#i haven't drawn those two together yet this year...

[joels-shitty-puns]

I'm gonna make a request again (sorry your last one was too good for me not to ask again) but this time for a jealous Joel! Maybe the reader and him have been friends for a while and she's oblivious to his flirting and she finally lands a date? How it goes from there can be up to you! I just love the jealous and possessive trope.

The Jealousy Bug

Pairing: Jealous!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Hi!! I'm so sorry this took me so long to write, but thank you for the request!! I hope you like it!! I got a lil carried away... hope its not too much smut.

~~~~~

(Reader and Joel live in Jackson, amid the apocalypse)

Word count: 6.8K (oof)

Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI!! Smut smut smut. P in V sex (likely unprotected but not specified. Its an apocalypse, yo.), masturbation (m and f), sort of dubcon? voyeurism?? sorta?, kissing, talk of genitals and arousal, horny behavior. Explicit language and mean names. Alcohol. Violence: infected, guns, punching, mention of a knife. Joel is kind of a jerk sometimes. Possessive. Mentions of loss and grief (all within S.1 of TLOU). I haven't played part II yet so we're just gonna ignore what we know happens there. Joel and Ellie are happy in Jackson. Joel and Reader are friends and sort of neighbors. Clueless idiots in love. A total asshole of a guy in the town. Lil bit of fluff/romance? Mention of bugs (pill bugs), but not in a gross way. If I missed anything, please let me know, and I apologize!

Other Stuff: Avoidance of reader descriptors, other than reader is AFAB. Mentions of having hair on the noggin. She/her pronouns. Reader is clueless and also clumsy as hell. Reader also drinks coffee and alcohol. Italics indicate thoughts.

__________

It was around 4PM when you filed into the community center for another mandatory patrol meeting. It may be an apocalypse, but even now, you wished this meeting could have been an email instead. Alas, that was a thing of the past, and you were unfortunately stuck listening to the usual spiel about necessary vs. unnecessary items to raid… The importance of remembering to ABC, “Always Be Cautious,” plants that can and can't be eaten, etc.

You sat in your usual spot, the back row next to Joel Miller. A year ago when you first moved to this town, first started patrol, you came into this very room not knowing anyone. Friend groups stuck together, each of the two front rows filled, yet a few empty spaces here and there. Instead, you walked towards the back of the room. A handsome man, who you soon learned was named Joel, sat by himself, three rows back, behind the last full aisle. He was alone. The whole aisle of chairs was empty. He sat with his arms crossed, and you could tell based on his posing that he was not the social type. 

You were feeling a bit nervous, having finally found a sort of civilization in this mess, and hoping the people of Jackson accept you and not just shoot you, like most camps do when they see unknown faces. Unsure where to sit, you continued to head towards the back, slightly drawn to the gorgeous gray-haired man in the last row. Not wanting to intrude, you sat at the far end from Joel. You could feel his eyes on you as you sat, but you didn't dare look over and make eye contact. Years of survival instincts have told you that, especially when someone doesn't want to be bothered.

_____

When you first walked into the room, Joel looked up. He sat in the back row, as usual, not wanting to get close to anyone. However, even if he did, nobody gave him the time of day. They have heard stories of what he’s done, they have seen him around town, often grumbling about something. They could tell he wanted to be left alone and they had no interest in testing how badly he wanted to be left alone.

Joel found it easier to not form connections. Tommy kept telling him to make friends, come around more, socialize in the town. But Joel had learned over the years why making connections never ends well. All he has is Tommy and Ellie, and neither of those were his initial decision, but Tommy is his only family, and somehow he let himself care for Ellie.

But when Joel saw you… there was a flash of longing. He saw you smile gently at Tommy with a small wave. He could see you shrink walking to your seat past the cliques. You were beautiful, and if it were pre-pandemic, you'd be the exact type he'd probably take interest to.

But those days are over.

Or… so he thought.

He set his eyes back down on his hands in his lap, avoiding eye contact with you when you sat down at the end of the row from him.

Why did she sit so far away? Am I that horrible to be around? His heart questioned.

You don't want to be near people anyway. Good she sat far away. Leave me alone. His brain tried to argue.

Tommy droned on and on, the meeting nearing an hour by now, and you could feel Joel’s eyes on the side of your face every few minutes. You don't know why he kept staring, but it made you feel nervous. Did you have something on your face or clothes? Did you smell bad?

Tommy knew his brother well, sometimes more than Joel likes to admit out loud, and as he talked, he took note of Joel’s staring. At first his expression looked confused, maybe irritated or disgusted. Then it looked slightly… disappointed. But he kept stealing glances your direction, and so with a smirk, Tommy assigned the two of you to be on patrol together. Joel questioned his reasoning afterward, but he knew there was no point arguing with his brother.

After that day, you patrolled together. You both went to the bar with the group after meetings. You sat closer and closer to Joel. You managed to get some words out of him, and he listened to you chatter on. But it was when you brought him a cup of coffee before patrol one morning that he finally let down his guard. His heart had betrayed his defenses.

“What's this?” He asked, gruffly.

“Coffee, Joel…” you replied with a joking eye roll. “It's black. I know you don't like anything in it.”

He took a sip, shocked to taste that you actually knew how he took his coffee. “How did you know that?”

“I notice things Joel.” You patted his shoulder, walking towards the group.

_____

Now, a year later, the two of you were very close friends. You still surprised him with things you remembered or noticed, but much to his chagrin, the one thing you didn't pick up on were his advances. He'd call you pet names, be sweet to you, treat you like a gentleman, flirt a little, and it was like talking to a robot. You were clueless.

Tonight's meeting finally ended, the large group heading outside to the chill fall air. “You wanna get drinks with the patrol squad?” you asked Joel. 

“Wouldn't miss it,” he winked at you, putting his leather jacket on his shoulders.

Although you went as a group, ultimately you and Joel spent most of the nights in your own little bubble, occasionally making space in your circle for Tommy, or Maria if she joined.

Tonight, the two of you sat at the bar, the patrol group spread throughout the room at different tables. Joel excused himself to use the restroom, and while he was gone, Jimmy, one of the other patrol members approached you. Hurrying before Joel returned, he flirted and asked you out on a date. You told him you'd think about it, that you weren't sure if you were ready for a relationship after years of caution.

Not technically a lie, you thought. Although you really just weren't ready for a relationship because your heart was already taken by your handsome best friend. 

Joel returned just in time to see Jimmy walking away. “What did he want?” Joel grumbled. “Ah nothin, just wanted to say hi while getting a drink,” you lied. Joel accepted this answer and the two of you drank into the night. At the end of the evening, you seemed pretty drunk. Jimmy offered to walk you home, but before you had a chance to reply, Joel replied for you.

“I'll take her home, thanks.” He bit, turning you away from Jimmy. “I don't like the idea of that boy walkin’ you home. Don't trust ‘im. ‘Specially not when you're in this condition,” he wrapped an arm around you, shuffling you toward the door.

“You don't think I can handle myself, Joel?” You asked him, pulling away, a little bit irritated at him treating you like a weakling. “I seem to do just fine on patrol,” you argued.

“I know that, sugar. I didn't mean it like that. I just don't trust that guy. Heard how he goes through women. Don't want him trying’ anything with you,” he brushed his hand over your hair, causing you to soften at his words and actions.

You gasped lightly. “Is THE Joel Miller… jealous?” You knew he wasn't, but why not test the waters?

“What? Jealous? Of what? No ‘m not.” he balked. “Just lookin’ out for you…”

“Mmhm… you just wanna be the only big strong man walking me home, huh?” You teased, tripping over your own feet. 

Joel caught you in his arms. “Big strong man, huh? ‘S that what you think of me?” 

Shit… did I say that? You panicked. Maybe I'm more drunk than I thought…

Deciding to tease it off, you replied, “well you do always seem to catch me when I fall…” with a wink.

Falling in more ways than one… you thought, frustrated.

He rubbed his neck with the hand not holding you upright. You could almost see a pink tinge to his cheeks.

No, that has to be the lights playing tricks on my eyes… you thought. No way Joel Miller was blushing at your words.

“I kinda have to, ya big klutz. Practically a liability. I oughta tell Tommy to add a safety section on patrolling with you,” he bantered.

“Ah, shut up” you laughed with a push, causing yourself to lose balance instead of Joel. He just gave a knowing look, causing you both to laugh as you continued walking, now side by side instead of him holding you up.

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up. “You know, I could've walked myself home, Joel,” you stumbled, giggling.  

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around you again, propping you up. “Don't worry about it. Let's just get you home. You've had way too much to drink.”

“You're so sweet Joel,” you pouted at him, booping his nose. “Joelly Joel.” You giggled. “Jolly Joelly.” Another giggle. “I dunno why people think you're so grumpy. I think you're just a big teddy bear,” you closed your eyes, leaning your head on his shoulder while he stumbled forward, trying to keep you upright.

“Who says I'm grumpy, darlin’?” He tilted his head towards you, smirking. “The whole town, silly. Silly Joelly. Joely-poly.” You gasped abruptly, causing Joel to jerk and turn to face you. “What? What is it?” His hand reached for his knife on his hip. Old habits die hard.

“Joely-poly!!” You squealed. “Awe! Roly-polies. Remember those!? I used to love them when I was little.” You pouted. “Before this whole world went to shit.”

Joel thought back to the little pill bugs, playing in the dirt with them when he was younger. Teaching his own daughter about them. His heart aches for what he lost, but he also thinks of Ellie. He bets she would love the little bugs too.

“That's a cute nickname for you,” you smiled. “They're so cute. Just,” you booped his nose. “Like.” Boop. “You,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Another gasp from your lips.

He flinched again. “Darlin’, if you don't quit that I swear-”

“Joeeeel!” You pouted. “Do you think the roly-polies all died off with the infection!?” Your eyes welled up.

“Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. There's probably still some out there. Bugs could get cordyceps long before the fungus attacked humans, and they were still alive back then.” You looked up into his deep brown eyes through your fluttering lashes. “You really think so?” You leaned in, placing both your hands on his cheeks. His breath caught in his chest. “Darlin’, you drank a lot tonight-” you cut off his sentence, running your hands down his neck, resting your palms on his chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute. If he didn't know better, he'd worry his heart would leap out and fly away. 

Your eyes lit up and you slid off his chest, lowering clumsily to the ground and gripping his sides for balance. You were now on your knees, eye level with his crotch, hands on his hips. His breath was ragged and his stomach full of twirling butterflies. “Wh-what do you think you're doin’?” He asked nervously. You looked up at him with big eyes, your hands slowly falling down from his hips to his thighs as you tried to balance yourself in your drunken state. He couldn't help but feel his pants begin to tent at the position you were in. He would never take advantage of you in your current state, but trying to ignore the desire brewing in his body after so many months of unrequited feelings was challenging. Did you finally see his advances for what they were? Feelings instead of friendliness?

You grinned up at him, finally regaining balance. “I'm gonna go look for ‘em!” you turned and waddled away on your knees, heading a couple feet away, towards a patch of flowers off the path.

She just needed to use me as a ladder, or what…? Joel thought to himself with a sigh and shaking his head in disappointment, his sexual frustration at its breaking point.

You crawled forward, falling onto your hands and knees in the soft dirt. Joel quickly stepped forward to try and grab you but realized, despite your lack of grace, you meant to do that. “Ugh… darlin', it's dark out here. It's cold. You're drunk. Let's get you home.”

“I'm looking for buggies, Joel!!” You leaned towards a leaf, arching downward so that your face was closer to the ground, ass up. 

“Oh, have mercy…” Joel groaned under his breath, his eyes drifting downward. Your ass was up in the air, facing him, the fabric of your dress having fallen forward towards your front. Your light pink panties were on full display for Joel, leaving little to his imagination in this position. Joel subtly adjusted his pants, looking up to the sky and shaking his head in a silent plea. 

You whined. “Joel, I don't see any.” You leaned farther forward, wiggling your butt somehow higher. Joel looked around, panicked at the thought that someone else might see you in this position. But luckily, you were close to your house and it was just the two of you out here. He turned back to you again. “I think it's time you get up and we go in-” you moved further forward, the streetlight shining above you and illuminating your ass. Joel tried to be a gentleman, but his eyes betrayed him. As he snuck another glance, he couldn't help but notice a little wet spot over the crotch of your panties. “In-inside…” he finished his sentence, words catching in his throat. He gulped, trying to divert his eyes. 

Taking a shaky breath and stepping forward, trying to ignore the throbbing need in his pants, he lightly grabbed your arm. “It's time to go sweetheart. The bugs are sleepin’ I think.” 

You looked at him and smiled mischievously. “I know, Joel,” you winked. Jumping up, you scampered towards your house, leaving Joel to wonder what the hell just happened.

“Woman's gonna be the death of me,” Joel muttered under his breath to himself. He caught up to you, just as you both approached your house. “Joel, I don't wanna go home. Can't I stay with you? And Ellie?” you batted your eyelashes at him. He rubbed his neck. “Ellie's with a friend tonight. But, you do have a point. You probably shouldn't be left by yourself in this state. Don't want you gettin’ hurt, or sick, and bein’ all alone.”

“Such a gentleman, Joel.” You touched his bicep, the two of you walking towards Joel's house across the street.

Hardly, he thought, grimacing at the reason he was aching in his trousers, feeling like an old creep, and a terrible excuse for a friend.

Once inside Joel's house, he gave you a baggy sleep shirt and a glass of water with some crackers to help with the alcohol. You changed, brushed your teeth with a spare toothbrush, and used the restroom. He let you have his bed, while he took the couch down the hall, scrunching his legs up to barely fit.

_____

Joel tried his hardest to ignore what he saw earlier and just go to bed, but the aching only continued, making it impossible to sleep. Sure that you must have fallen asleep by now, tucked away in his bed down the hall, he quietly reached into his pajama bottoms and boxers, pulling out his rock-hard penis. Even the mere touch of removing himself from his pants caused him to hiss, so worked up he could have cum just watching you bent over earlier.

He was a gentleman, but he was still a man, and one that hadn't been with a woman in a very long time. With as many people as he'd lost by one means or another, he'd told himself he wouldn't get close to anyone else. Sarah's mom. Sarah. Tess. Bill and Frank. Sam and Henry. He almost thought he had lost Tommy before Jackson, too. It was against his wishes that Ellie crawled her way into his heart, and then he almost lost her as well. He was beginning to think maybe it was him. He was cursed, doomed to have anyone he loved ripped away from him.

