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dreamwritesimagines · 7 months

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Garden of Secrets - Epilogue

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support throughout the story my darlings! I hope you enjoy the epilogue as well, ILYSM! ❤️

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex.

Thank you to @theskytraveler for helping me with the story and the chapter!

Series Masterlist

3 YEARS LATER

“And this flower right here is called a mock orange, any idea why?”

The cheerful babbling was the only answer you got and you felt yourself smiling wide, turning to look at her better. Camellia was the cutest baby you’d ever seen and you were pretty sure it wasn’t just because she was the most perfect combination of you and Benedict. The only person in your life that remembered you as a baby was Josie, and she swore up and down that she looked more like you than Benedict but you weren’t so sure.

“Very good!” you said. “Because it looks like an orange flower!”

Camellia clapped her hands excitedly, as if congratulating herself for guessing right, kicking her legs back and forth in her high chair, accidentally dropping one of the many pencils on the table in front of her but she didn’t even notice.

“And what about this one?”

“Fwo?”

“Flower, yes,” you said, nodding fervently and she gave you a huge grin. You went to pick her up from the chair and approached the table in the middle of the huge greenhouse.

“This is your flower my sweet, see? Middlemist Red Camellia.”

She gasped when she heard her name. “Me!”

“Mm hm, the most beautiful and precious flower in the entire world!” you said, tickling her stomach while kissing her cheeks, making her happy giggles echo in the greenhouse. You fixed her hair, still smiling bright and took a look at the paper she was drawing on before, full of different colored squiggly lines.

“Perhaps your papa is right, you are to be a big artist,” you said as you walked to the glass door. “A painter like him hm?”

“Papa!”

“And your aunt Lottie says you will be a writer and your uncle Teddy says you’ll be a sculptor…” you said as you stepped out of the greenhouse into the huge garden, the sunlight falling upon you. You grabbed the little hat by the door and placed it upon Camellia’s head while she held onto you, playing with your necklace.

“So many ideas!” you told her as you passed by the winter garden, enjoying the chirping of the birds. A couple of butterflies flew by you, no doubt because you were very close to the butterfly garden and Camellia held her breath, pointing at the blue butterfly.

“Mama!”

“I can see that my love,” you said, pressing a kiss on her small chubby hand, and walked past the orangery. “They’re very beautiful, are they not?”

She nodded fervently, making grabby hand motions as if trying to call the butterflies to her.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” you said, still walking through the main garden. “They all think like that but do you want to know what I think?”

She nodded her head again, still listening to you very intently.

“I think you might just become the biggest botanist in the world,” you whispered. “I mean it only makes sense, no? You already know so many flowers!”

Camellia pointed at the pear tree and turned to you. “Mine? Mine?”

“Let’s get you one then,” you said with a small laugh, reaching up to grab and pick the pear off the branch. You dusted it off, then gave it to Camellia who made a happy cooing sound, trying to dig into it. You raised your head to look up at the house, a warmth spreading through you as your gaze fell upon the window of Benedict’s studio, then you turned to Camellia.

“Let’s go see papa, hm?” you asked her, then made your way to the house to enter the foyer. You hummed a song and climbed up the stairs, then put Camellia down when you entered the hallway leading to Benedict’s studio.

“Go ahead.”

“Papa?” Camellia called out, running as fast as her tiny legs allowed her, reminding you of a duck. She was still holding the pear tight in her fist, and you walked right behind her to make sure you would be able to catch her if she fell. “Papa!”

You let out a laugh as you heard Benedict’s footsteps and he stepped out of the studio, his jaw dropping as he saw her and he immediately leaned down to catch her before she could smash herself against his legs.

“Oh here’s my sweet!” he said as he hoisted her up into his arms, smothering her in kisses, making her giggle happily before he turned to you, that fond look crossing his eyes, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Hello my love.”

You smiled, and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Hello to you too,” you said, letting out a small laugh as he stole another kiss from you. “I figured you needed a break or so.”

“And you were right,” he said, winking at you before turning to Camellia. “How is she always right, do you know?”

Camellia offered him the pear she was holding and Benedict gasped.

“For me?”

“More like it was for her but she’s willing to share,” you said and Benedict grinned.

“Come on,” he nodded in the direction of the studio and walked inside with Camellia in his arms, and you followed them.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you sang in a teasing manner, pulling the hat off Camellia’s head and Benedict shot you a mischievous look.

“Mm, what am I doing?”

“You think you can turn her into an artist if she spends enough time here.”

“I can’t help if she’s naturally talented,” Benedict defended himself. “I mean have you seen her work?”

“The…the squiggly lines?”

“The squiggly lines!” Benedict nodded, rocking Camellia. “She’s a genius artist even as a one-year-old.”

“I still support my botanist theory.”

“Maybe she’ll be both?”

“As you can see my sweet, no high expectations whatsoever,” you told Camellia who was listening to both of you as if she could understand everything you were saying.

“You can be anything you want to be,” Benedict told her as she rested her head on his shoulder, yawning. “Including an artist. Just saying.”

You walked closer to the canvas to see that the background was almost done, and tilted your head.

“What’s this going to be?”

Benedict shot you a grin and pressed his lips on top of Camellia’s hair. You checked the clock on the wall, then rang the bell.

“That one is going to be her,” Benedict said, softly rocking her and you smiled.

“Aw,” you said gently, and walked to caress her soft cheek with your finger. “Did you hear that my sweet? Your own portrait?”

Camellia sucked on her thumb, her eyes closing slowly.

“Is she sleeping?” Benedict whispered and you nodded.

“She is,” you murmured, rubbing her back and turned your head when someone knocked on the door.

“Ma’am,” Paula said. “Mr. Bridgerton. Would you like me to take her for her nap?”

“That would be good Paula, thank you.”

She smiled and took Camellia from Benedict, careful not to wake her.

“I’ll be right there,” you told her and pressed a kiss on Camellia’s head before Paula walked out of the room with her. You turned to Benedict and he entwined his fingers with yours, pulling you into his arms.

“Hey,” you said as he buried his nose into your hair. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm hm, now that you’re here.”

You smiled softly and squeezed his arm. “Are you still tense about the gala?”

He heaved a sigh and you pulled back a little to look up at him.

“Ben, that painting got auctioned and sold in two minutes because everyone was outbidding each other,” you reminded him. “People are talking about you the same way you used to talk about Gordon, everyone agrees that you’re a genius artist, the whole ton—”

“Yeah but it’s different,” he mumbled. “Tonight, it’s only friends and family.”

“Shouldn’t that be comforting?”

“Technically yes but…” he trailed off and shook his head slightly. “Never mind.”

You cupped his cheek, raising your brows. “Tell me.”

“It’s easier when it’s just strangers,” he said with a small chuckle. “Museum owners and Academy directors and such. It’s different when it’s family and friends, and I’d hate it if they thought all those other people exaggerated—”

“Everyone in the Academy and countless artists and museum owners who were on the verge of a fight to get your painting, they all exaggerated?” you asked with a small smile. “All of those people at the same time?”

Benedict thought for a moment. “When you say it like that…”

You let out a laugh and stood on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his, and he heaved a sigh when you pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tonight is going to be amazing,” you assured him. “I promise you.”

He shot you a mischievous grin, then leaned down hoisted you up into his arms, making you squeal.

“Benedict!”

“There’s no harm in starting the amazing night a bit early,” he said as he carried you to the sofa and you let out a laugh.

“Scandalous behavior!” you joked and he winked at you, then leaned in to kiss you.

Of course the night of the gala went perfectly, as you knew it would. Both your family and Benedict’s had been so excited and were very proud of him, and you could see it melted away the last insecurity that had been gnawing at him before tonight.

His speech that he dedicated the painting -and his inspiration- to you was enough to bring tears into your eyes but you managed to hide it by burying your face into his arm, earning an “aww” from the crowd. After the speech, people scattered along in the gallery to talk to each other, and if you said so yourself, everyone seemed to be having fun. Benedict was talking to Gordon, Henry, Margery and Lucy by the corner, Anthony and Lottie looked like they were in their own world while Colin kept whispering things to Penelope’s ear, making her giggle. Eloise seemed to be in a deep conversation with Simon while Daphne watched them with a small smile, and you smiled at Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury as Teddy wheezed past you.

“Teddy don’t run!” you called out and he stopped for a moment.

“But I’m being very careful!” he assured you and returned to chasing Hyacinth and Gregory. Your aunt held up her hands, gesturing surrender as she gave him a fond look and your uncle chuckled.

“If he changes his mind about being a sculptor…”

“He can become a professional runner,” you joked and turned to Josie and Bess.

“So yes, we’re going to Paris before the season,” you told them. “Around like a month before, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Andrew will give you a list of things to bring from there, just so you know,” Bess said said and you let out a laugh.

“I’m alright with that. Wait, where is he anyway?”

Josie cleared her throat. “I think he and Felix are in the orangery—”

“The moon garden, my love,” Bess corrected her and you raised your brows, stifling a laugh.

“Of course they are,” you muttered and heard someone calling your name. You turned your head to see who it was, then made your way to Lottie and Anthony.

“Hello you two.”

“Y/N,” she said with a huge smile, still holding Anthony’s hand. “We already said goodnight to Benedict, we didn’t want to leave before saying goodnight to you.”

You tilted your head. “You’re leaving already?” you asked. “Is everything alright? Is Edmund—”

“Oh Edmund is fine!” she assured you quickly and Anthony nodded.

“He’s probably asleep already.”

“It’s just—I tire very easily nowadays,” Lottie said, making you pull your brows together. Anthony and Lottie exchanged smiles and Lottie bounced on the balls of her feet in an excited manner, making your frown deepen for a moment before the thought dawned on you and your jaw dropped.

“Are you serious?!” you whispered and Lottie giggled, nodding fervently.

“You’re the first to know,” she whispered and you let out a laugh, then pulled her into a hug.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you!”

“To both of you obviously—” you said with a laugh, then hugged Anthony as well, making him chuckle as he hugged you back.

“We haven’t told Benedict yet,” he told you as you pulled back. “You know with the gala and everything.”

“Oh he will be very happy for you!” you said and Lottie bit on her lip.

“I wish to be the one to tell him if that’s alright.”

“Absolutely!” you said, waving your hands. “Go on then, go home and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You’d better,” Lottie joked and squeezed your hand, then they both walked out of the gallery. You looked around, then took a step towards Eloise but someone touched the small of your back, making you look up.

“Well if it isn’t the genius artist,” you teased Benedict and he shot you a happy grin.

“Come with me?”

“As long as we’re not going to the moon garden because if I walk in on them again…” you muttered and he tilted his head.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said and let him pull you out of the gallery. You both passed through the foyer and he led you outside, still holding your hand.

“Ben, where are we going?” you asked with a laugh and he stopped by the main garden, moonlight falling upon you both, showering the gardens in silver. Even though it was the thousandth time you were seeing this gorgeous view, it still managed to take your breath away.

Speaking of things that managed to take your breath away…

You looked up at Benedict, his handsome face under the moonlight, your heart skipping a beat before you giggled.

“Are we sneaking out of your own gala then?”

Benedict shot you a mischievous smile, then shook his head.

“No I merely…I wanted a moment with you,” he said. “Just you.”

You bit down on your lip as he pulled you closer, his fingers stroking over your hair. Your eyes fluttered close when he brushed his lips against yours and you smiled into the kiss, grazing your nails over the nape of his neck, making him heave a sigh.

“Congratulations Mr. Bridgerton,” you whispered. “Your gala seems to be a success.”

He smiled softly, pressing his lips on your temple. “Seems to be, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

You hummed. “Is it too early to say I told you so?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

“Well then, I told you so,” you said, sticking your nose up in the air. “And you should listen to me all the time because to be honest, so far I’ve—”

“I love you,” he said, and your eyes snapped up to his, a smile warming your face. You let out a giggle and pulled him down so that you could kiss him.

“I love you too,” you whispered and entwined your fingers with his, then took a step towards the house.

“Come on,” you said. “It is your gala my love. Let’s go and enjoy it.”

The End.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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goldsbitch · 1 month

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Right? p8

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

epilogue - Lando's POV

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

Challenge me. Make me question my past actions. Hold me on the edge, while we risk it all.

Watch me watch you walk around the paddock, as if there wasn't a bright red love bite underneath your turtleneck. One that only I know about and plan on refreshing. Knowing you have to cover those up makes me ecstatic, because I have seen you smile like a teenager while doing so.

We're our little secret, for now. It will come out eventually and we'll enter a new chapter. But for today, let me have our classified, not so modest photoshoots. Let me sneak around just to give you a little peck on the cheek. Walk just a little close to me so that our hands brush, ever so "accidentally".

