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kiwisbell · 7 months

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Whiskey Sour

chapter six: dark 'n' stormy

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 9.1k

a/n: please know that i hate writing angst and that you will always - always! - get a happy ending from me. never forget that an epilogue is to follow :') pls forgive me you know i love you xx

chapter 6: dark 'n' stormy

Learning.

The music pounds your ribs like chisels and your vision lags a little. You're only on your second drink, but you don't make a habit of imbibing—which is why you feel like your body is floating above everybody else, watching the night take hold.

The club is dark and humid with the crowd of bodies, and the air smells sickly sweet: something that clings to your collarbones and the back of your neck. The Tequila Sunrise in your hand is slick with condensation. Next to you, Sonya and Leigh alternate between grinding on one another and pulling you into a dance with the pair of them. As much as you're unqualified as a club dancer and the alcohol is making you spin, it’s fun. You’re having fun.

You take a shot of vodka at the bar with Steve, Sonya, and Liam, then a shot of Jager with Steve and Leigh. Your steps are wobbly by the time you need to use the bathroom for the first time, dragging Sonya inside with you. It's hot. It’s way too hot. You need another drink.

You burst into a fit of giggles when the door hits your ass as it swings shut. You're laughing so hard that tears stream down your face and you have to grab Sonya to steady yourself. “My dress is so tight!” you shout at her over the blaring music.

Sonya whoops, twirling you like you're both doing a ballroom dance. “But you look sooo sexy!”

You bring her into a hug. “You need to stop being so nice to me. I’ll cry!”

“You’re already crying!”

“I know,” you sniffle. “I just… I love you.”

“Are you kidding? I love you,” Sonya cries, swaying with you in the hug.

“Didn't we come in here to pee?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

You both get in line behind two other girls and compliment the girl in front of you on her silver sequinned dress. She beams at you, rosy-faced and unfocused, and brings you into a hug, too. “Oh, my God, you're so nice.”

You really love being hugged.

You and Sonya touch up your faces in the mirror when you're finished and make sure you don't look like you've been crying, heading back out into the club.

At the bar, you and Steve sit next to each other while waiting for your next round of shots. In contrast to you, he seems pretty alert, still sporting that boyish smile. His hair is only a little tousled. He's a handsome young guy.

He just can't compare to the handsome man who's waiting for you at the end of the night. Joel is so…

You can't tell Steve about Joel. You can't tell anyone about Joel. But you want to hop up onto the bar and proclaim to the world that you've got a strong, gentle, good man to go home to. That he's what you've wanted your whole life. That he's it for you.

“To passing chemistry,” you announce instead, “with flying colours!”

“Grounded colours,” amends Steve. “Cheers!”

You clink your shot glasses together, slam them down on the bar, then toss them back. There's perhaps a bit too much alcohol in your system now, but it feels good. It's good to let go.

“Where's your boyfriend?” asks Steve, shouting a bit so you can hear him over the music. “I would think he'd like to see you in a dress like this.”

You are wearing the blue dress you told Joel about: it's the colour of summer sky, short and tight, complete with a pair of strappy silver heels. “Who said anything about a boyfriend?”

Safe answer, you think, rewarding yourself with a mental pat on the back. Indirect. Steve scoffs. “Please. You're never home.”

“And how do you know that?” you ask challengingly. How does he know? “I thought I was”—you hiccup—“being discreet.”

“A girl like you's gotta have a boyfriend,” says Steve.

A girl like you? What does that mean? Didn't you just ask him how he knew how often you were home? “You're being confusing. And I’m supposed to be relaxing.”

Steve slides a Cosmo under your nose. “For putting up with me the whole term.”

You lift your brows at him. “You bought me a drink?”

“I bought you a drink.” His eyes glimmer with amusement. “Looks like you're not in dire straits, though.”

“No, no, my dad likes that band. I’m a Britney girl myself.”

As you lift the drink to your lips, there's a hand on your arm, steering you toward the dance floor. You nearly drop your Cosmo in the person’s haste, and you nearly topple over with dizziness when you whip your head around to see who's holding onto you.

“Liam?” You peer through the darkness at him. His lips are pressed into a grim line, and he looks a lot more sober than you. “What are you—”

“Don’t drink that,” he says, indicating the Cosmo in your hand. “He put something in it.”

What?

You blink hard and fast like it's going to clear your blurring vision. Liam’s still in front of you, not a hallucination, scraping a hand through his hair, his eyes a little frantic. He looks truly distressed.

“Who, Steve?” You eye the drink. Steve wouldn’t… He’s—he’s nice. He’s never tried anything. He wouldn't drug you. “Are you—”

“Yes.” And he seems so earnest that it frightens you. Your stomach drops into your heels. “Please,” he says. “Don’t drink it.”

The Cosmo slips from your hand and crashes onto the dance floor.

Glass shatters around people’s feet. A few club-goers shuffle away from the mess but largely continue to dance, while your vision rapidly sharpens. A cold sweat washes over you.

This isn't happening.

“Liam,” you gasp, grabbing onto his arm, “I need to get out of here.”

It's too hot. You're dizzy. Gasping for lungfuls of air, you feel the air in the room push down on your shoulders. Liam keeps his distance as he steadies you on the way to the door, but you can't feel his hands on your arms. You can't feel a thing.

“Hey!” It’s Steve, behind you, shouting your name. “Why are you leaving?”

You can’t turn. If you look at him, you'll break. You’ll cleave in two.

“You”—Liam pokes Steve square in his chest—“stay the fuck away.”

Steve slaps Liam’s hand away and gives him a hard shove. “Hey, listen, I don’t know what your fuckin’ problem is, but we were having fun.”

“Fun?” Liam shouts. “Does the fun come before or after whatever you were about to do with her?”

“Fuck you, man!”

“Is it true?” Your voice sounds like a separate entity. “Did you put something in my drink?”

Steve scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Please. You think I’d do that?”

“Did you?”

You try to sound strong, uncompromising. But you're drunk, wobbly, and miserable. And he was going to take advantage of you despite all of it.

“This is bullshit. Your little fuckin’ dog is setting you up.” Steve aims to shove Liam again, but the latter retaliates with a crack of his fist across Steve’s jaw.

“You’re fucking dead, Baker,” growls Steve.

“I wish you were fucking dead,” returns Liam. “Fucking rapist piece of shit.”

You can hear them both, but the sounds are muffled, like you're just below the water’s surface. You clutch your heart with your open hand and hear your father’s voice.

Can you imagine a nice, slow heartbeat?

You do. You try.

Just imagine you've got my heartbeat. Take it from me.

He's stronger than you. Everyone is stronger than you.

You're grateful. It's how you can steady your pulse slowly enough to throw yourself out of the club, onto the street, and stumble down the block until you can find a payphone. You’re already tugging at the straps of your heels before you climb into the booth and dig through your clutch for a coin.

Take it from me.

Imagine a nice, slow heartbeat.

Do not fall apart.

“Joel,” you say softly, your hand trembling around the receiver. “Joel, are you there?”

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice isn’t groggy or irritated; he likely hasn't slept at all.

Just hearing his voice forces a pathetic sob out of your mouth, covering it quickly with your hand. “I, um…” You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head on the glass wall of the payphone. Don't cry. Don’t fucking cry. “I’m sorry it's so late.”

“Hey, hey.” His soothing voice prickles the hairs on your arms. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I…” You’re losing it: your ability to swallow your terror. It surges up your throat, racking tremors through your breath. “I’m at a club. It’s called The Rite Way. ‘Rite,’ like ‘of passage,’ not ‘right’ as in ‘right and wrong.’ It’s kind of stupid, but—”

“Sweetheart,” says Joel, patient in the midst of your rambling. “You gotta tell me what happened. Tell me what's wrong, okay? I’m right here. I’m listening.”

You can't bottle your cries in your throat anymore at his gentle coaxing. “Oh, God,” you sob into your palm. “Oh, God, Joel, he—he put something in my drink. I thought… I thought I could trust him, and he… Fuck, he was going to—”

His voice butts in, and it’s angry. “I’m comin’ to get you. Stay right there. Don’t move.”

You've never heard him use that tone. He speaks so gently to you. This is rage: it's potent as poison and you somehow know it was the right choice to call him, anyway.

“I won’t.”

In fact, when the line goes dead, you clutch the receiver to your chest and hoard the booth while you quietly sob, tucked into the corner as if someone’s trying to break in. The sound of a sputtering truck engine, ten minutes later, makes you lift your head. You forget that you’re supposed to hang up the receiver and drop it like it’s turned to ice in your clammy hands. He’s getting out, parked illegally on the street, slamming the door hard and scanning the street.

He finds you right away.

“Baby,” he whispers, watching you step gingerly out of the booth with your heels dangling from one hand. “Oh, Jesus, baby, c’mere.” He ushers you into his arms and you practically leap off the curb to wrap yourself up in him, squeezing out your tears onto his chest. Joel cradles the back of your head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“He…” You hiccup, reeling from the dizzying amalgamation of being rather tipsy and sobered by the knowledge that a friend had betrayed your trust. “He was…”

He dips his chin and kisses the top of your head. “Shh, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me yet, sweetheart. Let’s get you home, first, okay?”

He helps you up into the passenger’s side and buckles your seatbelt for you. He's trying to assess your body for injuries without making a big deal of it, purposefully avoiding the tear tracks on your cheeks. A muscle in his jaw feathers when he spots a thin trickle of crimson on your ankle.

You never even noticed the blood.

“I…” You swallow. “I dropped the glass. It’s nothing.”

“It ain't nothin’.” Joel grips the steering wheel so tight you hear creaking leather. He could go back. He could storm right inside that club and beat the shit out of the kid. He wants to. But you're crying. Jesus, you're so sad, and he wasn't there. He's never there.

You rest your head on his shoulder and wind your arm around his. “Just take me home, Joel. Please.”

He peels away from the curb and runs a couple yellow lights on the way.

You don't let go of his hand as you both walk toward the bathroom. Joel is so careful with how he handles you, letting you sit on a chair from the kitchen as he gets on one knee in front of you, your wounded ankle up on his thigh. He wipes the tear stains from your cheeks and tends to the blood next, the first-aid kit on the floor next to him.

“Your knees will hurt,” is the first thing you say. Your voice is raw and used. You’re still a little drunk, but he's perfectly clear. You can see every strand of hair on his head, every different shade of brown in his eyes.

“I’m all right,” he says softly, cleaning off the dried blood. The glass from your Cosmo only sliced you, and the cut is shallow, but he frowns down at it like it's down to the bone.

“Joel…”

“I wasn't there.” He says it through his teeth, his grip on your good leg tightening. “If I had been… I should be with you when you wanna go out and have fun. I should be dancin’ with you, and I should be the one who’s there when somethin’ goes wrong.”

“You couldn't have known,” you tell him, taking the washcloth from his hand. “I didn't… I didn't think he could… well, you know.”

Joel applies a bandage to your ankle and tucks himself a little closer to you, lifting up your chin with his thumb. “No, you couldn't have known. You handled everything so well, sweetheart.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you say with a mirthless laugh. “I just ran. Didn't even tell anyone. Left Liam there to deal with… with—”

Your breath shudders on the way in, and Joel clicks his tongue to get your attention. “I know, baby. And you did everything right. You called me. You got out.”

“I never used to run,” you tell him. “I used to deal with all my problems head-on. I probably could've punched his lights out. I could've done more. I just…” You shake your head, averting your gaze. “He was a friend.”

Joel’s trying to blink the red mist from his eyes. Some fucker took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you finally decided to let loose and trust someone. He ruined your night. He put that frown on your face. He was going to take you somewhere Joel couldn't find you, and violate your body. Your beautiful, sacred body. He would have done it without regret. And you would never remember a thing. You’re fucking drunk, and he was going to rape you.