Which is why when you came to Jackson, he tried his best to ignore you. But you always greeted him, cheerful and sweet, like a little ball of sunshine that was somehow untarnished by the storm clouds of an apocalypse.

He was irritated to realize that he had made room in his heart for you. You caused an ache in his heart that yearned to be filled. A missing piece in his soul. A place for him to someday fit, tangled between sheets and loving words. It had been about a year since you moved to Jackson, and he still feared getting too close to you, yet he would try his hardest to woo you the way a gentleman should. Sweet nicknames, flirting, gentle touches. You never picked up on it. Whether or not you felt the same, he stupidly fell in love. Unsure if it was mutual, yet pretty sure it wasn't after all this time, he tried to ignore the dirty thoughts revolving around you when the late-night urges would hit him. Somehow it felt wrong.

But tonight, it was hard to avoid. Having you touch him. His face, his neck, his chest, his hips, his thighs. Kneeling eye level with his crotch. Slinking away, sticking your barely covered ass in the air, letting your wet panties be shown to him and only him. He couldn't get you out of his head as he stroked himself. First slowly, but then harder and faster, trying to reach his climax with the thought of him burying himself in that sweet spot underneath your wet underwear. How he longed to see you with his own eyes, begging for him.

He tried to be quiet, to keep himself hidden from you down the hall, but the noise of skin on skin grew slightly louder with each of his quiet moans and panting breaths that managed to slip from his lips. Imagining himself buried deep inside you, taking you from behind in the same position he saw you in earlier, imagining the tight grip around him and the slick noises he could only fantasize about. He could practically hear you moaning and sighing, the sound seeping from his subconscious to the living room. He pumped harder, swirling his thumb around the head, drooling with precum, as his climax grew closer. He could feel his strokes becoming less controlled and his balls pulling upward as he began to shoot load after load of white hot release up under his shirt onto his stomach. Stroking himself through it, he milked his last few ropes of cum out before laying back to catch his breath, slowly tucking himself back away in his pants.

Coming back to his senses, he realized the sounds of your moans and whimpers that he was imagining were still happening. Taken out of his fantasies when he finished, there was no reason for the sounds to still be in his head. Needing to grab a cloth from the linen closet down the hall anyway, he walked, nearing his bedroom door, and heard the unmistakable sound of you pleasuring yourself. Quietly, he padded down the hallway, closer to the door. He could tell you were trying to be quiet, but could still hear you, soft whimpers and pants, surrounded by wet schlick noises.

Fuck, he thought. He could feel himself already getting excited again, despite having just released a few minutes ago. He desperately wanted to join you in his bed, or at the least, stand by the door and listen to your sounds while pleasuring himself, but he wasn't going to be a creep, nor scare you to death. You were still his friend. Even if he did want to move the couch across the living room to hear you better.

_____

Meanwhile in Joel's room, you had tried to sleep. You really had. But tossing and turning, each roll causing your nose to be surrounded with his scent, you were thrown into a frenzy, like an animal in heat. Each smell of his cologne, shaving cream, deodorant, and natural body scent that you picked up from his bed sent a wave of arousal directly to your core. You wondered how many times he'd pleasured himself in this bed and how frequently. You wondered if he ever thought of you while doing it, imagining himself buried deep to the hilt inside of you, each drag of his cock more perfect than the last, much like you were imagining now.

You would be lying if you didn't say there were a lot of handsome men in Jackson. Granted, you had been without romance for a very long time, but still. Many of them were single, and some of them were very sweet and friendly. Yet for some strange reason, your heart had been drawn to Joel. The first moment you saw him, with his silvery curls and his grumpy face, his shining brown eyes and his patched beard, you were smitten. You were a bit disappointed that he seemed to be a massive grump, but despite what everyone said, he was always nice to you. Granted, you were always nice to him, so why should he be anything less, right?

He was always a total gentleman, calling you names like darlin’ and sweetheart, his southern drawl pulling you in like a lasso. His care for his unofficially-adopted daughter warmed your heart, and you could see he was a real family man from both their relationship, and the one he shared with his brother. It warmed your heart, especially when you befriended Tommy and Ellie, getting to hear them talk about Joel. Seeing the love they feel, even if they give him a hard time sometimes. You didn't see how people felt Joel was cruel or heartless, even with the stories you heard. Times were rough, and people did what they had to for survival. 

You were always too chicken to make a move, and you figured he wouldn't be interested anyway. Surely him calling you those names and being sweet with you was just his Southern gentlemanly nature, right? You were nice to him, he was nice to you. 

So tonight, when Jimmy, the local heartthrob in town, asked you on a date, you told him you'd think about it and let him know. Yeah, you claimed you weren't sure how you felt about relationships after all the world had become. Truth was, you wanted a last chance with Joel before throwing in the towel and settling for Jimmy.

Sure, Jimmy was handsome. Blonde hair, blue eyes, rugged, yet boyish. Several of the women in town had crushes on him, and he had had several of the women in town. You weren't clueless to the rumors about his playboy behavior. But it had been a while and well, you weren't getting any younger. It might be nice to have a partner, even if he did only want a short little fling. 

So throwing back a few drinks, you decided you needed the liquid courage to finally make a move at Joel. One last effort to get his attention. You still didn't want to say anything to him, lest it ruin your current friendship that had grown so strong, but you could certainly use your body to entice a little. Drinking just enough to be brave, yet not so drunk that you were completely out of it, you gave an impression you were much drunker than you were, and needed Joel to help you out. Jimmy had almost been the one to walk you home, to your disappointment, before Joel stepped in, seeming slightly irritated about Jimmy's offer.

Yet after practically waving your ass in his face, showing him your panties (which you were sure looked wet), being inches from his crotch at knee height, and hanging on him all the way home, to now sleeping in his house and his bed, you were quite sure he didn't feel the same. Obviously his gestures were pure gentlemanly charm if he didn't bite after tonight's show.

So you tried to sleep, still a little drunk, but getting drunker off his scent. You tried to ignore the ache between your legs but the thought of him in this bed, groaning as his hand pumped his member to completion, made you throb. Soaked and antsy, you finally gave in and stuck your hand under the waistband of your panties. You let your imagination run wild, picturing him taking you in this bed, bringing you to bliss more than once. You could practically hear him groaning and panting, the sound seeping from your subconscious to the bedroom.

Tomorrow you would likely tell Jimmy yes. But tonight, you would try your best to get Joel out of your system, one stroke of your fingers at a time. But as you finished, coming with a whisper of Joel's name under your breath, you could still hear the groans and pants from Joel. Climbing out of bed, you moved to the door, pressing your ear against it. You could just barely hear the sounds of him panting and groaning, intermittent with the fapping of skin on skin. Delightedly surprised, you listened harder, feeling your pussy drool at the thought. How desperately you wanted to go out into the living room and climb on top of him. But he might not want that… he probably just couldn't sleep. Probably nothing to do with the scene you put on earlier. So instead, you slinked back to his bed, opting for round two.

At some point, the two of you fell asleep, panting and writhing with the self-induced pleasure, and the sound of each other through the door.

_____

The next morning, you awoke, walking down the hall to see Joel in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, making coffee. Your eyes scanned his broad shoulders and back, naked and tan. Bringing you back to last night's events, you felt your breath catching in your chest. 

“M-morning” you stuttered out, nervously.

Joel jumped, having not heard you. He turned, greeting you with a good morning. A faint blush crept across his cheeks and he quickly turned his head to pour a cup of coffee, offering you some as well. Thanking him, the two of you sipped in silence, both stealing glances at the other and thinking of the night before. Both of you felt like you had a dirty little secret the other didn't know. 

“Thanks again for taking care of me last night,” you added. In more ways than one, you thought.

“Of course, darlin’. Couldn't have you walkin’ home all alone or getting sick in the middle of the night. You're always welcome here,” he smiled.

“Well, I guess I better head to my house now,” you sighed. “See you later at patrol?”

“Course. Take care, sugar.” He brushed his hand over your arm. That's new… you thought. But still, probably friendly, unfortunately.

____

Hours later, you show up to patrol, noticing Joel hasn't arrived yet. Still a few minutes early, you look at the map, thinking over the route. You felt a tap on your shoulder, and turned around to see Jimmy. 

“Hey, Jimmy,” you greeted, feeling slightly awkward. You assumed he probably wanted (and deserved) an answer. You rubbed your arm nervously, staring at the ground, wondering what to tell him. He was handsome, you thought, and you weren't getting anywhere with Joel. 

“Did you, uh” Jimmy scratched behind his ear, “give any more thought to that date?”

Geesh. Not a lot of thinking time here…

“I did,” you replied. “I think… My answer is yes. I'll go out with you.” You felt a pang of regret in your stomach, but you wanted a connection, and you just weren't getting that from Joel, despite what you wanted to think from last night.

Jimmy grinned. “Really?” He picked up your hand, holding it in his. “That's great. I know you have patrol today, but maybe Friday? I'll meet you at your house at 6?” 

“Sure,” you gave a small fake smile. “Sounds great.” He still held your hand, warm and soft and nothing like the rugged, large, callused hands of hard-working Joel. Although Joel has never held your hand, the times he's touched your arms, or held you up on your walk from the bar, he left a trail of goosebumps and butterflies in his wake, despite being warm to the touch.

Jimmy went to kiss your hand, just as Joel walked up. “What’s goin’ on here, huh?” He asked, seeming almost… angry, looking from Jimmy, to your connected hands, over to your face. “Joel,” Jimmy dropped your hand, giving Joel a curt nod.

“Jimmy..” Joel replied, teeth clenched. 

“I'll see you Friday,” Jimmy smiled at you, touching your shoulder before walking away.

“What did that little asshole want?” Joel growled.

“Geez Joel, chill out. What's your problem? I'm not allowed to talk to people?” You crossed your arms.

“I toldja last night. I don't trust that kid. Too busy sleepin’ around with the whole town. What's he talkin’ to you for?” Joel furrowed his brow, looking over at Jimmy across the room, now talking to some of the other patrolmen.

“Gosh Joel.. seriously what is wrong with you? First of all, he's hardly a kid. He's at least in his thirties. Second of all, everyone he's been with, I'm sure has been consensual, otherwise Tommy would have kicked him out of the town. And lastly, but probably more important. What do you mean “what is he talking to you for?” You mocked in a deep voice. “Like I'm the only option he has left? Like I'm not deserving of a man talking to me? Not that it’s any of your business, friend, but for your information, Jimmy is taking me on a date on Friday. So fuck off, Joel.” You started to stomp away angrily, grabbing your pack off the desk.

“The fuck he is,” Joel muttered under his breath, so quiet you didn't hear and grabbing his pack as well.

_____

Five hours. Five hours of riding in complete silence, checking out abandoned buildings in complete silence, and taking breaks in complete silence. Even your first patrol wasn't this quiet, and you couldn't help but feel like he was somehow angry at you.

As irritated as you were with him, not talking to him somehow felt worse. This wasn't like him. Is this the grumpy side everyone talks about? Is this Joel, the asshole you have yet to meet?

Feeling confused, your eyes started to cloud, slightly teary with anger and sadness, yet also a bit of dread at going out with Jimmy. You blinked your eyes, sorting through the abandoned drug store you and Joel were in.

Finding some condoms on a shelf, you threw them in your pack. “What're you doin’?” Joel asked. “Those can't be sold, didn't you pay attention to Tommy? They're rarely effective this old.”

“Yes I paid attention, Joel. I know they can't be sold. They're for me. I figured it's better than nothing,” you replied bitterly. “I have a date in a couple days, I want to be prepared,” you scowled. Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything, instead turning to look the other direction of the aisle.

Crouched down to search the bottom shelf for other items, Joel was still turned away from you, keeping lookout on the other end of the aisle. 

You didn't even hear the stalker leap around the corner from the shadows and pounce on you. It opened its mouth, fungal strands spreading from its mouth towards your face. Pure fear pulsed through your veins.

“Joel!!!!!” You cried out, using all your strength to try and push the infected off of your body, but it was too strong. 

You screamed and kicked, struggling to break free, when Joel fired his shotgun, shooting the enemy in the head and immediately running over to you. Throwing the infected off of your body as if it was weightless, Joel scooped you into his arms. His lips moved but you heard nothing. Your ears rang, high pitched squeals from adrenaline, fear, shock, and the bang of the shotgun.

Joel pawed over your body, roughly inspecting you for bites and wounds in a frenzy. When he didn't find any, he held you in his arms again. “It's okay baby, it's okay. You're alright sweetheart. Come back to me, it's okay. You're okay.” Your hearing must have returned. He rocked you, tears welling from your eyes and his. “You're okay. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” He kissed your ear and the side of your head, still rocking you in a hug, sitting on the floor, inches from the now-dead infected. The two of you needed to get out of here, but neither of you could move yet.

Finally you spoke. “Why are you sorry Joel?” You asked with a sniffle. You wrapped your arm around his back, the other hand finding the back of his head, gripping his curls gently.

“I'm sorry for how I've been actin’ all day. I'm sorry I didn't see that stalker before he attacked. I'm sorry for being so possessive earlier. I'm sorry,” he held you tighter.

You pulled back to look into his eyes. “Joel, you couldn't have heard or seen that stalker. That's what they do best. You saved me and that's all that matters. As for earlier, you were being an asshole, and it did really hurt my feelings. All this time people have said you're such a jerk, and I didn't see it,” you pulled away from his grip, “but today I did.” You looked at your lap. “Don't I deserve to go on a date? Don't I deserve to have someone love me?” You picked at the hem of your pants, avoiding his eye contact.

“Oh, darlin', I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to feel that way. I just - you deserve something real, not a hookup like that guy wants. I know his type. He'll sleep with you and toss you aside. You deserve to be treated like a lady.”

You snorted. “Yeah, Joel. That's how things are nowadays, too. Gentleman just waiting to sweep me off my feet. Shit, you literally just saved me from near-death, something that happens all the time today, and yet you're saying I deserve love? To find romance? Yeah, right.”

Joel didn't say anything. He just looked into your eyes, lips pursed and moving to the side in thought. His eyes drifted to your lips and back up to your sight.