The way how you're so good at passing me by, as if you hadn't woken up next to me. Like I have no idea about your birthmark little too low on your lower back. The one I'd touched in a way colleagues should not.

And I know you're having to fight smiling a little too obviously during our team meetings. Because I have to admit, sometimes I have to hide my smirk behind a coffee cup or a cough. I wonder if people noticed that you don't take official photos of me anymore.

I'm good at running around with a camera, but I think I was born to be your muse. To let you capture me in the way only lovers can. Energy and desire creeping through every frame. I trust you deeply that you won't sell my secrets - and I know you have to trust me too. Allow me to play an all-or-nothing game, while being ultimately raw with you.

I sometimes can't help my mouth from smiling at random times throughout the day, just knowing that we managed to play this game so effortlessly. Once I got you on board, it turned out you're quite good at this. I guess it's making you irresistible even more.

I think hiding it from everyone is working in our favor. Once the fan hurricane hits when the reveal day comes, we will have already spent many days of freedom. It won't be a va banque taken with a stranger. A companion, lover, muse and the capturer. I should not be looking forward to causing a scandal, right? But I do. Turns out I am bad at stopping myself when it comes to you.

I've already sunk so deep, so much at your mercy, I am unable to untangle myself. Please, promise you mean it when you said "I love you" so shyly the other night. It took me some time to admit that I do. But with you being so slick and smart, you must have already known. You're someone who does not like to be brave about this. You wouldn't have said it if deep down you were not sure about my response. And that's ok. You're the smart one, I'm the brave one. A perfect combination.

One day, you'll have to take a big risk with me. When you've finally moved on from McLaren photos and get yourself in fashion photography as you always wanted anyway. You'll have to get out of your shell and I am so here for it. But for now, we have our little secret life to enjoy.

There will come a day when we'll replace the thrill of a private affair with a strive for something serious. If it had been only my decision, I would have already shouted to the world that you are mine. Make your love bites visible and trackable to me. One day, we won't have to worry about hotel room walls being too thin. But I want you ready for the price that comes with my public company.

I'll drive us fast, maybe even recklessly, and you'll make sure we have something to remember it by.

_______________________

@i-wish-this-was-me @lqvesoph @ophcelia @noneofyourfbusinessworld @formulaal @chezmardybum @amberpanda99 @4-mula1

Short, but a proper goodbye to my first story. Thank you all for the support! Love you all.

#lando norris #lando norris x y/n #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ln4 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris angst #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #smut #ln4 smut #lando norris fluff

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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months

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Traitor💔

Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman Reader

Synopsis: A blurb detailing your heartbreak from Miguel inspired by some breakup songs. Word count 1.5k ish. Meant to be a one shot. (JK, I MADE AN EPILOGUE)

A/N: had this idea after @prettyinpink350 commented that The Woman He Didn't Choose part 1 reminded them of All Too Well-10 minute version by Taylor Swift. I imagine getting your heart broken by him would SUCK. The man has such a tragic backstory, it would take a long long time to get him to be comfortable with getting hurt again and vulnerable, possibly hurting whoever he's dating or seeing in the process if their expectations don't align. I think that ATSV and the comic version of him are different however, it's possible some of the personality traits would stay consistent and so as a result he might struggle with infidelity. I think he's had his fair share of experiences.

BUT I do still write sweet, fluffy soft Miguel, though. Because I do believe he has a soft side that exists and it's unfair imo to write him off as completely incapable of being a good partner because I believe he can. I imagine it'll be a tough road but he would eventually get there. He's a complex man and I love him anyway. 🫶🏽 Working on DD part 9 and the woman he didn't choose I promise, I've been dead lately in terms of motivation.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, CHEATING (I DON'T CONDONE THIS), HEARTBREAK, BREAKUP, MIGUEL IS MORE COLD IN THIS, SMUT ( IT'S BRIEF, P IN V, DEGRADATION, SPANKING), age gap(reader is 26, Miguel is like 34-35), no happy ending

The songs that inspired this(all rights to rightful owners, some of the lyrics were tweaked slightly):

----

It was her. It was always going to be her.

🎶I was just the villain built to come between you two.

I'm just the other point of view. 🎶

It's the movie where the guy gets the girl in the end. She's the one that got away but then comes back into his life, lighting up his world, making him realize his new girlfriend would never come close.

That all too familiar shift in the way he acted when she moved back into the city. When you noticed how he started looking at you with a gaze that was clearly being stolen by someone else. You decided to ask him about it and he dismissed you with a shake of his head, calling you paranoid.

🎶Brown guilty eyes and little white lies

Yeah, I played dumb but I always knew🎶

Now he brings her around, almost as though to shut you down on purpose. Showing her off like a brand new trophy.

If any of the sweet nothings he told you were true, there's simply no damn way that he could have fallen in love again so quickly...

🎶Ain't it funny....🎶

----

But months later

🎶You call me up again just to break me like a promise.🎶

The 1 am call you know you shouldn't answer but you do anyway.

"She's not here.......Please, I need you."

And there you go, jumping in the shower for a quick rinse and brushing your teeth, speeding towards his apartment like a dumb ass.

------

"Fuck......FUCK! God baby...so fucking tight.....I missed this pussy, fuck...."

A shower of sharp spanks land on your ass, one after another, after another as Miguel thrusts his cock into you from behind.

"Yes.....harder, baby.....HARDER!"

"Yeah?....You would fucking like that, wouldn't you....Needy little slut....mmmm you like it when I fuck you like this, huh? Can't get enough can you? "Had to come crawling back for more of this cock?"

Every word stings harder than the slaps he's giving you but it's a sick, twisted, erotic feeling. You actually love it. The fact that he's still craving your pussy even though he's supposedly with his dream woman. The fact that you're still on his mind as soon as she leaves.

The fact that you're in his bed right now, not her. Even if only just for tonight.

"Fuck....yes.....baby.....can't get enough of you....mmmmm fuck I missed you so much....."

"Say that again."

"Missed you so much Miggy...."

"¿Cuánto?..." (how much)

"So fucking much....I crave you all the time....."

Miguel lets out a loud groan and you practically scream as he pounds you without mercy into his mattress he shared with the other woman.

Shortly after, you're laying all fucked out, panting as you close your eyes, decelerating from the heavenly orgasm he pulled out of you, only for it to shrivel up when you feel your clothes land in a pile next to your head.

"She'll be back any minute....you gotta hurry."

"What?" You sit up, confused.

Miguel's too busy taking a shower, trying to rid himself of your scent. The damning evidence of someone else in his bed while she was gone.

You immediately regret ever coming over.

You're about to rip him a new one but your spider senses tingle. You can feel her ascending the staircase. You throw on your leggings and hoodie and swing away into the night without saying goodbye.

-----

You let him have it on the phone later.

"I wish you thought through all of this before you strung me along and made me fall in love with you..."

Miguel stands outside his apartment, he had to sneak down to take your call as soon as he was sure she was asleep. He tenses his jaw. He feels guilty but there's not much he can do about it now.

"She's older...more mature. I need to be with someone who's able to understand and live with my responsibilities. I shouldn't have given us a chance, but I did because I needed to move on from her.... I can't help that I've known her since we were kids. She gets me."

🎶So casually cruel in the name of being honest. 🎶

"Oh and I don't? I don't Miguel? So all those times I stayed up with you, crying, holding you and promising you I wasn't going anywhere, those didn't happen? Or the fact that I saw you lose it completely multiple times and still called you the next day? The fact that I was willing to let go all the times you let me down because I knew it wasn't your fault and the fate of the multiverse comes before everything else? I literally loved you at your worst, but that didn't matter?"

Silence.

"Look, I just think that maybe if we had been closer in age, we would've been fine."

🎶And that sentence made you want to die. 🎶

"That's not fucking fair, Miguel! I'm 26, not a baby! And we spoke CANDIDLY about this when we got together. I NEVER had, not even a HINT that this would be a problem for you, and now you drop it on me right as you tear my heart out?! And it's not even something I can change!"

You pause, more sobs erupting deep from within your soul.

"I'm sorry, that the stars didn't align and the timing wasn't perfect and my dad didn't fuck my mom around the same time as yours so I could've been born at a better time. I'm sorry that I tried so fucking hard to be the chill girlfriend who lets you do whatever even though I'm not. I'm sorry that I kept my fucking mouth shut when I knew damn well you were talking to her when we were together just so I could keep you around. I'm sorry that I'm not her..."

The line is painfully silent.

🎶The idea you had of me, who was she?🎶

"So who's this version of me in your head you envisioned, huh Miguel? The perfect me that would've made you stay. Do I even know her? She's me, but she's not. She's not needy like I am. She's perfect. Has the perfect body, perfect hair, doesn't ever look bad for you. She's intelligent and has all the maturity you claim I don't. She reflects back on you perfectly every little thing you just LOVE about yourself because let's face it, that's the only person you really ever gave a fuck about."

Loud beeps assault your eardrum and you scoff in disbelief. He hung up, and who knows how long you were just talking to a wall. You hurtle your phone at the ground, letting the screen crack as your knees buckle beneath you and hide your face in your hands in despair.

🎶When she's sleeping in the bed we made, don't you dare forget about the way you betrayed me.

Cause I know that you'll never feel sorry, for the way I hurt, yeah. 🎶

----

Trying to forget him as the weeks passed by ,albeit agonizingly slow. You find yourself weeping in the HQ bathroom, some girl asking you what happened:

🎶You. That's what happened, you. 🎶

A few weeks later, a package with all of your clothes arrived at the post office for you so he didn't have to see you face to face. It even contained all of the pictures you took together and the letters you wrote him. He didn't keep a single one.

You sat in the parking lot for a few minutes as you clutched the Disneyland tickets to your heart, sobbing. The cruel, cruel irony of remembering how you were in the happiest place on earth with him, the place that planted those dreams of happily ever after in that little girl's head, only for her to be crying over a man that stomped it into the ground years later.

Remembering how you walked back, arm in arm to your hotel room together as you leaned into his chest, giggling when you finally got him to admit the park wasn't as dreadful as he thought it would be, despite the ridiculous price tag. He only wanted to make you happy.

🎶I remember it all too well. 🎶

Your lip trembles when you find the Mickey Ears you bought for him lying in the box. "Miguel" cross-stitched in curly gold writing on the back.

Your red scarf from that first week together hung in the corner of his closet until your scent wore off. He would eventually have the gall to offer it to her one December night when she was shivering, saying that it was his mother's.

----

Your tears make your vision blurry as you drive down the dark, rain soaked streets of Nueva York.

You know his street is coming.

When you do finally pass it, you use all your strength to keep your gaze straight ahead, the faded letters on his street sign disappear rapidly behind you as you take a deep breath, and head on home.

----

Epilogue

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #spotify #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #miguel o hara angst #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #Spotify

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theelfsongbard · 6 months

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Counterweight

Pairing: spawn!Astarion x AFAB!reader

Summary: after the epilogue, you and Astarion share a summer’s afternoon together in the meadow. For @oharahive’s breeding kink challenge!

Warnings: epilogue spoilers, breeding kink, mentions of potential future pregnancy

Word Count: 2273

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/760123243354175763/

These past 6 months have been the counterweight to 200 years of misery. Thank you.

He had said those words to you weeks ago, and from then, he had slowly been opening up more and more to you. More frank, more transparent with his feelings than ever before. Today, he is quiet again but you know his mind is anything but, still coming to terms with his grand adventure and the turn of fate that it has brought with it. All at once, he speaks up.

“You bring me the best happiness. You show me the way, where I cannot see and you give me love where I don’t always deserve it. I don’t know how you do it, but I will always be grateful for you.”

The summer breeze blows over the meadow, sifting over the long grass like a wave of verdant green. How lovely it is, to be here, to be loved. Astarion’s thoughts lazily drift as he rests his head in your lap, his eyes shut and sheltered from the sunlight by the wide canopy of an old oak. Slowly he breathes in, bringing cool air into lungs that no longer work. Things have changed drastically in the past 6 months, and now, despite his condition, he found himself flourishing and a free man.

Above him, your gentle humming stops though your hand in his hair continues to massage his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. “And I would give up anything to see you happy for all eternity without hesitation. Has last night’s party been on your mind, love? You’ve been introspective lately.”

“How can I help myself, darling? I can’t help but think about how things could’ve turned out so differently, and yet every iteration I think about, I cannot imagine myself being happier than I am now. You led me here and I… hate to think what life would be like without you being my guiding light. I’d be bitter, resentful, enslaved still by my own will or by Cazador. And I know that I was not always easy to love, but you stayed anyways when it would have been so easy to walk away.”

“You are worthy of love. I have chosen to love you because waking up to your smile every day and seeing you grow into who you are brings me joy. You are my home and my guide. The obstacles we faced together only strengthened our bond.”