Joel wants to kill him. No, he wants to lock him up in a fucking storage unit and torture him. He wants him to feel so much pain that skin becomes blood and blood turns to fire. He wants to do it all himself. No singular agony is sufficient.

He’s never felt such rage before. It's like twisting the apple from the tree. His organs are all twisted up, and only drawing blood from the bastard’s filthy fucking body will reorient them.

“I want you to look at me,” he rasps, shuffling forward so he's on his knees between your thighs. You watch him wearily as he caresses your cheek. “Good. Can I tell you somethin’?”

You nod.

“When I was your age,” he begins, “I wasn't in college. I held down a job at the farm. I was goin’ nowhere. One night, Tommy calls me, askin’ for me to come pick him up from jail. He was three sheets to the goddamn wind, and decided to pick a fight at the bar. I was so mad. I wanted to beat the shit out of him, but in the truck, he broke down. Told me the asshole started talkin’ shit about our mom, our dad, our whole family. It was a small town. Way before Austin.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to go back to the bar just to finish the fuckin’ thing, take out the guy for good. But I had to get my brother home. Nothin’ else mattered.

“You can't solve all the world’s problems, sweetheart,” says Joel. “Sometimes, you gotta run to what's comfortable. Let other people handle the shitty parts.” He swipes a rogue tear from your cheek. “Will you let me be what's comfortable for you?”

Your fingers curl around his wrists as you give him a soft, weak smile. “How many times has your brother been to jail?”

Joel huffs. “How many hands you got?”

You laugh. It's raw and unsteady, but it isn't pain. It isn't misery. “You’re already what’s comfortable, Joel Miller.”

Later that night, you're curled up on his bed with half of your body covering his, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you doze. Showered, dried, and dressed in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, you've taken to the warmth of his body to help you sleep. Joel doesn't mind. He plays absentmindedly with your hair, his other hand occupied with stroking your thigh, which you've hitched up onto his torso.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the unanswering room. “I’m sorry I wasn't there, baby.”

You stir just enough that your nose brushes the heart-shaped patch on his beard, a soft sigh leaving your mouth. But you don't respond, your eyes still closed, your face still serene. Joel knows the morning will hit you harder than the night. He knows he has business to take care of.

And he knows that your body against him, seeking his comfort, is a heaven that Joel Miller could never hope to deserve.

You feel like shit, and everything hurts.

You're not new to hangovers, but it's been long enough that you forgot about the shakes. The nausea. The aches. You shield your eyes from the light in the hallway as you stumble into the bathroom and frantically splash water over your face. Gently smacking your cheeks a couple times to jolt yourself awake, you squint your way downstairs, looking for Joel.

You expect him to be gone. It’s close to ten, and he usually gets jobs on the weekends. But he's in the kitchen, fumbling his way through an omelette on the stove.

You slump into a chair at the table and throw your head into your arms. “My kingdom for an Advil,” you groan.

Joel abandons the stove for a moment to bend over you and press a kiss to the top of your head. Two little pills clatter onto the table next to you, along with a glass of orange juice. “You don't drink orange juice,” you croak, blinking up at him.

“You do,” he says simply. “Go on. I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.”

“If I throw it back up,” you say, “it's nothing against you. I very much love that you cooked for me.”

“I know, baby.” He kisses you again. “Drink.”

You swallow the pills with a mouthful of orange juice and watch him while he cooks. His hair is gently tousled, he’s dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, and his back muscles ripple with the subtle movements of his arms as he works. He’s got a cup of coffee next to him on the counter. “I wish you could’ve been there, too,” you say suddenly, your voice still weary. “I wish we could have danced together.”

Joel’s heart squeezes. “I can’t dance,” he says.

“I can teach you how. We’ll go together someday.”

It’s the promise of something that can never happen that has Joel turning off the burner, flipping the omelette onto a plate, and approaching you with his hand outstretched. “All right, then,” he says, lifting a challenging brow, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

You make a sound of exasperation. “I didn’t mean now. I can barely see through the migraine.”

Joel reaches for the pair of aviators he left on the table and slips them gently onto your nose. “We’ll take it slow.”

You take his hand. “You keep your hand here,” you say, guiding it around to your lower back. You lace your fingers together on his other hand. “And if you feel fancy, you can twirl me.”

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling. “And if I wanna keep you right here?” he says, punctuating his words by spreading his hand over your back and pressing you closer to him.

“You lose points for style,” you tease, “but I like it, anyway.”

“Don’t think they dance like this in the club,” he chuckles.

“No, but this is better.” You rest your cheek on his chest. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Joel sways gently with you. “How’s it sound?”

You hum. “Strong.”

“You drive me crazy, that’s why.” His voice rumbles in his chest. It dulls the constant ache in your temples. “I like you too damn much.”

It crescendos. It swells in your ribcage, expanding your lungs, joy and serenity. So much affection that it sticks to your throat on its way out. “I really like you, too, Joel,” you whisper.

When he pulls away, his eyes are shiny with a thin sheen of water. With a slow, deliberate, near-trembling hand, he lifts the glasses to the top of your head and tilts up your chin. He nudges his nose against yours before he kisses you, aligning your palms and fingers together. His hand dwarfs yours, and it’s warm.

Your mouth is a little chapped and your head still pounds, but he feels so good. He guides you, as he always does, the hand on your back an anchor that brings you down through the earth to its very core. He holds you like you’re the precious centre of the world, of the very galaxy, a little orb of light that will shatter if dropped. Joel cannot, in fact, picture a world that does not have you in it. He doesn’t want to.

Neither of you register the sound of a key in the front door, nor the soft clicking of the lock as it closes. But you do hear the noise of a bag dropping to the floor, as if in shock.

It’s your father, standing in the doorway. “What the fuck?”

To his credit, Mike doesn’t walk right up to Joel and punch him in the jaw.

The two of you split apart like positive charges, smoothing down your hair as Joel rakes his fingers through his locks. Both of you are flushed and all three of you are, undoubtedly, mortified. Your father looks helplessly between you and Joel. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “What… I… When did—”

“Dad, please.” Your voice is so small, and you feel like a child again. “Please, just listen.”

“Listen? I—” He runs his hands over his face and then braces one in the doorway. He looks ashen. “I don’t… What the fuck?”

Neither you nor Joel say a word, and it seems to make him angrier. He storms right up to Joel and shoves him hard in the chest. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing with my daughter?” he demands. “Did you force yourself on her? Did you—”

“Hey!” You leap forward and pry him off Joel. “That is not fair.”

He rounds on you, his jaw clenched. You can see the vein in his neck protruding. “How long has this been going on?”

Joel’s slight movement toward you is minute, his hand twitching in your direction. “Mike, listen—”

“How. Long?” he says with a growl.

“Since the night my car broke down,” you say evenly. “You weren't home, so I went to Joel’s. We…” You swallow thickly and let him put together the rest.

Mike stumbles backward. “September?” His eyes slide murderously toward Joel. “My best friend has been fucking my daughter since September, and I didn't know about it?”

“Take it down, man,” warns Joel. “You're mad. I get it…”

“Mad. Mad is getting the wrong order of material for a job. Mad isn't this. This”—he points between you and Joel—“is the two people closest to me in the world going behind my back. This ain't mad, Joel.”

“We both made choices,” says Joel carefully, lifting his hands like he's trying to ward off an approaching bear. “Neither of us did this to hurt you, Mike. We just… just—”

“What? Like each other?” Mike scoffs. “There are a million other people in the world you could decide to like.”

He's right, of course. Both of you know it. You've even delighted a little in the illicit nature of it all, sneaking around so the pair of you could have a little peace in a pocket of the world that was all your own. “It's not just that,” you cut in. “Joel makes me happy, Dad.”

“Joel is old enough to be your father,” Mike shouts.

Joel winces. Nobody, not ever, should raise their voice at you. “Don’t—”

“But you're my father, aren't you?” Your voice is getting louder, your tone wobbling as you approach tears. You never used to cry this much . “And you were never there. You weren't then, and you certainly weren't when you could have noticed us and you never did. You have no right to a say in who I have feelings for. You didn't even care enough to be my dad until my mom was already dead.”

The air rings with the abrupt silence when you finally let it all go. Your father looks close to a stranger with the way he stares right through you, his face a cool mask, betraying any sympathy he may have beneath. You take it as a sign that this is over.

All of it is over.

You dare to glance Joel’s way, but he's looking at the floor. Not even trying to reach you as you breeze past both of them and shut the front door behind you.

And he lets you go.

Joel regrets it the second you leave. The dread and the terror sit heavy in his chest. His oesophagus burns. It stings behind his nose, and he’s never wanted to cry the way he does now.

I’m in your corner.

For as long as you want me there.

Yeah. He’s no more than a fucking coward.

He will never shed the image of your sad, hopeless expression as you realised Joel would not fight for you when you needed it. To fight for both of you.

“She's wearing your clothes,” says Mike. There's no emotion left in his voice. Just resignation.

“Yeah.”

Last night, he told you he would be your comfort. He’s told you time and time again that you deserve someone who will be there when you don't want to be there for yourself. That you don't have to make sacrifices. That you deserve happiness.

How can a man like him be your happiness when he can't even lift his head up and beg you to stay? One look at real trouble and he froze. He shut down.

Mike shakes his head, not meeting his eye. “You're sick, Joel. This is fucking sick.”

“You're outta line, Mike,” says Joel, feeling the fire in his throat surge up suddenly. “You’ve known her for, what, a couple months? Do you know what she likes? Do you know how much she's been struggling? Why she can't sleep? Jesus, do you care about anything besides fixing your own guilty goddamn conscience?”

Mike’s brows draw together. The rage burns again in his eyes. “Now you're out of line, Joel,” he says. “You don't know her any better.”

Will you let me be what's comfortable for you?

“Yeah?” Joel steps forward. “You know why I was with her last night? This morning? Do you even know?”

I really like you, too, Joel.

“Of course I don't know.” Mike tries to stay angry, but Joel can see it give way to concern. The fatherly concern he knows is there.

“Some guy she thought was a friend put a roofie in her drink. She nearly drank it.” Joel lifts his brows in challenge. “You know who she called?”

I don't know what happiness is.

He does know. Now, he's certain of it.

“I’m gonna find the kid,” says Mike, slamming his palm down hard on the dining table. “I’m gonna fucking kill the kid. Who the fuck does he think he is, hurting my goddamn daughter?”

Joel understands. The memory of your tear-stained, distraught face makes the rage swell up again, the thick and honeyed promise of pain interlocking into a tedious tapestry.

“You hurt her, too,” says Joel plainly. “And I hurt her. And the whole world has only ever hurt her. Take a look at everything’s she's gone through and reconsider if pushing her away for a choice she made will be worth it down the line.”

Mike sinks down onto the chair you occupied just an hour ago.

“I just…” He rubs his hands down his face. “I just can't help but think about all the other times. All the times she was hurt and I wasn't there.”

He knows the feeling.

“She's been hurt plenty,” says Joel. “And she's strong.”

“She shouldn't have to be,” Mike returns. “She's young, Joel. She's got a whole life ahead of her.” He looks up, helplessly, the anger gone altogether. “You had to have thought about it.”

“Yeah. I thought about it.” And yet, the guilt is an ember that bursts into nothing. It's a passing thing. It is engulfed by the want, the need, the admiration for everything that you are. “Way I see it: she had to grow up too damn fast. She's spent her whole life making decisions for other people. I was a decision she made herself.” Joel shrugs. “I ain't sayin’ it's right. But she deserves to decide what she wants, with her life.”

Mike is quiet for awhile. His elbows on his knees, he bounces his leg restlessly, and Joel knows he’s fighting the urge to run out the door and follow you. Beg for you to return. Beg for your forgiveness. Joel wants to do the exact same thing.

“You would've been good at it,” Mike says with a small, sobering laugh. “The whole dad thing. Better than me.”

“You’ve got time,” says Joel. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

When you get off the bus and walk up to your front door, Liam is waiting for you. His knuckles are scabbed over with blood. You can’t help but laugh, if a little hysterically.

