fluffy read, where Yoongi stops for lemonade on a swelteringly hot day.

Fireworks by @starlostjimin. Yoongi x f! reader in an established relationship. A soft, fluffy, spicy story with the domestic Yoongi of my dreams.

Too hot to sleep by @gamerguk. Fiance Yoongi x reader - a short, smutty read with a hilarious cameo from Hobi at the end.

The Sweetest Thing by @illneverrecover. A super cute sweet treat featuring a grumpy florist Yoongi and a baker reader.

Kinkmas Day Four drabble by @monimonimoon. A deliciously hot, petty co-worker Yoongi at the office Christmas party.

On the nature of living by @sugalaritae. Griddle's an incredible writer, and this very beautiful story starts off with Yoongi x a ghost reader and resonates so much with me emotionally.

Home by @junghelioseok. Secret agent AU with Yoongi x reader. Short, sweet and comforting.

Set me free by @hesperantha. A time-travel tale with tragedy of epic proportions. You won't have read anything else quite like it.

The one with Yoongi, Netflix and zero chill by @eoieopda. A hilarious reader, a fluffy and cuddly Yoongi and softness and feelings all round.

Yoongi is a rock by @yoongsisbae. A beautifully written story that made me think about mortality and constancy and has the singularly beautiful line ‘And when Yoongi cracked he thought of you’. It gives me chills remembering it. Stunning.

The one with Yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas by @eoieopda. I knew I was in for angst when I started reading but I didn't bank on the beautifully realised longing and characters I wanted to cry for. I adore this.

Best served cold by @anotherbtswriter. Yoongi and afab reader in a mafia AU with drama, tsundere Yoongi energy and a duplicitous family. Riveting.

Bao by @whatifyoulivelikethat. Delivery boy Yoongi x chef reader. One of the first Yoongi stories I read, and have re-read so many times since then. This Yoongi's so perfectly characterised, and there's a cameo from a sexy model Taehyung too.

Dominance and Domesticity by @theharrowing. A Yoongi who doms you in the bedroom and also does ironing? Where do I sign up? Sexy perfection.

Cybersex by @gimmethatagustd. Yoongi x f! reader. Reader is a phone sex hotline operator in this brother's best friend AU. Featuring a hot, confident, capable Yoongi who nearly set my screen on fire.

Shameless by @vyduan. Idolverse AU with Yoongi and reader. A stunning story, part of the Her multiverse series, with complex, layered characters that are so beautifully human. One of the first stories I read when I started reading BTS fanfic, and one I won't forget.

#fic rec: yoongi #fic rec list #yoongi fics

[yzy-dragon]

I absolutely ADORED S2E9 "Three Stories" of Link Click and was a bit surprised to see the discontent here on Tumblr, and I totally understand the reasons why people didn't like it, especially in the context of the pacing of the rest of S2 (which I also have some opinions on but I won't talk about that here), but I also felt the need to just get my heart out why I love it so much. A bit of background, I'm Chinese American but have lived in and visited China numerous times.

Music and theater. As a western classical musician and an amateur Chinese opera singer enthusiast (I saw someone else post about the possible inspo this episode got from Chinese opera), I VIBED with the artistic direction of this episode SO much. The three-part structure was almost like a sonata/symphony (and remember that one scene where Qian Jin was air-conducting in a previous episode!!) or scene changes in a Chinese opera. Nothing needs to be said about the animation style that hasn't been said already, but I like how scenes from the three individual "stories" were interwoven and reused like leitmotifs. Especially that crazy, tortured laughter. Idk if any of the parallels were intentional on the part of the director, but it's what I got from it due to my personal experiences. I know that's a highly subjective takeaway though, which brings me to my next point....

Qian Jin's "tragic" backstory. I know a lot of people were upset that the extent of Qian Jin's tragic backstory was "oh his wife cheated on him", but I think the "basicness" of his struggles was the whole point (by the way, this segment displayed various attitudes towards work, family, marriage, individual pride, and life in mainland China so subtly but so well!). I also don't think sympathy was the main thing we were supposed to feel for him, although of course there is some. The whole "tragicomedy" aspect of Qian Jin's story is that it's not some horrible, terrible, rare thing that happened to him, but a common problem faced by so many hardworking but busy married men trying to provide for their families: infidelity. But Qian Jin sees himself as the main character of an elaborate play that rivals the great dramatic classics (which, funnily enough, often depicted very DRAMATIZED versions of a rather basic series of events). And his viewpoint is validated when....

Qian Jin meets the twins. That segment is still largely from Qian Jin's perspective, because we still don't really know how LTC and LTX even feel about him. But for Qian Jin, it's a stroke of fate and fortune that could only possibly happen in theater. He's very far removed from reality at this point. Reality is that a cop whose job it is to investigate violent crime comes across two kids who are the victims of a violent crime. Again, nothing particularly special or even coincidential. It's comical like that.

The fairy tale section.  Unlike the first two, I think this segment is from Xixi’s perspective, which not only justifies the cartoony artstyle but also makes it heartbreaking, due to her childlike innocence.  Like Qian Jin, she also perceives her reality as something it’s not, but unlike him, she doesn’t have delusions of grandeur of being a tragic protagonist.  It’s just a little fox trying to survive in a forest full of predators and hunters.  

All that tortured laughter. I’ve actually noticed in a lot of Chinese media that they like to use laughter as a way of signifying a person’s complete mental breakdown due to the tragedies they’ve suffered.  It’s a very internal thing that has people on the outside going, “WTF?”  In this episode we have a lot of characters crazily laughing together at the same time and it seems like they’re relating to each other, but in reality they’re all trapped in their own nightmarish hells and motivated by selfish purposes. 

Back to the topic of Qian Jin, even though he (innaccurately) may see himself as the hero of his own story, it's not enough for him. He wants to use Cheng Xiaoshi to change the past. He wants to become the director of the play.

I know a lot of people were disappointed this episode didn't advance the plot, especially in regard to Cheng Xioashi and Lu Guang's storylines, but I was actually prepared for a backstory episode and couldn't have been more satisfied. Again, I have other opinions on the rest of S2 but at least standalone, I think this episode was nearly perfect. And I really wasn't expecting this, but it's really elevated Qian Jin to one of my top characters.

#link click #shiguang daili ren #long post #link click season 2 #qian jin #li tianchen #li tianxi #cheng xiaoshi #lu guang #most artistic episode #I stan!

[kaylinelizabeth4004]

Beggin’

(Broadchurch) Alec Hardy x Reader

Synopsis: Alec has no concept of time and barges in Y/N’s house to investigate. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: smut, fluff, established relationship, face riding/sitting, oral sex (f receiving), slight praise, no beta we die like his heart

She'd just come out of the shower, hair up in a half hearted bun. Y/N was exhausted, the current case was on her mind. A murder, that was evident. The victim was an old woman in her home, a single gunshot to the chest and her house ransacked. But it didn't look right.

As she changed into some comfy short shorts and an oversized Elvis Presley t-shirt, she visualized the scene in her head. It just wasn't right. She remembered a little purple jewelry box up near the dresser, and it didn't appear to be opened. She made a mental note to check that out, along with the neighbors alibi and how sound could transfer in a duplex.