You continued. “I don't even like Jimmy,” you said quietly. “I like someone else, but I just got tired of waiting and wanted some kind of connection. Even if it's just a night in bed.” At the last part of your sentence, Joel grimaced, almost in pain. And then he thought.

“Wait,” he sat back a little, scanning your face. “Who do you like?” 

You gulped. Why not a little more adrenaline? “Well, it was you, until you started acting like an asshole. But I realized you probably didn't feel the same way a while ago. Especially after I practically threw myself at you last night.”

“Threw yourself at me last night? What are you talkin’ about? You were drunk,” Joel answered.

“I wasn't that drunk, Joel. My movements were pretty planned. The placement of my touches on your body. My ass angled up in your direction. I wanted you,” you added, pointedly.

Joel looked like he was solving a complicated math problem. “So you… last night when you… I heard you, in bed, pleasurin’ yourself. Were you… thinking about me?”

You looked up at him in shock and panic. “You heard me?” You asked in a frantic whisper.

“Yeah, I uh… I did. I got up to get a towel and heard your uh… sounds” he cleared his throat.

“I guess I should tell you then that I heard you too,” you said with a smirk.

Joel swallowed, hard. “Y-ya heard me?”

“Yep” you replied, popping your lips on the p sound.

Joel had nothing to lose at this point. “I was thinking about you,” he proclaimed. “Thinkin’ bout that wet spot on your panties when you flashed your ass in the air. Wishin’ I was buried inside you.” He ran his hand across your thigh.

Your breathing picked up. “I was thinking about you too. Wishing you'd bust through that door and take me in your bed, running my nails down your back as we came together…” you mimicked the motion with your fingers down his jacket-clad back.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes closing. You glanced down at the noticeable bulge in his jeans. “I like you too, I just never thought you felt the same. Y’never seemed to pick up on any of my sweet talkin’ or my names for ya.”

“I just figured you were being nice,” you replied, glancing back into his eyes.

“You should know by now, I'm only nice to you,” he growled. “I'm sorry I ruined that today,” he glanced at your mouth, licking his lips. “Was just jealous. Want you all for myself,” he stroked your thigh again.

You sighed at the feeling, pulling him by his collar to kiss him deeply. The kiss was frantic and rough, both of you trying to get as much of each other as possible, a year of build-up boiling at the surface. Teeth clashed and tongues danced and you pulled each other closer, grasping at clothes and skin. 

The two of you broke the kiss, needing a gasp of air. You started to take off your shirt when Joel stopped you. “Whoa, darlin'. I want you just as bad, but not here,” he gestured to the old building. “It's dangerous, not to mention gross in here. I wasn't kidding when I said you deserve romance,” he stood, pulling you to your feet. “We're about a 20 minute ride from base, let's head home. Make your fantasy of fuckin’ in my bed come true,” he winked, giving a smack to your ass. 

_____

The 20 minute ride felt never-ending as you both stole glances at each other, your panties still wet with arousal, and him still sporting the tent in his pants, which was hard to miss. 

Finally making it back to the stables, you both quickly undressed the horses and put gear away, about to head out of the barn when Jimmy and his partner rode up. “Hey, babe,” he called to you. It sounded wrong from his mouth. Joel tensed at your side.

Dismounting his horse, Jimmy strolled over to you. “Hey Jimmy, I was thinking. I don't think I want to go on that date after all. I'm sorry, I just don't feel the same way.”

“What?” Jimmy asked in disbelief.

“I know, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I- I like someone else. I just didn't think they felt the same way,” you replied sheepishly.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“What?” You were in disbelief.

“Fuck you, bitch. One of the few women in this town who won't fuckin’ put out. I was even gonna take you on some shitty date before I got you into bed, and now you make a fool of me? Nah, I don't think so,” he stalked towards you angrily. 

You stepped back, worried what he might do, but Joel stepped in first, nailing a punch at Jimmy's nose. “Don't you dare talk to her like that,” Joel yelled.

Tommy came running in, hearing the commotion. After hearing what happened, it was decided that Jimmy wouldn't be welcome in this town any longer.

Satisfied, you grabbed Joel's hand. “Why don't I show you who I really belong to?” You looked up at him, biting your lip.

“Lead the way, baby.” He pushed you forward, smacking your ass.

The two of you stumbled into his house, kissing with little regard for objects. Luckily, Ellie was still at a friend's house. The door slammed closed and you kissed furiously, undressing as you walked. Finally you reached his bedroom and fell onto the bed, where he made all your fantasies of the night prior come true. The two of you enjoyed the taste of each other's mouths, kissing and licking, while he pounded into you, leaving you breathless and screaming his name as you both came.

“That was even better than I imagined,” you sighed, rolling over onto his chest.

“That's my girl,” he cooed, kissing your head and rubbing your back.

“Mine,” he whispered.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #a! wrote a fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x afab!reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #jealous!joel #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us

[onesapphireeye]

just a word

You and Aemond had grown apart over the past few years. But, when he finally rid himself of the shackles of his on again off again relationship with Alys, he shows up at your apartment.

modern!aemond x reader. modern!aemond x alys rivers. warnings: sex at the end. annoying, probably unreliable reader. not for minors. p in v sex. use of she/her for reader.

nori says: this is something no one asked for. i just needed to get this out of my head. lots of backstory? idk it's probably terrible. please be gentle, as i haven't written anything in so long. i'd love feedback! also send me ideas if you want to! xoxo.

word count: 4,752

Your parents, both renowned politicians, attempted to make you feel as though you were a child of the greatest value. It didn't help that the whole world appeared to be enchanted by you; and you, a cherubic faced little demon, were not afraid of using the power of your charm.

You could easily call out the names of people at school and expect them to come running, but the luxurious adoration grew boring and made you crave something more than simple admiration.

You remember meeting Aemond Targaryen in middle school. Everyone steered clear of him, but you were drawn in. Despite hearing stories of his temper, and how quick he was to throw a punch, you worked up the courage to approach him. Surprisingly, he had been welcoming of your advances. He smiled and spoke in a gentle voice, and you felt like you had known him forever.

Soon enough, he became a regular guest at your house, where the two of you would sit and talk about literature and history. He said he envied you in a way—you were an unusual child who was often in the thoughts of those around her, while he never quite fit in anywhere.

You told him that he belonged to with you.

Aemond seemed to come alive during those conversations, talking endlessly of the history of old Valyria, and his enthusiasm was contagious. The more time you spent discussing that ancient culture, the closer the two of you became, and he opened up to you in a way he said he had rarely done with anyone else.

He spoke of his family and his feelings—his loneliness and his anger—and his search for identity and purpose. Those moments were like a window into his soul, and you felt honored to be in the presence of someone so complex. He was the perfect mix of boy, man and monster.

You felt as if you could truly relate to him, and you had never felt so understood.

As the years passed, Aemond became your closest friend and ally in mischief. Everywhere you went, you were inseparable.

Yet, when the two of you entered high school, you suddenly felt out of place; you were a late bloomer who had gone from wanting to be different to being treated like you were.

Any pubescent confidence you had was gone, replaced by feeling small and insignificant, while Aemond was already transforming into an adult.

Despite your differences, there was an unspoken connection between the two of you, and you silently vowed to be best friends forever.

It was only once he began dating popular Alys Rivers in your senior year that you comprehended the permanence of 'forever'.

Despite your own awkwardness and insecurity, it was easy to see why she liked him. At seventeen, when you still looked like the underside side of a foot (thanks Aegon), Aemond had grown into an ethereal creature, almost magical in his beauty. Some sort of elf like thing from those fanfiction smuts you read online at night beneath the covers.

As you watched Aemond and Alys grow closer, you couldn't help but feel a deep pang of sadness in your chest. Seeing them together was a stark reminder of everything you had shared with him before she came into the picture.

When you did manage to hang out, there was a tension that hadn't been there before. The relationship had changed him - he was different than he used to be; more mature, more sophisticated, more aloof and distant.

And his hugs goodbye started to linger on. He would whisper something softly in your ear when he would embrace you, but not look back once he was out your front door. You were left to guess what his true intentions were.

It felt like maybe you were two steps away from being in a relationship of your own with Aemond, but the fear of being wrong kept holding you back from taking the plunge.

You wondered what it would be like if you came clean and told him how you felt, but didn't like the risk of getting your heart broken if he wasn't interested in being more than friends.

You had to watch from the sidelines as he poured all of his energy into Alys in a way that had even his mom giving him sidelong glances and unsolicited advice; telling him not to spend too much time focused on her instead of himself or his future goals.

And then one day it happened - things changed between the two of you again.

After a tense discussion about which college you would both attend, he'd blown up at you for saying you wanted to run as far away from King's Landing as possible.

There was an exchange of harsh words and hurtful remarks. He told you it was time to grow up, to face your fears head on and that things between you couldn't stay the same forever.

He didn't want to keep dwelling in the darkness; he wanted to be his own person, not defined by his anger.

He wanted you to change with him and you had told him no. You told him no longer believed in forever anyway.

It felt like you were having two different conversations, but misunderstanding both.

You wanted to be you and Aemond; not you, Aemond and Alys. He'd given you a strange look then, and stormed off angrily.

By the end of that school year, you almost couldn't bear to hear either of their names. He gave off the impression of being happy and content with Alys and it made you feel even more invisible.

The wilder elements of your nature urged you to claw your way through Alys' skin. You yearned to become her, believing it would raise your self-esteem. The thought of imitating her style and mannerisms crossed your mind, only to be instantly dismissed as foolish. All that you really wanted was for Aemond to speak to you like a true friend and not like just someone who wasn't her.

There was no way to win, so you decided that your friendship meant as much to you as it did him.

Not shit.

After graduation, you distanced yourself and went ahead with your plan to pick a university as far away as possible from his (and Alys') choice of Drangonstone: White Harbor U.

Living without Aemond was difficult. Not more difficult than it had ever been, but with that sickly sweet feeling of codependency gone, you felt scared. You had never been your own person before, but you were determined to try now.

You found that the city was teeming with people who had something to offer, but you couldn't make a lasting connection. The men you dated never stuck around, leaving you feeling more and more alone.

Eventually, you settled with Dalton Greyjoy, an art major who made side money by selling prints of stormy coastlines and mermaids in the harbor. Dalton was everything Aemond use to be; wild and unpredictable, like the sea he so often painted.

Dalton made it easier for you to open up about yourself. He saw that a spark of fire simmering just beneath your surface. With him, it felt okay to be vulnerable; he listened without judgement or condescension whenever you told him about your struggles with self-esteem or shared stories from your past.

A hint of distance kept things from going too deep between you two. You could tell he liked being around you but it never seemed like enough for him to commit fully or even discuss anything serious beyond weekend plans or art exhibitions happening in town.

It wasn't until months later that he finally admitted he wasn't ready for more than what you already had – a friendship with physical perks.

Leaving Dalton was easier than you wanted to admit... but something lingered in the back of your mind: an ever-present reminder that no matter how close someone is willing to get to you they still may not be able stay by your side forever.

With college finished and the anxiety of the future looming, you realized that you didn't have the funds to keep going.

You had girl-bossed your way into exhaustion and credit card debt. Your father wanted to take the situation into his own hands, but that meant you would be indebted to him. He'd been suggesting marriage for a while now and had dropped several names of eligible partners. You'd attempted to brush it off, but you knew he disliked Dalton and he didn't have much faith in your romantic decisions.

Politically, he needed you to attach yourself to someone who wouldn't cause any scandal. Rather than hawking yourself like a prized horse, you cleverly conned him into providing you with a job that utilized your freshly-obtained degree.

Your parents had split up shortly after you graduated high school, but they both made a strong attempt to coax you into choosing one side to live with.

It didn't matter to you that rent would eat up most of your paycheck. Returning home felt like a never-ending loop; like your life was repeating itself, constricting all your freedom.

You desperately needed some kind of liberation.

Three days into living off of salads in a dimly lit room, you heard a knock on the door. You almost decided to pretend you weren't home, but then remembered you had ordered some things online to help cure your depression and thought that it might be your packages.

To your annoyance, it wasn't the courier, but Aemond.

He was standing in front of you with takeout from the local Yi-ti place and a bottle of Dornish red. As completely unexpected as his presence was, it didn't take a genius to figure out who must have given him your address. You definitely hadn't, in fact you hadn't even told him you were moving back.

'Aegon' you thought, 'you fucking prick.'

Yesterday, Helaena and the older Targaryen boy had helped you move in what meager furniture you had; and you knew Helaena would never have given you up.

Aemond, for his part seemed content to ignore your discomfort, his broad smile contrasting against his bright blue eyes.

You narrowed your gaze, glaring up at him as you queried, "Are you stalking me?"

"I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see how a junior press secretary lives." He replied, flashing a self-assured smirk that sent shivers through

you. You could tell he was joking but your frown only deepened. You were going to kill Aegon.

"Poorly." You gripped the door handle. "Now that you've blessed us mere mortals with your judgement, you may leave." You tried to close the door but he uttered your name in a pleading whine.

"I lied, I just needed to see you. Please." You found it difficult to stand your ground against him, even after all the time that had passed. You clenched your jaw before letting him in. He cast a brief look around your small living space, and your anger mounted.

You kicked the door close and spoke, "I've been eating in my bed and no I don't have two glasses." You directed him to the bedroom and gestured for him to sit down.

He slipped off his shoes, and you stopped yourself from examining their size. You couldn't let your mind go there. "You better have ordered the Jade Emperor chicken."

He laughed, taking out the Styrofoam containers from the brown paper bags. "I almost didn't, but you know I know what you like." You watched his hands as he opened up the containers and began to set them up on your bedspread.

You settled beside him and began to eat, savoring all bites of the delicious dish. Take out was a luxury that you weren't quite ready to allow your dad to set up blind dates for.

You didn't see the amusement in Aemond's eyes as you moaned in pleasure between bites. "This is why I love Yi-Ti," you said after you swallowed another satisfying mouthful of chicken.

He nodded in agreeance knowing his plan was working; despite everything, it was nice to have someone to share a meal with.

The wine helped you two to fall into the easy way things use to be.