“What the fuck,” you say through your tears, covering your mouth with your palm as you begin to sob. Liam surges forward and squeezes your arms.

“What the fuck,” he repeats, his mouth set in a sombre line even as he matches your mirthless laugh. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” you sniffle. “I just left you there. Sonya and Leigh…”

“Understand. They very much understand.” Liam guides you inside, offering you a tissue from the living room table as you both sink onto the worn couch. “And hey, I was happy to punch him in the face.”

You try to smile, but it just doesn’t work. You’re still vaguely hungover, cold from the journey home, and your whole body feels heavy. Cinder blocks strapped to your ankles. Mouth permanently tucked downward at the corners. Eyes tired and sick of shedding tears.

“What happened to him?” you dare to ask.

“Another guy at the bar saw him roofie your drink,” Liam explains. “He corroborated, and the bouncers chucked him out. Leigh called his parents, to make things worse. Sorry, better.”

You take a couple shallow breaths as the panic threatens to creep back up. “I have Chemistry on Monday.”

“Yeah,” says Liam. “So do I. So does Sonya and Leigh.” You frown at him, and he shrugs. “We have a free block. And if he has the balls to show up, we’d like to be there, too. Something tells me he won’t, just for the big-ass black eye I gave him.”

That just makes you cry a lot fucking harder. You drop your forehead onto Liam’s shoulder, your chest burning with the confusing pain of your misery and your affection for your friends. “I’m sorry I ever thought you were a creep,” you tell him.

“You thought I was a creep?” Liam says. “I didn’t think I made it obvious that I liked you.”

Your laugh is a bit more genuine this time around, but the tears are still flowing. “Liam, you followed me around the house like a puppy. You asked where I was going every day just to make conversation, even though you knew my schedule.”

Liam whistles lowly. “Jesus. That’s so fucking embarrassing,” he grumbles. “I hope Sam didn’t think I was a creep.”

“Sam?”

“My girlfriend.”

You jolt upright. “You have a girlfriend? How come you never told us?”

“It’s only been a month,” says Liam sheepishly, “and I sort of thought you hated me. You’ve pretty much been avoiding this house the last few months.”

You look down at your hands in your lap. “Yeah. I had someone, too. It was never you.”

“That someone got you somewhere safe last night?”

You’re touched by his concern as much as the memory of waking up in Joel Miller’s bed makes you ache. “Yeah. He did.”

“Good.” Liam stands up, offering his hand to you. “You look like shit. Let’s go get breakfast.”

You think of the omelette Joel cooked for you, how it’s lying cold and uneaten, probably in the garbage can. He’d never eat it himself. It was all for you.

Why couldn’t you stay? Why did you have to run away?

You take Liam’s hand after you wipe your tears away for the last time today. He doesn’t once ask about Joel. You have to thank him for that.

Steve does not show up on Monday, nor Thursday. He’s ceased all attempts at contact, it seems, and squirrelled away to lick his wounds. Probably try again with another poor girl. You can only hope she’ll have the attentive friends that you do.

You go to class. You go to work. You study. You sleep, sometimes. Most times, you’re trying to swallow your food even though it tastes like nothing. Liam announces one morning that Sam will be moving in by the end of the year. She’s an absolute sweetheart and Liam is smitten.

Something is missing in your life. The shape of his body lingers in your periphery. The colour of his eyes and hair are in the trees and the sky and the earth.

Two weeks pass and you don't see, hear from, or speak a word about Joel Miller.

You passed all your final exams with all the extra time you could pour into studying, no longer spending the night in his bed. Your landlord had guys set up a shiny new landline throughout the house, and your phone number changed with it. So, if he’s tried to reach out, you wouldn’t know about it. He doesn’t show up at your home. You don’t drive near his neighbourhood or try to find him in the bar when you work late nights. And you still see his face everywhere.

That, you can never change.

The Longhorns have miraculously turned the season around, and they’re looking strong for the national championship. They need two more victories to secure their place, so Sandy’s Bar is packed full tonight. It’s halfway through the second period, and they’re leading 21–0. Rob has hired another girl your age, Julie, to help out, and you took a quick liking to one another. The bartop was replaced last week with a sleek new cherry wood. The lighting is warmer inside. The season is changing, and it’s noticeably colder.

Rob notices—the way it takes more effort to smile nowadays, the way you stare off into space, the way you get dizzy sometimes because you’ve forgotten to eat—and he doubles down on his efforts to lift your spirits. He cracks more jokes, he gives you a two per cent raise for all the extra shifts you’ve taken on just to distract yourself, and he entertains you with stories on your breaks about his daughter’s hyperactive antics.

Tonight, Rob’s working the tables, and Julie’s helping you behind the bar. She’s good at her job. And you can throw yourself into it, polishing glasses until they look transparent and perfecting each pour. It helps not to think.

“Whiskey sour, please.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice.

While your mother was sick, you never cried in front of her. You simply were there for her, holding her hand at her bedside and sharing anecdotes and being a daughter. You were good at it. You’ve lost that. You’ve somehow, at some point, shed your talent for confronting the world with a stern look and a strong arm.

This isn’t fair.

You were trying to get better.

“What are you doing here?” It’s so embarrassing how terrible you sound: like wading through gravel.

“I came to beg,” says Joel.

You pour another pint for Joe, who’s got his eyes glued to the television screen down the bar. “That isn't funny, Joel,” you whisper, avoiding his eye.

Don’t let him see how much you’re hurting.

“I’m not jokin’.”

“You never order a whiskey sour.” Please just go. You’re only making it worse. “You don’t like sweet things.”

His eyes burn through your very soul the way they always have. They’re dark and warm and they make you feel like you’re the only person he’s ever truly looked at. “I’m tryin’ to change, I guess,” he says with a brief flash of a smile. “I tried to call, but I think I left a hundred messages on a dead line.”

Your throat is clogged. The corners of your eyes burn. “I’ll get that drink started for you.”

You turn your back to him once more, but he isn’t going to let you. Not this time.

“I should've fought,” he says to your retreating form. It makes you freeze all over again. “I should have clawed tooth and fuckin’ nail to get him to understand. But I didn’t. I let you go.” You turn to look at him, finally, and the look he’s giving you—an on-his-knees pleading look—makes your knees weak. “I said I’d be in your corner for as long as you wanted me there. I lied. I’m yours no matter whether you want me here or not. You’re it for me, baby.”

You swallow hard. It burns all the way down. You recall slow-dancing in his kitchen, kissing him in the bed of his truck, his hands in your hair as he attempted a braid that never worked out. Touching you, comforting you, defending you. Appreciating you. Telling you it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Telling you that you deserve to be fought for—that you don’t always have to be the one who fights.

“You're his best friend,” you say plainly, pouring the simple syrup into the shaker. “I told you once that I never wanted to jeopardise your friendship, and I meant that. I still do.” You add the bourbon, your vision sharpening to the task at hand. Mind sharpening to the cold truth. The right path. “So you should go.”

Don’t choose me.

Joel shakes his head, leaning in to get closer to you. You’re certain that some people are watching the intimate exchange, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. He’s only looking at you. “You’re the smartest, strongest fuckin’ woman I’ve ever seen. I have never known someone with so much life in her.” Every word is strong and rounded and so firm you almost start to believe it yourself. “Bein’ with you was like finally breathing, baby. I was stupid to ever think I could give you up.”

“Don’t.” It comes out as a croak. Your hands are shaking as you pour in the lemon juice. “I’m working. I can’t have this conversation with you.”

“Look at me. Please.” You blink hard to clear your vision and muster the courage to meet his dark eyes. “I need you. And I don’t give a fuck who sees or knows or looks at me the wrong way. I just need you. I need you here, with me, safe. Fuck, I want you happy.”

He can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re visibly weary, dark circles under your eyes, your cheeks a little sallow and your colour less bright. He wonders if you’ve slept as little as he has. If you’ve laid awake and stared at the ceiling, thinking about him, the way he has you. If you’ve noticed all the times he’s driven past your home just to see if he can catch a glimpse of a light turned on in your bedroom. If you’ve wondered if he’s been calling, trying to reach you. He has.

I’d hate to ever see you unhappy, Joel Miller.

“You once asked me if I was happy,” he says. “And I told you I didn’t know what happiness was. But it’s you. It’s being near you. It’s talkin’ to you on the phone, drivin’ out to the middle of nowhere with you, cookin’ with you even though I’m so fucking bad at it. You’re my happiness, baby. Only a fuckin’ coward like me would throw that all away—make you feel like you weren't worth it.

“Let me be with you. Let me make things right,” Joel pleads.

“He will never look at you the same,” you state, plain as day.

He needs you to understand. “He’ll never look at me the same no matter what. You've spent your entire life sacrificing the things you want for other people.” Joel watches your eyes flicker between his, choosing which one to look at. You’re so beautiful that it strikes him, hard and true as a lance. “Remember that day in the kitchen, when I told you about selfishness? It’s okay to want. It’s okay to put yourself first.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. You need him to understand. “When I called him the very first time, I was so scared. I was scared he would reject me, decide he didn't want a relationship after all. But he did, and that was even scarier. Because I thought of my mom, and the way she died without getting to say a proper good-bye. I can’t… lose him like that, Joel.”

“If your dad would rather see you like this than see you happy, he ain't your dad.” You’re so close, and he could touch you the way he wouldn’t even hesitate to mere weeks ago. But he doesn’t. “I’ll wait forever if that's what it takes, baby. But I want you to know, I—”

“Stop.” You shake the drink together to mix it until the outside is tearing up with condensation. “Just… stop. I’ll speak to him. But I—”

“—can’t just pick it back up again.” He watches you pour the mixture into a rocks glass to the perfect level. “I know that. Didn't I tell you I’d wait forever?”

And when he gets his first smile from you in weeks, it feels like loosening the shackles around his ankles and soaring up to the heaven he doesn’t deserve. “Here’s your drink,” you say softly, sliding it in front of him. No orange wheel. No sickly-sweet cherry. You know him, inside and out. “Have a good night, Joel.”

He indulges in the feel of your soft fingers brushing his knuckles when he takes the drink. Flashes of skin and lips and the honey-warm look in your eye when he used to make you happy. He’s going to earn that again. You turn your back and tend to another patron. The Longhorns make the field goal.

He knocks on your door first.

“I never should've let you leave,” he blurts out before you can open the door all the way. You can see his car parked on the street, but he still looks like he’s run all the way here, flushed and bounding with energy.

You blink. “I…”

“You’re my daughter. You're my family. I know I don't have the right to that title, not with the way I treated you, but I want to earn it. I want to do better.” He puts his hand to his heart, and you remember the first time he talked you down from an attack. “That starts with understanding. Knowing why it's you and him.”

When you let him inside and guide him toward the dining table in the kitchen, Sonya and Leigh, dozing together on the living room couch, jolt upright and scurry upstairs with a quick wave to your father. You’re grateful for the newfound quiet when you sit across from him. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.” You can see that he’s nervous, lacing his fingers together then unlocking them and repeating the actions all over again. “I… I should have come earlier. I called, but—”

“New number,” you explain.

“Oh.” He studies you from across the table, lingering on your hair, your eyes. You remember having to explain the precise colour to him over the phone. “We took a break from doing jobs together, for a bit. Me and Joel. He’d take Tommy, or I’d take Tommy. I think the guy felt a little used.”

You laugh, even though he eyes you carefully when he says Joel’s name. “I’m sure Tommy’s flattered.”

“We’re okay,” he says tentatively. “We are.”

You break eye contact first, tracing a groove in the table. “I was afraid of ruining that.”

“I know. You’re a selfless person.”

“If I were really selfless, I never would have been with him in the first place.”

“Then, you’d be miserable.” Your head shoots up to meet his gaze, and he pins you with a pointed state. “Am I wrong?”