Of course she knew when she agreed to be a Detective Sergeant that it was going to be time consuming, that this career would become you to an extent. And she wanted that. After she accidentally stumbled into this career and saw her first scene, she knew that was what she wanted with her life. But she hadn't realized that that would mean when she does even the most basic functions, her brain would be so wholly preoccupied. She took her hair out, brushed her teeth, pulled the covers down then went to turn out the lights before climbing into them. And all throughout it, she was speculating about silencers and times of death.

Her head had barely hit the pillow before she heard a banging at her front door. She laid there for a moment, contemplating her options. It was either some tragedy has happened or some idiot come to hurt her. And quite frankly she knew she could hold her own. Y/N wasn't a fool, she wasn't going to go answer it without precaution. She quickly went and retrieved a bread knife from the kitchen before going to the door.

The knife was in position when she opened it. Instead of finding some craved criminal, or even some sobbing family member, she found her boyfriend/boss with a box of papers.

"Alec? It's one in the morning."

His eyes narrowed at the sight of her. He looked tired, but he did always look just a little tired. His hair was messed up and his beard just a touch scruffy.

"I don't trust Anderson."

"What?" She asked. He didn't answer as he walked into her house and deposited the box of files on her kitchen table. She didn't mind Alec coming over, hell she loved the chance to see him, but this was all a little unprompted for her.

"Y/N, didya get anything on Imogen Walker? I don't like her. I also don't like this bloke, who does he think he is? Fucking hell," Alec started pulling stuff out to work on.

Y/N wanted to protest, but she also knew that she wasn't going to get much sleep even if she tried. This was at least productive and she got to spend time with him. She grabbed a blanket from the living room, wrapped it around herself, and sat down at the table.

"Imogen has a few misdemeanors but nothing of this caliber, nothing that would suggest murder." She said, "As for Gary, he did have a stay in the hospital back in his twenties for mental illness. I requested the documents for the diagnosis and behavior during the stay but they probably won't come in until later today or tomorrow. I think you need to focus on her niece, her alibi is shaky at best."

If Y/N focused on DI Alec Hardy's face, she might have seen the shadow of a smile on his lips that he quickly hid with other possible motives and questions. He'd never say so, but he loved these moments. The times when he could share what he was truly passionate about with someone that he truly loved ... Those moments were the best. All he would need was Daisy cracking jokes in the corner for this moment to be complete.

It was long after the sun came up before Y/N finally decided to make some tea for the two of them. She told Alec who grumbled a one worded response she didn't bother to try and understand. Maybe it was Alec or the case, but she strangely wasn't tired. Her mind kept whirling with all the possibilities and she enjoyed the time with Alec.

"Y/N! Do you have the SOCO reports from the car in there?" Hardy called to her. "I need to call -"

He stopped, looking at her from above his glasses, his lips still perched out from his words that fell forgotten. She gave him a strange look, placing the two cuppas down on the table then passing him the SOCO report he'd wanted. Yet he still stared, didn't even bother to say a word. "Hardy?"

DI Alec Hardy was not a man of many words, but when he needed to use words he always had the right thing to say. Or at least he believed it to be the right thing to say. But now, in a moment when words would definitely be helpful, he had nothing. He just stared like a man gone wild. Y/N didn't even know what he was staring at, and she shifted awkwardly on her feet. Which drew extra attention.

"Alec? What're you looking at?"

He seemed to snap out of it, shoving his glasses up his nose and glancing back down at the paper. Y/N didn't know what to make of it, but thought perhaps he was exhausted. She pulled the kitchen chair to her, putting a leg on either side so she could rest her chest on the back of it while she read. And yet again, she looked up to see his warm brown eyes trapped on her and her body.

"Alec?" He didn't answer. "Alec! What's going on?"

Alec adjusted in his seat and said calmly, "nothing."

"Bull."

"Nothing is wrong. Can we continue?"

She felt silly for a moment, maybe she was exaggerating. Then she propped a leg on the chair and she saw his eyes wander again. Okay enough was enough. "Alec, what the hell?"

"Y/N-"

"Oh ho, don't Y/N me to try and get out of answering my question. What's got you looking at me at all weird?"

A pink started to spread on his cheeks and ears, but he looked away. No way, she thought. There's no way 'shitface' just blushed. Yes they'd been dating and she knew he was more than that nickname, but sometimes the occasion calling for it. Like when was blushing early in the morning for no reason, and she'd never seen him blush unless they were making love. Oh. Oh. Her eyes widened, and she felt a little smile on her lips. She stood up slowly, watching the way he tried to fight his gaze from following after.

"Alec, anything you want to tell me?" Y/N went and sat down on the edge of the table in front of him. He swallowed.

"Don't laugh."

"Darling, I would never laugh."

He rolled his eyes and looked away, not having the strength to say it while looking at her. He swiped his glasses off and groaned. "I... those shorts. I really like those shorts."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. That was not quite the answer she was expecting. "The shorts?"

"Your thighs, they... I like seeing them."

Her mouth fell open in a little o, adjusting her legs slightly as though thinking about them meant she had to move them. He likes her thighs, enough to distract him from work. Alec saw this reaction and immediately flushed darker, "you think I'm stupid."

"Gosh, no, no, no not at all," she said, "I just didn't know."

He still seemed embarrassed. Alec grabbed his glasses and shoved them back on his face, going to grab his work again. But Y/N felt bad, she certainly hadn't meant it like that, she would never shame him for something in the bedroom. She just wanted to know. And she found it very sweet that he found her so attractive. It made her feel sexy.

With a gentle touch she made him set his paper down. He looked with wide eyes. Y/N moved with slow, deliberate movements so Alec could take the time to digest it all. She carefully climbed onto his chair until her thighs were straddling him in his seat, though she hovered above him. She could see his adam's apple bob up and down as she placed her weight on him, leaning forward to take his glasses off. They were so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. She smiled, "hi."

His large hands came to rest on her thighs almost instinctively, squeezing the flesh there. From under her, she could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against his pants. It made her rock her hips just slightly to meet it. He let out a hiss, grip tightening. She quite liked him holding her there, the way he ran his hands down the length of her thighs with a tight grip. He cherished them.

"Y/N..." he murmured, eyes half shut as he lifted a hand to cup her jaw. She leaned in and captured his lips with her own, exploring the kiss and grinding against his hips as he branded her with his touch. She always loved the feeling of his kisses, the way he fell into her touch like it was instinctual. His jaw was always delightfully scratchy and she loved to run her fingers along his beard.

When they broke and their foreheads fell against each other, each gasping for breath, he spoke softly. "Darling.. I have a request."

Alec didn't often ask for much in the bedroom. Y/N certainly wasn't trying to prevent him, he just tended to stay quiet. So she pressed a soft kiss to his scratchy beard and nodded for him to continue. He swallowed nervously before continuing, "I've this fantasy. I've only had it for you."