Astarion cracks one vermillion eye open, a knowing smirk on his lips, “You like my smile? Why don’t you tell me more?” His voice deepens playfully as he drags you down to press some feather-light kisses on your mouth. This is his way of processing his feelings on complicated topics, as if he is afraid that wallowing in his thoughts any longer will eat him alive even though he has become less self-conscious about openly sharing his thoughts now.

You gasp in feigned scandalousness, “If I feed your ego too much, you might be too full of yourself for tonight’s dinner! I suppose you’ll just have to settle with knowing that you’re just lovely.” The way you giggle into his mouth sets something alight in him and he flips himself over, pinning you down into the grass below him, earning him a squeal of delighted surprise. This time, it’s your turn to lean up and capture his lips with her own, pulling a low rumbling chuckle from deep in his throat that vibrates through his chest and into hers where he presses against you. “Cheeky little thing aren't you?” the sound of his voice combined with the feeling of his arms caging you in makes your heart beat wildly in its ribcage. Nobody plays the game of seduction better than Astarion and the past 6 months together have only given him time to learn exactly what makes you tick.

“If you're worried about me being too full for dinner, I suppose I can always have dinner a little earlier, if you'll permit it. There's always room for dessert afterwards.” his lips graze tantalisingly over the exposed skin of your neck, his nose nuzzling the shell of your ear with care.

The ring of your laugh chimes like a bell on the wind, “Oh, just stop playing coy and come down for a bite then!”

You don’t need to ask twice before you feel his fangs probing for the blood beneath your skin before finally piercing into your neck, you grit your teeth and cling to his arms as he bears down. The feeling of pain never gets any better no matter how many times he feeds from you, but you have gotten used to the icy pricks and the ensuing numbness as he draws the blood from your body into his. It's his chest that warms first, followed by the healthy flush of life that fills his cheeks and… more intimate regions making itself known by the hardening desire pressed into your stomach.

Drunk on the fresh bouquet of your blood, Astarion laps his tongue against the puncture wounds at your neck, capturing the remnants of his dinner as it runs from the site. An appreciative moan pours from his throat, and when he pulls away at last, you can see that his eyes burn with fire and need. Feeding Astarion doesn’t always lead to sex, but the intimacy of the act makes it a very appealing activity for you both and today is one of those days.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about our future as well, what adventures it might hold for us both,” he kisses up your neck, tickling you and leaving you gasping for air as he teases. The only coherent word you can manage to utter is a shaky “yes?”.

“And I had the most interesting chat with Gale at the party.”

You frowned, wondering where on earth he was going with this. There was once a time when he and Gale weren’t on the best of terms with one another, not in the least because he was also competing for your affection when it was clearly already given to Astarion. Although time had mellowed out Astarion’s moodiness and dislike of the wizard, you couldn't help but think that perhaps it was jealousy that had stoked the fire of his appetite today.

“Oh? And what about him?” you squirmed about as his lips found your ear.

“It's nothing about him, but it is about us. You see, he was telling me about a guest lecturer he had at his school, a dhampir.”

Oh. Oh. So that was what was on his mind.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” The implication hung there, tantalising. The idea of children wasn’t a topic that you had broached with Astarion. In all honesty, you had both had your hands full with other things; adventuring, searching for a cure to vampirism, working to rebuild the Underdark for the many spawn that had been released from Cazador’s manse. But now that he had mentioned it, your mind couldn't help but be filled with images of Astarion lovingly gazing down at a small fragile bundle close to his chest, swathed in cloth. Astarion smiling as he held out a finger clutched by tiny hands. Astarion cooing and stroking its cheek as it drifted into a trance, protected from the cruelty of the world by his love. “Astarion.” A familiar tingle of heat fills you and concentrates itself at your core as the thoughts suffocate the forefront of your mind until nothing else surfaces.

“Think of them reaching for us, seeking the comfort of our loving embrace, filling our home with joy in the mornings.” he breathes in wantonly, inhaling your intoxicating scent. You are fertile, and the tang of your blood on his tongue and the scent of it lets him know that your body is ready at its peak to receive a child if you should choose to do so. “I’m ready for a child, if you are, my love.” he breathes it like a promise against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours waiting for your answer.

“Yes. I am ready.” you respond in kind, kissing him earnestly. “Give me your child.”

Astarion’s ministrations grow as much as his enthusiasm. From where he is hovering above you, he growls with a hint of possessiveness and primal joy. The fact that you were willing was a promise of security, of having you by his side in the years to come with the knowledge that you loved him so much that you would choose to create something that would immortalise your expression of love for each other in flesh and bone and flowing blood.

You were his of your own choosing and he was yours. Would always choose you and stand by your side. The thought drives him mad and admist the attention that he lavishes on your lips, a hand snakes down your body, freeing your tucked shirt and undressing you with uncanny dexterity and speed fueled by his need to have you as his partner and his mate. Immediately. To press you down and fill you to the bursting with his essence until his seed overflowed in your womb and blessed you both with child.

His hand is distracted by the curve of your breasts, kneading them gently as he begins to move down your body to lick and suckle on them. The moans pouring from you only serve to heighten his own arousal and fill him with satisfaction as he plays you with all the expertise of a bard with a well-acquainted instrument. When he finally relieves you of your pants, he lovingly dips a finger along your folds, making you buck your hips up, collecting the slick and rubbing it against your clit, revelling in the way you’re already wet with desire for him causing a shiver to run through your body. “Excited, darling?” he dares to tease out with that high giggle of his. The heat in your cheeks only grows as you huff, “you don’t say. Please, don’t stop now.” you're so desperate for his touch, to feel him inside you.

He chuckles, “Only because you’re so desperate -“. He licks a long stripe up through them, but despite pretending otherwise, the hold you have on him is too great and inhumanly quickly, he scrambles back up, his knee hooking up under yours to open you up and pulling himself free from his trousers as he aligns himself with your entrance, coating himself in you before pushing in until he’s fully sheathed in your warm heat. The unexpected stretch rips a stifled yelp of pleasure from you and Astarion can’t help but moan in kind. “Don’t hide, let me hear you.”

Waiting until you’ve adjusted to him, he lifts your knees up to his shoulders, folding you over so that he can bury himself deeper inside. The new position brings you closer to the edge as he thrusts with increasing vigour, losing himself in the need to fill you up completely, imagining his seed taking and the swell of your belly bearing the evidence of your passion for everyone to see. “I want to see you dripping with my seed, fucked full until there’s no room left for anything else.”

“Then do it!” you just about screamed as he reached between you to rub on your clit. “Give it to me,” you sobbed, “until there’s nothing left to give.” the added pressure sent you tumbling over the edge, and your vision blacked out momentarily as your mind tried to catch up with your body, still spasming and twitching around his cock, milking him of all he had as he met his release with a shuddering roar, driving himself even deeper than he had before as he spent himself inside you. He doesn't move to pull out, keeping himself and his spend inside you do as long as possible and the intention of the action makes you clench slightly around his softening cock drawing a hiss from Astarion. “You want to go again, love?”

Catching your breath, from the exertion you couldn't help but drag him down to lay beside you, holding him close as you rest your head on his arm, nuzzling close to his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. It spells safety and tenderness that you know is only reserved for you. “Not right now, Astarion. I'm exhausted, but maybe we do it again another day,” you say with a laugh, “after all, if it doesn’t work this time, we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Well,” he says with a lazy kiss, “I’m very on board with your idea.”

“This is nice. This is really nice,” you whisper to him. “I just want to lay here with you forever.”

His hand snakes over to rest on your waist, the reassuring weight grounding you and the gentle press of his lips to your hair making your heart flutter. “Then let’s stay, for a little while longer at least. Close your eyes, darling.” Without even being able to see it, you can hear the smile on Astarion’s lips as he says it. You can’t help but feel a swell of contentment and pride at these moments of softness where so much was said with so few words.

You don't know how long you lay there in the field with Astarion, holding each other as the sun sank below the horizon but the next time you’re pulled from your trance, it’s the stars that watch over you as you anticipate the hopeful possibility of what might come to fruition.

#astarion smut #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #AFAB reader

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thechaoticdruid · 3 months

Note

So I've finished my first run through of the game and did the epilogue which was just so precious! But anyways, it made me think, how would the companions react upon announcing at the reunion you and your partner are expecting!

I actually don't do requests but I like this one. I haven't made it to the epilogue yet in game but I think I can still answer these. They might be short though so please forgive me! 😔

I also tried to keep the reader's sex and gender as ambiguous as possible, but some words are hard to convey in gender neutral terms. Also the reader's partner is not specified.

But if your partner is Astarion (like my Tav's) I feel like everyone would have a similar "Is that even possible!?" reaction, except maybe Gale cause he's well studied.

Shadowheart

If you're the pregnant one she remarks on how she thought you were getting fat.

Like girl has no chill.

But if you're the father I can see her teasing you about not being able to keep your hands to yourself around your partner.

Proceeds to gift you gothic style clothes for the little one when it's closer to the birth.

Wyll

He immediately congratulates you both and wishes you well on your new adventure in parenting.

Assures you that the two of you will make a beautiful baby.

Also he asks to touch the bump if the pregnant person is showing. 🥺

Buys toys for the baby before it's even born.

Karlach

Immediately screams "FUCK YEAH I'M GONNA BE AN AUNT!!!"

Runs around to tell everyone else and buys you both drinks to celebrate for the occasion.

Needs to be reminded that drinking is bad for the baby.

Will plant a big smooch on the baby bump if the pregnant person is showing.

Starts wearing a T-shirt that says "BEST FUCKIN AUNT EVER." Also gets a matching shirt for the little one.

Lae'zel

Unless she has Xan she isn't particularly interested. She'd probably still congratulate you in her own githyanki way I suppose if you're on good terms.

If she does have Xan she suggests they spar together some day. Though she is confident her son will be victorious.

This is probably her own way of having a play date for your children.

Gale

Congratulates you both and wishes the two of you the best.

Offers to teach the child magic when they become old enough to learn.

Buys you lots of parenting books and tries to help by reminding you lots of useful facts, but in the end he kinda just low-key starts to be a bit annoying.

He means well though.

Astarion

Of course he may already be well aware of the pregnant person's bun in the oven depending on how far along they are.

His vampiric senses alert him to the little heartbeat within, you see.

"Enjoy your last few months of freedom and sleep filled nights while you can, darlings!~"

"But really, I am rather happy for the two of you. Especially you, I didn't think you had it in you." He says condescendingly to the father of the child.

Honestly he's just a little bitter he's single and alone.

Pretends not to have any interest in touching the baby bump, says he has no interest in the little creature growing inside.

But if he has a good relationship with either of the two parents he will make the baby eccentric little outfits. Especially goes all out if it's a little girl. Purple and red ruffles all over.

Will get very offended if he doesn't see the baby wearing them.

He put his soul into those outfits godsdamnit!

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion #gale x reader #gale dekarios #karlach x reader #karlach cliffgate #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel of k'liir #shadowheart hallowleaf #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #wyll x reader #bg3 headcanons

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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months

Text

you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us smut #you know you never stood a chance series

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bishopsbeloved · 4 months

Text

the art of falling in love (part three)

natasha romanoff x fem reader

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

read this fic on ao3!

But that awful feeling doesn’t go away… quite the contrary, it grows and grows. It’s a dark and hidden part of you, diseased, something you seek desperately to rid yourself of — but it only festers and worsens with the more time you spend with your love.

Yet being away from her is out of the question. The feeling only worsens whenever you’re away from her; an unbridled monster that dwells deep within the caverns of your chest, and bursts out at the most inopportune of moments. A tiny voice in the back of your head warns you that you’re turning into someone unrecognisable. You ignore it. Because you finally have the girl of your dreams, Natasha Romanoff, the one you’ve loved as long as you can remember.

“Whoever is this mystery girl you are dating, I do not like her,” Yelena says to you one day. It’s about a month now since the catastrophic spring break party at Tony’s house, and five months since the New Year’s party which began this whole mess. The two of you have been tasked with slicing vegetables for Melina, who is bustling busily around the stove. When Yelena speaks you have to physically pause to process her words, for fear you may otherwise slice straight through your own flesh as if it were another carrot.

“Mystery girl?” says Melina interestedly. “I did not know there was a mystery girl. How did I miss this? Y/N, sweetheart, you have a mystery girl and you have not brought her home yet?”

You glare at Yelena, and she smiles sweetly back.

“Nothing serious, ma,” you say to Melina as levelly as you can before turn to Yelena. “What do you mean, you don’t like her?” you ask, resuming your vegetable cutting. You try to ignore the shake of your hands and the beat of your heart. “You don’t even know who she is.” You hope, anyway.

She shrugs nonchalantly, as if she were discussing the weather rather than the affairs of your heart. “I don’t have to, to not like how she makes you feel. You are so different now, I do not like it. You are all sad and quiet and far away.”