Slowly, you shake your head.

“I don't promise to get it, honey,” he says. “But if I let you leave my life now, after all the time I've spent outside yours, I can't call myself a father. Will you let me try again?”

“You must know he came to see me.”

“I know,” he confirms. “That isn’t why I’m here. I’m here because my girl has been drowning in her own grief, just like when her mom died, and I wasn’t there to pull her out. I’m not doing that this time. I want to be someone you can go to.” He grimaces slightly. “I don’t want to be M.I.A. when your car breaks down because I’m out on a date.”

You lift your brows. “You were?”

“Her name’s Melissa.” He looks up at you and you can swear there’s a grin brewing behind those eyes. “She’s… a few years older.”

Your mouth drops open, the irony striking you like a slap across the face. “You hypocrite!”

He’s blushing so hard you can see it in the tips of his ears. “It’s my job to get angry when I find out my daughter’s dating!”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Fondly. “I’ve been making decisions for myself for a long time. I’ve been on my own a long time, too. And for the record, I’m happy for you. I’m sure Melissa is lovely.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “When you had the… incident at the bar, I didn’t even know it happened until Joel told me. I guess it hurt more than anything that you didn’t call me when it happened. You went to him. It just—it reminded me that I’m practically a stranger in your life.”

Guilt twists your stomach. You hadn’t even considered how it would feel for him to hear the news from a separate party altogether. “I’m so sorry,” you tell him, reaching for his hand. “You are not a stranger to me. It wasn’t fair of me to reach out to you and then never give you a chance to be let in on my life. I said things I’m not proud of that day, and I’m sorry.”

“What you said that day was right,” he says. “I never noticed. A dad should notice things.”

“We both fucked up,” you offer, “a lot.”

He brings your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. “I wanna be better, honey. I want to be able to look at the two of you and see what’s good about it, not what’s wrong.”

You sit up straighter. “There isn’t… We aren’t the two of us anymore. I—”

“You are not going to throw away what makes you happy because some people can’t understand it.” He squeezes your hands tighter. “You have lived your life alone for so long. I will not be the one who keeps you from being happy. You don’t think I see how terrible you look right now?”

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” you say with a wry smile. “Do I really look like shit?”

“With all my love, honey,” he says, “yes, you do.”

You laugh with him, and the knot around your stomach loosens. “So,” you prompt, “can I meet the cougar you’re dating anytime soon?”

He gently ruffles your hair, and it feels like a bridge has been mended. “Smartass.”

It’s two days from Christmas when Joel sees the note.

He and Mike are about to head out to Sandy’s before it shuts down for the holidays, but the rainstorm is bound to deter other patrons from doing the same. Truthfully, he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Since you’ve picked up more shifts at the bar, it’s unpredictable when you’ll be there, and even the briefest of glances will thrill him, satiate him. His blood yearns for you. His bones ache for your touch. Every day he’s apart from you feels like cracking down a chisel onto his chest. He’s going to split open soon.

The small, pink Post-It note is stuck to the countertop. Joel sets down his keys next to the note—he’s agreed to drive tonight—and spots your handwriting.

Dad—

Boxes all packed up. Rental truck will be here to pick up at seven. Thanks for dinner.

Joel crumples the note in his hand. You were here, not long ago, where he was standing. No. No, no, no.

You're leaving?

He doesn't wait around for Mike to finish showering. He sprints out to his truck in the pouring rain and peels away from the curb, eyeing the clock on his dash. 6:54.

He’ll make it. He has to.

Your neighbourhood is a ten-minute drive at most, but Joel makes it at precisely seven o’clock. There isn’t a rental truck in the driveway; it either hasn’t come yet, or you’ve left with it.

Joel nearly forgets to take the keys out of the ignition in his haste. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear it over the rain in his ears; it’s a cold and brutal wind that sends the rain hurtling down diagonally from the clouds. He races up to your front door and pounds on it.

You open the door, dressed so prettily in a pair of yoga pants and a cozy blue sweater, and you’re fucking beautiful. You’re the most radiant thing he’s ever seen. His heart surges forward, calling to you. There’s a permanent scar carved into it, and it’s in the shape of your name.

“Joel?” You frown at him, stepping onto the porch and peering up at the sky. The rain is lashing him in the face, making him blink hard to clear it from his vision and keep on looking at you. His hair is wet as a dog’s after a bath, and it drips from his drenched clothes. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t go,” he begs, shuddering hard from the cold, relentless rain. “Don’t leave, baby. Please.”

You hug yourself, taking another step down, still shielded from the rain. “Joel, I…”

He can’t stop talking. He won’t shut up—not if it means he can still get you to say yes. “If you go, I go. I don’t like travellin’, and I’ll probably get sick in one of those brown paper bags, but I’ll be okay once we land.”

“Joel—”

“I told you I’d wait for you forever, and I meant it. But if you get on a goddamn airplane, I am, too. You're not the kind of woman a man just lets go.”

You walk down so you’re only one step above him, shivering as the rain hits you.

“Joel, shut the fuck up,” you cut in. “I’m not leaving. I’m just moving.”

He blinks up at you. “What?”

“To my own apartment,” you explain. “Liam’s girlfriend’s lease is almost up, and the landlord is her uncle, so I’m taking her place on a discount while she moves into my old room.”

“You’re…” The joy and relief pierce him at the core, and his voice breaks when he says, “You’re staying?”

You’re looking at him softly, your sweet eyes giving him that look you used to. “Of course I’m staying. I still have school, and work.” The rain plasters your hair to your face, soaks through your sweater, and he wants to curl you up in a thousand blankets, lie with you beneath the cover of warmth, never let you go.

You look down at the ground for a moment, and when your eyes meet his again, he dares not hope at the glimmer of happiness in your eyes. “I’ll need help unpacking all my shit again.”

“Baby…” He chokes on the word. He’s suffocating on the knowledge that you still want him around. You’re staying. You’re here.

“You came all the way here because you thought I was leaving the state?”

“Yeah,” he says lamely.

“And you still want to be with me?”

He nods, frantic, ready to sink to his goddamn knees if you ask. “I’m never gonna want anything more in my life.”

You step down so you have to look up at him, raindrops clinging to your lashes. You’re a picture. He hasn’t been this close to you in so long. He can smell your heady perfume through the earthy scent of rain. He could—

“Then can you just kiss me now?” you say, like a sigh of exasperation, closing the distance between you and clutching the hem of his shirt in your hand.

It is heaven to obey. He knows this time, clear and ringing true in his ears, that the world isn’t all bad.

Joel cups your face in his hands and slants his mouth over yours.

Kissing you is like muting the sounds of the world and watching the colours hum with vibrancy. He keeps his eyes open for a moment because he can’t quite fool himself into believing this is real. But he sees your face, your eyes fluttering shut, and he feels your soft mouth, slick with rainwater, tasting of salt and your strawberry lip balm, and he lets his eyes close.

#kiwisbell's fics #whiskey sour #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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stem-sister-scuffle · 3 months

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STEM SISTER SCUFFLE: ROUND 1 MASHUP 5

Dr. Olivia Octavius (Spider-Man Into The Spiderverse) vs Ms. Frizzle (The Magic School Bus)

Dr. Olivia Octavius is a Quantum Physicist and Roboticist!

Ms. Frizzle is a Science Teacher!

Why you should vote for each contestant:

Dr. Olivia Octavius:

""If you stay in this dimension too long, your body’s going to disintegrate. Do you know how painful that would be, Peter Parker? You can’t imagine. And I, for one, can’t wait to watch." I love deranged evil women she is the character of all time to me"

"Dr. Olivia Octavius, also known as Doctor Octopus, is the secondary antagonist of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. She's also known as 'Liz' by her friends, one of them being Peter Parker's aunt May. She is an evil scientist, CEO of the science research & development company known as Alchemax. She's the scientific advisor for The Kingpin's inventions to open up portals to other dimensions. She's an evil woman in STEM girlboss."

"feral :)"

"Oh I heard you like mad scientist girlies???"

"I know she’s evil but I love her shes so cool. Have you seen her. I support womens wrongs <3"

"MILF. Evil. What more does she need? wowza"

"shes not the best shes the worst and she owns it. milf i mean. who said that"

"I mean. just look at her. she has the robo arms, the awesome hair. also if I recall, she's also been in science educational videos for kids"

"Proves herself as a competent fighter able to take on multiple spider-men at once, plus rocks the mad scientist look"

"Successfully works as a kids' science show presenter while also being a supervillain and working on sketchy projects. Is an absolute dork about her work and about cool phenomena in a way that's really endearing right up until she threatens to lock someone up to slowly die so she can study the phenomenon that's killing them. Probably put bugs in the microwave as a kid to see what happens.

Yes she did get hit by a truck in the fight and disappear but I fully believe she lived and ended up in some other universe.

1. She's a supervillain, she's definitely been hit by a truck before. 2. Out of everyone fighting in there she's had the most experience with this sorr of thing. While missteps are possible she would be going into it with some idea of what the risks are and how to deal with them. 3. Isekai truck trope 4. If she did end up in another universe she would totally find a way to keep herself stable there. She's got science knowledge and robotic limbs built for crime. 5. I like her and I think it would be really funny.

Why did I make this part mostly ""no she isn't dead"". It'd still be funny even if she was dead tbh.

I cosplayed her once and that is irrelevant to the poll but idk. She's fun."

"it's so rare to have female mad scientists in media like her, she's a role model to girls who want to commit crimes against the spacetime continuum everywhere. she's very important"

"She's really cute, too bad about all the murder and stuff :/ Women's wrongs, amirite?👍"

"She has a "For Science!" attitude that makes most male mad scientist look sane and safety minded. I would gladly be her intern/minion. <3"

"is only here to do science for Nefarious Purposes. science without any regard for moral cost. idk i love that this character type gets to be a milf for once. we love to see an evilgirl winning"

"mad scientist lady. cool as hell hair. evil girlboss."

"She's evil. She's evil and I love her"

"Evil milf with giant robot arms that loves chaos."

"Mastered multiple disciplines, managed to break barriers between dimensions, which even in superhero realms is a bit impressive. STEM girlies should be allowed to go a little evil/feral/unhinged. as a treat."

"She is evil! She is sexy! She employs usage of soft robotics into her prosthetic tentacles, is the head scientist at Alchemax, and quite literally built a machine that creates a portal to alternate dimensions! Get you a girl that can both make educational science videos and also rip open a portal to alternate dimensions under dubious moral conditions."

"she's sooooooo cool"

"She is a girlboss she tried to make a portal and while she’s a villain she isn’t the Evillest out there… babygirl head scientist Her glasses are shaped like octagons :3"

Ms. Frizzle:

"*gestures at entire magic school bus series*"

"Embodies the true spirit of scientific discovery: barely-contained chaos."

"She is very knowledgeable about a wide variety of sciences, and uses that knowledge to further the educations of many people. Teachers deserve the world; they do so much for so little in return. (shout out to Mrs. Goates)"

"She loves science and loves teaching kids about science. I love her. Idk I saw she only had one submission and that made me sad so now im here submitting her"

"She is an icon and has cool earrings"

"SHE'S SO COOL!!! She's so smart and so fun and genuinely just an icon. ALSO she has a little lizard on her shoulder. I saw an ask abt the submissions for Ms. Frizzle and the sender was the only person who submitted her.. I couldn't let this go. ALSO one of my professors irl called herself the irl Frizzle and she's a doctor of biology so make of that what you will"

#stem sister scuffle #round 1 #dr olivia octavius #olivia octavius #spiderman itsv #itsv #into the spider verse #spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #ms frizzle #the magic school bus

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myths-tournaments · 6 months

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Awful Characters Round 1 Part 2 (3/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

BEN LINUS

One of my fave characters of all time! Also a prolific liar. Almost every single thing this man says is a lie. He lies, manipulates, murders, and feels very little remorse, all in the name of “protecting” the magical Island where he and his people live. Ben is fueled almost exclusively by bitterness, stemming from an entire childhood’s worth of abuse from his alcoholic father, who blamed Ben for his mother’s death in childbirth (Ben did eventually kill his father, along with the whole community he grew up in). Additionally, Ben is desperate to have some great destiny or higher purpose, and his bitterness toward the fact that he’s just an “ordinary” man and jealousy toward the man who DOES have a higher purpose drives Ben to commit various acts of cruelty and murder. Ben does act as a villain for most of the story (save for the last season, in which he’s more of an anti-villain and eventually an anti-hero), but he has two redeeming qualities: his love for the Island and his love for his adopted daughter, Alex. The latter is complicated by the fact that he kidnapped Alex as a baby from her biological mother, a woman stranded alone on the Island. However, when forced to choose between protecting the Island and saving Alex’s life, Ben ultimately chooses the island and deeply regrets this decision for the rest of his life. He’s eventually forced to reckon with his many, many mistakes and undergoes something of a redemption arc, but he spends enough of the show establishing himself as a villain that I can easily see the good denizens of Twitter attacking his fans.