Alec got embarrassed sometimes when talking about sex. Oh sure, he was great during the act. But he always treated any fantasies or ideas as something stupid and silly. But Y/N didn't think that, she wanted to make it pleasurable for the both of them. If he was willing to do things for her, then she would be willing to do things for him. In a voice that came out far huskier than she intended, she said, "I want to hear it."

"I, I want you to sit on my face."

Her eyebrows shot up and she pulled away to look at him, to check that was what he wanted. His flush got darker and he tried to turn away, but she grabbed his face before he could. The corner of her mouth quirked up, "Alec Hardy, even in your fantasies you want to go down on me. Are you sure that's what you want?"

He nodded vigorously, his gaze intense. She nodded an affirmation and got off, offering a hand for him to take as she guided him into the bedroom. "Tell me where you want us."

Alec nodded. He began to take off his clothing, tossing them on the chair in the corner. Then he got onto the bed near the headboard and told you to strip as well. Here came the part he got excited about, even if excited for Alec meant a pair of wild eyebrows lifted high.

Now naked, Y/N went from the edge of the bed and crawled up to him, showing off her assets. He took a deep shaking breath. She situated herself so her cunt was right above Alec's head, thighs already shaking slightly but she was determined to stay above. Then she felt his hands grab at the back of her thighs, pulling her down.

"Alec!" She squealed, "I can't! What if I hurt you?"

"Hurt you?" He asked in an incredulous way, as though the thought was the furthest thing from his mind. "How could you hurt me?"

"My weight on you.."

He answered what he believed to be a silly question with a silly answer, and dragged her down squarely on his mouth. She laughed a little as she settled, but his hot tongue on her clit was enough to distract her to silence. Well, not silence, but certainly not laughter.

This was a sensation unlike any she'd had. Alec had gone down on her before and it was bloody fantastic, she always left panting and delirious with pleasure. But this seemed to open a whole new wave of sensations. He came into it with a crazed intensity, yearning to taste every part of her he could. His touch was everywhere, hot as it skimmed over her skin and seared her. His lips were plush as they parted to let his tongue slide along her folds, tasting her. That delightful beard was going to cause a rash tomorrow morning but she didn't care as she rocked her hips to meet his tongue's ministrations.

She tasted like sweat and sex and everything good in the world, if he could bottle it up he would. Though in the back of his mind he knew Y/N worried about crushing him with her weight, it was that sensation of being fully engulfed by her that he was so attracted to. Those burning thighs were right by his head, holding him there and clenching with each stroke of pleasure. He held onto them tightly, letting her know just how much he enjoyed it. It was better than just regular oral, it was deeper and intimate. One look up at her was enough to make him shudder and hold her tighter. She looked like a goddess, head thrown back with those raspy little moans pouring from her. Her breasts heaved on her chest, begging to be touched. If he died then and there, with the image of her above him, he'd die a very happy man.

Y/N gasped his name over and over, rolling her hips and meeting his expert tongue. He was everywhere, scorching all of her. Alec’s touch was making her dizzy with pleasure and if she wasn’t careful she’d never leave her spot here. That coil inside of her started to tighten, twisting as tingles were sent all throughout her body. She could feel her orgasm coming, tightening and tightening until with a sobbing gasp she came on Alec Hardy’s tongue.

He never stopped for one second, just lapping at her oversensitive clit until he could feel her coming down from her high. Then he adjusted, helping guide her down his body so he was sitting and she was straddling him. She melted against his chest, head in the crook between his shoulder and neck, breaths uneven.

“Oh my god,” she said finally.

Alec kissed her forehead and rubbed her back, “thank you, darling.”

She gave him a thumbs up, “you tell me all your fantasies, love, because holy fuck.”

Alec nodded, “duly noted.”

“Shut up,” she said, burying her face deeper into him with a smile.

#broadchurch #broadchurch fanfiction #i’m happy the 12 of you who read broadchurch fics will enjoy this #alec hardy #alec hardy x reader #alec hardy fanfic #Alec Hardy is shy and bad at asking for what he wants #but we love him anyway #no beta we die like danny #damn that’s harsh #fanfic #shenandoah I long to stop Becca from reading this fic #no one will get that reference but them and if you do get it I swear you do not know me in real life #I don’t exist I am a figment of your imagination like Alec’s mental health #we don’t exist

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

What do you think of afo giving shiggy decay

Oldest and favorite theory now to (very possibly) turn true in the manga. This was seriously one of my first theories when I joined the fandom!!!

Tumblr sucks at helping you find your own posts, meaning I have no way to link my old posts about it in this ask :( but anyway.

At first it was purely born from the frame of the shadow man with the hat delivering Tenko home and how strange it was that Tenko happened to awaken his quirk that day. There's also the fact that the man looked a lot like AFO, with the body structure, the suit and the face in shadows.

This is the panel that started it all:

I remember a lot of people went against it 'cause it was anticlimactic for them. They thought that if AFO gave Tenko decay, that event was taking something from Tomura as a character, making him less interesting.

For me, it made sense because there were too many factors that you couldn't explain otherwise. Some of them are exposed here. There are too many variables for it to be a coincidence. Now, if AFO gave Tenko decay or if he did something to activate it that day... That's yet to know.

But for example, look here. AFO had a room fully prepared for Tomura. He had shelves full of books, a bed, a chair and a desk... He even had toys!

* it looks like some of the action figures had arms or even the head missing. One of them is fully on the ground.

It wasn't long until Tomura had a PC installed too:

It's clear that AFO was expecting him. For what I know from the Vigilantes manga and bnha, AFO didn't treat every kidnapped kid like that. He had a hospital full of kids to turn into nomus after all. He wasn't that involved with every experiment.

Tomura was clearly different from the star. He knew who Tomura was, he expected the tragedy to happen, he expected the quirk too. AFO never reached for Tomura's hands. He acted like he had already seen the state the Shimuras' house was left in. He knew where to look for Tenko, like he was following him.

And the way he spoke... It was too premeditated:

He created that situation so he could play the role of Tenko's saviour. He needed Tenko to hate every hero, every citizen, he needed to feed his anger, his hurt. Or well, at least how's the theory goes.

AFO gave Tenko decay, waited for the result of an abused 5 years old reaching his limit and then he appeared like a knight in shining armor. He made sure to allow Tenko to walk around, he was also probably using his influence to interfere so a) the Shimuras deaths wouldn't become a scandal and b) no one would rescue Tenko before he could.

But going back to the "AFO gave Tenko decay" theory, I think the canon fact that supports that theory the most is that Tenko was already 5 years old. Here are the panels I'm referring to:

There's always the question if the Shimuras had a quirk. We know Nana had hers, but nothing is said about Kotaro or Nao or even Hana. We don't know if they were mostly a quirkless family or if Tenko would be the first one of them.

For the way Tenko recounted his day to Nao, we know that he was at the park playing with some friends. Here:

Between AFO picking Tenko up from the park and taking him home to his family, he must have done something. I don't know about the timeline... and if Giran could have already been associated with AFO... I just remembered that his quirk was the ability to muddy the memory of anyone up to five minutes prior or after he used it.