Aemond started talking about how he was working at the family company and some of his recent projects. You listened intently, nodding as he spoke, occasionally making an interesting comment or two when asked for input. When he was done recounting all of his work adventures, he turned his attention back to you.

"So what are your plans now that you're back in Kings Landing?" he asked with genuine interest. You sat down your chopsticks before wiping your mouth with a napkin and then responded slowly.

"Now that I have this degree, I'm hoping to make something out of it...eventually." You paused for a moment, looking away from Aemond and out the window which revealed an empty street below your apartment building. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out where I belong."

He looked down at the floor. You didn't let the silence stretch too long and updated him on your parents. Your dad has just started dating some woman that was closer to your age than his. Aemond knew something about that.

"Yeah," he commiserated, "my dads still a dick too."

You chuckled dryly before taking another sip of wine and falling into a comfortable silence as you both thought about all of the things in life that weren't going as planned.

Once dinner had ended, Aemond asked if he could stick around a little longer, and you couldn't believe how swiftly you'd agreed. You reasoned that it must be because you didn't want to act disrespectful, given your past friendship with the person who had just brought dinner over to you.

You both moved to settle against the headboard and continued your light chatting.

You worked up the courage to ask about Alys. He surprised you when he said that he had broken up with her for good this time. She had started pressuring him about marriage, but she wasn't the one he saw himself being with forever. You had scoffed at the word, but let him finish talking.

"I realized that she was like a band-aid, she helped my anger but my wounds underneath were festering." He looked at the wall opposite of you, "that's how I felt with her, like large parts of me had putrefied off. I woke up and I missed those parts."

His voice was hollow and desperate, and he paused as you tried to clear the lump that had formed in your throat. You being the parts of him that were missing was left largely unsaid. "So when Aegon let it slip that you'd come back... I had to see you with my own eyes."

You waited a bit, to find the right words, but nothing was poetic enough. "I missed you too. You don't deserve it, but I missed you so fucking much, Aemond." Your breath was coming out in shallow gasps as the air seemed to thicken between the two of you. You were both so close, your lips barely an inch from each other, and it felt like time had stopped. "You need to apologize to me."

"I'm so sorry." He began immediately, "You don't know how much I've hated myself for ending our friendship." He was looking straight into your eyes, all trace of bravado gone.

You wanted to be mad at him. This was supposed to be a person from your past you had gotten over. But the truth was, you knew you still loved him.

For a moment, neither of you moved or spoke. Then, almost simultaneously, you both leaned in slightly and your lips brushed against each other for the first time. The kiss was tender and filled with longing and regret – all the things that had been left unsaid between you two for so long.

Your hands reached up to intertwine in his hair as he kissed you more deeply, exploring your mouth like it was something precious he'd been searching for all along. You felt him wrap one arm around your waist while the other ran down your back softly before gripping onto your ass. Aemond pressed against the curves of your body as if trying to meld himself into you completely. You could feel his heart beating fast just beneath his skin.

The kiss slowly faded into soft pecks until finally it ended with one final gentle nip on the corner of your mouth before he pulled away to give you a look asking for permission to go further. You nodded your head.

It was then that Aemond let out a quiet moan, he reached behind him to pull off his shirt in one fluid motion before quickly removing off the rest of his clothes.

You could feel your face flush as you followed suit, shedding your own clothing until the two of you were sitting there naked in front of one another. The only sounds were your labored breath and the beating of your hearts as they surged with adrenaline from what was about to come next.

Aemond leaned forward, bringing himself closer to you as he cupped your face tenderly with one hand while using the other to brush against your exposed skin softly. His touch felt like electricity running through your veins and it caused an involuntary shudder run through you body in response.

All of your previous anger dissipated.

His eyes were full of need and desire as he pulled you to the edge of the bed effortlessly. Spreading your knees apart, he knelt before you. It was your turn to smirk. He looked like he belonged there.

"Finally humbled before me, huh?" In response, he tugged on the back of your legs, which prompted a yelp of surprise and a burst of laughter.

His hands explored your lower body with a slow intensity that had your heart racing and your skin tingling with pleasure. His mouth left trails of kisses across your belly and thighs. He found all of your most sensitive spots, caressing them with a gentle care that had you gasping for air.

Years of fingering yourself, pretending it was him touching you had finally come to this. Through the haze of lust, you realized that you must have said that out loud because he hummed into your skin.

Kissing the inside of your thigh, he looked up at you. "I was obsessed with the idea of you masturbating. Imagining how you touched yourself, imagining what turns you on."

"When we were younger?" Your eyes were wide.

He shook his head, confessing. "Then and now. I jacked off to the thought of you yesterday." You were taken aback by his admission, but you couldn't help but feel flattered that he'd been fantasizing about you for so long.

Finally, when you thought you could stand no more, his tongue darted out to send shockwaves through your system as it circled around and then dipped inside your already wet pussy. Your mind blanked out at the sensations coursing through you. You felt like flying into pieces just from this one act alone.

He buried his face deep between your legs, while murmuring words of adoration in between each delicious lick of his tongue. Every movement sent orgasmic ripples down your spine until, it hit its climax and all that was left was to bask in its aftermath: complete and utter euphoria.

When he decided you were ready, Aemond reached over to his pants and pulled a condom out of his wallet. Your jealousy was glad he had at least been practicing safe sex with Alys.

To avoid going to a dark place, you said the first thing that came to mind. "Of course your penis would be pretty." It was thick and pink, with just a slight curve to the right that had you expecting good things. A bead of precum leaked out of the tip and you subconsciously licked your lips. You wanted to taste it.

He laughed at you, shaking his head, as he rolled the rubber on. "You think so?"

You didn't trust yourself to speak so you just nodded. With a smirk, he pushed your shoulder lightly, so that you fell back against the bed again and positioned himself so his cock was against your clit. He entered slowly, letting out a moan of pleasure as he filled you up completely.

You dug your nails into his back with each thrust, wanting him deeper and harder each time. His hands were again all over your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He felt like absolute bliss inside of you and it was making your entire body quiver with pleasure in anticipation for what was to come next.

Just when you felt your climax hitting, Aemond’s hips began to cant back and forth in a lazy rhythm. You barely registered that he was fucking with you. You made mewls of protest as he grinded into your pussy.

He wanted you to feel as frustrated as he had felt all these years trying not to chase after your shadow. He chuckled, the low rumble vibrating against your skin. "I've waited so long for this and I'm not going to rush it." Your head felt dizzy.

"P-please, Aemond, please, can I cum? We can go again." You begged between moans.

Aemond seemed to take pity on you, his fingers dug gently into your waist and he kissed your neck softly as he started to thrust fast again. You gasped in pleasure as you felt the delightful sensation of him inside you as his movements increased in depth and intensity.

He was relentless in his pace; each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge until finally he whispered into your ear “Tell me what you need, baby."

One hand moved up to cradle your face while his other caressed down the length of your body. Your skin burned wherever he touched and when his thumb moved to caress circles around your clit you couldn't contain a loud moan that escaped from your lips, "More, Aemond please!"

He grinned down at you "Say it like you mean it, Baby." He commanded before increasing the pressure with each stroke of his thumb on your sensitive bundle of nerves until finally the pressure became too much for you to take.

With a shuddering cry, you threw back your head and shouted out his name as waves upon waves of pleasure cascaded through every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched in its wake.

He thrust twice more, his mouth slanting over yours in something that was more teeth clashing than a kiss, and stilled. As your breathing slowed down, Aemond collapsed on top of you, exhausted and satisfied.

"Aemonddd," you whined, weakly trying to push his heavy body off and you heard him laugh again. He moved to lay beside you and and held you close. You nuzzled into his chest and felt the warmth of contentment.

You lay there together for a while afterwards, feeling sated yet blissfully relaxed all at once. He kissed your forehead, cock long having gone soft.

"Let me go get something to clean you up with." You didn't want him to get up, but you were too tired to stop him.

After Aemond went to the bathroom, his phone started ringing from somewhere on the floor. You shuffled to hang off the edge of the bed to look at it. You didn’t want to invade his privacy, but the screen was face up. What if it was important?

A small voice in the back of your head reminded you that you didn’t know enough about his current life to discern whether this call could be an emergency… but you looked anyway and your heart sank. That same small voice laughed bitterly ‘and that’s what you get, you dumbass.'

It was Alys. 

You watched the phone vibrate until it stopped ringing. Not two seconds later, a ding signaled that a text message had been delivered.

[INCOMING] “Great seeing you last night, Aem. Sorry I had to rush off but I’ll take that raincheck tonight. Xoxo.”

Your stomach twisted with nausea as realization sunk in—you were just a second choice, the back-up plan for when Alys was too busy. He’d ended up at your door, because he was bored. Or whatever. The schematics didn’t matter.

Anger flooded through you and tears stung your eyes as the voice in your head laughed bitterly at your foolishness. He could never look at you the way he looked at her.

You heard the water shut off from the bathroom and quickly scrambled back to the head of your bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. You mustered up your best lopsided grin for Aemond, trying hard to feign indifference as he entered the room with a towel slung over his shoulder.

He gave you a wink in return and then turned his attention to his phone, picking it up off the ground, he sent out a flurry of messages with a smug look on his face. You scowled when he smiled at the screen, feeling foolish for expecting more than he was capable of giving.

"Texting your ex-girlfriend back?" You allowed the bubbling anger to seep out, feeling completely and utterly played. You sounded every bit of an asshole you thought he was.

Aemond tossed the phone down and looked at you in confusion, all traces of happiness gone. You didn't like how his eyes made you feel anymore, and his silence felt like a confession.

“Wow, I should have known. You two are made for each other you know that." Tears rimmed your eyes "Fuck you, Aemond. I’m so fucking stupid.”

You got up and grabbed your clothes off the ground, you needed to get as far away from him as possible. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your heart break.

He all but jumped over the bed and grabbed your arms, “hey, hey” he tried to calm you down. You wanted to lash out, but knew it wouldn't do any good. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

You didn't want to talk. What was there to say? He had a girlfriend and he only came around when she wasn't available - you get the picture.

So instead of talking, you just looked away, avoiding his gaze and focusing on the floor. Your breathing started to slow as he gently enveloped you into his arms and held you close.

For a moment, everything felt okay again. But then reality hit - your eyes widened as you remembered what had just happened and your stomach dropped in despair. The anger was back in an instant and before you knew it hot tears of rage were flowing down your cheeks.

He held onto you tighter as if trying to shield you from pain with his embrace, rocking back and forth until eventually the tears stopped.

When the storm passed, he pulled away slightly so that he could look into your eyes. He shook you, “Don’t you get it? I didn’t come here because of her, I came here for you, I came here because despite all of our differences, I still care for you.” He pleaded, “I don't want to be with her again.”

Aemond looked more apologetic than you had ever seen him; his features softened as soon as he saw how broken up inside you truly were. You blinked, you were upset and yet so confused. He smiled and kissed your forehead, “It’s you I’ve always wanted, it’s you I still want.”

You desperately wanted to believe him. In your silence, he pulled you back to the bed and held you. Once he was certain that you wouldn't try to flee, he let go of you and picked up his phone. "I want you to see what I wrote to her, Baby."

He showed you the conversation thread, and you audibly groaned in response.

[OUTGOING] 'no need. i meant what i said last night, Alys. i'm not going to change my mind.'

[OUTGOING] 'i'm tired of us getting in the way of better things. better relationships.'

[OUTGOING] 'have fun with the stark kid, i hope you don't fuck that up.'

He waited for you to finish reading and look back at him. "I blocked her too."

#norimadeit #my prince #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #hotd imagine #modern aemond #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #he has both eyes okay #just a word

[t-top-apologist]

At the end of the day the average civilian wishes to be catered to like an old money steel baron or perhaps one of those chaps from Downton Abbey. The entirety of modern society has come together to enable this, mass-producing cheap facsimiles of fortunes that should rightly either be built on child labor or perhaps serfdom.

Their lawns, taking up what could otherwise be used to grow crops or serve as "outdoor garage space," exist to ape the wide ranging estates meant for the nobility to chase down a fox while adorned in silly jackets. Their houses sport columns and stupid windows meant to imitate three different classical artforms at the same time because of something called "economies of scale." They even have male-centric social clubs meant for parlour games, discussing sports, and dining with friends, in this case franchised out under such names as "Buffalo Wild Wings."

This aping of the upper class continues to the hire of "artisans" to do relatively simple work deemed too complicated to warrant the time of the average citizen. It's not that the jobs are too taxing for your average person, but rather that the market has crystallized around the desire to live like budget royalty. Therefore they take their wafer-thin computers to artisans (now more commonly called "experts" or "Apple geniuses") for repair and have democratized the position of carriagemen to 22 year old dealership lube techs named Ryan who will turn a 15 minute job into a 30 minute endeavor thanks to frequent vape breaks and a brief brush with what the industry refers to as "a misplaced drain bolt."

The mid-40s project manager and mother of 3 is no less competent when changing oil than her grandfather before her who knew what "Valve Lash" is, but what separates the two is a series of wars in the 1900s that required an entire generation of men to become very familiar with operating and repairing machines better than the Germans and Japanese (an exercise that Chrysler would later abandon in favor of the phrase "if you can't beat em, join em").

This conflict ended with a surge of able-bodied men finding themselves returning to their project management jobs (like their granddaughters after them) but armed with captured German weapons and a comprehensive understanding of tubochargers. Just as a line can be drawn from troop drawdowns to political violence, there's a distinct correlations between GIs returning home and the violence with which Ford Flathead V8s were torn apart by inventive supercharging methods paired with landspeed record attempts.

Give a man a racecar and he'll crash it on the salt flats in a day. Teach a man to repair a racecar and it will sit in the garage of his suburban house for a few years in between complete engine rebuilds required by what can only be described as "vaporized piston rods."

Of course this hotrodder generation created the circumstances we live in today, as the market saw their fast cars cobbled together from old prewar hulks and simply stamped out new ones from factory, faster and more convenient for the next generation than building one from scratch. Now the project manager mother of 3 drives a 4wd barge with climate controlled seats boasting more computing power than the moon mission and an emissions-controlled powertrain with more horsepower than her grandfather's jalopy and her fathers factory muscle car combined. And she doesn't care at all.