IANTHE TRIDENTARIUS

Her number one hobby is ruining every person's that she knows life. Her second hobby is being soooo slutty about it despite looking like a literal wet rat. Her third hobby is having an extremely unhealthy relationship with her twin. Her other hobbies include cannibalism, wearing a maid outfit, being extremely convinced she is the main character, the badboy sexy love interest and the villain. 'Why', you may ask. Well, the answer is, for shits and giggles #justgirlythings i, aswell as literally everybody else in the fandom have gone through the pipeline from hating her to desperately wanting to fuck her. expect for i still fucking hope she dies and doesn't come back for good. (that would literally solve all of everybody's problems) as god intended (EXPECT FOR. one of her hobbies literally is gaslighting god) She is fucking horrible i will love her until i die and even after that

parks and recs jean ralphio voice she's the woooorst!! The moment she learns she has to kill someone to become a Lyctor (aka a more special necromancer), she doesn't hesitate to kill and cannibalize the guy who has been her cavalier since childhood… cavalier who she also totally bullied as kids, she was allowed to choose one guest for her and her twin sister's birthday party each year, and she would always pick whoever she thought her cavalier didn't want to see there! While other characters are shown to regret the process of becoming a Lyctor (which involves someone close to them dying)/were forced into it because of circumstances, Ianthe has absolutely no regrets, she believes she did what she had to do

The author once said of Ianthe: "I don't think she's been nice to anyone, if she has I'll go back and change it." She killed and ate the soul of someone she has known all her life so that she could become a necromantic saint and tormented him plenty before that. General negging, ganging up against him, always inviting people he didn't like to their birthday parties. She doesn't regret killing him. I think she is repulsed by the idea that his digested soul is affecting hers. She helped her crush lobotomise herself so she would be in Ianthe's debt, and later lied and said she didn't see the corpse of a woman her crush killed under her bed (why did she do that? I do not know). She has a bone arm because her original arm was cut off, she hated the replacement so her crush cut THAT off and grew her a new one out of just bones. She had it gilded and only after that did she decide to help her crush deal with the person who had been repeatedly trying to kill her. She wants so badly to be the main character but people keep interrupting her villain monologues.

she has her own content warning tag pollrunner's note: this is the most compelling propaganda I've ever seen for a character, thank you for submitting

She's such a bitch to everyone all the time, she causes nothing but problems, she tries to do a villain speech but fumbles it because her tummy hurt, she is the awfulgirl of all time

#awful characters tournament #tournament poll #awful characters round 1 #lost #benjamin linus #the locked tomb #tlt #ianthe tridentarius

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sofiaispunk · 11 months

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The Bakery Crush - Bonus Chapter

Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You are enjoying a girls' night out with Maria and your friend Libby, as a familiar face unexpectedly joins your group, igniting a surge of jealousy and unsettling those old, ugly emotions within you.

words: 3,6K

warnings: JEALOUSY, smut, bathroom quickie, Joel Miller being sexy, dirty talk, public sex

Your boots tapped lightly on the worn wooden floor as you made your way into the Tipsy Bison, a beloved sanctuary in the heart of Jackson.

It was early evening, and the sun's last rays slanted through the window, casting a warm glow on the inside. The scent of ale and spiced food, the murmur of familiar voices, the crackling fire in the corner - it was a cocoon of comfort and familiarity in a world that had long since lost its sense of normalcy.

You navigated through the well-known labyrinth of tables and stools, moving to your usual spot at the bar. Settling onto the worn wooden seat, you took a moment to adjust the dainty silver necklace adorning your neck, its small pendant catching the soft lighting of the room.

You were dressed comfortably, yet with a touch of femininity. A cute, lightweight tank top in a soft lavender hue draped over you, perfectly complementing your sun-kissed skin. The jeans you wore were form-fitting, their color a lighter shade that added to your overall ensemble. Practical, yet stylish boots hugged your feet, worn but still holding a touch of charm. Each piece was carefully chosen, functional for the world outside, yet allowing you to retain a semblance of the woman you were within these walls.

Your fingers twirled around the stem of the glass slid towards you by the bartender. Its contents sparkled in the dimming light, promising the familiar burn and momentary oblivion. As you took a small sip, your eyes scanned the crowd. Familiar faces, each etched with their own tale of survival, greeted you, providing a comforting, if bittersweet, sense of community.

Then, you spotted them. Maria, with her ever-warm smile and caring eyes, and Libby, her humor often providing much-needed respite. However, there was a new face among them. Kira.

Jealousy, an old and unwelcome emotion, simmered at the pit of your stomach. It was an emotion you hadn't anticipated, especially when deep down, you knew you had no legitimate reason to feel such a way.

Your mind traveled back to a quiet night, wrapped in the warm cocoon of Joel's arms, where he had assured you that their past had been nothing more than close friendship. "We never even kissed," he'd murmured reassuring into your hair, his voice holding a note of sincerity that made your heart flutter. Despite this, seeing Kira in the flesh, sitting with YOUR friends, a wave of unease washed over you.

You shook the feeling off, reminding yourself of the reality of your relationship with Joel. He had chosen to be with you, and the past was exactly where it should remain - in the past. You sipped your drink, forcing a calm smile onto your face as you made your way over to the table.

As soon as Maria's eyes met yours across the crowded room, her face broke into a beaming smile, the warmth of her expression cutting through the chill of your surprise. "There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying over the ambient noise of the bar. "We've been waiting for you the whole evening!"

Feeling the warmth of her welcome, you couldn't help but respond with a smile of your own. The lingering feelings of jealousy and surprise began to fade, replaced with the comforting familiarity of your friendship. With a small chuckle, you moved closer to their table. "I even closed up the bakery early to make it here on time," you told her.

Your eyes flicked to Kira once more. Maria, ever the perceptive one, caught your gaze as it wandered over to Kira. "Ah, let me introduce you two," she said, motioning between you and Kira. "Kira, this is—"

"We've already met," Kira interrupted gently, her eyes meeting yours. There was no hint of malice in her voice, only simple recognition. "At the movies, remember?"

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks as the memory crashed down on you. It was a night you’d rather forget, a memory that had the power to make you cringe. You and Joel, sat uncomfortably close in the dark theater, Kira unknowingly wedged between what was budding between the two of you. An unfortunate timing.

You forced a small, polite smile onto your face. "Yes, of course, I remember," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "It was... quite the movie." You quickly shifted your gaze back to Maria, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. "How's Tommy doing? I heard he was planning another patrol outside the gates this week."

Maria's eyebrows furrowed as she contemplated your question. "Yes, he is going out with Joel," she confirmed. "Although, Joel doesn't seem too thrilled about it." There was a hint of concern in her voice. "I've been wondering if something's up with him. He's usually fine with patrols, but this past week, he's seemed...busy, distracted, always somewhere else."

Libby chimed in at that moment, her tone light and teasing. "He does seem way less grumpy than usual," she said with a chuckle, prompting a round of laughter from the table.

"Oh, speaking of which," Libby continued, her grin widening. "He stopped by the botanical section the other day, asking for flowers. He was smiling the whole time. Said it was for someone special."

You felt your heart flutter in your chest at that. But then Libby turned her gaze to Kira, giving her a playful wink.

Your mind couldn't help but wander back to a moment from not too long ago. You were in the kitchen, the scent of cooking potato soup - Joel's favorite - permeating the air. The simple act of stirring the pot felt comfortable, almost soothing.

Suddenly, you felt Joel's strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His breath warmed your neck before his lips pressed gently against your skin, sending shivers of delight down your spine. You tried to scold him, playfully protesting, "Joel, I'm trying to cook here!"

But he silenced you by spinning you around and pressing his lips to yours, his kiss stealing your breath away. All thoughts of the simmering soup were forgotten as you fell into the passionate exchange, your heart pounding in your chest.

Breaking away from the kiss, Joel reached behind him and revealed a small bouquet of wildflowers mixed with lilies. He offered them to you with a smile that was both tender and full of love. "Some flowers for my beautiful flower," he'd said, his voice thick with affection. Tears of joy had welled up in your eyes that night, and you had thrown your arms around him, the scent of the flowers mingling with the familiar scent of Joel.

"Oh, I didn't get any flowers yet," Kira mused aloud, causing your eyes to involuntarily roll. You remained silent, your thoughts left unspoken: Of course, you haven't because they were given to me.

Kira turned to Libby, her curiosity piqued. "Did he get peonies or roses? He knows those are my favorites."

A small sigh escaped your lips, your fingers tightening around your glass. Nope, lilies. My favourites.

“They were lilies, I think." Libby frowned in thought for a moment, then answered.

Maria jumped into the conversation with her usual enthusiasm. "So what's the deal between you and Joel, Kira?" she asked, her voice teasing. "Should I be calling you sister-in-law already?"

The words struck you like a punch, and you felt a surge of anger bubbling within you. It was times like these where you wished you could scream out loud that Joel was with you, not Kira. But you bit your tongue, respecting Joel's wish for privacy. You didn't fully understand why he wanted to keep your relationship a secret, but you respected his decision nonetheless.

At Maria's question, Kira blushed slightly, casting her gaze down. "Maybe, yes," she admitted, a hint of shyness creeping into her voice. "You know how Joel can be... a bit cold, distant."

The words hit you like a brick. No, he's not. Joel was the warmest, most loving person you knew. His gruff exterior hid a heart as vast and deep as the ocean.

"He isn't much for affection," Kira continued, her eyes distant, "doesn't like too much touching."

Again, you felt a strong disagreement well up within you. This couldn't be further from the truth. Joel was constantly touching you, his hands finding yours in quiet moments, his arms wrapping around you in the dark of the night, craving closeness, providing warmth and comfort.

"But I think I got to him," Kira finished, her tone hopeful. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself once more that you knew the truth. Joel had chosen you, and it was your shared moments that mattered, not the assumptions of others. So you sat there, quietly nursing your drink, a forced smile playing on your lips, while your heart screamed a different story.

Libby picked up where Kira left off, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Kira, you're one lucky woman," she said, her words laced with a teasing tone. "Joel is... sexy, to say the least. I mean, who wouldn't want to do all sorts of forbidden things with him?"

She laughed, her voice carrying easily in the noise of the bar, as she launched into a story. "Do you remember when my bed was broken and Joel came to fix it?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "I swear, all I could do was stare at his biceps flexing as he worked. I kept imagining all the...well, let's say interesting things I would do with him on that bed that could possibly break it all over again."

Libby's words drew a round of laughter from the group.

Kira joined in the laughter, her eyes shining with amusement. But she couldn't resist throwing out a playful warning. "Careful, Libby," she said with a grin, "He's mine."

Yeah, actually he‘s mine.

"Speaking of the devil," Maria suddenly exclaimed, her eyes shifting to the entrance of the bar.