You see, Tenko never said anything to his family about the man that brought him home. We don't know what Tenko did when he "played the hero". We don't know what AFO told Nao. This is just theorizing, but giving someone a quirk by force doesn't hurt? From whom did AFO take decay if Tenko wasn't the original user?

Doc Garaki said it was a quirk never seen before...

I don't know. Since you asked me my opinion, I'll say that I'm still not very sure if AFO gave decay to Tenko or if it was Tenko's quirk from the start. It's not unheard of, since his case sounds a lot like Eri's, who developed a weirdly aggressive quirk on her own.

We're getting closer to being absolutely sure 'bout AFO's involvement with Tenko prior to the deaths of the Shimuras.

I just wonder what option fits better thematically.

#shan's asks #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha 415 #mha 415 #bnha 414 #mha 414 #shan's bnha thoughts #shan's mha thoughts #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #league of villains #lov #shigaraki tomura #afo #all for one #Tenko shimura #my villain academia #mva #shimuras #the shimuras #shimura family #bnha leaks #mha leaks

[sassy-cass-16]

man. the locked tomb is so funny and so full of memes and so beautiful and sometimes it just hits me that it's also so fucking sad.

gideon and harrow spent their entire childhoods hating each other for no reason. they never had to hate each other. harrow had gideon's blood on her hands when she opened the tomb and lost her entire family and it was all for no reason. just because gideon had no one to stick up for her. and when they were both orphans they couldn't even talk to each other about it. because they hated each other.

gideon fell so in love with harrow that she died for her and then harrow spent an entire year pretending she didn't exist just so she wouldn't lose her forever. gideon literally tells harrow's story for her and takes such reverent care of her body for the short time she's in it. gideon first saw her own father through harrow's eyes and called him Lord.

and john. and john is terrible. and he is so human that he becomes terrible. he breaks down weeping because no one else in the entire universe will ever understand his jokes again. he lost everything and he is the only one who even remembers the thing that was lost. he is so completely ordinary that you almost feel like you can't blame him for everything he's done but he is terrible. he let his friends die over and over and over again and he wants to wipe everything clean and start over and he is a man who has gone so completely insane from loneliness that he's circled back around to seeming horribly normal.

he greets his daughter with a dad joke and names her as best he can and gives her a title and a body with speed holes that help her go fast. and he's not malicious. and he's not good. you can't even really call him a villain--what the hell else was he supposed to do? in any of these circumstances? but he is trying his best and his best is simply not good enough. the true horror of god is that he is just human.

all the lyctors. all the lyctors are a tragedy in their own rights. augustine and mercymorn are just the two examples that we know the most about, and their own god/father/brother/lover/beloved/teacher killed them both.

(admittedly, mercymorn struck first. admittedly, john was defending himself and his entire empire. admittedly, it was ianthe's choice to save john in the river that killed augustine. less than an hour before that, augustine was apologizing for raising his voice and john told him to have a cigarette and do you see what i mean about it being hard to blame john for anything?)

and the whole concept of the fourth house in general. we don't talk about that enough. that is almost an entire planet's worth of child soldiers, from what little information we have. what does it say about ulysses and titania that they were the ones to found that house? isaac was thirteen. jeannemary was fourteen. they were expected to become full lyctors before isaac's voice had even dropped. there was no way they could make it off canaan house alive. these kids were doomed.

protesilaus ebdoma had a wife and kids. his wife's name is mia and she probably has no idea what actually happened to him. same with abigail's brother and nephew. corona and ianthe's parents must be losing their shit--they think their eldest daughter is dead and their younger one is now a fucking Saint with a gold skeleton arm.

that's not even getting into alecto. or nona. or camilla and palamedes and paul. this series is so fucking sad even without getting into the revelation that all the lyctors are slowly merging with their cavaliers.

#tlt #tlt spoilers #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #john gaius #gtn spoilers #htn spoilers #ntn spoilers #tug spoilers #the unwanted guest #god why does this series require so many tags

[emoani]

n/a: I wasn't planning on going back and making this a series but I started writing on wattpad and I will post the chapters there in my language, if anyone likes it I can leave it here too on tumblr, so let's go!

chapter two

Vader looks unsure.

- What it was? You do not want me? -you ask, feeling your heart tighten with insecurity.

Darth Vader leaned towards you, his lips almost touching his. With eyes full of confusion he takes your hand.

- Oh, darling - he whispers - Why would you think that? Of course, I want you.

- You know, we never did anything. And I had to ask to kiss you - you remind him. - And you also know... - he takes a deeper breath - sometimes I still remember her.

- I understand. But I'm a different person, I also want you to love me and remember me for who I am!

- I know, and I wanted to love you so much. But it is hard. I have always loved Padmé. I can't get her out of my head. But I value you, and you are important to me. Understand that I don't see you as a second option. I just... I don't know how to describe what it's like.

He concludes sad and discouraged, knowing that that wasn't the best answer ever. But it was what he could give you at the moment. And you accepted it, because you knew you already had a lot. He never trusted any living being again after the tragedies that happened years ago in his life, you couldn't even tell if he trusted you. Vader was a mystery. A mystery that had been waiting for more than a minute for an answer from him, which never came.

- I swear, I will try - Vader says in his deep voice - Can you kiss me?

You feel sad knowing that Vader doesn't love you in the same way. But as always, you do as he asks. Time seems to pass slowly as he approaches. You hold his face with your hands, caressing his marks.

- I'm here to give all the necessary kisses - you say and join your lips to his, unable to control some tears that fall and mix, leaving the kiss salty. You think about how good it would be if those tears were magic and made him forget everything, all the pain and just love you.

- Do something with me...something you've never done with her - You whisper.

His face lights up for a brief moment and he seems for a moment to have lost the posture of a Lord, becoming embarrassed.

- H-What do you mean, wife? - He breathes nervously - What could I do?

- Anything! You answer him with an innocent smile, and he feels even more embarrassed for having thought about something sexual. Vader takes one of his gloved hands to your head and caresses you lightly.

- I can do anything - He says - And I know I can't give you everything at the moment, but with time I will do everything. I have to be honest, I'm not going to give you the same experiences, because I'm not going to be Anakin Skywalker, I'm going to be Darth Vader.

He's without his mask and you can see his expression full of pain and sadness. His yellow eyes, the color of a Sith's eyes. You dreamed of seeing Anakin Skywalker's blue eyes, but also Darth Vader's. And he didn't care if no one else understood, how could they love him. You didn't care if the whole world was against him, because for you there was nothing else other than him.

- Hey - You remind him - I love you, and all sides of you, Anakin, Darth Vader...

- Please... - He closes his eyes and becomes serious walking away from you - Anakin is dead!

You don't want to make him nervous, so you just decide to get back to the main topic.

- I thought of something now... It may seem silly, but can we hold hands?

- Yes, my wife.

Vader seems a little reluctant, they've never been one to show affection. But even so, he walks towards you slowly, leaving you a little embarrassed but happy. The Lord leaves the room where he was with you, starting to walk through the corridors of Mustafar's castle. The areas are dark and cold. You pass through several gates with Stormtroopers on guard, and several Imperials who don't even dare to look at you.