Yet Amongst the average civilians there walks a rare breed: people who know how to change their own oil. We the chosen move among you silently, bucking the system, operating outside the cultural helplessness and trading in forbidden knowledge in almost-abandoned forum threads (flame wars over conventional vs synthetic).

While we do have a marked air of superiority about this, I can't say I haven't stooped to imitating the rich myself. I've been known to wear a silly jacket from time to time.

[lavenderhhaze]

野生の花 - WILDFLOWER

pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader, minho x fem!reader

word count: 6.1k

about: where before Minho, it had been Hyunjin — your inconsolable, melancholic, kill-myself sort of best friend. And it could have been love, in another time, another place.

warnings: toxic and manipulative friendships, implications to self harm, underage alcohol consumption, smoking, buildings on fire, mention of blood and injuries, suicidal tendencies, implications to cheating and sex, hickeys, fistfights and swearing, generally flawed characters

written as an entry for @skzwritingcafe's May/June event: blossoming love

Hyunjin likes to pretend he met you in college, burrying the shattered history of all those intricate losses carefully and neatly under his chest. He likes to pretend he isn't aware that you were a wildflower, with a talent of winding yourself around whichever finger is his weakest.

All the days of you and him only become hues pulsing in his chest, a memory too distant to remember. That summer he spent with you, when you had kissed him at fifteen, all a sweet game of pretend — a soft mauve. That evening you had spent, your arm twisted with his, both reluctant and unwilling to let go — a muted gold. And after all, everyday you have spent with him since, where he's yours, wholly and truly, although he'll never admit — a withering peach.

A fortnight ago, when air blew through autumn's teeth, ending the summer that had lasted all of six weeks, you had pointed at the fading sunset.

"Do you remember?" you had said, "Last year? The last day of summer?"

But Hyunjin didn't want to remember. Although he did; the last day of summer you had spent with him at the backroom of Ian's, cracking open warm beer cans and pretending to be regular highschool kids.

He was sick of remembering, he had said. To him, memory was punishment. You had winced, recoiling within yourself, almost ashamed.

And so he had reached across, long fingers easily finding yours, tangling and untangling in an undecided rhythm — that he would choose, always forever. He pulls them closer, his face finding home between your hands, kissing your wrist in spots he had memorized. Although seeming carefree, it's a game he played intently, purposefully.

Eyes on you, so brown and bold — tiger eyes, you had called them, aptly so. Unloved and free.

"What about Felix? He's waiting for you."

How voice is concerned, far from genuine, you know. Although in the way he looks at you, eyebrows drawn together, amber flickering amongst the brown, asking you to cave.

"I should go."

And only then, his grip would tighten; loose enough for you to pull away but just enough for you to know. He only stares, giving everything away but a word. I will get drunk and kiss strangers and dance all night with my friends. I'll cry for you on the kitchen floor but I won't ask you to stay.

And you cave. Again. As you have done all your life.

It has been so since fifteen. Shared earphones and holding hands, naps with his head on your shoulder — fresh coffee on his breath — in the school bus, the glass from the window so cold under your cheek and the occassional splatter of raindrops against your ear. The August air, fresh and ripe, eating you both alive from the inside, with noone noticing.

Hyunjin all but breaks into a smile, scrunched up eyes, wrinkles of happiness — the sort of smile you hoped would stick around forever. Your best friend, your only friend.

That evening is one of many, leaning back and exhaling smoke when his fingers run up and down your scalp, making up the prettiest braids you have seen.

It is hard to tell what you both have, you haven't figured it out yet, despite the last six years of the same ups and downs you shared.

It's hard to tell because of the album he keeps of you, winters and summers and springs, birthdays spent wishing on burning candles and frosting swiped on your cheeks, you folding laundry in a tshirt two sizes too big — his tshirt. You — April's wind in your hair, in the balcony with the sun against your skin, hands sticky with lemonade.

When you say you miss summer; you mean you miss summer, three years ago.

It's hard to tell because he'd kiss your cheeks, your hair, your eyes; smelling of peaches and dewy mornings. Shuffling of footsteps and slamming of doors, he'd drive you fucking wild but not ask you to stay.

Because right then, when you're falling on love again, he'd be gone. With her, flaunting his Cheshire cat smile, tiger eyes glinting with intent — that she caught on to, easy. His smell still lingers, only on her this time. Permanence marked neatly with the heart shaped bruises on her neck.

And Felix had arrived — all apologetic for a mistake you made, patting your head and murmering sweet nothings although he didn't understand.

Where is Hyun? He tests the waters, uncomfortable with the air, so thick and humid.

Gone to smoke, you lie through clenched teeth, hoping if the words were smaller, reality would be too.

And yet you know, if he had gone to smoke, you would be there too. Outside — where it was warm and blue, and still April. Smoke of one cigarette shared with the parts of him that will always remain untamable, messy and reckless. And you'd love him, regardless.

When Hyunjin would return, hours later; you never ask, because you already know.

"So, Felix huh?" he says the name like sandpaper on his tongue, anger unraveling right in front of you; jealousy and anger — both terrible for him. "It's like he's in love with you, or something."

"In love?" You taste the words, rich and sweet, not sounding like the terrible terrible thing Hyunjin made it seem.

"In fucking love."

"When you say it like that, it makes it seem so small."

Hyunjin's face is lit up by a stop sign, bathed in a crimson red — screaming at you to stop and you only wish you could. His fingers entangled neatly with yours, he all but smiles at you, eyes reduced to amber cresents.

You let him guide you to the same old rooftop, a narrow stairway to a wooden deck, underneath two sturdy laundry poles.

The same old rooftop where you had spent an evening smoking and watching an empty building burn, at fifteen — March 3rd, a grim and groggy afternoon.

Huge clouds and awful black smoke following the breeze towards the high street. The sound of sirens and the smell of burning — you were so sure the fire would never touch you.

You had stared at the two fire engines working on the flames and workers pushing back the usual crowd of gawkers. Everyone loved a tragedy, especially so when they knew the end to be appalling.

And you had only leaned back, against the lazy thrum of Hyunjin's heartbeat, his arm winding around your shoulders as he hummed a shifting tune.

"We can get away from there," you had glanced at the narrow lane running along the two story building, just enough for one person to squeeze through. "If the fire gets too close."

"I'm not running away."

"Even if this place burns?"

"You heard me," he had looked at you, brown eyes — rich and deep, "I don't mine dying."

It was thrown away so easily, as if you had always known : your inconsolable, melancholic, kill-myself sort of best friend; ready to end his life in a flash fire.

"Okay," you shrugged, settling back comfortably in his chest. "I'll stay with you."

Dusty cobwebs hang from the laundry rods like heartstring decors, and Hyunjin was vibrant, love dripping from his eyes — just the way he looked at you. Then he had looked down to his feet and turned away to hide in his lie.

"You'll die with me?"

"No way," you had said, smile already reaching your eyes. "I'm getting right the fuck away if the fire gets too close. You can die alone if you want to."

"Cold hearted bastard."

And he had laughed, shoving you away — so full and complete. Another one of the photographs he keeps preserved in the album.

The rest of the evening spent admiring the fire that flared up and died down several times. Glass had shattered twice and the crowd only grew, morphing into awkward shapes when the policeman had screamed at the bystanders to move back. A column of smoke spiralled upwards into the sky, withering at the edges like smudged charcoal.

"Tired, Sunshine?" he had asked, gazing blankly as the fire engines returned to their base, thier red lights spinning ghastly shadows.

"Not really," you had shrugged, catching him looking at you again.

Tired eyes, star-map skin, veins making pretty patterns underneath his porcelain skin. The way he had glanced at you — in a daze, in a dream; the early summer sun casting the shadow of his lashes on his cheeks.

And if it wasn't for that burning building, Hyunjin wouldn't have kissed you that evening. It was soft and gentle, contained within itself with no further intent. Glittering rooftops and flickering flames, smelling of cheap cigarettes and firecrackers.

It was meant to preserve the feel, the scent of burning wood with his hand on her neck and your fingertips sliding up his chest. Only then, you had dared to think — something that might have been love. He was taking up your whole world; all you could see, all you could feel.

And he had been the first to pull away. A mistake, Sunshine. Not again. And you had cried, tears setting in the creases from smiling at your knack for misfortune. He had wiped them away, index finger slotting under your chin and thumbs on your cheeks; accompanied by the unending chant of I love you, I love you. Although he liked to hide it behind his possessiveness and cowardice.

When you were younger, everything seemed so permanent, but as you get older, it drifts away.

It wasn't love, you think. But it wasn't nothing either.

Stolen glances at the schoolbus, visiting his parents' bookstore just to get a glimpse of him, laughing so grandly at his ridiculous jokes, feeling giddy when you're knees touch and pausing before you breathe his name, enjoying the way yours sounds, rolling off of his tongue.

It wasn't love, you decide. It could have been, if you had let it go that far. In another time, another place, it could have been love.

Now, he sits right across from you, peeling a clementine, breaking it into near halves and handing one to you, wordless. You can still see the bruises on his neck, one right below his earlobe — almost a heart, not quite dissapearing, not yet.

"So," he drawls, fingers winding around your elbow to pull you closer, "What about Felix?"

"It's nothing," you say, honestly, although you wish it wasn't true. Jealousy looks good on Hyunjin, albiet eating away at him from the inside. "And that girl? What about her?"

You can feel him smile, almost teasing; he repeats, "It's nothing."

You know it's a lie. Disgustingly sweet. Apple blossoms and pink lemonades. Heart shaped bruises and his scent — the smell of summer. And you laugh.

"What?" He draws closer, his smile only growing, the corners of his lips turned up— stealing your breath and handing it back to you with open palms. "You don't believe me?"

"I don't."

And he's flowers in your stomach, cutting you open and blooming through your ribs. And you decide, love isn't gentle. With Hyunjin, love is gritty and possesive. Love has teeth, biting away at the wounds that do not heal.

"Smart girl."

He doesn't stop you. He doesn't as you to stay. But you do so regardless — because he gives you everything you want. Holding his hands, wearing his sweaters, his head on your shoulder, windows flung wide open when he kisses underneath your ear. And just as easily — he takes it all away.

"I'll be out tonight, Sunshine."

His eyes are a challenge, dirt-brown and cold — gleaming like the slightly damp tiles of a club's bathroom. You have seen this scene before, with a terrible terrible ending.

With her again? Lips stained a lollipop red, a testing quirk asking you to say it.

Ask me to stay and I will. I'll drop the fucking world, and I'll stay.

You swallow the protests that rise up your throat, deep breaths and shallow exhales.

"Have fun."

You shrug, and he fades away. You stare at the sun for too long and it blinds you. Yet you're hypnotised by the light — by his light, terrified to look away, surrounded by pitch-black again.

Even past one, the rain all but a faint drizzle on the cold glass window — you think of him again. The sky a diluted cream, no moon, no stars.

At 3:30, the rain seizes. The door clicks open and the sink runs, punctuated by heavy footsteps.

You see Hyunjin again, and he looks a lot like heartbreak. A little bit unravelled, ivory hair in wisps, yesterday's white shirt in wrinkles, fingertips kissed red in his own blood. His expression is wistful and his eyes warm.

He hears the rustle of the bedsheets to find you sitting up in your single bed — alarmed. Open windows and fluttering curtains, you against the starless night through curtains of thin white lace.

"Sunshine, you awake?"

"Did you walk yourself to a fucking wall, Hyunjin?"

He laughs, a little bit broken in its rhythm but his laugh nonetheless. There is more blood — a smudge of crimson against his bottom lip, a purple vein prominent against the thin skin of his forehead, his skin cracking open under his eye. All bronze and bite. Venom and fistfight.

He sits on the marble counter, back against the cold white tiles. The white lights too bright, but you refused to turn them off. You're scared of the dark. You're scared of who you are in the dark.

The small bathroom of your shared apartment smells a lot like self-hate. Self-hate, old blood and antiseptic — the smell stinging the tip of your tongue.

Hyunjin hisses as the you dab at the cut under his bottom lip.

"Easy there, Sunshine. It stings."

You ignore his protest, hands travelling upwards to clean the cut under his eye. His skin is ash and honey, eyes glazed over as they study you, hands on your hips to keep you steady. His rain-damp hair pressed against the skin of his neck and his silver earings glinting in the excess light.

He's a constellation — with one star missing.

He extends a hand, an invitation, a demand; only to brush away the hair that falls on your face. And you let him because you miss him, although he sits right in front of you — bright eyed and rough edged.

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

You and him — this endless loop. His hand on your waist, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt. The curve of his neck. The stretch of his spine. You and him — a couple of sinners making fun of hell.

"Why do you call me Sunshine?"

He smiles again, eyes reduced to honey -coloured cresents — blurry like the edges of his favourite photograph. He smells of a strange cologne, something older, as his hands wind tight around your waist, drawing you closer. His touch is burning, hands slow and patient.

"Because you love summers."

Because, Sunshine, you are my summer. But you hear the words die in his throat — his gaze still just as fond, laughter spilling from bleeding lips mid sentence.

That night, he sleeps in your bed, talking of every summer you had counted with him. It was Felix's brother — Minho. He punched me in the face because I called him a two-faced cunt. You feel him shift, tangling the sheets even further. I didn't lie, did I?

The wind shifts back and forth, constructing and expanding; and it hurts to breathe. You're scared to swallow your words, afraid of the damage but you know you can't stand still.

"I liked him, Hyun."

Your voice breaks. And you think of the line he drew in the sand you just can't get past. Stupid fucking boy that sucked the fucking life out of you. And you let him.

You hear a weighted exhale. Silence falling off of his tongue and settling between you both. His arm around your midriff as the night swallows you whole. And the diffused light glances off of his shoulders — he's staring right at you. You would have called him an angel; you would have, in another place, another time.

Are we still just friends if it's your breath and mine, late at night with our fingers laced under our covers?

Hyunjin was missing again, and you laugh at how you're obsessed with the smallest things — the feeling of his lips against your cheek when he had kissed you goodnight, you lost in pretend sleep. I'll be back, Sunshine. You sleep coiled around yourself, tightly wound. Hands in fists under your pillows, salt tears drying on your cotton bedsheets.