Your gaze followed her line of sight and you saw them: Tommy and Joel, striding into the bar, their usual airs of relaxed confidence about them. They paused at the entrance, scanning the room, before Maria waved them over, a broad smile spreading across her face.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as Joel's eyes met yours, a silent exchange passing between you. The world around you seemed to fade as you locked eyes, a quiet understanding blossoming in the depths of your shared gaze.

Tommy was the first to approach your table, his steps brimming with an easy confidence. He crouched down next to Maria, planting a loving kiss on the top of her head, a gesture that caused a warm smile to bloom across her face.

"How's the girls' night going?" Tommy asked, his gaze twinkling with friendly curiosity as he looked around the table. "What are we gossiping about?"

His question was met with a chorus of laughter from everyone at the table. His easygoing nature and lighthearted question helped to dissolve any residual tension from earlier conversations.

Maria responded to Tommy's inquiry with a dismissive wave of her hand, "None of your business," she retorted, but her tone was light, filled with playful annoyance. Despite her words, she moved over to make room for him to sit.

Joel returned from the bar just in time, a glass of whiskey in each hand. He passed one to Tommy, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. Joel placed his own glass next to you, but the usual warmth in his eyes seemed to be replaced by a seriousness that made you pause.

"Can I talk to you?" Joel asked you, his voice low, his gaze piercing.

You looked up at him, slightly taken aback by his serious demeanor. His usually expressive eyes were carefully guarded, revealing nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.

Kira, along with the rest of the group, was taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. "What's wrong, Joel? Did something happen?" she asked, concern lining her words.

But Joel paid her no mind, his gaze remained fixated on you. His silence seemed to amplify the collective confusion at the table.

However, respecting his unspoken request, you gave him a quick nod, excusing yourself from the table. You followed Joel, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Joel guided you to a secluded backroom, where a small bathroom stall provided a private space. As you stepped inside, he swiftly followed, closing the door behind him. Before you could utter a single word, he pressed you against the door, his body emanating a fiery heat that melded with yours. Raising your gaze, you found yourself ensnared in the depths of his deep brown eyes, the usual warmth giving way to a smoldering intensity that consumed his stare.

The unmistakable desire etched across his face elicited a mischievous smirk from your lips. "What do you think you're doing, Miller?" you breathed, your voice trembling ever so slightly as he peppered your throat with tantalizing open-mouthed kisses. His hands skillfully worked on the button of your jeans, his urgency notable in every motion.

Joel lifted his head to look at you, his gaze heated. "What does it look like, my pretty flower?" His voice was low, almost a growl, which sent a thrill of anticipation through you. He moved closer, his breath fanning across your face, making you shudder with desire. "I missed you," he admitted, his words laden with longing. The sincerity and rawness of his confession stoked the simmering desire within you, and you started to palm his growing bulge through his Jeans.

“And you couldn't wait till we are home?” you asked innocently, loving the way his skilled hands felt against you. “No.” he answered shortly. In a swift motion he turned you around and pushed you against the counter, your thighs pressing against the cold granite. He pushed down your jeans and underwear and dipped his middle finger without warning in your wet heat then dragged it slowly up, messaging your clit painfully slowly. “’s always so wet for me baby. Just be happy I didn't fuck you right there on the table.” He picked up his speed as he simultaneously pumped lazily his own length.

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second. Moments later he held his palm up your face. “Spit, baby. We don’t have much time. Your friends will worry about you.” You immediately obeyed and spit on his palm. With a last few pumps, he tightly gripped your waist and lined himself up on your entrance and with one hard thrust he filled you up completely. “Fucking mine.” A loud surprised moan, almost a scream escaped you and Joel quickly covered your mouth with his palm. “Shhh baby, you don’t want them to hear you do you?” You continued to moan loudly, his palm slightly muffling your noises but if someone was close to the door they unmistakably could hear what was going on in there.

Joel was pounding merciless into you, restraining his own moans and growls. “Or do you want them to hear you? You want them to hear me fucking you. You want them to know you're my little slut, don’t you?” His hand traveled down to your throat squeezing it lightly which gained him another loud moan. He then lightly pushed your head up so you could see yourself in the tiny mirror in front of you. Lips parted, his hand around your throat, your hair a total mess. “Look at you. Look how fucking pretty you look. Getting fucked while your friends are outside. Taking my cock so well in this filthy bathroom like a filthy girl huh, you would have let me fuck you on the table too, wouldn’t you? Because you are my little filthy slut.“ It was all too much, Joel pounding into you hitting this perfect spongy spot inside you with each trust, him playing with your sensitive clit and whispering all these dirty things into you ear. After two more thrusts you screamed his name, drenching his penis with your juices and Joel followed soon after.

As he affectionately cleaned you up with a wet paper, his touch soothing, he murmured, "I saw the way you looked at her, baby. But don't ever doubt that you're mine. I don't want my pretty flower to be insecure." His words melted away any lingering insecurities, and you felt a surge of warmth fill your chest.

You reached out to gently cup his face, your eyes brimming with affection. "I know," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "It's just that I wish I could shout it to the world, how Joel Miller is making me the happiest woman alive!"

With a theatrical flourish, you waved your hands dramatically in the air, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Joel's eyes sparkled with adoration as he gazed up at you, his smile matching the radiance in your own. In that moment, his smile became the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, a stark contrast to the earlier seriousness etched across his features.

You stepped out of the bathroom first, taking a moment to compose yourself and fix your disheveled clothing, collecting your breath before rejoining the group. As you sat back down, all eyes turned to you, their curiosity palpable. Maria was the first to break the silence, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay? You look flushed. Did you cry? Is everything alright?"

Damn you, Joel, you thought, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. Your face turned even redder as you mustered a smile and stammered out, "Yes, I'm okay. It was nothing, really."

Tommy's eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Was it a hard conversation? Or slippery smooth? Or maybe a bit of both? Looks like it had a satisfying outcome," he teased, his words hinting at a deeper understanding.

Kira, on the other hand, looked more confused than ever, clearly lost in the midst of the cryptic conversation. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole, desperate to escape the prying questions and knowing glances.

To your relief, Joel arrived, diverting the attention away from you and relieving some of the pressure. He plopped down next to you, casually reaching for his whiskey, and the rest of the group seemed to sense that prying into his private conversation with you would be futile, so the topic was dropped.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kira subtly leaning towards Joel, but he purposefully ignored the gesture. Libby, ever playful yet hesitant, was the first to break the silence. "So, Joel, planning something with those flowers?" she asked, a mischievous tone lacing her words. Joel's smile was genuine as he replied, "That was just a small surprise for my girl." My girl.

Kira was a bit surprised by that but she teasingly chimed in, "Oh yeah? I haven't gotten them yet, Joel." She playfully grabbed his biceps, emphasizing the light-hearted flirty banter.

Joel glanced at Kira, barely acknowledging her presence, and raised an eyebrow in response to her comment. "Yeah, I know," he replied nonchalantly. He swiftly finished the contents of his glass in one fluid motion before turning to you, his gaze filled with a magnetic intensity. " Babe, are you ready to go home? I'm not done with you yet," he asked you, planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

Kira froze in surprise, the rest of the group left in stunned silence. Maria turned to Tommy, her voice laced with disbelief. "Did you know?" she asked, her eyes searching for answers. Tommy simply shrugged, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Everyone with eyes knows, Maria. Just look at them," he replied, his tone tinged with amusement. As you bid your goodbyes, a sense of satisfaction and overwhelming happiness enveloped you. Joel made sure to hold your hand tightly, giving a reassuring squeeze that conveyed to everyone around that you belonged to him. It was a silent declaration of love and possessiveness, a confirmation of the bond you shared.

As you walked together, Joel leaned in close, his voice a tender whisper against your ear. "You can scream it now if you want," he murmured.

A wide grin spread across your face as the weight of secrecy lifted from your shoulders. In that moment, surrounded by the darkness and the glow of streetlights, you felt an exhilarating freedom. Without hesitation, you turned to Joel, your voice filled with joy and love, and let your words ring out into the night.

"I love Joel Miller!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying with it the depth of your emotions. The words echoed through the empty streets, a proclamation of your love for all to hear.

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #tlou series #tommy miller #dbf!joel miller #hbo the last of us #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #the last of us

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

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Cerise, what a woman. I’d love to give you the image my mind inevitably created for her. I feel like she was one of those teens who carried so much trauma from her childhood, and was so so full of rage and she felt like she was destined for more, she was ashamed of being so desperate for money and luxury while having practically nothing. Leather jackets, cigarettes and small theft. I feel like she was one of those girls that wanted to have a motorbike but decided a car (a good car) would be more useful when she had big money —even though now she has a few cars and a few bikes. I also think she legally may have changed her name to Cerise, just because she wanted to be another person, she wanted to leave behind the girl she was to focus on the woman she is, no particular reason for that name, just because it’s elegant and it means cherry —a delicious fruit with a beautiful color, sexy, pretentious, vain. I also see her as a red head, probably as a part of that change she dyed her hair and got a perfectly made blowout. I don’t really have a reason for this one but maybe she wanted to leave everything behind so she completely changed her physical appearance, maybe some natural plastic surgery, training, to fit that image she had of an elegant woman. I see her wearing elegant outfits even to go to the grocery store to buy some bread and vegetables. Always a good nude (lily rose depp like) or red lipstick combo and a skin care and shower routine that lasts an hour every morning, just because. Lashes, eyebrows and nails always perfectly done. But internally, she still feels like she wants more, she deserves more, she’s ambitious, has little morals and maybe also is very cold and lacks empathy in some situations. She has lived many lives and will live as many as she had to, as a good survivor, that doesn’t mean she isn’t scared, but she will not hesitate to do anything if that ensures her own survival.

Honestly i’d love if you could give me some outfit inspo because i’d love to try and draw her, maybe i could include soap too. What do you think? Was i accurate? Please correct me if you think anything I said was wrong. I adore your writing, what a blessing to be able to read you every time. This story will stay with me, it destroyed the inspo block I’ve had for months. Thank you x.

AHH - this is so amazing, I love it. Some outfit inspo will be under the cut but I totally want to discuss characterization too because I love what you've brought up. And, omg, 100% - absolutely you can try to draw Cerise and Soap, I'm frothing at the mouth for them already.

Okay, characterization first (ultimately it's up to every reader how they characterize her, so don't take anything I say as law by any means, lol, but these are my own thoughts for her)! I agree with most of what you said! Cerise is totally burdened by her childhood and the trauma that follows it; she even explains that with her first encounter with pickpocketing her wrist literally got snapped back in two places.

She was never wealthy - never had money for anything to buy simply for the want to have it. She would see people with everything in the palm of their hand and become incredibly jealous/bitter at the fact that nothing she did would ever make any difference unless it was drastic.

Cerise 100% always keeps up appearances, she never wants to be perceived as anything other than beautiful or desirable, even if, deep down, she's utterly terrified that someone would get to know her on a personal level. She always flirts and talks so big about physical intimacy, but I think that it scares her just as much. Anything that can get a person close to her is like a threat and a danger to the empire she's built.

Ultimately, Cerise is a character who likes being alone because it's all that makes her feel safe, even if she's incredibly lonely. She openly admits she's vain and prideful, but I believe it stems from her own insecurities - she's a total dichotomy and a hypocrite of her own belief system.

She's prideful = she constantly needs herself to become better/do better

She's vain = she hates looking at herself in the mirror but still constantly does it

She's selfish = she openly talks about helping a man's wife when she required medical care

She's such a compelling character to me because she's utterly broken down and traumatized and she doesn't even realize it. She goes on about what she wants and deserves when the only thing she wants is to be loved and cared for like a human being. She's been so used in her life that everything has become a game of get-or-be-got.

Cerise is genuinely one of my favorite named reader-inserts I've ever created - it was so much fun writing her.

Okay, okay, ramble over - onto some inspo!!