- Where are you taking me? - You ask curiously.

- Wherever you want - He says with his voice modulated because of the helmet he put on again, but even so you can feel his affection.

He continued holding your hand during the walk through the corridors. You can hear footsteps echoing through the castle, and every now and then a Stormtrooper or Imperial officer looks over at you.

- I have an empire to command. But I can have a walk hand in hand. We have nothing to do now but keep walking.

You smile and laugh happily, moved by his words. Of course he was lying and had a lot of things to do, but he still left everything to walk hand in hand with you for five minutes.

- I wish I could do this all the time - you speak quietly, almost in your thoughts.

- If I could, I would do it every day too. Who knows, maybe someday we'll be able to spend more time like this, for now this is the most I can offer.

- Lord Vader! Lord Vader! - One of the men from the empire appears from somewhere, panting - Sorry, but his presence is being required at a meeting of the Empire's command.

Vader lets go of his hand as soon as the man appears, because he doesn't want to appear fragile in front of too many people.

- Looks like you have to go.

- yes, unfortunately. I'll have to go - He says, sighing, and looks at you, wanting to give you one last kiss.

But he doesn't.

#darth vader x you #darth vader x f!reader #anakin x reader #darth vader fanfic #darth vader x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #hayden christensen x reader #emoanicr

[orphicswanart]

description under here

It is unknown what's the source of the infection, but it al started in town called Ponyvile, on one of the local farms. It happened in the middle of the night when they youngest member of the family heard strange noises from the woods near the farm house. She couldn't wake her family up from their deep slumber so she decided to explore on her own, venturing in the dark forest. The young filly went missing for two days, her family worried sick for her well being and hoping for her safe return. One the third day she returned, well she was returned, nobody knows how she was and she didn't remembered anything that happened in the woods only why she went there. The young filly was missing her left front hoof with mysterious purple liquid mixing with her blood. Sadly after 3 weeks she passed away from the paint brought on by the her injury. Ponies around her noticed that her blood had a purple glow to it. The mystery liquid might have also contributed to her losing vision and loss of her teeth.

Months later [redacted] was infected, they survived, which might be a worse fate than death as their body started to transform into something akin to the gods of the old world, they grew aggressive towards others and would even go on to attack other residents of Ponyvile infecting them as well to grow into disfigured creatures like themself.  In the tragedy of the attack, a surprising discovery was made, the infection only effects ponies (pegasi, earth ponies and unicorns as well as zebras), every other species seems to have an immunity to it, as the dragon was just fine with only sign of the attack was a skin pulling bitemark. Not long after Ponyvile became the first ghost town in Equestria due to the mystery virus. The safest pony species were the pegasi as the infected cannot use their wings not magic, they only crawl and cry if they're able, if the still have mobility or a mouth. It is also impossible to kill them as they would regenerate at a very fast speed, approximately 30 to 60 seconds.

Even after 10 years since the first 2 cases no cure has been made and ponies migrated to different places of Equestria and started to mix with other species to insure the infection won't have effect on their offspring. Rumors' have the infection might have to do with a creatures from the old world, as it might have return to the land of the living from it's thousand of year old slumber.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something not so cute...tho I still have to work on my monster designing

#mlp infection au #my artwork #my art #mlp fanart #mlp fim

[sunandflame]

Flame and Water, Chapter 12

Ship & Trope: Kyojuro x Fem!Reader (Water Pillars Tsuguko) / Slowburn

Warnings: canon-typical violence / fluff / mention of trauma and fire

Word Count: 1880 Words

pinterest board of Flame and Water

crossposted on AO3

Masterlist of Flame and Water

The old lady's statements opened many questions for Kyojuro. Even when he said goodbye to her, he brooded over her words, but came to no conclusion. He was confused and a little hurt. Didn't you two trust each other that day so you kept something that important from him? Why were you hiding it? He thought that you were both close friends. He couldn't answer the question and would ask you about it later when you were feeling better. First, he had to talk to his father. He needed to know what had happened back then.

He entered the room where his father spent the most of his time and didn’t see him lying on his futon for the first time in years. Usually, he was either drinking and laying sideways while reading in that book but now he sat on the engawa, and his eyes were staring into the distance. Respectful as Kyojuro was, he sat down on the tatami mat to keep a distance and just as he was about to open his mouth, Shinjuro interrupted him.

"Is your girlfriend okay?"

Kyojuro had not expected this question. She was not his girlfriend. In general, he hadn't expected his father to ask about anyone's wellbeing, but it looked like he was sober. "Yes, she's unconscious, but-"

"And her burns?"

Kyojuro's eyes widened at this statement, and it hit him like a slap. Even his father knew that crucial detail about you. His gaze dropped as he clenched his fists on his knees. "The old lady next door treated her. She said she will be fine and should wake up in the next hour or so. She also told me that Y/N has several old burns. Something you seem to know about, father."

Shinjuro turned his head sideways to give him a silent look, before he turned ahead again and sighed. "15 years ago, there was a fire demon who attacked a village. His eye bore the sign Lower Rank One. A powerful opponent who managed to spread a firestorm and turned countless people into demons. It was something I had never seen in my lifetime as a slayer."

Kyojuro swallowed and listened to his father's words. Lower Moon One? He remembered the fight he had against Lower Moon Two to become a Hashira and how he had terrorized a whole city with his bombs.

Shinjuro continued. "Your girlfriend looked at me the same way back then, full of fear and terror. Unfortunately, she witnessed how I beheaded her parents while protecting her. They had been turned into demons who wanted to eat their own daughter. I was able to decapitate the Lower Moon One… but at what cost? There was no one left to save. He had killed everyone without exception or turned them into demons which forced me to kill them all. Only she survived, but she ran away from me like I was the monster… I found her buried under a heap of rubble and wounded with the worst burns I have ever seen on a human being. Her chances of survival were slim and yet I wanted to save at least one person in this tragedy. The scale of the catastrophe was great, the village burned beyond recognition of its existence. Just as she bore her scars from it, I too have one from this fiery hell."

Shinjuro turned his foot around so Kyojuro could see the burned soles. "The demon slayer uniform protected me, the tabi socks didn't and yet I wished that I would be the one who's skin burned and not that of a little child. I can understand if she doesn't want to talk about it. It must have traumatized her badly. Even I-"

Suddenly a stifled sob sounded behind the shoji door. Father and son immediately turned their heads and knew that you had been listening to them the whole time behind the thin paper walls.

You had woken up alone and scared in a room with a headache. A penetrating herbal smell immediately hit your nose. An earlier memory from your childhood had come alive again and you knew immediately that you were covered with a burn ointment. A similar one that they used on you as a child. One quick look under your hakama and you saw the reddened skin. Your leg couldn't get any uglier than it already is, you thought dryly. You stepped out of the room and looked around for Kyojuro and couldn't see him until you heard his voice.