You think the sun has set for the tenth time that week, days spent avoiding your gaze in the mirror. And was it June? The days growing smaller until the sun could fit in the palm of your hand, like the world has stopped spinning and you're only glad. Summer is your permanent, raging on and on.

Until it rains, mid-June, with no sign of Hyunjin. All you recieve is one text, I'm all good, sweetheart. I'll be right with you. Soon. Take good care. One you don't have the heart to reply to, only laughing at how rushed he makes it seem. Soon. I'll be right with you.

And that's all you remember from June — rain. And him. Slender fingers wrapped around his order of coffee, other hand slipping his reciept in the front pocket of his light wash jeans, silver rings glinting under the little light they can catch. That day when you had talked yourself into wandering off to the campus café, too miserable to mope in your now lonely apartment.

When he had slipped into the seat opposite yours, catching you grumbling about how romantic love hadn't died after all. He had followed your line of sight — couples and couples, stolen glances, shared jackets, fingers interlaced across tables and shared laughter.

"Not quite the romantic, I see," he had laughed, slender fingers rising to cover his mouth and his rings catch your eyes again.

"You can't blame me."

The rain is a constant, beating down at the big glass windows adjacent your shared booth, the sound oddly comforting.

"Minho," he smiles again, looking up from his coffee, so formal that you're afraid he'll extend a hand for you to shake. Ivory hair cropped neatly under his ears, front pieces long and damp, falling on his eyes. Something about him is softer and kinder than anyone you have known — missing that sharp edge Hyunjin was all about.

"I know."

And how could you not? All you remember is Hyunjin's bloodied knuckles and smudged lips, the star shaped scar blooming underneath his eye; all under the fluorescent bathroom light. Minho seems almost too gentle to have fists that hard.

"Of course, you do."

He catches the edge of your voice, eyebrows raised. He smells of something older, seasalt and caramel — you decide. The type to have his coffee with creamer and foam, unlike Hyunjin, an expresso enthusiast and nothing else.

It's still pouring — the trees growing greener before your eyes. And you're worried you have no excuse to be miserable anymore.

It is June and you're tired of being brave. You're weary of counting days as if they never end, nights falling short of your only comfort — your best friend. And still, that evening you allow Lee Felix to drag you to his graduation party because you haven't learnt to refuse him yet.

He's all freckles and sunshine, golden blonde hair and vanilla perfume; opening windows and drawing curtains with all intended dramatics — full, cherry lips and silver teeth.

"You'll fucking love it, yeah?"

You nod meekly, in a weak attempt to mirror his enthusiasm — because that's all you can do.

You had been to this apartment twice before — both with Hyunjin, a hand wrapped around your waist, secure. Giggling at his theatrics, lips stained the red of cranberries, when it we was still summer.

You draw the line past four shots, cringing at the bitter taste lingering in your throat that reminds you of your best friend; because with him you had learnt to drink, and drink more; drawing on concrete with pink chalk and beer cans in hand.

"Not quite into drinking either, huh?"

Salt air and caramel. You remember that voice. Smile lines and cat eyes — in a shirt that was a deep shade of green. Ivory hair falling over his eyes, deep-set and black, staring with intent. Minho reminds you a lot of rain.

"It's okay though," he cracks a grin, lowering the solo cup in his hands — a glimpse of plain orange soda. Quite fitting. And gentle. "Just the same."

You smile. For what seems like the first time in months, and you're scared of what happiness feels like. After weeks of numb, numb and numb. Happiness feels a lot like a trashy graduation party, sharing laughter with the one responsible for the bruises on your best friends chest, standing of sticky floors with spilt beer.

"Don't want to get drunk today."

Happiness is odd, surrounded in grey and shrouded in rain; especially when you're lacking the heavy weight of Hyunjin's palm in yours, your purse slung on his shoulder.

"I know."

It's the same sharp tone you had used in the café, sounding harsher with the flush of your cheeks that those four shots gave you. He knows. His smile a little cryptic when he sips on his orange soda, eyes glimmering like fistfuls of confetti. Splintered blue shadows dance on his face.

"You know," his voice is dry, old, experienced. One hand plays with the silver ring on his delicate, orange stained fingers. "You can't make someone love you back my loving them harder."

You know, you want to say. But did you really? All you know is loving someone isn't supposed to leave you with bruised knees and still you wander off, spending an evening with a boy with an orange soda cup — with an idea of what love looks like, and only a suspicion of what it feels like.

He's animated — all hands and fingers, words and laughter, when he raises his brows and widens his eyes to get his point across, " I told him, right? But no, he had to sneak the dogs in. What a fucking asshole. This is why we can't have nice things."

"You have him shit for it?"

"Of course, I gave him shit for it. I'm a cat guy through and through."

Minho lingers like petrichor after rain, and for once you wish the warm night doens't end. When he lifts his head and smiles with a timid offer to walk you home — the brightest goddamn star you have ever seen. And for a moment you almost believe you could start again.

"Sunshine."

Your heart breaks at his voice, the familiarity of it all no less distressing when you walk in to find him curled weakly at the headboard of his cold bed. He's a wilted flower — your best friend in his beautiful, broken magnificence.

You don't answer — choosing to linger at the door; because really, what could you say? I missed you. And then let him rip your heart out again?

Hyunjin looks tired, patient and awaiting — arms open for you to settle in, daring you to refuse. He's the sun, after all; and you his summer. A tattoo peeks at you from the neck of his collared shirt, a butterfly wrapped neatly around his collarbone.

He catches you looking, raising his hand to thumb at the still unhealed skin with splinters of red, "It's meant to symbolise rebirth, I guess. Kinda fitting, don't you think?"

Rebirth. New beginnings. New love. Because he chose to leave? You want to scream — maybe burning is better than drifting apart.

He's wide awake when you take a seat next to him — bigger and louder than he has ever been. He reminds you a lot of the boy you fell in love with at fifteen.

At fifteen, smiling at porcelain faces only for them to not smile back at you — exept for one. And you were in love. The moonlight sliding off of him and collecting in his arms. His shuddering underneath your fingertips as you had traced his cuts with antiseptic.

A gash running down his neck, a bruise on his collarbone and another where his jaw met his near. And you're only thankful it wasn't bruised ribs this time.

"Doesn't it hurt?" you had whispered, his face still in your hands — he's bleeding sunlight and you're trying to patch up the cuts, "When he treats you like that?"

The neon light had flickered and momentarily, it was just Hyunjin and the moonlight — an angel. He only stared at you and you were afraid you'd cry. You read his words though, spilling from honey-coloured eyes: it's okay, Sunshine, it's not as if I love him anyways.

Thankyou, he had said. His voice too soft to be a teenager's — but again, he had never been as young as you.

He's now twenty, staring at you with the yellow light from the table lamp hitting his jaw just right. He looks like a child again, small and vulnerable — like he's just crawled into his parent's bed after a nightmare, exept he has never known comfort like that.

It's still summer for him, the balcony door slightly ajar. It's summer for as long as he can pretend.

"I got something for you."

An instant coffee jar with airholes on the lid, a few blades of grass and some water and a firefly — competing with the yellow lights with only a feverish glow.

You hadn't seen a firefly in years, and the ones from your memory were far more brighter, brilliant. For you, fireflies were the sickly sweet smell of summer nights, forest spirits, salt air and youth. Stretching in the sun and enjoying the little life offered you with open hands until it grew too loud — swarming and seething, showing you it's teeth.

"It's a firefly," he announces, a little hesitant, a little proud. And it reflects off of his eyes like two tiny chips of gold.

"You visited home?"

Home sounds sour on your tongue, too alien. Just swirls of dust from the street because your hometown was no home — and he notices too.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's lonely."

And you know the sort of loneliness he means. The longing of walking aimlessly busy street in the evening, watching the city lights glow from the window — a thousand lives walk right past you and life is really to big to be enjoyed. And it is lonely, it always has been.

"Did you meet anyone?"

He huffs a short breath, close enough to be a laugh, "Saw Chan once, apparently he's getting engaged."

"Really?"

It's bittersweet — watching the people you once loved leave to have a life outside of you. The teenaged Chan, all poised and responsible, overworked to the point of hysteria but not quite and the older Chan — wiser, gentler, softer. You've never gotten rid of him despite three years of no contact. You can grow apart but never break apart. And you're scared it'll be the same for Hyunjin.

"I feel like I'm wasting my time, you know?"

"On what?" He asks, innocent and unblinking, hands clasped between his knees and chin lifted towards the yellow light. The firefly slides down the glass walls.

On you. On us. The words catch in your throat, holding his gaze is if it's a stranger's. And he catches on, because he always did.

"You know I love you right?"

You nod. But really, did you? It's raining, but it's just ache in your ear. A white noise.

He sighs — a deep exhale, a hand reaching for you to pull you close. As if all you both do isn't just messing around and pretending to be whole. The light slides off of his shoulders and he grips your hands, that's what he's always done — setting himself on fire so he can burn the brightest.

"I love you as far as love goes," you inhale, waiting for the catch in his words, hands held tight. "But, Sunshine, some people aren't meant to be together."

Because he's all youth — travelling and moving and flowing. You don't want to be the dark sky for him to be the star.

"You deserve more than that."

He smiles at your silence, hands drawing you even closer, "Maybe in another universe I'd ask you to run away with me."

And you smile too, but it's bitter — because you know, even in another universe, your answer would be yes.

And you're afraid he'll cry for the first time, hiding his face in your shoulder. You cannot bear it because this time it's sadness shared. Your hands run a familiar path up and down his spine.

"You know?" he breathes, drawing back and clearing his throat. His hair is messy, a passing breeze on a still summer day, a little bit unravelled. "I saw you and Minho."

"You did?"

"Yeah," he smiles at you as if it's the beginning of the world, hands holding your face — warm and soft. "I'm so fucking happy for you."

It's June and you're four shots past where you should have stopped. You're lying on the floor, curled up on the edge of you're bed. It's raining against the window, hard. Hyunjin has been missing since the second shot. But Minho is there, drawing circles on your temples because he doesn't drink.

You hold his hand, fingers threading into his. And he smiles — like you're his whole fucking world.

"You're a guy, right?"

He chuckles, still stroking your hair, his silver rings cold to your temple, "I think so."

"Do guys feel sad?"

His hands still and his smile cuts itself in half because he thinks you know. His arms are around you and the air is too thin to breathe. You don't know about the skeletons that would occasionally slip out of his closet to show themselves in the mirror. Or the thin blade in the back of his wallet he had fished out from his father's pencil sharpener at fifteen. Not yet. You don't.

And still, you're there for him when he exhales a shaky breath, offering shelter for as long as he needs it.

Minho shrugs, his smile returning but not quite. His head is heavy next to yours.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Like an absent father, Hyunjin had never quite been there. Stealing himself from you and returning half-starved. And you kept mothering dying things.

But now, he's here. He's there, although drunk off of his mind, when Minho jokes about asking to marry you at the local McDonald's at midnight — waiting for the lights and cola to sober you and Hyunjin up before you'd cross the road to return home.

He's there, enthusiastic and giddy, clapping hands and deciding roles. He'd be the priest and Felix the flowergirl.

He's there — walking home drunk and giddy to get a suit although Minho only wore a sweater and jeans, sliding a ring pop on your finger and kissing your drunken champagne lips.

He's there, laughing and cheering and drinking even more. Hugging you tight under the neon lights of the McDonald's diner.

"I'll be the godfather," he says. I'm so proud of where you are, you hear.

June ends with the wedding and July starts white — an endless field with white daisies. The first weekend is for Minho and you, climbing up the stairs to his apartment's roof, ducking under laundry poles to stare at the full, white moon.

He's radiant, the moonlight catching on his shoulder. His dark eyes are caught on you and you know what they look like when he's in love. He's warm and familiar, solid and safe.

Car headlights flow in the endless traffic underneath — the traffic thick with the scent of petrol strong enough to taste. This time you know what love feels like. Walking home with a fever of happiness each evening, his name in your mouth.

The firefly jar is heavy in your hands, the firefly bumps against the glass walls, it's dim light flickering. You twist open the jar and tilt it, Minho's hand a welcome weight on your back as you see the firefly climb the edge of the jar.

It walks a few steps, crouching on the lid, unmoving. The wind sweeps past, almost taking the firefly along with it, it's paper thin wings struggling against it.

"It's not moving," you whisper.

"Give it some time, sweetheart."

You wait for ever. The wind rustles in your ear and the firefly makes no move to fly.

Much later, does it take to the air. It's light diming and brightening in a rhythm as it flies past the laundry poles, and traces a swift arc towards the building. It's light lingers for a few seconds only to be scattered by the wind, dissapearing into the slow moving traffic.

You watch Minho as he reaches for the lingering light, smiling when he grasps nothing.

"Tell me a secret."

He pauses, his lips quirking with intrigue, "What kind of secret?"

"Any kind."

"I don't have a secret."

"You're lying, everyone has secrets."

His eyes wander as he pretends to think, and he's golden under the moonlight with the wind running it's fingers through his hair. Silver rings glinting at you as he taps his chin childishly.

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

It's drizzling, raindrops running down his temples — the slant of his brow and the curve of his neck. You remember his shaking hands in you're when he had hugged you for the first time.

"Spiders."

You laugh, without it sounding hollow on the inside, watching as his lips curve into a smile. The night no longer feels like splinters on your skin.

"You're joking."

"No, really. It's the legs, I think. Or the eyes."

"Tell me another one, then."

He leans over, studying you with a smile like rose and satin. The drizzle lingers, dampening the wave of his hair, his eyes brimming with possibility. You know what happiness feels like — finding every lost bone and fitting it in place.

"I love you."

A/N: took like two months to write — it's a sweetheart of mine. so much murakami inspiration. please leave comments bc i really wanna know what you think.

#skzwritingcafe #skzblossominglove #skz angst #skz fluff #skz x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin angst #skz fanfic #skz scenarios #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenarios #lee know fanfic #lee know angst #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #minho x reader #lee know scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #hyunjin imagines #lee know imagines

[dramaqueeenamby]

Easy | T'Challa Udaku

A/N: My god, BP2 was such an emotional ride. This is a product of all of the emotions I'm still reeling from. I have not written for BP in probably a year+, so I apologize for the rustiness.