I mentioned that Oxblood was her signature color in the fic, so just imagine these in that shade/hue/etc. Disregard skin color as well, this is just about the outfits!

I think these would fit what I had in mind - simple, elegant, but still has some personality to it!

If people envisioned something more out there/eye drawing we have these dresses-

Personally, I very much like the first of the eye-catching dresses, Cerise is a woman who likes a little flare - the sleeves are lovely and I like the corset add-on.

For jewelry, it's very much high-mass, Cerise was mentioned already wearing necklaces, earrings, etc. Many of which had gems, rocks, and fine metals. I'll leave that up to people's personal preference!

But I think that mostly covers Cerise, for Johnny I really just thought up a normal 3-piece suit except for the fact that he barely fit into it, lol.

But thank you so much for sending this in! It was so lovely. If you do end up drawing them, I would love to see it - I'm sure it'll be amazing!!

#halcyone answers

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shih-coulda-had-it · 1 year

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Five head canon game:

AU AFO is All Might's Bio dad and All Might Izuku Bio dad family drama ensues, can be afohiko if you so desire!

hope you have a nice day!

Another addition to the dfohiko verse! Alright then,

Similar set-up to previous dfohiko branches. Toshinori spends a few years in the States. He returns to Japan when he’s in his mid-to-late 20s, and with Sorahiko’s info, and makes excellent headway in dismantling AfO’s network at the expense of exposing his identity to AfO. AfO is displeased with his son’s decision to reject the ‘good’ family legacy, complains to his followers about red-blooded, hot-tempered youths, and receives the following tentative question: Does Toshinori have a significant other? A boyfriend? A girlfriend? A partner in general?

AfO, who romanced and married and had a child with Sorahiko by Toshinori’s current age: omg you’re so right. He just needs to redirect his passions elsewhere, and then he’ll realize what a terrible world this is to raise a child. Who among you have weddable progeny? To clarify, I want you all to know that this WILL lead me to be that child’s father in-law, and I WILL be taking all grandparent rights.

The thing is, it’s not enough to just fling sexy singles in the area into Toshinori’s path. Toshinori is, worryingly, taking after Sorahiko’s practice of abstinence and just not going on any of the dates that AfO is setting up. So AfO hops over to Sorahiko’s place to complain about their son’s destructive habits, and the lack of grandchildren being brought into the world. The unexpected turn of conversation tricks Sorahiko into thinking, ‘Oh, shit, I’ve accidentally taught my son that love is a nightmare and marriage is a deal with the devil.’

By the time Toshinori entered his late thirties, he’s obliviously rejected any and every potential spouse that AfO AND Sorahiko have set before him. His parents are in despair, though for different reasons. Then. THEN. On a rare evening of freedom, Toshinori spies a despondent young woman sitting alone at a table, holding a book with a red rose’s stem tucked inside like a marker. People are side-eyeing her. He hesitates, but takes the plunge, politely asking Inko if he can sit opposite of her while grabbing his dinner. She’s grateful, but equally wary.

They order dinner, and drinks, and in the meantime, conversation happens. A tentative spark of connection happens. One dinner turns into another, and another. Toshinori nervously confesses to Inko that he has no model for a happy marriage, but he knows what good partners do for each other. He remembers that much, at least. And Inko promises that whatever family they’ve left behind, the one they’ll make will be better.

+1 Izuku is born; Sorahiko learns about his grandson when Izuku manifests the tell-tale AfO hand holes at age four, and a panicked Toshinori calls for advice; AfO learns four years after that, when he crashes All Might’s Bring Your Child to Work Day.

#bnha #afohiko #toshinko #all for one #gran torino #torino sorahiko #yagi toshinori #all might #midoriya inko #dfohiko verse #shih.txt #asks #ravelights #the devil’s in the details for the family drama reunion tbh #the drama stems from both afo and sorahiko's competition to matchmake toshinori #and also the fact that AfO just. skipped a generation.#popping up stronger in Izuku than it does in the grandfather himself

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strangestcase · 6 months

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Actually kind of fucked that society views sexual activity and intelligence as opposites. Even more fucked up that when exceptions to the rule are allowed they only apply to men. women aren’t allowed to be smart AND horny- it’s a given a horny man has time to be smart because men are expected to be horny anyway, so the thought that a male nerd can fuck is, while questioned, a possibility. But women? Women aren’t expected to be either. And they have to choose. If a woman is horny then she doesn’t have the time to be smart, she can’t afford to do both. This becomes even more transparent when we’re talking about certain types of women. Trans women are seen as sad perverts, Black women are seen as temptresses, Asian women are “me so horny”, any type of woman is a fetish first and type of woman second, and then people who consider themselves feminists are either like “why isn’t this woman from a highly sexualized collective having fun being sexy?” or “why would you choose to be a vapid slut when you could be in STEM?” as if that ever-present and noxious adage of choice feminism (“it’s your choice! It exists in a social vacuum!”) suddenly didn’t apply in the ONE situation it could ever apply (women’s fucking sex lives).

#doc talks

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1eos · 2 months

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I would love an excerpt from that intersectionality chapter

some bits from the opening:

Since the Everyday Sexism Project started, many of the stories we have catalogued have described not just sexism but sexism intermingled with other forms of prejudice – racism, homophobia, transphobia, classism, ageism, disableism, stigma around mental-health problems, and more. Again and again, we’ve heard from women in same-sex relationships being fetishized and asked for threesomes when they’re just trying to walk down the street, trans women mocked and belittled and hounded from public spaces, Asian women being labelled as ‘easy’ or ‘obedient’, sex workers accused of being complicit in their own assaults, disabled women infantilized and patronized and countless similar stories. I chose to include this chapter in order to put a spotlight on these issues of ‘double discrimination’ (or, indeed, triple or quadruple) because it has proved to be a major recurring theme within the project and is a crucial focus for modern feminism. The severity and frequency of the problem merits closer examination. However, it should be noted that, though this section is designed to give these intersections between different forms of prejudice the attention they deserve, they also run throughout the other sections of this book, just as they should be present in all feminist discourse and activism. The inclusion of this chapter does not conveniently distance and compartmentalize its subject matter as one clean-cut area of sexism, and nor is it intended to ‘other’ those subjected to such double discrimination. Intersectionality means being aware of and acting on the fact that different forms of prejudice are connected, because they all stem from the same root of being ‘other’, ‘different’ or somehow ‘secondary’ to the ‘normal’, ‘ideal’ status quo. So, just as women suffer from sexism because our society is set up to favour and automatically take men as the ‘norm’ from which women deviate, so the same is true for people who are ‘different’ from other dominant norms – such as being heterosexual, white, cisgendered, and non-disabled.

...

"In fact, twerking itself is a perfect recent example of the hyper-sexualization of black women, having been famously and deliberately adopted, alongside other aspects of black culture, by former Disney pop princess Miley Cyrus, in her bid to shed her pure, good-girl image for something more ‘risky’ and ‘sexy’. But by consciously employing a dance move associated with black women (and indeed by using black women as literal objects and props, as she did during her notorious VMA performance), Cyrus has simply contributed to the idea of the appropriation of black culture, by a woman, as an immediate means to appear raunchy, oversexed and vulgar. This is a tool that Cyrus, as a white woman, may pick up and put down again should she ever wish to lay her ‘risqué’ persona to rest. The same cannot be said of the black women whose image she’s helped to caricature and over-sexualize."

....

-Laura Bates, Everyday Sexism

#asks #i can't find the section where she talks abt how trans exclusion is hypocrisy but when i find out where it is i'll post that too #everyday sexism

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saffrongin · 1 month

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Opening Lines

Thank you @zeebee3for tagging me <3

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (or however many you have, if fewer) posted fics and see if there's a pattern.

Name, relationship, type, wordcount, rating

That_Little_Witch

Draco/Hermione, WIP, 70k, E

Oh.

One Whole

Draco/Hermione, WIP, 231k, E

That voice.

Forget Heroes and Monsters

Draco/Hermione, WIP, 68k, E

“Womb. Have you ever thought about it? A womb.” She pauses and the man is forced to wait for her to continue her story.

How to Catch the Golden Witch

Draco/Hermione, WIP, 69k, E

What Hermione needed was a book.

Thigh gap; thirst trap

Draco/Sirius/Harry/Hermione, one-shot, 2.5k, E

Rules.

Breeding Fire

Hermione/Draco/Charlie/Bill/Harry, one-shot, 3.8k, E

“Where is the bastard?” Draco hisses, turning to face Harry who seems transfixed by the scene before him.

Carved

Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Sirius, WIP, 27k, E

Love has cursed Hermione.

Tastes of Cunt and Wine

Draco/Hermione, Complete, 75k, E

This woman moans like a dying cat.

Today's Lesson

Hermione/Lupin/Sirius/Draco, one-shot, 3.3k, E

“I think I should go to bed.” Hermione sits up and slides her empty glass onto the table, the faintest tint of amber liquid shimmering at the bottom where a dimple sinks into the stem.

All you left me

Draco/Hermione, WIP, 4.5k, M

HG: WW Suicide Hotline. How can I help you tonight?

---

Observations!

I write a variety of fics lmao

Reverse harems start in the middle of the scene. I try to build context during the sexy times lmao

My more thought out ones like Forget Heroes and Monsters starts slow, establishes a scene by explaining Hermione's current state of mind.

When I write from Draco's POV, I tend to write him very sassy. See Tastes of Cunt and Wine.

And for One Whole and That_Little_Witch, both of which are only vibes, I started inside their heads. Hermione for One Whole being in the middle of the date, and Draco for That_Little_Witch, I try to establish his routine, his obsession.

All this to say, I think my pattern leans towards starting in the very middle of something, and I build from there.

I tag @bluezeldana, but honey, this took a lot of effort lmao, so if you don't, I won't hold it against ya <3

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #hp fanfcition #tag game #dramione

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forlorn-crows · 5 months

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Oh boy maybe it’s the fever making me brave but here we go! Cumulus!! Everyone characterizes her as super fem, very soft, care-giver type, very maternal. And I think it’s her shape. As someone with the same body type, I’m not that at all. I feel like she’s more the type to enjoy the finer things in life, be waited on hand and foot, step on someone’s balls if she feels like it. And if someone tried to latch on to her like they were nursing???? Annihilated. (I’m sorry I respect everyone elses’s HCs I swear please do not yell at me) I think she expects those around her to act like an adult and I am sure she is of course willing to be supportive, a shoulder to cry on etc like a normal friend. But NOT LIKE YOUR MOMMY. And expecting her to act like that while you’re fucking? No. NO! (Again I respect everyone’s opinions I’m sorry!)

i swore i saved all the cumulus specific ones to add to this one but alas, i guess i answered them all already lmao.

anyway. i think your ask is a perfect example of something i said earlier about trans ghouls, where one person's experience might lend them to liking something more than the other. and i hope the following things im gonna say a) make sense (lmao) but b) show a little bit of a different perspective or idea about this topic.

firstly, yes. it is absolutely true that cumulus has been deemed the 'mom' of the group. and i absolutely know that part of it probably does stem from internalized fatphobia, as well as societal stereotypes about fat women. that in order for them to be likeable they have to fit the traditional idea of femininity, to be maternal, to be 'done-up' and pretty and presentable at all times. that their worth is based on their ability to care for others. and thats fucking bullshit, and something i obviously, as a fat woman, dont condone.

on the other hand, the way i see cumulus, to most people, probably fits that mom friend type. and i can absolutely understand how you and others see that and go 'i look like her and im tired of being represented as such'. which is so fucking valid. but i cant deny that part of me projects that mom friend type of myself onto cumulus specifically because i look most like her. she's sweet. she's caring. shes supportive and loyal to her friends. she's got a beautiful, round, soft body that i wanna snuggle up to. and i know thats surface level shit. but i feel like i see her and she's just warm and kind.