“No I’m not,” you say in a small voice, fighting to hold back a tremble. You can only imagine the words she’d be saying if she knew it was her sister she was talking about.

“Yes, see!” says Yelena triumphantly, like you’ve just proven her point. “I say one thing and you are about to cry. Before you would hit me and we would be done.”

“You should not waste time on anyone who doesn’t treat you right, my sweet heart,” says Melina more tactfully, setting down her wooden spoon to cup your face in her gentle weathered hands. “You deserve the world. Find someone who gives you it.”

Your eyes do well up after she says that, and you have to turn away and blink rapidly so that Yelena doesn’t give you one of her knowing looks. To her credit, if she sees, she doesn’t say anything.

But Melina’s words weigh heavy on you, even after the conversation moves on — as though they’ve placed a physical burden upon your shoulders. They echo in your mind as you excuse yourself from the conversation and trudge upstairs, past the door of the very one they’re unknowingly warning you of. They play on repeat even as you’re beckoned into the bedroom of your secret paramour, who tells you to lock the door behind you. She’s sat on her bed, watching a Bond movie on her laptop, mouthing along to every word like she usually does.

“C’mere,” she says to you, patting the space between her legs. You obey wordlessly, sitting down between them with your back against her chest. Her arms wrap around you, tugging you closer, and her chin settles comfortably on your shoulder.

“Missed you,” she mumbles, sending shivers down your spine even as your troubled mind dwells on Mama Melina’s words.

You deserve the world, she repeats to you as Natasha begins to drop kisses along your neck, and you shift involuntarily in her lap. She groans and bucks up against you.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmurs against the skin of your collarbone, tugging at your shirt to trail her kisses lower. Natasha is your world, you think to yourself. And when she gives herself to you in moments like this, who are you to say it’s not enough? You remind yourself to be grateful every day that she sees fit to give you anything, to engage with you at all after she’s been so out of reach your entire life.

So as her kisses become lower and more insistent, you submit yourself to her completely, willing to do whatever pleases her. Because she is your world, and you would do anything for her — for better or for worse.

Unfortunately for you, though, Yelena does not seem to be the only one who’s noticed a shift in your behaviour.

Prom isn’t for another six or seven weeks, but already your classmates have begun the most over the top promposals you could think of, with each trying to outdo the last. It was only a few days ago that Bucky Barnes asked Steve Rogers to prom by writing “PROM?” on his back in sunscreen and then laying in the sun until the rest of him burnt. Rumour has it he tore off his shirt in front of their whole homeroom like some budget Superman knockoff. (Rumour also has it that Steve said yes. You’re not quite sure what to make of that.) (Well, at least you don’t have to worry about Bucky and Natasha anymore?) The halls are filled with hushed whispers of who might ask who next, and what methods they might choose to do so. And naturally, with Darcy being one of your closest friends, it is literally all you hear about when you are on the school premises.

…and Loki Laufeyson tells me Vision is thinking of asking you to prom, Wanda, Darcy signs triumphantly. You and your friend group are huddled around a table in the corner of the school library, supposedly studying, but with prom on the way that was never gonna happen. (The school librarian, Ms Harkness, is deathly serious about her no noise rules, but naturally as a friend group with a Deaf person in it that doesn’t really apply to you, so you often find yourselves in here.)

Since when were you on such good terms with Loki? asks Makkari with sceptically narrowed eyes.

Since the Stark party at Easter, comes Darcy’s confident reply. We did a science fair project together and now we’re totally friends. And they are very sure Vision has something planned.

I wouldn’t take it too seriously if it’s Loki telling you that, Wanda says dryly. They love to gossip. I don’t know Vision Stark, I’ve barely ever spoken to him. He kinda runs in the opposite way whenever he sees me.

He’s nervous, Darcy tells her knowingly. The guy’s scared of his own shadow, but he’s not too bad once he relaxes a bit. Give him a chance, I think you’d really like him. And also he apparently has neared a state of cardiac arrest several times trying to pluck up the courage to ask you out.

Wanda hums, and chews on her lip thoughtfully.

And you, Y/N, Darcy turns her gaze onto you now, you’ve had nothing going on for months. Have you got your eye on anyone?

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you shake your head no. I’m content where I am now, you say, which isn’t really a lie. Because you are happy. Right?

Darcy only shrugs before turning to Yelena, who is sat next to you while she gazes out of the window, zoned out as she often is whenever talk turns to romance. You nudge her gently with your foot and she turns, blinking out of her daydream. “Hmm? What—?”

“Shhh,” you all remind her instantly, as Ms Harkness’s head snaps up from the paperwork she was just bent over at her desk.

Sorry, Yelena rectifies hastily. What’s up?

Prom, you inform her, biting back a laugh at the way her face comically drops into one that’s very unamused.

I know you and Bishop didn’t work out, but do you have anyone else who might ask you to prom?

You look over at your best friend anxiously. Yelena has not really come out to anyone, only casually mentioning her aromanticism over dinner, to which Melina and Alexi barely batted an eyelid. Darcy does not seem to be picking up on the hints, though.

If anyone asked me, I would say no , Yelena tells her bluntly . I don’t do that stuff. Me and Y/N go together. Right, Y/N?

With matching outfits, you add helpfully.

We are going to serve, Yelena agrees, and the two of you low-five.

You can tell Darcy has more questions, but before she can press either of you any further the bell rings, signalling the end of free period. The four of you get to your feet, piling belongings back into your bags, and Makkari follows your example once she sees what you’re doing.

You end up falling behind at the back of the group, with Wanda next to you. She’s looking at you curiously, as though she’s seeing right through you, and you fidget uncomfortably.

Are you sure you’re happy? she asks you. The question hits you like a punch to the gut. Because you have not seemed it, lately.

You nod and smile weakly at her, and to her credit she pushes no further, but much like Melina’s words it weighs heavy on your mind long after she’s forgotten about it. You are happy, aren’t you? You are. You are happy. You have the girl of your dreams, for fuck’s sake. Of course you’re happy.

And that’s true, for the most part. You’re happy when you’re with her — and when you can switch your brain off around her, instead of pining what more you could have. Because this is all you have. All you’ll ever have. And every day you wake up, fearing that this is the day she’ll end whatever is between you, and cast you aside like the doll she’s done playing with.

But you must not seem that happy to other people, because it’s only a few hours later that you are questioned yet again — this time by Sam Wilson, who it is considerably more difficult to be upset with.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he calls down the hall as he spots you, awkwardly half-running to catch up with you. Last period has just ended, and you’re making your way to the science lab that you know Yelena just had a class in. You smile at him when you recognise him, and slow down until he matches your pace. Since that night he helped you out at the party the two of you have been talking a lot more, and you’ve found yourself really enjoying his company. You’ve never really been too good at making friends — if you didn’t have Yelena, your other half, you don’t know what you’d do — but things seem to come naturally with him. He’s very calming to be around, and he never makes you feel as though you’re supposed to be something that you’re not.

“What’s up, Wilson?” you greet him.

“I gotta bone to pick with you,” he says with half-hearted annoyance, even as he grins at you. You blink up at him in quiet confusion. “How come you stood me up yesterday night? You said you’d meet me out by the east block and you left me hangin’. We were supposed to go to Boulevard, remember?”

You groan and tilt your head back as you realise he’s right. The two of you have recently picked up a habit of hanging out at the arcade on the Boulevard after school for a couple nights a week. (He’s a beast at Donkey Kong, and you will never in your life be able to beat his high score, but you always manage to put up a good fight when you versus in Mortal Kombat.)

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“Are you sure?” he asks jokingly. “Cause you skipped out on the one before that too.”

“I’m really sorry,” you weakly offer. “I just…” Well, what the fuck kind of excuse are you supposed to offer? I’m sorry, my secret girlfriend slash love of my life will only spend time with me in private because she’s ashamed of me? “…I don’t know. I’ve kinda been all over the place lately. Sorry.”

“Yeah, no shit. What’s going on, man, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, and you’re horrified at the moment at that your voice trembles. “No, I’m good. Seriously. Just stressed for finals,” you try tentatively, and you’re relieved at the way he just nods sympathetically.

“Well if you need a distraction, I’m free tonight,” he offers hopefully. You instinctively open your mouth to deny him, but when you see the way he’s poised and ready to accept your inevitable denial you pause guiltily. Why are you saying no and standing him up if he’s your friend? Your alternate itinerary for tonight is sitting around annoying Yelena and hoping that Nat will want to spend time with you tonight. This sounds way more fun.

A distraction. A distraction from the feeling clawing at your insides, which won’t let you sleep at night until you get that goodnight text.

“A distraction sounds good,” you say, and he grins back at you. Only a moment later Yelena’s class comes flooding out of the science lab, and your beloved blonde Russian approaches you. You’re glad to see she’s recovering some of the usual bounce in her step, after last month’s mishap.

“Come on, Natasha is giving us a ride,” she tells you excitedly, offering Sam a brief nod.

“Actually, can you tell her make my own way home? Me and Sam are hitting the Boulevard.”

“Alright. But if you win enough tickets can you get me that stuffed otter they have in the window,” she asks hopefully, and beams when you nod. “You are the best. And don’t forget to call Ma if you won’t be home till late, or —”

“She’ll have a heart attack, I know,” you say patiently. “Love you.”

Natasha probably won’t even notice you’re gone. She won’t mind.

Famous last words.

Sam ends up dropping you home, and the two of you stop by a fast food place on your way, so you’re not home until ten. You stumble into the house with bleary eyes and a bug-eyed, oversized otter tucked under your arm, but a heart fuller than it’s been in a long while, and a smile on your face to match. That smile is quickly wiped off of your face as you turn around and lock eyes with Natasha, who is sat on the top of the stairs. She’s evidently waited up for you.

“Hi. Is Lena still up? I won this for her.” You hold up the otter lamely.

She shrugs, a gesture so small you nearly miss it in the half-light. “I don’t know.” Late at night when she’s tired, tinges of Russian begin to creep back into her otherwise perfectly ironed American accent — she always scowls and makes an effort to fix it whenever you point it out, but to you it’s adorable. It’s like an ever so slight glimpse into the real Natasha, the one who makes you heart-shaped pancakes and remembers the names of all your favourite movies. And in the months that are passing in your relationship you feel like you’re seeing that side to her less and less.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly after a few moments. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah?” you say uncertainly. This feels like a trap. “Y— uh, yeah, I did, thank you.” You swallow, hard, as a pit opens up in your stomach. “Are… are we okay?”

She hesitates. “Are you happy?”

“Huh?”

“With me. When you’re with me. Do you have fun like you did tonight?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice is small and quiet. “I— I don’t know what you want me to say.”

She’s silent. Like she doesn’t even know what she wants from you. Cautiously, gingerly, you speak again.

“I had fun tonight in a way that I can’t with you,” you say carefully. “You never want to spend time with me unless we’re alone. I don’t really know what we are, I know we’re not dating, but it feels… I don’t know.” You pause for a second, and your next words sound uncertain of themselves. “It feels like… you’re ashamed of me.”

The words are finally out of your mouth, at long last. For a moment it’s like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, but it comes crashing back town twice as heavy when you see the be way your words physically crush her.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” she whispers. “I’m not… I just…” And then she says something so quiet that even as you strain you can’t catch it. “Um. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And while you do see her in the morning, nothing is the same. So you’re once again the bigger person in this relationship, the one taking care of her (and you’d do it forever, of course), and you give her exactly what you know she needs — some space, and some time. You’re not really sure what’s going through her head right now (you never are, to be honest), but what you do know is that she’d hate to feel smothered as she figures it out for herself. She’s more similar to her sister than she’d like to think. It’ll be okay, you tell yourself. You’ll give her what you know she needs, because sometimes you know her better than she knows herself, and trust that when she’s ready she’ll come to you.

But she doesn’t, and things are rocky between you and your love in the time that passes. Since the night you came home from the arcade, she’s been almost avoiding you. No more good morning or goodnight texts, no secret movie dates in her room, no more stargazing on the rooftop or late night drives. With every day that you wake up and meet her vacant gaze at the breakfast table you lose a little more hope. The end is nigh, you fear; the thing you’ve known all along, the fact that you were just a toy to her that she’ll dispose of when she’s bored, comes creeping back from the distant corner of your mind it was banished to, into the forefront — and you see it everywhere you go. In every tight-lipped look and sleepless night you pray for the end of this purgatory, whether that comes in the form of her embrace or her denial; anything but this wretched liminal space. This in-between where you don’t feel human to her.

Prom night rolls around. You and Yelena have indeed coordinated your outfits, just as planned, and the two of you are going together. (A slight and tiny part of you had hoped that maybe, somehow, Natasha would ask you to prom, and she would be your date. A much bigger part of you knew that would be her idea of purgatory.)