You stood there petrified and listened to the complete story of Shinjuro and your village. So that's why your memories were patchy without even knowing. There was simply no one left to tell you about it because they were all dead and your parents- Your breath caught and the memory of them coming at you with contorted faces came back with a bang. They- they tried to eat you! You hadn't even noticed how the tears flowed down your cheeks when a choked sob escaped you and you immediately covered your mouth with your hand. You looked in the direction of the shoji door in fear and hurried away with quick steps. You didn't want to be seen by them - not in this state - and entered the first room that you saw.

You dropped to the ground and cried uncontrollably. A heavy burden seemed to have been lifted from your shoulders and the unrestrained grief over the death of your family and friends overcame you. You finally knew the complete truth without knowing you were living a lie. You were not alone because you were avoided, but because you were brutally robbed of every person you ever knew.

With your head on your knees, you succumbed to your grief when you suddenly felt a presence next to you. You looked up with tear-stained eyes right into golden-red hues. Kyojuro's gaze contained no pity and yet they were filled with sadness and empathy for you. "Y/N..." He took your hand in his and pulled you up. "You are not alone in this. I won't allow that, so share your pain with me." If Kyojuro could, he would take all your pain to never see you cry again.

More tears gathered in your eyes until you couldn't see anything anymore. "K-Kyojuro-" With a sob, you threw yourself into his arms. He immediately wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you in a fierce embrace.

You cried into the crook of his neck. It took a while for you to calm down, but that didn't matter, Kyojuro was here to hold you. His tight warm hug, it was like he gathered all the broken and burned pieces and made you whole again. Without realizing you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and took in his scent which sent you into a light buzz. His scent was warm like the ray of sunshine with an earthy undertone. It was so comforting for your senses that you wanted to nuzzle your nose more until you realized what you were about to do, but you didn't pull immediately away. Kyojuro’s grip on your yukata was so tight, his face buried also into your neck. It seemed like as he didn’t want let go of you, like he had to make sure you were still whole.

It took a while for the two of you to loosen your grip on each other. Very slowly you moved your heads apart but only to look deep into each other's eyes. Still in his embrace, you gazed into his beautiful golden red hues, which always radiated such a passionate optimism, but now seemed to have a gleam you had never seen in him before. A pleasant tingling spread through you, and you felt the looming tension between you. Without realizing your faces came closer until your lips met.

It was soft and chaste, fleeting - the touch of his lips hotter than you thought in the short moment you kissed. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered excitedly when you saw a hint of blush on his cheeks.

"I- apologize!"

"For what?"

"For touching you in such an inappropriate way!" His face was now completely red, and you could not help but start to giggle.

"I think it’s called a kiss, Kyojuro."

Mesmerized, he stared at your lips while you giggled. "Yeah, and I think I am going to do it again..."

He was about to bend down to give you another kiss when you quickly placed your finger on his lips. "W-Wait! What if someone just barges in here?" You looked around with a slight panic.

You heard his deep chuckle. "That is not going to happen, since this is my room."

“Oh,” was the only thing that left your lips. You looked around wide-eyed and indeed, it looked like it belonged to him. You just went into the next available room in such a hurry that you didn't even notice it, but on closer inspection it was obvious. It included the usual things a room needed. A futon to sleep, a chest of drawers and a picture of his family. But there was one thing- no two things that stood out. One was a small chest that seemed to hold writing stuff and the other was a hanging scroll where "protection" was written in a calligraphy. It was above his futon. The origin didn’t seem to be himself.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded and started to blush madly when you realized how intimate this situation actually was. You were here alone in Kyojuro’s room as the said man was still holding you.

He laughed his boisterous laugh, and you felt his laughter vibrate all over your body. Your blush was just so adorable that he couldn’t hold himself back and kissed your cheek. Another silent moment passed between you when you just looked into each other's eyes and then he suddenly shouted. “Y/N!” His face was red like a tomato. “I love you and I would be happy if you could become my girlfriend!”

His confession was bold and like a burning fire. He literally was the Flame Pillar as a slayer and in his private time. You smiled as you pulled him in for another kiss, holding his face in your hands. It was not a long and passionate kiss as this was the first one you ever shared in your life, that was followed by several others. Each of them was short and soft, feather light like the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach. Each kiss had him sigh in delight, between each kiss you whispered how you loved him too, how much you wanted to be his, until you rested your head on his chest with closed eyes, and heard the strong and steady beat of his heart. You heard how excited he was that the feeling was mutual.

He noticed your exhaustion of the day and laid down on his futon, pulling you close in a comfortable and comforting embrace. You nuzzled your face into his chest, the symbol of protection over both of your heads, and you indeed felt protected for the first time in your life in the embrace of a Flame.

🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥🌊 🔥

Big thanks to my lovely friend @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi for beta reading and editing❤️) As some might have realized that the story is close to the end. Chapter 13 will be the last and then there comes an epilog. I hope you will stay tuned till the epilog. And again I am open for discussions and critique. All likes, reblogs and replies are highly appreciated!

Taglist:

@krillfromsky @kingmultiverse404 @deepressed @nelissecrectplace @yomoya-girl @theycallmemrsbarnes @roninishere @beelzmunchkin @kyojurismo @stuckinthewrongworld @lynnw @love-me-satoru @felix99999l @noarawriteszr @strawberrymm @rye-flower @demonslayeranimex @kittenssss-blog-blog @hanatsuki-hime @kxthxrinx3180 @thatw3ird0 @lovely-nayiq @annie-napier @cole-silas @inonezu-808 @witchy-scribblings @drowsydoggy @anjox @xkanrojimitsurix @ahashiraswife @mamayan @flametrashira

#sunnys work #flame and water #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kny #kny fanfic #kyojuro rengoku #shinjuro rengoku #kyojuro x you #kyojuro x y/n #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x oc #rengoku shinjuro #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyōjurō #rengoku x y/n #rengoku x you #rengoku x oc #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #kny x oc

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

Dream has a nasty habit of giving advice and not taking it himself:

He tells Orpheus to grieve for Euridice(I'm not sure if I spelled that right) and then get over the loss, but he never got over Orpheus' death;

He tells Hob that taking away someone's free will is dishonorable. Yet he imprisons Nada and unmakes Gault for defying him;

He warns the fox lady against revenge but he wastes his precious energy on trapping Alex's mind in a nightmare after he gets freed.