but you know what? she's also a bit loud. likes to tease. DESERVES to be treated like the princess that she is. she's goofy. maybe shes clumsy. she gets crazy fuckin bedhead and has to spend so long untangling it. and i bet she serves a real sexy aloofness if you get her in the right mood. to me she's that mom friend trope. but thats not all she is, just as thats not all i am. and not at all how you would see yourself.

like i mentioned a little bit ago, i dont think there's anything wrong with having a character have a little bit of stereotype in them. but it does have to be balanced out. shes not JUST the mom friend. and something too that i do agree with you is, while i might label her that, she's not the pack's mother. she isnt their caretaker. they arent her children. i dont think they would treat her as such or assume that of her, if that makes sense. and yeah, totally understandable about the mommy during sex thing, or the nursing or whatever. a lot of that is more kink territory too, so if its not for you, then its not for you!

if anything, i always imagine aether to be running around making sure everyones got their shit together (even though we know he doesnt). and absolutely no ones forcing him to wear that damn frilly apron he always seems to be wearing in the kitchen . . . hmm . . .

but! i also see sunny as more of that warm, caregiving type personality too. as well as a boundless thing of energy. i def dont want cumulus to be pigeonholed into the 'mom' of the group either. but i still have certain ideas about how she is that could be labeled as such. you and everyone else is right that that's not all she is.

we just have to write her more. dig into her character. put her into those situations we want to see and that also challenge those two dimensional aspects of her trope character

i know that i push a little bit against that dislike of the mom thing. i dunno. but she's our lus and i love her very much, and would really like to see her more in the artwork & writing space <3

#obviously the 'you' is almost always the generalized you in this context lol #but i hope you get what i mean!#ask #midnight-moth #i fully acknowledge i project a lot of myself onto her hahaha #but shes got many other things about her

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fckwritersblock · 2 years

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Hi wanted to know if you could do one for all the shelby men and what it would be like to date a black woman.

Love this! This is the first of many of these as I started writing one for Tommy & Michael and I’ll be sure to tag you in the others boo

She Is Pretty

John Shelby x black reader

Description: John find out Isaiah has a sister and suddenly, the thought of having a woman around doesn’t seem so bad.

Warning: Smut. oral . Minors DO NOT engage

As usual, I suck at descriptions & it’s not beta’d . I made the reader related to Isaiah since he is already integrated into the show since it was easier to integrate her into the show that way. Not necessarily canon either As I recently we watch season one and two so it fits

You had shown up with Isaiah, after your insistent begging for weeks, he had finally bought you along with him to the races. A place, though he was not necessarily welcomed, but with his status with the Peaky Blinders and Shelby‘s Mike Irenea could do a lot of things a lot of Black people couldn’t. Not only was your brother considered a peaky blinder, but the rest of the shamp Shelby family would be in attendance too. You be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, finally getting to meet them all having heard so much about them - really it was your eavesdropping. You had never officially met any of them before, outside of Tommy. You were 15 when your father went off to war. You hadn’t lived with your father in quite some time, your mother having taking you away when they split. Still, you wrote to both your father and brother often, and you insisted on spending the summers with your father. That all led up to today.

Upon your arrival John couldn’t take his eyes off of you as he noticed your arm linked with Isaiah as the two of you approached Tom. The dress you worn done little to cover the curves he could tell were meant to be hiding and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trace over your figure as he pictured all the things he could do to you.

“Ms. Jesus,” Tommy spoke being the first to notice you in there group that had gathered. “Nice of course you to finally join.”

Ms. Jesus? John frowned. Isaiah has a sister?

“Figure I’d see what all the fuss is about.” You replied with a smile at Tommy who had kissed the side of your head.

Christ. Your voice had John hard as a rock. The beauty that radiated from you was one thing but your voice was without a doubt the Caribbean accent you dorn that was so attractive to him. Course he heard a hint of it from Isaiah, Christ yours was a lot stronger and a lot more prominent and it sounded so incredibly sexy coming from you.

“Thank you for having me Mr Shelby.” You playfully rolled your eyes when he gave you a look. “Tommy.”

“Always welcome. If you’ll excuse me, i trust, your brother and mine to handle introductions while I step away for a bit.” He excused himself after receiving a tap on the shoulder.

As soon as Tommy walked away, John took that as his moment to slither in before anyone else could catch your attention.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He tried to inhale discretely, completely captivated by the scent of her perfume. “I’m John.”

You look at his hand as he held it out, smiling at how chivalrous and tame he was attempting to be. A complete contrast to the stories you heard.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby I know. My brother speaks very highly of you and your family. As well as my father.” You placed your smaller hand in his. “Y/n Jesus.”

Bringing you hands to his lips he kissed it, lips lingering on the back of your hand, eyes never leaving yours. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the way he was staring at you was a alluring. You swallowed trying to collect yourself as a certain warm coursed through your body stemming from the place his lips touched your skin. Slowly he released your hand and you brought it back down to your side.

“Thank you very much for allowing my brother and I to accompany you all today.” You breathed out, keeping the waiver out of your voice. “I know there aren’t many established places that allow us but-“ he scoffed.

“Do I look like a man, who gives a fuck what these people think?”

John knew he couldn’t imagine the things you may have faced, however he did have an inkling of what it was like to be disliked for something you could not change, him being a gypsy himself. Still having seen first hand how black people had been treated for such a thing he knew they didn’t compare. He hated that you could walk into place and be judged for the color of your skin. Without anyone knowing who you were on the inside. And boy did he want to know who you were on the inside.

“No, Mr. Shelby, you don’t.”

“Tell you what love. You need anything, you want anything, you let me know and I’ll get it for you, eh?”

“Come sister, the race is going to begin.” Isaiah interrupted, having seen the interaction between you too.

The last thing he wanted to be a witness to was John talk his way into your pants, older sister or hot.

With a gentle hold of your arm he began to steer you in the directions of where you’d be sitting, introducing you to some of the others as you pass by. Peering over your shoulder you offered John one last glance in a smile.

You weren’t sure how long the races went on for. You were too busy focused on making sure you didn’t get caught staring at John Shelby every opportunity you got the chance. However, the aforementioned had absolutely no problem staring at you as he did so shamelessly. He was John Shelby, after all and when he wanted something he got it, same as any of the other Shelby‘s.

Alas the races were finally over, with Graces Secret coming in first. The rest of the gentleman seem to be celebrating and carrying on loudly as usual as everyone stood in the stables. The only woman present being you, you didn’t want to make too many waves though you enjoyed seeing how excited everyone seemed to be at the moment. However rambunctious the bunch, the energy was simply pure. Blood or not them men surrounding the Shelby Family we were clearly like family to them, and it was refreshing to see.

You stood next to Curly who was tending to the horse as you couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful it was. You could feel someone approaching and assuming it was Tommy you opened your mouth to congratulate him.

“Congrats again! It really is a lovely horse Tommy.”

“That she is.”You jump at the unfamiliar voice, peering over to see John Shelby standing neck to you an amused look on his face.

“Excuse me, mr Shelby.” You look down feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “ I mistook you for Thomas.”

“ what you wanted it to be my brother? Prefer his company eh?”

You eyed him momentarily before grinning, realizing that he was teasing noticing this smirk on his face.

“ Well that depends.” You challenged.

“On?” He stood up straighter, causally stepping closer to you and you turned to face hun completely.

“You.”

After a pregnant pause he nodded signaling you to go on.

“Well, Mr. Shelby-“

“John.” He corrected.

“John.” You said it slowly as of testing the name out before smiling softly. “Earlier you mentioned if I needed anything i need you get it for me”

“I meant it.” He confirmed and your heart to swelled.

“I did have a question if you don’t mind me asking.” You pressed on, not wanting to lose your nerve. “I was told your children need it looking after. I’m not sure he’ll be here long past the summer but I am available and I’m looking for work if you still needed someone.”

Nervously you bit your lip as John said nothing. The reason being he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that pretty mouth of yours. The one he could envision you doing very bad things with. The one he knew would make the prettiest fucking noises. The on he wanted to hear screaming his name.

“So, do you?” You repeated, effectively snapping John out of his trance.

“Hmm?”

“Still need someone?”

And that is how you ended up being the nanny for John Shelby‘s children. They weren’t bad, they needed structure, sure, but if anything in the children but will wait extremely well mannered. Well, the two oldest. The two youngest, the babes, were quite the handful initially. All in all, you had no trouble with them at all. Nothing out of the norm. He paid you handsomely. It did however surprise John how quickly the children had taken to you and you got them on a regular routine from bedtime from mornings to lessons to bedtime. This must’ve been that motherly and womanly touch Polly kept going on about. What he and his children have been missing and that would quickly turn his infatuation with you from lust to something more.

It started off seemingly innocent. At first he had arranged someone drive you home at the end of the day. Soon it turned into him driving you himself. He would accompany you and the children on walks, and even help you straighten up when he was present after the children had been put to bed. John had to gone out of his way to get you little gifts, one being fancy case of different spices and herbs once he found out you love to cook; you had stayed well after your relief came and John had to come home to you cooking dinner in his kitchen. It was definitely a sight that he wanted to come home to all the time. So he made an effort to show up at least once a day while you were present Monday through Friday.

Of course the attraction was mutual. Other than the few times you cooked him dinner, you found yourself asking him how his day went. Asking if he needed anything when he was present. You began arriving early, early enough to see him leave in the morning. Sometimes you’d make him lunch for him to take in the mornings. He complimented one of your fragrances once, saying how nice and soft it smelled, and you made sure to wear it nearly every day.

The two craved one another. You shared longing gazes, lingering touches, and finally, John decided to man up and kiss you. The energy between two was magnetic in there and the pool soon and I’ve had you leave in your house in the middle of the night and meeting John at the Garrison. Sometimes the two of you share a drink, other times well…

That was also the two of you found yourselves in the current scandalous position.

Your legs were propped on his shoulders, skirt hiked up to the waist, placing one hand on the desk to your left, the uselessly other grasping at the wall what balance for balance. But then grip John held onto your waist with was more than enough to keep you steady as he continued to devour you.

“Oh for fuck sakes!" you pant, Before leaning her head against the wall, biting your lip to keep from being too loud.

Head beneath you skirt, buried between your thighs, John flattens his tongue and guides his head up, sliding his tongue between your folds.

Your grinding into his mouth when suddenly you feel him envelope your clit in his mouth and sucking.

“Johnnnn” you were a whimpering mess and trying your best to keep from waking the children who should be up from their nap at any moment. You also didn’t want the maids to hear either, not that John particularly gave a fuck. He wouldn’t be satisfied until you came and he was able to lapse up every single drop and your juiced coated his face. You don’t know what it is he was doing with his tongue that made you gasp before as you felt that familiar tightening in your stomach wrap even tighter before a strong releasing washed over you. He lapse at your slick until you finally began to come down.

As you attempted to catch your breath he kissed your inner thighs a few times before removing each leg from his shoulders one at time, making sure you wouldn’t fall.

Soon as he stands up, he leaning down slightly his free hand to your cheek, pressing his lips against yours, you instantly melting into the kiss. As you make out, you feel John trying to sneakily turn you around.

“John we cant- the, the children-“ you stuttered out the reminder as you felt the bulge in his pants pressed into you from behind.

He huffs wrapping an arm around your waste and you lean back into him spent. He placed a few kisses on the side of your neck The other hand gently grabbing your throat.

“You fucking keep playing this game of cat and mouse‘s with me,” the hand on your waist traveled down to cup your mound. “and it’s really fucking doing my head in.”

You gasp when he pinches your clit.

“My patience will expire love, & I can’t promise you when it does, I’ll have mercy on that pretty pussy of yours.”

Kissing a trail from you lips, to jaw, your ear, he then whispered:

“And she is pretty.”

#peaky blinder imagine #black female reader #black!reader #black writer #john shelby #John Shelby x black reader #john shelby x you #john shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #request #black reader imagine #black reader #peaky blinders #shelby family #isaiah jesus

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