The two of you are carpooling with your friend group to the school, where your prom will be, in a limo that you all pitched in for. Darcy and Jane Foster, Makkari and Druig, and Wanda and Vision are all already piled in when the limo rolls up in front of your house — the last stop before the night truly begins.

“Interesting choice of interior decor,” Yelena muses, taking in the limo’s pink velvet seats and rhinestone-studded handles with thoughtfully narrowed eyes.

“Darcy picked it,” says Wanda monotonously.

She said we had to go all out for prom, Makkari adds with an eyeroll. The two of them earn lighthearted smacks from the target of their teasing.

You aren’t really sure what you’re actually meant to do at prom. Even in the movies, they’re never really very specific about what prom actually entails.

“What do you think we’ll do?” you ask Yelena, as the two of you hand in your coats to the concierge (a member of the student council who looks very stressed).

She snorts. “Judge people’s outfits, get drunk, take photos and dance, I’d say. I guess some people will be hooking up, too.”

“We will,” adds Darcy with a shameless wink as she passes the two of you, being dragged along by Jane. Your cheeks flush slightly, while Yelena sighs in affectionate long-suffering.

“Any updates on your super-secret girlfriend?” Yelena asks, and the usual guilty feeling pricks at your gut. She, of course, hasn’t been told of the conflict, because you’ve told her as little as possible. You don’t trust yourself to not break down out of guilt otherwise.

You try your best to be optimistic at first, but Yelena’s very quickly proven right. As soon as everyone’s arrived you tick off your first scheduled item on the prom itinerary — judging them — and you move swiftly onto the second.

“This tastes like shit,” you grimace as you sip gingerly from the drink Yelena presents you with. She bursts out laughing.

Before long, you’re feeling pleasantly fuzzy, and perfectly willing to embarrass yourself in front of your classmates on the dancefloor — so when Sam Wilson comes up to you proposing that you dance, twitchy as anything and evidently nervous out of his mind, it doesn’t feel as significant to you as it does to him that you accept.

He kisses your cheek when the dance ends, and you flush violently. But when he offers you his arm you take it, and he’s led along to a quiet afterparty back at Wanda’s house. It’s okay, you tell yourself, to be having fun with someone else. Natasha’s shown no interest in you for more than a month. It’s not that you don’t love her, because you do, but you can’t exactly force her to spend time with you, can you? It can’t cause any harm to have some fun with your friends.

But only a little down the road a certain redhead has shut herself in her room, and begins to ask herself why she’s behaved the way that she has.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #black widow #high school au #marvel high school au

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familyabolisher · 9 months

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haphazard assortment of thoughts on the unwanted guest:

firstly, it really does have to be said—crazy good, probably my favourite of all the tlt short pieces, and i say that as someone who lost my mind over as yet unsent for like a week. excellent conceit and excellent execution, just a really gorgeous piece of writing. the play format of course reminds me of what abigail says to harrow in htn—that the river bubble is a ‘play [she’s] directing’—the inside of one’s head as a stage in which other actors can intervene & whereby mileage can be gotten out of Symbolism as immediately “real,” tangible presences that the kind of realist baggage that a more quotidian prose form would usher in would probably falter in accomplishing. it’s a lot!! i think even if i wasn’t already a tazmuir writing style defender (contra the insistence that she’s yknow homestuck fanfiction serial numbers filed off hack) then this would have had me floored anyway.

the play format also works in the way that muir’s general dexterity in form and willingness to really make use of craft as a technical space where discourse can be generated always works—i’m talking about the ‘fanfictiony’ voice in gtn which manages to say something both about fanfiction and about the text itself, the use of the dramatis personae as a space where atmosphere can be established and plot points hinted towards (thus blurring the lines between what is and is not diegesis), the drastic shifts in style between different close thirds, the shifting from third- to second- to epistolary first-person, the use of poetry both diegetic and not (the noniad, the epigraph poems…), the mimicry of the ‘voice’ of the king james bible in the nona epilogue—she never stays in one place for too long and she never seems to stick to one central style or form, and it really works in her favour. insofar as tlt as a whole is a very ‘patchwork’ kind of work, building itself up from its big big index of references and intertexts and memes with hugely variant levels of ‘prestige’ or legitimacy attached to them, the ‘patchwork’ use of form really works in muir’s favour. however i am also fuming because i was right in the middle of writing a tlt fic which jumps into a play format two-thirds of the way through and now my idea doesn’t look ORIGINAL but ANYWAY—

& i really do need to flag my good friend vee’s mercy/augustine fic, which makes use of a similar conceit and pulls it off masterfully—i am deeply jealous of vee’s talent and i think the unwanted guest makes this piece (from 2021!) shine even more, if anything.

i am DYING to see where muir is going with the use of hamlet, of all things—dulcie quoting it to palamedes immediately catapulted my mind back to abigail’s reference to ‘that undiscovered country’ in htn. obviously muir likes to drop contemporary (or contemporarily canonical) references and turns of phrase all over the place, but the attention drawn to the quote as diegetically referential (“I like that. Is it from something?” / “Yes. It’s complicated.”) has me wondering about a) the survival of ‘pre-res’ literatures ~over the river and like WHY and b) what a thematic interlocking of tlt and hamlet can do, here…….real aveheads remember cytherea ophelia theory where i tried to use ophelia as a point of reference for teasing out some arguments about cytherea and death and aesthetics and white femininity and whatnot. all of which is to say i need to sit with this hamlet reading a lot more but i love it, i am so here for it.

of course ‘kissing or feeding, we can’t be sure’ calls to mind ‘how meat loves meat,’ alecto biting harrow’s mouth by way of a kiss…and the general thematic throughline of, you know, certain practices of love as practices of consumption, naberius later being figured as the ‘meat’ in question contains echoes of this eroticism which ofc guides the contours of the necromancer/cavalier dynamic, eroticism as a currency of power, we know all of this stuff because it’s all over the text but i am just thumbs-upping it from the sidelines

the coffins had me thinking of utena’s black rose arc, which is a fun link to make considering the equivalent moment in the main body of nona is also referencing utena, ie. with the ‘rules’ of the duel being that cam has to get the handkerchief out of ianthe’s pocket as kind of an equivalent to skewering the rose. i feel like the tlt/utena overlap is pretty self-explanatory but it’s just fun to see the fingerprints all over lol

i think a lot of this was treading old ground thematically (erotics of consumption, dog motifs, we’ve seen it already!) but i will say that i did Yell Out Loud over ‘who's she got dawdling behind her but that creature—tugging visibly at her leash like an overeager dog.’ reminded of the other memorable use of ‘leash’—’even the devil bent for god to put a leash around her neck’—and, of course, the endless parade of commonalities between gideon & alecto. anyway there’s not really anything in this line that we didn’t already know about gid as a character, thematically speaking, but i point it out because it inflicted +100 psychic damage when i read it. gideon as a ‘creature’ is particularly slimy, & sort of puts me in mind of ianthe's tendency to talk about what appears to us as 'butch masculinity' (as opposed to the more effete masculinity of augustine or even babs) with a notably derogatory slant (the 'hurtful threats of sexual violence' line comes to mind); i don't know that i have much to say about it here specifically but it's an interesting one that i think informs the kirianthe dynamic pretty heavily (especially when held up against, like, harrianthe ... ianthe has a kind of respect for whatever harrow's gay and stupid gender is Doing (at least insofar as she can mould it to her own desires; i'm thinking of the dios apate forcefemme scene lol) in ways that i don't think she has for kiriona? but this is v off-topic, lol).

i have never been especially taken by dulcie as a character but i think this may finally have forced me to fold and admit that she’s great. her haters!!! her agonies!!! camilla would have to cook!! the balance between levity and sincerity was really well-managed. & i love the double meaning of “unwanted guest” as both palamedes intruding on ianthe’s mind palace and naberius setting up shop inside of her.

i need a week to sit with where this idea of the consumed soul as being literally ‘digested’ such that it can begin to ‘inhabit,’ however immaterially, the host body, or like to alter the characteristics of the host body such that to carry out such a consumption is to kind of kill yourself as well, slots in with lolita theory. or like, i need alecto right now. i am however reminded of chew, a short story that muir wrote in 2013, which also plays with these ideas of sexual assault as a forcing of a part of yourself meaningfully ‘into’ another person, and cannibalism as the reenactment of such a process, figured in the story as kind of a reclamation or at least an assertion of permanence—“I was always going to be in the ground with him in me,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure.”—which the unwanted guest seems to kind of, play with in reverse? i don’t know, but i’m interested—as ever—in where muir wants to take these ideas of rape and consumption and absorption that she’s got in her hands.

i keep returning to…i hesitate to say ‘parallels’ because i think that imposes a narrative onus that i’m not actually that convinced by, but these, like, commonalities between babs and gideon. gideon is played off against so many people (cristabel, loveday, alecto being the big ones) that it feels kind of inane to add another person to the pile, but like…they’re the two who get got in canaan house, they’re both ironically ‘false’ cavaliers and expressions of the ‘truest’ or most paradigmatic form that cavalierhood ‘can’/’should’ take, they both have unconventionally gendered names (‘babs’ is a shortened form of ‘barbara,’ it is a typically feminine name imo) and (by our standards) somewhat unconventional genders (gideon is butch, babs effete)—and of course the unwanted guest places a lot of emphasis on the coercive ‘making’ of cavalierhood (the reference to babs being ‘fixed’ were he to have a disability! ianthe’s glib ‘society really is to blame’ comment—ironic, obviously, but not wholly untrue) not dissimilar to the emphasis that gtn puts on cytherea moulding gideon into the state she comes to be in at the end. babs and gideon as the two possessed corpses in nona, obviously. two wildly diverse but ultimately converging trajectories! a dialectical tension between their fundamental ‘opposition’ (as by-the-book cavalier vs whatever gideon is doing) and their fundamental ‘sameness’ whereby the dialectic is resolved in their mutual deaths. also just, of course, continuing the throughline that muir has had going for a while now, of gender/gendering as a set of coercive enforcements loyal to a hegemonic structuring of the world.

that’s all i’ve got, i think. just. really good everyone say thank you tazmuir

#.txt #tlt #the unwanted guest spoilers #this was originally bullet points but tumblr's formatting is bad and i can't be bothered editing to improve the flow here. so.#rape cw

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tyran-the-tyranical · 3 months

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That one line from Raphael's Second Diary will never cease to get me 🥺 LIKE MIGHT I ADD- these are his private thoughts, separate from his manipulation attempts and so he, with his full chest, admits so much in his second diary, like when he says "never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole." AHH, (my delusions are so real, trust)

BUT WHEN HE SAYS "They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me." look, I get the subtext behind all these quotes, but a girl can just ignore all that media literacy and take it for face value, OK? 💅 but also reading into it, he does admire Tav to a certain extent, and I have to wonder, why? Tav isn't an origin character and Tav's actions and character basically changes with every playthrough (Same with Durge, as they can change too) So I have to wonder if it's because Tav is controlled by the player, since, Raphael does end up breaking the fourth wall in his epilogue speech, so perhaps that's what he sees.

Another way to look at it is, either way, no matter what the playthrough, he sees something in Tav, something that makes them stand out much brighter than their companions (For some reason???)

To further that statement, what is the best of Raphael? I mean, if its an evil playthrough, that would be obvious, but if you're playing a good playthrough, what then? perhaps what he sees is someone he can finally use to get the crown, that's also very likely. Still though that's a very to the point (IMO) not as interesting of a reading since it's literally just his end goal for us, BUT STILL A VALID ONE, because, it is true, that's what he wants from us the most.

Also his third diary where he just straight up admits that he's being so honest with us so he can manipulate us, love that for him, "I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted." Which also makes me wonder, is Raphael actually an honest person? I mean, Korilla thinks he's at least decent, but honest? outside of helping us, if we look at Yurgir, he really fucked him over lol. Obviously, Raphael isn't what he seems, even if he's honest with us, to what extent? he says it himself, he's honest about "...sublimely obvious truths..." but what about when he says he's grown quite fond of us in his own way, HMMMM?

I wish this man got a proper story arc in the game, outside of the whole deal for the hammer and House of Hope, that's all plot related for the hammer, but a storyline about Raphael as a character? I mean yea, maybe that would whisk away some of his mystery, his intrigue, but I'm sorry- you cant just end it with him fucking himself (poorly) and trying to break Hope (making her a metaphorical symbol of hope anyway, I think....) AND LEAVE IT THERE?!?!? at the same time, I do like the ambiguity of his character, you could think of him as a cruel bastard after seeing what he's done in the House Of Hope to his debtors and Hope herself or perhaps just a Pathetic lil guy who's shit in bed lol, or maybe even soft, if you go off Korillas words and what he does for us in game he can come across as quite nice, especially after we've interacted with Mizora who's is the only other Cambion example we can go off of.