Warnings: ANGST.

Words: 3K

You can find my other works HERE.

++++++++++++DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER++++++++++++

-----------

Loving him was easy. 

Maybe too easy.

Maybe things would have been easier if he wasn’t so easy. So easy to admire, so easy to be drawn to, so easy to feel an ungodly amount of love and adoration for. 

But maybe that was just T’Challa. With his beautiful smile and brilliant mind, few paths seemed to lead to some place loveless. He was the embodiment of attraction, from the way he spoke, to the way he conducted himself, to the way he loved.

Yeah….easy seemed to be unavoidable. 

A small smile makes its way to your face as you reminisce on your first meeting all those years ago. 

“Would you just tell me already?”

Nakia simply looks over at you with that same bored yet tempted expression. “And ruin the surprise? Never.”

She laughs, clearly amused by your frustration, by the lack of patience for which you’ve still struggled to fully comprehend. 

You’d just completed your War Dog training and had been assigned to Nakia, to shadow her on a few missions and prove that you were ready for your own assignment. It was a perfect partnership, as Nakia matched your wit and sense of humor, both of which had definitely gotten you in trouble more times than you’d like to admit.

“How about a hint?”

“How about no?”

Your eyes narrowed as you nudged her. “You are enjoying this.”

“Somewhat,” she admits. You share another look before giggling together when a firm voice from behind interrupts your moment. 

“Forgive me, ladies.”

“You are not forgiven,” your response is natural and instantaneous, a small smirk playing on your face. “Matter of fact, you should know better than to sneak on two lad–” The smirk drops and your ridicule is cut short by the dark eyes and curious gaze of the crowned prince who stands before you. 

If Nakia was amused before, she was delighted now. You can feel her eyes still focused on you as she bumps you with her hip. “Y/N, you didn’t finish your statement. How rude.”

Your glare could burn two holes into the princess as she shakes her head and returns her focus onto Prince T’Challa. 

“Yes, T’Challa?” It’s in the most random, unexpected moments that you remember while Nakia is your friend, she is also royalty. Perhaps it’s something you should commit to memory, especially given how you’ve just completely disregarded all protocol for the future ruler of Wakanda. 

Finally able to pick your eyeballs off the ground, you find that T’Challa’s gaze is pinpointed on you. “Nakia is correct. It is improper to finish your statement…..”

He trails off, and you realize he’s searching for your name. Slightly dejected and still embarrassed, you answer, hastily adding a “your grace” onto the end. For good measure and respect.

He simply makes a sound before repeating your name. It feels so strange hearing your name on his mouth, strange but also….right. Shifting your stance, you’re thankful when he finally reirects his focus to Nakia. Memory of what was said between them was lost years ago, but the initial butterflies in your stomach upon your first meeting have always stayed with you. 

You pray to Bast they always will. 

Rolling your shoulders, your fingers dance across the fabric on your skin. It’s a piece you’d acquired since moving to Haiti. Your fingertips stroke the intricate pattern, and just like that, you’re hit with memories of laying in bed, naked, a sheen of sweat covering your back while the same fingers dance across his chest.

There are too many times that this occurred, but it’s somewhat easier to recall one of the later moments. 

The silence rattles you, not because you can’t handle it. It’s because you know underneath it lies turmoil, It’s present in the way he entered you, rough, desperate, lost. Lovemaking with T’Challa was always anything but that, maybe the first of them at times, but never the latter two. 

Your hands flatten against his chest, gently curving inward to draw his attention. He doesn’t move to look down, but you know he’s listening. 

“Talk to me,” you implore, licking your lips. “There’s so much more room out here, my love.”

He says nothing but you feel the scoff underneath his strong chest. “There is already too much out here.”

“Nay,” you lean to kiss the underside of his jaw. “You underestimate the space, kumkani.”

Finally, allowing you a glance of his dejected expression, he counters, “and you underestimate the weight, Isithandwa.”

Sighing, your hand travels to his face. “You didn’t know, T’Challa. None of us did.” If you’re being honest with yourself, it’s still nearly incomprehensible to believe that King T’Chaka was responsible for the murder of his own brother as well as the abandonment of his nephew, T’Challa’s cousin, the man who seemed hellbent on revenge. 

But not for poor reasons.

Still, the fact that so much of this falls on T’Challa, who has barely had time to mourn the loss of his father, your heart aches for the pain he refuses to show but you know he feels. 

“And we cannot change the past,” you continue, though vaguely unsure of yourself. T’Challa has always been the better of you two when it came to wording things in a way that was equally beautiful as it was helpful. “But, we can make decisions now that will help us create a better future.”

“Built on what? Lies.”

“No….” Again, your hand movement shifts to his hard abdomen, as your fingers offer comforting, circular movements. “No, my love, the lies stop with you. You will be the change that will usher in a new era for Wakanda, a better era, for us all.”

Instead of the incoherent sounds you usually receive, his hand on your back tugs you just a little closer. “You have such unyielding faith in me.”

You sit on his words for a few seconds before answering thoughtfully. “I’ve questioned many things in my life, T’Challa, but not one of them has ever been you. Not your ability to rule, to protect, not even to love.” A beat. “Now I’ve maybe questioned your fashion choices at one point or another, but Shuri’s influence will hopefully start to rub off on you.”

A small yelp escapes your mouth as he flips positions so that he’s hovering over you. Your gazes lock as he lowers himself, stealing the gentlest of kisses before resting his forehead against yours. Your hands cradle his cheeks as he kisses both of your palms before shifting downward and laying against your chest. Your arms cocoon him, protecting him, offering a solace only found within your safe embrace.

“I love you, T’Challa. Never forget that.”

You once believed that the five years without T’Challa, having lost him to the Snap, was the most difficult thing you’d ever had to endure.

Clearly….clearly you were wrong.

It starts with a cough. 

Nothing persistent or chronic, more inconsistent and light than anything. Probably nothing major enough to raise an eyebrow from anyone else. But you knew T’Challa, and you knew the many benefits of the heart shaped herb.

He didn’t get sick, and more importantly, the black panther didn’t get sick. 

A small part of you pretended that it wasn't an issue. You were comforted by the fact that he’d been ripped away from you for five years and returned. What more heartache could possibly outweigh that?

But then the cough was no longer as infrequent, and along with it came a sort of dullness in his normally bright eyes. He seemed….weary.

You knew the weight of returning after being gone for so long weighed on him, but this….this was different.

It was also concerning, as he would come and visit at least once a month, the two of you no longer able to steal moments in time as often as you once did. You were both older now with even more responsibilities than ever before. So when he came to visit two times in a row and you noticed the same dullness, your concern definitely spiked.

It was late, and the two of you were just getting into bed. He’d only just pulled back the blankets when you finally asked.

“How long do you plan to pretend that everything is alright?”

He stands upright and his jaw ticks. “What are you talking about?”

Deflection. T’Challa never deflects. Your concern increases.

Moving across the room, you stand directly in front, looking up at him. “You know exactly what I am talking about.” When he says nothing, your hand lifts to his cheek. “Please talk to me. I am worried.”

“It’s nothing.”

“What is it, T’Challa?” Moving closer, you lay yourself against his chest, mindful of how he hesitates to reciprocate your embrace. “I need you to be honest with me.” A beat. “Or maybe I just need you to be honest with yourself.”

His body tenses underneath the weight of your own as well as your words. And finally, he answers, “something has been…..plaguing me.” Looking up, he immediately goes into comfort mode. “It is nothing to worry about, Isithandwa.”

His eyes betray him, and you can’t help how your own water. “How close are you to a cure?” His silence is the answer you don’t want to hear. It’s an answer that is not the security of promise and hope that you need in this moment. 

“Y/N–”

“What-what does Shuri think?” More silence. Your eyes naturally widen. “You have not told her?” His lack of an answer adds another layer of panic as she painfully realizes, “you have not told anyone….”

“There is no need to worry anyone, Y/N.”

“But I am worried, T’Challa!” You whisper harshly, mindful of your volume as not to disturb or let alone awake the last person who needs to be hearing this conversation. “Do you not think I have not noticed how long this has lasted? You have been sick for weeks, months maybe, and if there is no cure in sight, then who is to say you will get better?”

He shakes his head, cupping your face. “Aye, listen to me.” The tears are falling, and his thumb goes to brush them away. “You once told me that you have never doubted me. Do you remember this? Hmm?”

Sniffling, you manage to nod and murmur, “yes.”

Relieved, he tucks you into him, his chin resting on the top of your head. “So trust me now, Y/N. Have faith.”

His words still haunt you, still bring the sting of tears to your eyes and the sharp flash of pain in your chest. Realizing that the man you love has limited time left on earth is a pain like none other. But watching him gradually decline, knowing that there’s nothing you can do….that is a hurt too explosive to even describe.

For his sake, you both acted normal. Same smiles, just a little dimmer. Same laughter, just an octave lighter. Same love, not a damn thing different. Some days you wonder if that was for the better or for the worse. Was it staying and operating out a state of denial? Could you have maybe delayed it, prevented it even if there was more of a sense or urgency?

Because even when you both sat him down, when you were finally honest about T’Challa’s condition, about where his path was leading him, it still felt bitterly hopeful. Like it was a maybe instead of a definitely.

Maybe this will happen, instead of this is going to happen.

But you also knew this wasn’t a decision that you could make by yourself. And truth be told, it wasn’t even a decision T’Challa could make, which disgusted you. How could a man like T’Challa, your sweet, kind love be subjected to such a cruel ending? An ending so unbecoming of the majestic man that he was. 

This is when the anger kicks in, the rage at having him taken from you not once, not twice, but three times. Why the hell did you all have to be dealt such a vile card? What travesties could you have done, could he have done to deserve this ending? 

In the final weeks, days even, items were dropped or were thrown, tempers were short, clearly, and interactions felt so much more heavy. You still beat yourself up for being so consumed by your own emotions that maybe you weren’t present enough for him when he needed you the most. 

That also happens a lot, that feeling of it not being enough. Not enough of him. Not enough of you all. Not enough time. 

Not enough of…..anything. 

And then that ceremony, the damn goodbye that he decided would be just for them, that was the moment you realized that T’Challa wouldn’t be returning for another visit. This was the last time, and it broke you. Of that night, you don’t remember much, just the absolute agony and grief that tore through your entire being. It’s such a blur, but the pain felt is a constant. 

That last goodbye…..even reflecting back on it is too much to bear, too much to try to swallow. Maybe someday you’ll be able to dwell on it….but now….now is too soon, much too soon.

What does stand out is the days following the notice you received that he’d passed on to be with the ancestors.

Washing the dishes was the last thing you wanted to do, but the dishwasher was giving an error code, and you couldn’t bring yourself to seek out someone who could fix it. Especially when that someone you would usually call is no longer available. 

Wiping at your face with the back of your hand had become a habit, one that had caused the skin on your face to become tender, harsh even from the constant friction. But the final straw was dropping the glass plate in your hand onto the floor, shattering all over the tile. 

You cursed, leaning down to gather the pieces only to not pay close enough attention, accidentally slicing the palm of your hand.

Hissing loudly, you lifted your arm, observing the blood leave the open wound. You do nothing to stop it, watching it continue to spill, even aiding in the process as you apply pressure around the area. It’s a fruitless effort though, because the physical pain is nothing in comparison to your emotional pain. 

Overcome with that same emotion, you bring yourself to your feet and storm out the door, running toward the beachfront. 

T’Challa always loved the water and wanted you two to be away from everyone else, both for your comfort as well as your privacy and overall safety. 

Falling to your knees, your hands brace against the grainy sand as a loud, guttural, visceral scream erupts from the deepest part of your soul. But, it’s not enough. So you go again. And again. And again. Continuing to scream until your voice breaks, as does your resolve.

Now on your side, sobs rake through your entire body, you wails bouncing off the waves of the water. 

It’s both comforting and suffocating. A release and a limitation. A blessing and a curse.

“How-how could you leave me?” The question is posed to no one, to everyone, to anyone who will listen. “How could you leave us!” The interrogative nature quickly transitions to a demanding tone, a plea, a beg for mercy. “You said-you said to have faith, and I–I did.” You continue to wail, shaking your head. “And where are you now? WHERE ARE YOU, T’CHALLA?”

Stomach throbbing and eyes burning, your vision is blurred by pain, but you manage to twist your body when small but firm arms wrap around you and a body is pressed against yours. The familiar smell of shea and cocoa butter fills your nostrils as you look down and nearly cave again.

“I’m right here, mama,” your son’s words hit you deeper than anything you could have imagined. And another wave of tears overcomes you as he repeats himself and holds you even tighter. “I’m right here.” 

You’re not sure if Challa, as both you and T’Challa took to calling him even when he was still in your womb, will ever be able to fully comprehend the depth and importance of his words. His comfort in that moment pulling you from a darkness you’d never encountered. A darkness you’re not sure you would have been able to save yourself from without him. 

It’s been roughly a year since that night, that evening where your greatest blessing saved you from your greatest battle. And every day is a struggle, there’s always moments where you find yourself encountering a memory, missing a touch, yearning for that love.

But then Challa will smile at you, and you’re reminded that death…is never the end. 

You remember that loving T’Challa was always so easy because it was inevitable. 

“You’re always with me, my love,” you speak upward, smiling softly. “And you always will be.” 

#black panther #black panther: wakanda forever #bp2 #black panther fanfiction #black panther fanfic #T'Challa #T'Challa x reader #T'Challa x you #T'Challa Udaku #Black Panther x reader

[triflesandparsnips]

I'm not seeing enough deep-dive nonsense about the new Good Omens season 2 poster drop on my dash, and by god that means I must be the one to deliver it.

For those who haven't seen it yet, behold:

...there's a lot in here to go a wee bit feral over, if one was so inclined, and lord knows I love an inclination.

The Obvious Stuff

1. There Was Only One Bed Chair

This is the bulk of the commentary I've seen, and tbh, it's pretty great. "I am bored/busy and ignoring you but also what is personal space, never heard of her, we will not be taking questions at this time."

Notably, however, this is the second time we've seen them back to back-- the majority of the poster art we saw for the first season had them side by side. In both cases they're in a position to face some third thing together-- the difference, perhaps, is that side by side might imply equality of situation, while back to back implies implicit trust that the other won't stab you there.