He's such a bastard and I love him

He loves and cares so deeply for everyone, yet he's petty and spiteful. He never stops loving yet he can be so cruel to those he cares about

I don't remember where but I read this somewhere about Dream: "he can love without forgiveness and forgive without love" and I think that sums up Dream pretty nicely. He's full of contradictions and that's what makes me love him as a character so much

you know, ironically, while it's absolutely true that dream can be hypocritical, you're definitely not wrong, those first two actually aren't, as far as he sees the world

because the thing that hurts dream the most is that he cannot see himself as a living being - he is endless, he has a purpose, that's the extent of his existence

and therefore he doesn't dream, doesn't have a story, shouldn't want things for himself

and this is why he causes his own tragedy, because he is a person and he does need the things that make up someone's life, but he refuses to believe so

so when he's talking to orpheus, the important part here is "you are mortal, it is the mortal way"

dream would benefit greatly from being allowed to mourn orpheus, but he can't, he has a job to do, and allowing himself to grieve would interfere with his purpose. so he has no choice, he has to bury it

"so live" only applies to orpheus, as far as dream's concerned, because he doesn't think the endless live

gault falls under the exact same logic. dream sees his creations as extensions of him and is always surprised when they go beyond that. and if he's not allowed a life of his own, if he has to spend eternity fulfilling his purpose as it was given to him, they do too. they're not mortal, they don't live, and thus they don't have free will

(i'm honestly super curious to see what happens in the show from here because gault didn't exist in the comics, and dream actually acknowledging she was right is a major step forward that comic dream never managed to make)

and nada had free will

she just didn't think she did

that's how hell (or any afterlife) works, in the sandman universe, there is no being that judges it. death doesn't decide where you go, and neither does anyone else. you go where you believe you should

which is what makes sure people get to the right afterlife for their particular religion, but also it means that everyone in hell believes they deserve to be there

dream may have put her there, but he didn't have the power to keep her there. when she says "only your forgiveness can free me", that doesn't mean dream has to formally pardon her, it means she can only leave when she stops feeling like she was in the wrong here. and a part of her hates him for this, but a part of her is also stuck feeling guilty, and that's what's keeping her in hell. it's still a shitty move on dream's part, don't get me wrong, but when he said that to hob he was not currently doing anything to prevent her free will. had she truly decided what dream did was unfair, she could have left

revenge, however, that's where you're absolutely right. dream knows, on so many levels, that revenge causes more problems than it solves, and yet this is the one indulgence into human feelings he actually allows himself

he tells the fox not to, he tells hob revenge is a bad idea, he's constantly explaining to people he cares about not to take revenge because it will get them hurt. he is the prince of stories, and he knows how revenge stories end

(destruction even says he was disappointed that dream is still viewing everyone as stories, he'd hoped one day dream would realise people are people)

dream, though. dream doesn't have a story, so who says his revenge has to end in tragedy? he pushes down all his emotions for the sake of the world but anger doesn't want to leave, anger is good at convincing you it deserves to stay, anger can be righteous

if everyone else is just a story, well, the end is that they get what's coming to them. they deserve to be punished for hurting the people dream cares about, and who better to ensure the end of the story than him?

(and he doesn't realise how much his own emotions are influencing those decisions. he thinks he's being rational. he's not. what you were saying about him being both loving and spiteful always makes me think of orpheus - he loved his son more than anything in the world, he was a genuinely good dad and he did everything in his power to keep orpheus from tragedy. but then when orpheus ignored him and got hurt anyway, dream couldn't help but be angry at orpheus for causing their entire family so much pain, and that's why he walked away)

all the endless have different ways in which they see themselves in comparison to mortal beings. the more emotionally healthy ones realise that there's very little difference between the two. and then you get desire who explicitly admitted (in internal narration) that their entire sanity is hinging on believing that they are in control of the universe, they physically can't believe dream when he says they serve humanity and not the other way around. and dream, who sees everything and everyone as a story, except himself

he's not a living being, he doesn't follow their rules. he's not playing the game, he's the referee

except that's not and never was true

and that is the root of all of dream's problems

#sandman comic spoilers #dream of the endless #the sandman #ask #meta #mine #orpheus #nada

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 16

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel burst in through the doors of the police station. Right away you spotted him and rose to your feet from where you were speaking with Officer Tate at a table.

"Hey," he breathed, greeting you with a hug. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Officer Tate maintained her professionalism and welcomed Joel into the conversation as you continued to provide whatever details you could remember over the course of the last few days.

"This isn't exactly a cyber crime," she informed the three of you, "However, I am going to contact thee cyber crimes unit to see if we can locate the origins of this photo."

"Thank you," you said simply and then added, "We also had two run-ins with Vic Champagne."

"Define run-in," Office Tate requested.

You glanced at Joel and then back to her. "We were out the other night and Vic approached Joel. I didn't know who he was at first. He was confrontational and it caused Joel to leave to diffuse the situation."

"Did he threaten you?" Officer Tate asked Joel.

"No." He shook his head.

"He threatened me," you spoke up, knowing you had sort of told Joel that he hadn't. You saw Joel glance over at you out of the corner of your eye. "He told me if I continued what I was doing then he would run me out of town."

"Continue what you were doing?"

"By being with Joel," you clarified. "He basically said to stop hanging out with him or else."

"Go arrest the bastard," Jessie chimed in enthusiastically. In other circumstances her tone would have made you laugh but you couldn't even smile.

"Easy." Officer Tate put her hands up and then refocused on the flyer on the table, placing just her fingers on it. "I'm going to start with this and I'll get someone out to the Champagne place to see if we can get him to fess up about any of this." She then added in all honesty, "Doubtful."

"And if he doesn't?" Joel asked.

"Well, then we're going to have to prove that he was the one who either took this photo, shared it or created and distributed the copies." She put a hand up when all three of you tried to intervene, "That means we're going to get peoples' doorbell ring cams around your house, see if there are any cameras within an eye shot of the coffee shop and so on. It's going to take some time so you have to be patient. Because there is no way Champagne is confessing to any of this."

You thanked Jessie before she parted ways and drove back to the house before focusing your attention on Joel. He looked more than just a bit defeated.

"I'm sorry," you said to him, the same way he had to you. "You don't deserve any of this."

"I don't want you to be by yourself," he said, "But I'm starting to think that being with me is a hundred times worse."

"Believe it or not, it's a hundred times better." You managed a genuine smile but it didn't nothing to resolve the confliction in Joel's eyes or the somber look on his face.

"I mean it," he said, barely able to make eye contact with you. "If it weren't for me you wouldn't be dealing with all this."

"No, if it weren't for Vic neither of us would be dealing with all this."

"At the end of the day, regardless of who's at fault, you're going to be at risk just by associating with me."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do." Joel motioned to his chest and you sensed his voice harden. He then softened up again and shook his head. "I just.."

You reached for his hand and ran circles on his palm with your thumb. "Please don't distance yourself from me." When he looked up at you, you actually begged. "Please."

What you had together was too real to just let go. It wouldn't be right or fair to allow someone like Vic Champagne to dictate and ruin it.

Joel placed a hand on the side of your face and leaned in to kiss you. "You deserve better than this," he said quietly.

"I deserve you," you said back. "Maybe Vic will get arrested and we'll win."

"Just a small battle," Joel reminded you. "He wouldn't just stop. He single-handedly, or many him and few others, destroyed my name. I can't do a damn thing without people looking at me funny.. or smashing my mailbox."

"What if I get finish my master's.. and then we get the fuck out of here."

Joel gave a barely-their smirk. "Maybe."

You pulled him in for a hug and he held you there in the parking lot for a long while.

"I should get back to work," Joel said. "If you'll be okay."

"I'm okay." You gave a nod. "I'm going to do the same."

"I'll call ya."