I also just think it's interesting that he sees anything in Tav/Durge at all. Ofc he says he sees the best of him (Always gotta relate back to himself lol) but that especially a mortal is what he could see himself, the best of himself, but then again he does see potential and ambition as admirable (?) or just something he appreciates, you can see that with Mol and Gortash to some extent anyway, But what ambitions does Tav have outside of just trying to survive? Like, the obvious answer is he wants us to give him the crown and we're the underdog in the story but then why does he refer to Tav so differently then? I fear this has turned into another rant again, lol.

Just a final thought here, but, if he did ever get a story arc, similar to the companions, would they give you multiple directions to take his character? i mean with Shadowheart for example, you could help her break from shar or have her fully convert into shars chosen, but even then, if you free her from shar theres the point of saving her family or freeing her from Shars (curse?) there's multiple ways for her story to end. Though, Raphael isnt a companion, so would he have something similar to idk a minor companion like Halsin or Minthara, who don't really have that much of a diversion (I think) in their endings, they don't really have the option, only really if the player decides to be evil or not, they kinda just follow them either way, it doesn't really impact their own stories. Obviously, I would prefer something with nuance but also, HE ISN'T A COMPANION 😭 and pressingly some of the companions need more work done than he does atm lol. Maybe that's me just projecting lol, once again, me wanting to have my cake and eat it too, anyway, that's me done... for now lol

#baldurs gate raphael #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 raphael #baldur's gate raphael #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 korilla

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sissylittlefeather · 2 months

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Role Play: Epilogue

A/N: I ended this series before I could write my favorite role play idea. Solution? EPILOGUE. Y'all know I love a good epilogue. Anyway, enjoy this fluffy, smutty, pure-fun romp!

(@ccab this one is for you 😉)

Need to catch up? Here's the Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cussing, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.5k

In the spring of 1972, a year after Elvis declared his love for you in the rain, he asks you to move into Graceland. Priscilla moved out earlier that year after she realized you weren't a fling that was going away any time soon. He hated that she took Lisa Marie, but otherwise he didn't mind her moving out. He was ready to take your relationship to the next level anyway. You'd been spending as much time together as possible, so him moving you into his house just made sense.

On your first night there together, he puts you to work in his kitchen again. You're happy to roll your sleeves up and give him directions. This time you make a lasagna and manage to keep your hands off each other long enough to get it into the oven. But when he puts you on the counter, rips your panties off, and drops his face between your thighs, you decide that moving in is the best decision you've ever made.

He pushes his tongue into your slit and you throw your head back and run your fingers in his hair. He licks up either side of your clit and then drags his tongue across it hard.

"Mmm fuck yes, Elvis." You hiss as he continues working his mouth on you. He slides two fingers into you and pumps them in and out as moves his tongue on your clit. He can feel your walls flutter as your orgasm approaches and he pulls back and whispers.

"Let go, baby. Cum for me like you always do." You whimper and he goes back to licking you as your orgasm rushes through your veins like starlight. You tighten your grip on his hair and he moans into you. Finally, you come down from your high and he pulls back, wiping his mouth with his hand. He stands up, shaking his hair from where you had your hands in it. You go for his belt just as the timer for the lasagna goes off.

"Mmmm noooo..." He whines, pulling you in close to him and kissing you deeply.

"Babe, I have to get the lasagna out." You moan as he kisses down your neck, nipping at you gently. He squeezes your hips and then backs up. You hop off the counter and run your hand up his hard dick, tucking it under his belt for him. He groans and kisses the top of your head.

"I'll get mine after dinner. I have a role play idea for us anyway."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued."

"You should be." You grab some oven mitts and pull the lasagna out as he grabs a couple of plates for you.

******

After dinner, you make your way to the TV room, and he runs upstairs for a bit. When he comes back down, he plops onto the couch and pulls your feet into his lap. He rubs them casually as something plays on all three screens.

"That feels good." You lean your head back and he smiles.

"Would you like me to keep going?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here. Come with me." He stands you up and guides you up the stairs to the bedroom that you now share. He takes you in the bathroom where he has set up the bathtub with candles and rose petals.

"Is this what you were doing?"

"It is. Do you like it?"

"I love it!" He undresses you and helps you into the tub. Once you're settled, he disappears and comes back with a glass of champagne.

"Now, you just relax here, honey, and I'll get everything else ready."

"There's more?"

"I told you it's a role play." He winks and walks out of the bathroom.

You lay in the tub with your glass of champagne for about twenty minutes before he comes back wearing a robe. His excitement is palpable and you can tell he's been planning this for a while.

"Ma'am, your massage is ready whenever you are."

"My massage?"

"Yes ma'am. I'll be your masseur this evening." You smile and stand up out of the tub. He turns around nervously, like he's never seen you naked before. "Oh! The towels are over to your left. I'll just... I'll go back in there and wait for you to get ready."

"Elvis!" You laugh and he clears his throat.

"Ma'am, I'm just a humble massage boy. I-I-I'll be in there." Then, he walks out of the room. He's committed, you have to give him that.

When you get into the room, he's got the bed turned down for you to lay on and soft music playing in the background. You notice a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand.

"Just lay down on the bed and I'll get started, ma'am." You unwrap the towel you had around you and lay face down on the bed.

"Okay, I'm ready." He walks up behind you. "But I have a request."

"Yes ma'am?"

"I need you to take that robe off."

"That seems a little unprofessional..." You look at him slyly.

"I promise I'll give you a good tip. Now, robe off." He tries to suppress a smile as he takes the robe off, leaving him as naked as you are. He looks down at you on the bed, your body beautiful in front of him. For a second, he considers abandoning the role play and jumping on top of you, but he doesn't. Instead, he gathers some massage oil and begins to run his hands along your back. You groan at the sensation of his strong hands on you, wondering how long you'll both be able to stand being naked and so close together.

His touch is firm but gentle as he massages your back, moving his hands a little lower with each pass. Eventually, he's just rubbing his hands on your ass sensually and you feel his erection where it rests on your thigh. Your center is absolutely dripping with his proximity and the feeling of his hands on you. You long to feel some part of him inside you. Seemingly reading your mind, he moves his hands lower and begins to massage your thighs, running his hands up the inside of them, teasing your clit with his fingertips as he goes. You whimper a little and spread your legs open. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating amount of time, he runs one hand up your thigh and slides a finger into you. Between the massage oil and your wetness, his finger glides easily in and out. He adds a second finger and you notice he only has one hand on you. You look back over your shoulder and realize he's stroking himself as he fingers you, the massage oil making it easy for him to move his hand back and forth.

"And you said I was asking you to be unprofessional."

"Mmm, sorry, ma'am, you're just such a beautiful woman." He whispers as he continues to pump his cock and finger fuck you.

"You don't need to apologize. Just come over and finish what you've started. And I don't mean the massage." You smirk at him over your shoulder and he pulls his fingers out of you. He climbs onto you and lines the tip of his dick up with your entrance. As he pushes into you, you both groan. He kisses your shoulder and leans his forehead against your back.

"Fuck, honey, that's so good."

He begins to pump in and out of you, fucking you deeply with long strokes. He grabs the back of your hair and pulls so that he can kiss your cheek over your shoulder. Then, he pushes up and grabs the headboard with one hand and your hip with the other, driving into you passionately from behind. You whimper with each thrust, the pleasure almost overwhelming you.

After another few minutes of pounding you in this position, he pulls out and rolls over on his back. You climb on top of him, a knee on either side of his hips, and sink down onto his dick.

"God, I love your pussy." He moans as you begin to roll your hips into him, pushing him deeper and deeper.

"Mmm I love your cock." You moan in reply. Then, he grabs the side of your face and pulls you down to him, kissing you emphatically.

"I love you." He whispers when he pulls back from the kiss.

"I love you, too." He kisses you again and then wraps his other arm around you, slamming into from underneath. His hips meet yours over and over as he thrusts until you both tumble headfirst into waves of pleasure while you pulse and flutter around him and he shudders and pumps a few more times weakly.

When your combined orgasm fades, you roll off of him and lay next to him, sweating and panting. He grabs your fingers and brings them to his lips.

"I'm so glad you're here." He turns his head to look at you. You meet his eyes and smile.

"Me too."

"Welcome home, baby." He turns and wraps himself around you, kissing your cheek. "I'm so glad I met you."

You sniff a little and hold back the tears. How did you get here? You don't know, and frankly you don't care. You belong in his arms and you intend to stay here as long as he'll let you.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @deltafalax

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic

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moondustpugh · 2 months

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High Infidelity

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Did you really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? Did you really have to tell him how he brought you back to life?

Author's Note: A short little epilogue to wrap things up. Thanks for keeping up with this story. It was a hard one for me to write because like I said before, it was based off my real life emotional trauma and it's almost as if it's a letter to my past to finally let go. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: 18+, emotional abuse, mention of harming, infidelity

(Please, please don't read this if it triggers you. I need you all to think hard about it before reading this one. This is a bit of a dark fic).

Wordcount: 1.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - epilogue

Two Years Later…

“I don’t know. Sometimes I still feel guilty, but I know I’m in a better place.” You said as you stared at your laptop screen.

“That’s good to hear. I think that the progress you made for the last two years has been really great. I know sometimes memories could take us back into a dark place, but I want you to know that leaving that relationship was a good decision.” Your therapist, Megan, gave you a smile as you nodded your head.

Looking out the window, you stared at the heavy raindrops that fell from the dark clouds outside. You were able to hear the pitter patter of the rain on the roof and the wind that was gusting. Looking back at Megan, you played with your fingers anxiously.

“Does it…” You sighed. “Does it… get better? You know, doing all these exercises you told me and writing some of my feelings down… Will it get better? Will I ever get over what happened? Sometimes I feel like I’m too closed off with Joe because of what happened, and I don’t want that. I want to be better. I want this to be a healthy relationship.”

“What does Joe think about all of that?” Megan asked, tilting her head a little.

You shrugged lightly and said, “He understands it. He tells me that but sometimes, I feel worried that what if he’s slowly resenting me? I never want to be a burden to him. I want to make this relationship work because I love him.”

“Well, you said it yourself that you two have open communication, correct?”

You nodded your head as Megan continued, “I think what’s happening here is that the trust that you have built before was taken down when you were with Eli, but you also have to remember that Joe is different, and you told me that he has proved that many times. I know it can be scary but maybe, you also have to start trusting his words. Trust that he would tell you how he really feels in certain situations.”

“Yeah,” You let out another sharp breath. “I think so too. I’m trying.”

“That’s good. Just take it step by step. You will eventually get there. Progress doesn’t happen in just a day. It takes time.”

You gave Megan a smile and went on to talk about other things that were happening in your life lately. You told her how you quit your job being in Joe’s team because dating him and working for him was something that made you uncomfortable, and Joe did agree with you on that. You started working as a crew member on a movie set and somehow, it made it feel therapeutic for you. The busy long hours had occupied your mind, and you were able to really think about what was best for you.

Joe never had gotten in the way of that. He told you that he would support you with anything that could make you happy. It was a different feeling when you first heard those words coming from him, but it was good different. Some days, you doubt the capability that you have through your job or your ability to trust yourself and some days, you start learning about the things that you really wanted and that was also a good thing.

Slowly, you felt those broken pieces glued back together and as months went by, you almost felt whole. It was almost as if you were slowly finding yourself. You weren’t there yet, but you knew that you were at least getting there.

Step by step.

Just like what Megan had told you.

Usually, you would see Megan physically in her office but not today or the next week or so because Joe had suggested to take a holiday outside of the city. Somewhere quiet, and you couldn’t agree more.

You both needed it.

You have been seeing Megan ever since you had broken up with Eli, and she has been such a huge help in dealing with your trauma. Joe had suggested getting into therapy and at the beginning, you were hesitant about it because you weren’t exactly sure if you wanted to talk to a stranger about your own problems. However, as time went on, Megan had become someone you could trust. Someone you could tell your problems to and open up about how you were feeling.

Maybe you also needed to do the same with Joe. Trust that whatever he tells you, he is telling the truth. That everything was fine, and you need to stop being anxious over the fact that maybe you were disappointing him because he would have told you if there was a problem, right?

Closing your laptop, you leaned back onto the chair. It was still early in the morning. You still felt a bit sleepy, but you had woken up because of your short session with Megan since she also had other appointments for today. Stretching your arms above your head, you yawned softly and got up from the chair. The sun was slowly rising from the horizon, and it was reflecting beautifully onto the lake outside. The cabin floors creaked under your steps as you walked back towards the bedroom.

There, you found Joe still asleep. He was on his stomach, both arms under his pillow, curls all disarray and face buried in his pillow. He looked peaceful, and you couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. Walking towards the bed, you quietly slid yourself under the duvet as Joe stirred in his sleep.

“Hey, darling.” Joe gave you a sleepy smile, his eyes were still closed as he reached his arm towards you.

“Hey, sorry to wake you up.” You whispered, your fingers running softly through his curls.

Joe breathed heavily as he softly grunted, turning himself on his back and pulling you close in his arms. His body heat was making you feel warm as you pulled the duvet closer to your chest. His hand was softly rubbing your arm as he planted a soft kiss on your hair.

“How’s Megan?” He asked, his voice was deep and raspy.

“She’s fine. She has a busy day, so she thought maybe we could do the session a little early. I didn’t mind.” You reached to pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

Joe’s eyes were still closed as he sleepily smiled. You rested your head on his chest as he tightened his grip around you. There was a comfortable silence between the both of you for a moment. You could only hear the rain that was pouring outside.

“I believe you, you know?” You murmured, gazing up at him.

Joe opened one eye, looking down at you with a curious look on his face.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“The things you say… I know sometimes I doubt them because sometimes they sound or feel unreal, but I know in my heart I believe them.”

Finally, Joe opened his eyes, a small smile appeared on his face.

“I know, darling.” He said. “I know what you have gone through, and I know it’s difficult, so I understand. I would never lie to you, and I never want you to feel as if I’m hiding something or I’m hiding my feelings. Remember what I said? I want to be open to you.”

You nodded your head, smiling. You moved from where you were and hovered over Joe, straddling his hips as you leaned down and kissed him deeply. Joe smiled through the kiss as you ran his fingers through your hair and pulled you down closer to his body.

“Hmm…” Joe grinned. “What a good morning.”

You giggled softly, leaning down to give him another quick peck on the lips. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Joe buried his face on your neck, leaving soft feathered kisses on them.

“That’s not what I meant!” You laughed, holding onto his shoulders as he sat up on the bed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as you sat on his lap and his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His chocolate button eyes studied your face for a moment, his thumb found your cheek as he softly brushed it. Then, it trailed down to the shape of your lips, tracing it softly before sliding his hand on the back of your head and leaned closed to your face.

“I love you so much.” He whispered.

You could feel his breath against your lips. Shivers went down your spine as his lips grazed softly against your cheek. The kiss was light, almost like a breeze of the wind on your skin. Then, he pressed his lips on the line of your jaw, making you gasp softly. Your hands on his shoulders gripped them tighter. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking on the skin softly, and you had to bite back a moan as he continued to kiss your skin.

“Don’t hold back.” He whispered, smiling through the kiss. “I love it when you make those sounds.”

You bit your lower lip, stopping yourself from smiling as he kissed down your throat and down to your collarbone. He was making your head spin that you could barely breathe. You could barely think, and the world around you was just now a blur.

Time has stopped.

Joe’s lips continued to travel down your chest and you let out a soft moan as his fingers gently ran down your bare back.

“Come here.” You cupped his face with both of your hands. “I need to kiss you.”

You gazed down at him before pressing your lips against his, kissing him deeply. Both of your lips moved together as you gently pushed him back down on the bed and hovered over him. His hand had found the back of your head and his spare hand was under your shirt, caressing your back softly and a small moan escaped his lips. Joe was breathing heavily as you continued to kiss him hungrily and passionately this time.

“I love you too.” You murmured through the kiss.

Pulling away from the kiss, Joe gazed up at you and smiled. There was no other person he loved the most than you. You could see it all over his face, and you could see it in his eyes. You love him so much too, and you knew that you were still trying to work things out with your trauma and past, but you also knew that what you and Joe have was right.

Everything seemed like it was a perfect piece in the puzzle.

In time, you also knew that you would also find yourself.

Just step by step.

The End.

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joseph Quinn rpf #Joe Quinn rpf #Joseph Quinn fanfics #Joe Quinn Fanfics #High Infidelity #moondustpugh #epilogue

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader, eventual smut, talk of teenage!trauma (men are men and teenage girls are teenage girls) - nothing graphic, but, you know, a trigger warning feels right

Author’s note: new territory! fresh waters! my first ever part 6! wahhh!

Wordcount: 4.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

Sudden loud voices, followed by the slam of a closing front door shocked you awake. Not enough for you to actually open your eyes, but enough to propel you back into consciousness where you learnt that, oh, whoops, you'd fallen asleep.

The voices that came from the hallway were quickly shushed by Mark, who moved up from the sofa and you felt his legs disappear from underneath your feet.

“What’s – oh, she’s asleep,”

Your shoulder ached from lying on it weird.

The talking turned into whispers and was followed by footsteps that moved into the kitchen. When you looked with a squinty eye, you saw the TV was still on, but had been muted.

You'd had dinner over at Mark's, and Poppy had gone out with Joe. That was always the way it was; you and Mark were people who stayed in wearing comfy outfits, had simple meals and enjoyed shitty TV together. Poppy and Joe would go out in shiny outfits to shiny restaurants where they had shiny meals, you were sure.

No drinks after, though. Not tonight. Tomorrow she had her appointment at a wedding boutique, and you'd been invited to come along as well. You and Poppy were friends, after all, and she valued your opinion when it came to wedding dresses over Joe's anyway.

It was dark out, and you tried remembering if it had already been dark before you'd drifted off as you stretched your arms up over your head.

You were so toasty warm underneath the throw blanket, you groaned at the prospect of having to put your shoes back on and go outside for the trek home.

A sudden noise jump-scared you, and you were quick to pull in both arms close to your chest as your head snapped to where it came from.

Joe was stood in the doorway.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,"

"Oh my God," you spoke on an exhale, rubbed your face with both hands, and mentally cursed Joe for shocking you awake like he had.

Had he been stood there the whole time?

"Good morning?" you could hear him suppress a laugh, making fun of you as you sat up. Hair everywhere, sleep in your eyes and muscles all achy.

"It's night time," you corrected him dryly, not in the mood to play.

"Correction, it's not even 9, the evening's barely started."

Oh.

It felt like it was past midnight. But you shrugged, because it didn't really matter, and reached for one of your shoes that you pulled out from underneath the coffee table.

"Won't you... won't you have trouble getting to sleep later? Now that you've slept already?"

You frowned. Why was Joe trying to have a chat with you? Could he not go join Mark and Poppy in the kitchen and let you come back into your own body in some peace and quiet?

"I'll be fine," you pushed a foot into your second shoe. "I love a good nap."

A silence fell, and when you'd tied your shoe laces, you slapped your knees and took a deep breath. You looked at Joe who was still awkwardly hovering in the doorway, feet on the threshold, and you looked at him as if to ask, what do you want?

"Um, we... we came up with an idea," Joe started, scratching the back of his head.

"Small change of plans. We're turning the bridal shower into a wedding shower,"

You were glad that this was wedding-related, because it immediately normalised the conversation Joe was trying to have with you. You took a second to think it over, and then smiled an impressed smile at Joe.

"Well done," you nodded at him with your eyebrows raised. "Isn't that just a regular party, then?"

"Yea," Joe shrugged a little bashfully. "Pre-wedding party, everyone's invited, not just Poppy's guests,"

And no playing stupid bridal shower games, or stupid bridal shower activities... you were onto Joe. It was very clear that this was a way to minimize his workload and instead, just... drink.

Honestly, you didn't mind it.

"We thought it'd be nicer that way. Get everyone excited for the wedding,"

"No, yea... you're right. It probably will be nicer to have a normal party instead of playing the newly wed game, or some wild form of mad lips with their vows, or whatever,"

"Loo roll bride," Joe added.

"We could still do that, park Pop in the middle of the dance floor and dance around to wrap her up," you quipped, and got a huffed laugh out of Joe.

It was almost normal, until Joe's head turned and Mark's voice got into earshot. Joe immediately tensed up, you could see it in his shoulders, and you didn't understand why it offended you the way it did.

"Brilliant idea! We've managed to find a date that works for us," Mark said, revealing what they'd been up to, and it prompted Joe to step away to go and find Poppy.

Mark looked at you and turned on the ceiling light, washing the room in bright white. It made you flinch a little.

"Hey, twitchy-feet, you slept for nearly two hours,"

"I feel very well rested," you said, grinning at the nickname and getting up from the sofa.

"Kicked me several times,"

"You can take it,"

Finding your coat over the back of a chair, you slung it 'round and stuck one arm in after the other.

"You ready for tomorrow?" you called out loudly, and waited for a response from the kitchen.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Poppy called back.

"I was born ready," you grinned.

"No, you weren't," Mark said softly so only you could hear. "You were born five weeks premature, you–" you punched him in the arm as you stepped past him into the hallway.

"I'm so ready, I'll bring all of my opinions," you joked when you saw Poppy walk over, followed closely behind by Joe.

"Good, I'm going to need them."

"I'll bring mine too," Joe said, but earned an immediate scoff from his friend.

"No, leave those at home, you're just there for moral support. You need to tell me I look pretty in everything, and then I'll let the women be honest with me," Poppy said and you saw how they made eye-contact for a second.

It was wild how they looked in love when they locked eyes like that.

You snuck a quick glance at Mark to see if he noticed anything, but he had his phone out and you saw he had his agenda open, busy putting in when the wedding shower would be.

"I'm heading out," you broke their stare and all eyes turned to you.

"Me too," Joe said, and that immediately shot panic into your veins. You didn't need Joe walking you home again.

"Actually," Mark said, "I could use your help with something," And with a hand on his shoulder, Mark turned Joe back towards the kitchen.

"Bye," you called, and Mark waved a hand over his shoulder without looking back.

You didn't know if your face had given you away, if you'd been obvious about it, or if Mark had just sensed it within you, but you were grateful. Grateful you got to slip out of the house by yourself, void of any awkward embarrassing interaction with Joe. Just a small tiny wave for Poppy that got a bright smile of hers in return, and the door shut behind you.

Nice.

You could save all the tension for the next day. You just hoped it wouldn't get too weird. Tomorrow was going to be all about Poppy, anyhow. There wasn't going to be any room for Joe to be distant and weird with you.

At least, that's what you thought.

The next day, you all met up outside the boutique. Poppy, her mother, her auntie who doubled up as her godmother, and her daughter, Poppy's favourite cousin. And Joe. Of course, Joe was there too.

The six of you were sat down on one large sofa, everything pristine white, very clean, and obviously very expensive. You didn't sit next to Joe, even though out of everyone in Poppy's entourage you knew him best. It just, it was a little weird. In this group, you had known Poppy the shortest, and were only her friend by association. Originally, anyway.

After introductions to the bridal consultant of who you all were to Poppy, Poppy got whisked off fairly quickly to have a look at some dresses and to immediately try the first one on.

Waiting whilst she got dressed took ages.

Poppy's aunt and cousin took the time to look at dresses in the storefront, to see if they could find ones they thought would look good on Poppy. Joe buried himself in his phone, which was interesting, because you knew he wasn't on social media, so what the fuck was he even doing? Playing games?

It left you and Poppy's mum to talk.

"I've always wondered," she said, kind eyes all crinkled as she smiled at you.

"Of course we know Joe," she turned and curled a hand around his wrist. Joe smiled at her for a second, far more comfortable around her than you were. Which, yea, made sense. She might as well have been his mother.

"And we know Mark, but we don't really know you, do we? I've never heard how you and Mark became such close friends,"

Oh God.

This definitely felt like a protective mother making sure her daughter wasn't going to marry an unreliable man. One who didn't secretly have a girl on the side. One that didn't hide his mistress in plain sight.

You kind of understood, though. This all came from a good place, even if you could see that the smile you got from her was now very obviously a fake one. Or, perhaps not fake, but definitely wary.

Then you saw Joe put his phone down and direct his attention to you as well. A strange grin took over his face.

He scooted his hips forward a little, getting more comfortable as his legs spread wider. He was ready to listen to a story.

"Oh, well," you waved a hand, making it seem like you and Mark were surface level mates. "Nothing crazy, we just met at school and became fast friends."

It wasn't a direct lie. Not really.

It just wasn't an answer to the question she asked.

Joe narrowed his eyes at you and then frowned a little.

"You and Poppy met at school, didn't you?" Poppy's mum turned back to Joe, who immediately smiled at her and nodded. "Year 4," Joe added, and it was wild to see how fond she was of him.

Poster boy Joseph.

Probably the perfect son-in-law in her eyes. You wondered how much she despised that Joe wasn't the one marrying her daughter. How much she wanted Joe to be a true part of her family.

Instead she'd gotten Mark. And Mark came with an attachment.

You.

"Mark and I met when I was 14, and, you know him," you said, unsure if she actually did. "One big, kind softie."