"Okay." You looked him in the eyes and then closed yours to kiss him. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

You both let out simultaneous sighs and parted ways to head back to your respective places of employment.

..

Joel drove with the radio off toward the outskirts of town. He winded down each wooded road with racing thoughts of all that had taken place for the better half of that month. The good and the bad felt overwhelming.

"Fuck." He whispered the word to himself and felt a headache creeping in. The only thought was that maybe after Halloween was over, things would die down a bit. On the same tangent, he couldn't help but wonder if they had something planned for the thirty-first that was even worse.

Joel wasn't scared for himself. He was scared for the only woman who dared to look his way; who dared to be kind and befriend him. Become lovers was just an unexpected bonus that left him feeling even more protective.

As the truck rounded the bend in the road that gave a clear view of the junkyard's main gates, Joel straightened up his posture when he saw the flashing lights of two police cars down by the bays. Accompanying them was an ambulance.

"What the hell?" He said to himself, as he attempted to hurry down to see what was going on.

Joel barely had the truck in park when he hopped out of it and ran up to the ambulance where Ronnie sat on the back with his legs dangling off. A deep swelling pooled under his eye, blackening the area.

"Ron." Joel's shook his head frantically and approached, but was pushed back by one of the paramedics.

"Give him space," the man instructed.

"What happened?" He asked, still attempting to get by.

"Let him over here," Ronnie barked.

The paramedic eyed Joel up and down in s way that oozed with disapproval. However, he stepped aside and Joel stood in front of his friend and boss.

"What happened?" Joel asked again, grazing Ronnie's black eye with the backs of his fingers.

"Vic Champagne, that's what happened."

"What?" Joel stepped further into his personal space, breathing heavy and clenching his jaw.

"I tried to step in between him and your motorcycle, but the second son of a bitch tackled me from behind." Ronnie shook his head. "He destroyed the bike, kid. I'm sorry."

"Fuck the bike," Joel hissed. "They need to be arrested." He turned toward one of the cop cars and marched up to where Steve and Rich were talking back and forth. "Are you two going to arrest this asshole, or what?"

"We're here, aren't we?" Steve asked, putting a hand out to the side.

"He just beat the shit out of a fifty-five year old man who's made a living his whole life in this town."

"Who's one mistake was hiring you," Rich said in a snarky fashion.

Steve put a hand on his chest and a look as if to say, 'shut up'. "Look, we have the statement and we're collecting evidence from the security camera. If the old man's story checks out, which I'm sure it will, Vic Champagne and whoever was helping him, will be arrested and charged accordingly." He added, "We have officers going to his house as we speak."

"And is he actually going to serve time this time?" Joel motioned to Ronnie, noting how banged up he was.

"You should be the one to talk about not serving time," Rich intervened. "None of this is your business anyway, Miller. So you might as well just go home."

"You have no idea what you're fuckin' talking about," Joel growled back. "I didn't spend any time behind bars because I was attacked and strangled."

Rich made motions with his hand as if to say, 'blah, blah, blah'. It made Joel smack the side of his cruiser with his hand.

"You want to add destruction of police property to-"

"Enough." Steve stepped in between the two of them.

"You hear about the photos that are being spread around town?" Joel asked, looking Steve right in the eye. "Hmm?"

"What photos?"

Joel put a finger right in his face. "If you ever cared about her, even a little bit, you'll find whoever's doing this shit to her, to me and now to Ronnie and put a fucking stop to it. Because I guarantee it's the same asshole that kicked the shit out of the kindest man I know." He motioned to Ronnie. "That man is like a father to me with a heart of fucking gold. If you let this all go, you might as well give up your fuckin' badges because you ain't protecting this community from shit."

He spit on the ground and wiped across his mouth before rejoining Ronnie at the back of the ambulance.

CLICK HER FOR CHAPTER 17

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller the last of us #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #protective joel #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #Halloween #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal pictures #joel miller fanart #joel miller gif

[darthpastry]

Welcome to part two of my official Henry-hate crusade. Time to cover the true ending of Pizzeria Sim! For this one, I want to take one of the fandoms favorite moments, the connection terminated speech, and shred it to piece while explaining why Henry isn't really a hero in this instance. So! Let's go over certain lines. Maybe compliment some of my favorite ones so this isn't just hating and recognizing he isn't the absolute worst.

"And to you, my brave volunteer."

Idk about you, but it doesn't exactly seem to me like Michael knew what he was volunteering for.

"Who somehow found this job listing not intended for you."

If it was anyone else, they probably would've died. The only other person by this point who was known to be able to survive the animatronics was Jeremy and I doubt that even if he was still around, he would be able to fend them off due to brain injury. Also, not so much a complaint, but did Henry have someone else in mind or just threw the job listing into the void?

"Although, there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be."

Why not ask. Or at least tell him what the way out is instead of just assuming he hasn't found anything to live for and effectively murdering him?

"I am remaining as well. I am nearby."

Yep. Just make sure everyone who knows what's going on dies even though it's not like William hasn't escaped a fire before. Very responsible of you.

"This place will not be remembered. And the memory of everything that started this. Can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should."

I'm a firm believer in when history is forgotten it repeats itself, so quite frankly wanting people to forget seems a bit stupid. I agree that they shouldn't be trapped in the agony of it, but "this place will not be remembered" seems wrong.

"Although, for one of you. The darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole. So, don't keep the Devil waiting, old friend."

I can complain about Henry all day, but William is objectively far worse, and this line is absolute fire. Pun intended.

"My daughter, if you can hear me. I knew you would return as well."

Might be due to that animatronic you made to capture her and deliver constant controlled shocks and also somehow ended up in a magazine? Idk though. Just a theory.

"I'm sorry that on that day. The day you were shut out and left to die. No one was there to lift you up in their arms. The way you lifted others into yours."

But why. I get that being a parent can be hard and you can't have an eye on your kid 24/7, but he should've at least made there was a responsible adult present.

"Not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now."

Yippee. Negligent dad who can only making up for leaving his child without a responsible adult which led to her early death by using Lefty so that she can finally move on. Yayyyy /extreme sarcasm ofc

“Congratulations on completing your work week. We apologize if your situation wasn't presented to you In a completely honest fashion when you first started, but it was important that your intentions and actions be genuine.”

I cannot emphasize enough that Michael was not told what was going to happen and given the last sentence it seems like he didn't even feel the need to be suspicious of what was going on.

“Please accept this Certificate of Completion. Goodbye for now, and thank you for taking this journey with us.”

More of theorizing but it's kind of weird that this whole monologue was recorded and delivered if Michael is supposed to be actually dead. I know it's for the player, but I feel like they could easily spin this and bring Michael back.

Tune in next time where I cover the other endings, possibly rant about how everything in FNaF is awful for everyone, and miscellaneous if there's any!

@uvanuva

#i do get why he felt the whole thing necessary but he quite frankly did not go about it very well #henry emily hatepost #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #william afton #henry emily #charlie emily #lefty #fnaf lefty #fnaf pizzeria simulator #fnaf 6 #connection terminated #pizzeria simulator #fnaf 6 pizza simulator #ffps