The two of you laughed. Bonded over the fact that Mark was hardly soft - he could easily intimidate with just a simple look. He could be soft, sure. But he didn't look it.

Not the way that Joe looked soft, you thought.

The bridal consultant walked out and called everyone back to the sofa. Poppy was about to walk out in the first wedding dress she'd ever put on her body.

This was a big moment.

With everyone in position, Poppy got introduced all officially, and then she stepped out, dressed in an awful looking huge pile of tule that engulfed all of her. Absolutely ate her alive. She looked excited, but very self-conscious.

Her mother clapped in her hands excitedly and was already close to tears.

You looked at Joe who, Jesus Christ, looked absolutely smitten.

What was fucking wrong with him?

Poppy's aunt and cousin had huge big smiles on their faces and, oh my God, were you going to be the only one to tell her that you didn't like the dress on her at all?

Poppy got placed in front of a mirror and took a good look before she turned to face all of you.

"And?" Poppy questioned, eyes hopeful but terrified.

Her mother burst into tears.

Oh shit.

Joe immediately handed over a tissue from a box next to him.

"You look gorgeous," he said as he comforted Poppy's mum.

And she did look gorgeous. That wasn't the issue here.

Poppy got praised left right and centre, and you paid close attention to her face. For a moment you thought you weren't going to be able to give your honest opinion, because you saw her bloom, thriving on the kind words she was receiving from everyone.

However, when the consultant asked Poppy what she thought of it herself, Poppy turned back to look at herself in the mirror and hesitated.

Thank fuck.

Poppy made eye-contact with you in the mirror and gave you a questioning look.

"Pop, you look fantastic in white. Most beautiful bride. I'm being honest. Your skin looks like it's glowing, it's gorgeous... but, babe," you bit your lips into your mouth for a second, and considered the reaction you were going to get from the rest of the sofa.

"This dress looks awful,"

You saw heads snap towards you from your peripheral vision. You kept your eyes trained on Pop. Kind eyes. Real sympathetic ones.

The air was tense and you all waited for Poppy's reaction.

"I know," Poppy replied before she burst into laughter.

You could practically feel the whole sofa relax.

"It's not really your style, is it?" Poppy's cousin added.

"Far too cupcakey," Poppy said and scrunched up her nose as she picked at some tule and faffed with it to show what she meant.

"All right, less cupcakey, got it," the bridal consultant smiled.

The tone had been set. Good. You were glad. If everyone was just going to tell Poppy she looked great in every single dress, this whole appointment would be useless.

There was some more back and forth, people mentioning what they did like about the dress she was in, people adding how maybe this or that change would make it be more Poppy, and when Poppy disappeared into the dressing room to try on another dress, her mother reached a hand that grabbed onto your knee for a second.

"Thank you," this time you could see that her smile was sincere. "She deserves good friends like you."

You looked at Joe and couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. You were getting praised for being a good mate when Poppy's literal platonic soulmate was sat on the other side of her.

Joe eyes darted and only landed on you for a second.

Big cringe.

"Poppy deserves the world," you agreed. "And a beautiful dress," the cousin added, to which you all hummed and nodded. She really did.

Poppy tried on a few more dresses before she stepped out and was already in tears herself.

This was it.

It was the one.

Poppy knew it was the one, she could feel it in her bones and it radiated off of her.

She looked stunning.

Like, seriously stunning.

Mark was really fucking lucky.

It only took one look for her mother to start crying again, and before long, it was just you, Joe and the consultant with dry faces. Everyone else had tears streaming down.

"That's it," you said, and Poppy nodded with a shaky inhale and a wobbly smile. "That's the dress."

Her mother absolutely broke down then, and stood up to hug the girl in the beautiful white gown. It got quickly followed by her aunt who was trying her hardest not to let her mascara run, and Joe was just handing out tissues all 'round like his life depended on it.

He passed you one, which you took, but then held up questioningly.

"You're supposed to cry," Joe spoke out of the side of his mouth, his face in a faux panic over the fact that you weren't. He waved a hand in a small circle that was meant to say, hurry up with those tears, and it made you roll your eyes at him.

You stuck the tissue into your pocket and looked at the ladies stood by the mirrors.

This felt like a moment.

One you weren't part of. You weren't family, and you got the strong sense you were intruding.

The bridal consultant stepped back past the curtains that lead to the dressing room, and you thought she must have been thinking the same thing.

When Poppy's mother started talking about Poppy's birth, reminiscing about her sweet little baby girl, you knew you were right. Time to give them some space. You got up, excused yourself to Poppy's cousin who seemed to be drowning in self-pity over being single more than anything else, and escaped into the front of the store.

For a second you thought you could just busy yourself, looking through dresses, or whatever, but when you saw the door, some fresh air sounded divine.

It was nice out. Sunny. Slight breeze. Not very warm yet, but, the sun on your skin was bright enough to warm it.

You checked the time, and upon seeing how much time had already passed, you realised you were actually quite hungry. How bad would it be if you darted off get your hands on some food?

You didn't get to think about it long.

The door to the wedding boutique opened, and Joe stepped out.

Thinking that he'd been sent out to come and get you, you were about to tell him that you were just getting some fresh air and would be back inside in a minute. But then, Joe revealed a packet of cigarettes from a pocket and you realised he was joining you out on the pavement.

"Got a bit too emosh in there?" you asked.

Joe nodded as he took his first drag. A good, long one. He seemed insanely uncomfortable.

"I know it's a whole thing," Joe waved his hand around and made a stupid face. "But, fuck me, over five thousand pounds for a dress?"

Jesus fucking Christ.

Of course the dress Poppy was going to get was over five thousand pounds. Of fucking course.

Joe shook his head, and even though you agreed, you thought you had a little case of a pot calling a kettle black on your hands here. Joe looked like he was wearing designer pieces exclusively. He probably had gotten a lot of it for free, but retail value would easily be a couple thousand.

So, you wanted to defend Poppy a little.

"If she loves it, she loves it," you shrugged.

"Yea, no, of course,"

"And she looks great,"

"She does."

Joe was quick to just go along with you. Didn't want to ruffle any feathers. He was but a man, one who didn't really get it, but the ladies inside were really going through something together, and when Joe saw you sneak away, he'd followed your lead and had done the same.

"Poppy's got nice family,"

You'd only briefly seen her mother once, but had never actually spoken to her before. Her aunt and cousin were completely strangers to you, but they honestly did seem lovely.

"She does," Joe said, and he let another silence follow as he looked down the street, away from you.

Jeez, Joe. Come on, put some effort in.

"Though her mother definitely doesn't trust me," you couldn't help the slight chuckle at yourself.

Joe's eyes found yours, and he huffed a laugh as he exhaled thick white smoke that immediately blew upwards.

"Nah," he started, "She's all right,"

You looked down at your feet a moment.

"It didn't help that you pretended you barely even know Mark at all," Joe reminded you, and you looked up at him, about to share that she did say that Poppy deserved friends like you, but something about the way Joe was looking at you made the words linger in your lungs.

"What was that about?"

In all the years that you and Joe had avoided conversations like these, suddenly, it felt like the most natural thing between you.

To be talking about your friends like this.

You wondered what changed.

"I... I could tell you, but, I need to warn you. I might cry."

Joe didn't say anything. Just smoked.

"Is being in the vicinity of four crying women not enough?"

It was meant as a joke, but you knew that even just thinking about the start of your friendship with Mark could make your throat hurt.

"No? Need one more?"

You hid your smile badly, but you poked Joe right where it hurt. Joe thought he'd said something wrong and immediately backed off. You thought he either didn't get social cues, just in general, or that maybe you'd been right before, and Joe really didn't actually like you. He'd just tried to be nice for Poppy's sake.

You couldn't even be mad. That just made him a good friend. It just sucked that you had to bear the brunt of it.

But you were kind, remember? So after a short moment of silence, you decided to just tell him anyway.

"When I was 14, my, um... experience, with boys, and honestly, too many adult men, was very..."

You forgot that having to tell him meant you had to say the actual words. Verbalise them. Speak them into the air, just... outside, where you were stood on the pavement, for strangers to hear. For Joe to hear.

"How can I put this without it sounding too dramatic... basically, any time a boy was friendly to me, and I thought I'd made a friend, it was... it was never just friendly. There was always a point where suddenly, they wanted to put their sweaty little teenage hands in... places,"

Oh God, you couldn't look Joe in the eye for this.

"And I don't know, it just... if every time you think you've made a friend you end up finding out that they aren't actually a friend, it um... fucked me up, a little bit,"

You were going to brush over the adult men you mentioned.

"Not to mention the way that you'd then get treated after when you'd kindly say, no thanks, I'd like us to remain friends, please,"

You recalled the way they'd speak to you. Would look at you. Like you'd personally done them a great disservice. Like not letting them touch your tits was the most vile thing you could've ever done to them.

"Adult men?"

Fuck.

Joe's voice couldn't sound smaller if he'd tried.

"Yea, you know... just," you shrugged. Eyes down. This was just what things were like. "Teachers who would squeeze your shoulder for a second too long when they'd reassure you that you really were a beautiful young girl, or, my dad's coworkers that would comment on them being disappointed I wouldn't be in my schooluniform if they'd visit on the weekends,"

"Fucking hell,"

"It's whatever," you kick stomped a foot into the pavement. "It's not like I was molested or anything,"

Joe didn't say anything.

"But so, I'd turned down one of Mark's classmates who couldn't really deal with that and tried to spread rumours, you know, just... teenage boy behaviour, no offence,"

Joe thought back to his own teenage years. Of classmates calling girls lesbians because they avoided kissing them at a park gathering over the weekend. Or them calling girls slags for the exact same reason.

"Mark just... Mark decided to become my friend, and then, actually became my friend. It took me ages to trust that he wouldn't one day try to roll onto me to make out. I just... I kept waiting for him to make a move and the longer it took, the more I knew the world would burn when he eventually would–"

"Pocket," Joe suddenly said.

"Huh?"

"You've got... the tissue I gave you, you put it in your pocket,"

Oh shit. You were crying. A stupid laugh escaped you and you were quick to find the crumpled up piece of tissue.

"I'm all right, honestly," you said, unable to not laugh at yourself. "It's just... it's dumb how much it meant for me to find a friend who wasn't romantically interested in the slightest,"

"I don't think that's dumb,"

Joe looked at you with impossibly big, rounded eyes. All full of things like... empathy, and softness. Zero judgment.

"Well. It is." You concluded. Last thing you needed was for Joe to feel sorry for you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that being betrayed and backstabbed a lot as a young girl means that– like, obviously that does– that's not, it's not dumb,"

Joe was going to have to stop talking if he didn't want you to break down right in front of him.

"It's– I think it's profoundly human that those type of things have an impact. Things like that leave marks, don't they?"

The sob that wretched itself from you was the worst thing your body had ever done to you in public. In front of Joe, no less.

It made you duck into yourself, and Joe's arms were around you in an instant. You imagined that Joe hugging you would be arms barely there. Body held back. Just, soft pats on a shoulder blade for just a second.

But it was none of that.

Joe's arms held a lot of strength. Squeezed your ribs tightly. Compressed you. A large palm covered the entire back of your head as he pressed it into the space below his chin.

It somehow eased everything immediately.

Joe smelled nice.

Was warm.

"It's not dumb," Joe started, his voice all soft and velvety. "You're–" but then a loud knock on glass interrupted him and made the two of you turn your heads to see Poppy stood in front of the window. Crying.

The two of you looked at each other, and Poppy's face only scrunched up more at the sight of you.

"Look at her," you said to Joe as he let you go and you didn't even wait for him to finish was he was about to say to you. You rushed inside where Poppy and you fell into a massive hug.

"Are you all right?" she hiccuped through a whisper.

"I am," you smiled over her shoulder. "You just look so very beautiful, it's hard to bear,"

You got a wet laugh out of her before you pulled back.

"This is what you're going to be wearing, right?"

"This is the one," Poppy beamed, and the urge to hug her close overtook again.

By now Joe had made it inside, and you could see him look at the two of you from the side.

"Your wedding is going to be so gorgeous, you have no idea. I can't fucking wait," you said, and Poppy's grip around your neck tightened in excitement.

"It'll be the best day," you continued. "The weather will be lovely, and everyone you love is going to be there to witness you and Mark, saying yes to each other. It'll be beautiful, everyone will be so happy. Good vibes only."

"Don't," Poppy sniffled. "Please don't lose the rings,"

You immediately dropped your shoulders, and a few steps away, Joe let out a loud belly laugh.

You were quick to flip him off behind Poppy's back before pulling back out of Poppy's embrace. Your middle finger aimed at him only made Joe laugh louder.

"Of course I won't," you smiled sweetly at her.

"Trust me. I won't."

—

The Taglisted:

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(taglist currently full, sorry)

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