2. The bookshop

Aw, look at them. Look at it. What a glorious little mess. This is them in London. Arizaphale looks pleased with the situation; Crowley looks bored af but he's also squished up on that one dang chair, so there's a "cat sitting next to you because parallel play and mirroring are the Best Interactions" feel to it.

3. Tea and wine

Arizaphale's got a teacup, Crowley's got a wine glass, this is very Them and indicative of their Vibes. Tbh, I think this is just a nice bit of design work, but it's worth calling out.

4. The outside street

The shop across the way is using a Gothic and reads "GIVE ME" before being cut off. No clue what it means, but it probably means something.

5. The tagline

The previous tagline we got was "Something's going down in the Up" (with that grey feather falling between their black and white wings)-- this tagline reads "Everyday it's a-getting closer."

Easiest interpretation is, oho, we're getting closer to the second season, and gosh there will be some Plot in it. And sure, yes, it works for that too, huzzah. But leaving aside the "it" and what that may mean-- "a-getting" is a fascinating word choice. It evokes similar constructions like, say, the somewhat obscure "Sumer is icumen in" (a song about the changing of the seasons and also encouraging a cuckoo to go lay some eggs in other birds nests if u no wat im sayin eyyyyy)-- and the significantly less obscure protest song "The Times They Are A-Changin'", whose ending stanza is:

The line it is drawn

The curse it is cast

The slow one now

Will later be fast

As the present now

Will later be past

The order is rapidly fadin'

And the first one now

Will later be last

For the times they are a-changin'

Gosh.

Now the Real Fun Starts

This poster is a composite image (as so many ads are), composed of different bits and pieces to form a whole impression -- based on fun stuff like relative pixelation and whatnot, you can often tell what portions of an image were there to start with, and what were specifically added in after the fact. How packed this poster is in tiny details -- which is exactly where I would hide fun hints to things -- is generally a cue for me to take a closer look, and I have been, I think, rewarded.

1. The books with legible titles

Zoom in on Aziraphale's book-- he's reading Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. The "two cities" in play are Paris and London, and the book is set before and during the French Revolution.

It's the story of a man who had been previously imprisoned in the Bastille for 18 years, and then was released to go live with his daughter -- who he has never met, what with the whole "imprisoned" thing -- in London.

The opening paragraph is:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

The pile of books in the foreground have two visible titles: the topmost one is Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (a "novel of manners" that's considered a heavy-hitting romantic classic, and also yes the leads are both prideful and prejudiced and it takes an entire book for them to clear that up) and Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island (a young adult coming-of-age adventure story about a kid who finds himself on an adventure with a bunch of pirates to discover buried treasure).

Of note: A Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, and Treasure Island also all have note tabs sticking out of them, and are the only books that have them. This is reminiscent of how Arizaphale studied and referenced Agnes Nutter's prophecies.

Some of the books beneath the window technically have titles, but they appear to be about as pixelated as the rest of that section, and so I suspect they're just part of the scenery.

Similarly, most of the books on the background shelves are like that as well, except:

Joseph Heller's Catch-22 (A satirical novel set in World War II; Wikipedia briefly explains that "the novel examines the absurdity of war and military life through the experiences of Yossarian and his cohorts, who attempt to maintain their sanity while fulfilling their service requirements so that they may return home." The book also coined the phrase "catch-22," which is a situation someone can't escape because of paradoxical rules-- in the case of the book, you can't ask to be evaluated for insanity so that you can be exempt from flying dangerous missions, because "anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy.")

Iain Banks's The Crow Road (and a first edition, perhaps? I haven't read it, but apparently it's a Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. Its opening line is "It was the day my grandmother exploded." The phrase "the crow road" is a euphemism, in the book, for death.)

Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim (Sparknotes says it's "the story of a man named Marlow's struggle to tell and to understand the life story of a man named Jim" -- a young man who goes to sea, makes a terrible and cowardly decision while following his leaders, and then spends the rest of his life haunted by it.)

There's at least one extra, partially obscured title:

It appears to read "THE BODY ------ and ------", which makes me wonder if it's an anthology of murder mystery short stories.

Leaving aside the uncertain book, commonalities between many of these books include:

soldiers, war, and the horrors/absurdities thereof

doubles and parallels

death and murder

a young/inexperienced protagonist thrown in with more experienced/weirder folk

fragmented and out of order narratives, sometimes having to be pieced together from multiple viewpoints

...pirates

2. The strange but noticeable inserts

There are several images that have been inserted into the poster that -- unlike the teacup and wine glass mentioned above -- don't seem to make a lot of contextual sense and are therefore, perhaps, extra information. These include:

a. the three lizard boys

b. the broken smartphone

c. the matchbox with the quote on the side

d. the camera

e. this statuette that seems suspicious

f. this record and scroll that seem out of place

g. the clockface with the missing hand (which may be just for the Aesthetic, but whatever, I'm including it)

What do they mean? No clue. I suspect it will become apparent as we get trailers and/or the actual show.

In Conclusion

Uh.

Look. Design teams can do all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons. All of this could mean absolutely nothing.

But.

Using my magical powers of bullshit deduction, I might look at all this, and that grey feather falling from the earlier poster, and say... well... the war's still ongoing, yeah? So maybe... maybe there needs to be a new angel keeping an eye on things on Earth. Or an eye specifically on Aziraphale and Crowley.

And that would look SUSPICIOUS, right? So this is an angel who's maybe... a little bit Fallen. For the sake of the Mission. Like, they've agreed to sin just a lil bit, just enough to justify being thrown out of Heaven, and they're not actively in Hell because they're, oh, just stopping off, or maybe just going really slowly, or maybe they were sent back up from Hell because they were still "too good" and all that Pureness of Spirit was stinking up the place--

Whatever. Point is, they're on Earth, they're very confused, it sure would be nice if these very Established metaphysical elders could give them a few hints about how to get on. We'd then get to enjoy a Guide to Living a Totally Normal Human Life given by these two disaster dorks, plus whatever nonsense is derived from, idk, various extraneous plot shenanigans, probably involving a Murder and maybe a MacGuffin Maltese Falcon.

And most importantly: this new angel? Wow no they couldn't possibly be a spy because again WOW, what kind of angel would deliberately Fall? Wouldn't that require doing the wrong thing to do a right thing? ...okay maybe, but can it really be wrong if it was done by command? ...well, wait, it surely must be wrong because otherwise the mechanism wouldn't have worked-- but then, wait, which thing was the wrong thing--

And Aziraphale and Crowley would watch this bouncing volley of cognitive dissonance with great interest, also possibly while holding hands.

#good omens #season 2 #good omens season 2 rampant speculation

[peri-peri-sauce]

Masterlist

In this post you will find my masterlist of Käärijä x Reader fics, or you can also go to my AO3 profile and check them out there.

Beware! NSFW

The fics are NSFW, so please, reader discretion is advised.

Female Reader:

Bad Boys Need To Be Punished (Sub Jere)

The meeting with your friends had taken an unexpected turn when Jere couldn't keep his hands off you, making you completely distracted. That's why, upon arriving home, you decide to teach him a lesson. After all, bad boys who can't keep their hands to themselves deserve to be punished.

Dress Me And Praise Me (Sub Jere)

Boredom begins to invade Jere while waiting for you to arrive home. However, he finds something intriguing in your room that leads to some intense self-exploration in front of the mirror. But when you return with your own surprise, things get even hotter as Jere discovers new things about himself.

Two Can Play This Game (Dom Jere)

Knowing how competitive Jere is, you already know that teasing him while he's playing video games is not a good idea. This becomes even riskier when you know there's a bet involved. Like they say, actions have consequences, and soon, the little game you start turns into a heated competition to see who could rile the other up more.

Santa's Naughty List (Dom Jere)

Unexpectedly, a young man claiming to be Santa Claus enters your home, initially causing you to believe you're being robbed. However, in a surprising twist, it turns out that he truly is who he claims to be, and apparently, he has a surprise for you this Christmas.

Wrap Me Up Like A Christmas Present (Sub Jere)

Jere surprises you by wrapping himself as a present beneath the Christmas tree. As the evening progresses with a gift exchange and a delightful dinner shared with family and friends later in the night, Jere remains oblivious to your mischievous intentions.

Drench Me With Your Love (Top Jere)

A party on the outskirts of the city turns into an unexpected reunion with an old friend you haven't seen in ages. As the day unfolds, a playful chase through the forest leads to a more intimate moment. Will you find the courage to express your feelings for him after all these years of harboring a crush? And will he reciprocate those feelings?

Hurt Me Until I'm Screaming For More (Sub Jere)

“If you score a goal, I promise to whip you when we get home”. Motivated by your promise, Jere redeems himself in a hockey game with six goals after a disappointing performance, basking in the satisfaction of fulfilling part of your promise. Now, it's your turn.

Red Rose Dinner (Bottom Jere)

After being stood up by your Tinder date, you find yourself approached by a shy and charming man at the restaurant. As you share an unexpected dinner together, you become increasingly drawn to this adorable boy as the night unfolds, culminating in his offer to drive you home before things take a steamier turn.

There's An Alien In My House (Not finished)

What happens when, in the middle of the night, during a storm, you encounter an unknown creature in your kitchen? You don't know how it got there or what its intentions are, yet it appears to be drawn to you, or rather, to your scent. Despite the uncertainty, for some inexplicable reason, you decide to allow it to stay after getting to know it better. What will happen next in your life now that there’s an alien in your house?

Gender Neutral Reader:

It's All About You (Bottom Jere)

Jere arrives home tired from work, exhausted from his busy schedule, so you help him relax.

My King, My God (Top Jere)

You made a promise to Jere, yet you couldn't fulfill it. To earn his forgiveness, you'll need to stroke his ego to let him know how much you appreciate him.

Tastes Like Heaven (Bottom Jere)

What began as an innocent act of feeding Jere quickly escalates into a surprisingly intense moment between the two of you.

If you like my works and want to support me, don't hesitate to leave kudos or a comment on my fics. If you would like to support me further, you can also buy me some coffee.

Thank you so much :)

#käärijä fanfiction #käärijä fanfic #käärijä fic #käärijä x reader #käärijä #jere pöyhönen

[plushee-cant-draw]

My contribution to the Winter's Feast Fanzine 2023, hosted by @chainsaw-mewmew!! ^w^ featuring a bunch of shadows, along with their "king" and queen, decorating a tree together.

(If you haven't seen it yet you should go download it it's full of a lot of amazing artwork <3)

(The link above goes directly to the download page but this should be the link to the announcement post if you want to share it <3)

below the cut is various stages of progress of the drawing (for fun),

and a silly extra doodle

Sketch: (........I don't uh, usually do these. When drawing)

(Fuelweaver and the lights were different colors from everything else to help it stand out from the tree)

Lineart: (I have only now noticed the branch in the terrorbeak. uh. It doesn't show in the final piece bc the terrros beak is layered on top)

Color: (but no lineart color) (mildly cursed) (half of the lineart has vanished. wonder why.)

Color with with colored lineart:

Lastly, a few extra effects (Some could sorta fall under shading, idk what they'd be called exactly though.)

Of course, the shading would just be the finished piece :3

and. a silly doodle because I am suffering. not really im fine and normal about the two dst winter themed pieces I've drawn this year. This one, about shadows having a good time during the feast and the other one, about survivors having a not good time. with impalement. and blood. for those who like. blood and violense idk :3

Im going to bed now gn

#dst charlie #ds charlie #yeah sure I'll tag everyone else #dst Mr. Skitts #mr skitts #Shriek #ink blights #Parasitic shadeling #fused shadeling #Shadow bishop #shadow pieces #dst fuelweaver #ancient fuelweaver #terrorbeak #Them #They don't appear directly but. the eye tree topper. #dstwff2023 #The shadows get to be happy. as a treat. my leveret gets maimed also as a treat. <- Ignore this I #ough #*crawls into a hole but in a silly way

[tomriddles-wh0re]

‘Running from love’ // t.r part 4

Pairing: female!potter(james’ sister) x Tom Riddle

wc: 1.6 k

Summary: In the past, the reader hadn't hope to fall in love with him, their goal was to prevent the rise of the Dark Lord but nothing seemed to go as planned when they are sent back into the future. In the months following the return, Tom Riddle continues to haunt their nightmares and their new reality as he closes in on them. How can an old love cause so much harm? 

Trigger warnings: none

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | tbc

How does one set up a meeting with the Dark Lord? I suppose you can’t just owl his assistant for available time slots. She had no clue about his whereabouts so she decided it was time to owl one of their closest friends, Abraxas Malfoy. After a long drawn out night, she attempted to compose a letter by rewriting it time and time again until she knew it was sculpted to perfection. She sent the letter off in a black envelope to the owl post office to be set out. The letter read:

Dear Abraxas,

It comes in time where I reach back out to you, to my dismay it is under these circumstances. I understand it has been many years, decades since you have last heard from me but hopefully you haven't forgotten me. My letter regards my Tom, the attached letter is to reach him, I haven’t a clue where he is so if you could pass it to him I would be thankful. My friend, hopefully you are well, I am doing quite fine, I can’t address what happened to me or why I disappeared, that is for another letter. How are things? Must be a lot of things we can address in the future, perhaps over a cup of tea, you always told me those were for serious talks. Until then and when I am ready, this will be all until I send a letter back. You mustn’t send a letter in response or attempt to charm one my may, I prefer my location a secret. So be kind enough to not try for all attempts will fail. Best regards, Malfoy.

Sincerely,

Y.O’C

P.s please make sure Tom personally gets it and only he reads it. 

Tom’s letter read:

Dear Tom,

My dearest, I never intended to leave all those years ago. I intended to stay with you, to love you to my best capability, to perhaps have you round’ my folks home, meet my family, get married, have kids, and grow old together. Our time together was cut short, for reasons I must’n disclose in a letter but in person. I will explain it all if you will let me. I know what you have done yet I still love you as much as the last day I had in your presence, I ask that you give me a chance to explain. You don’t have to but I wish to at least explain, in case I get my Tom back to me or atleast get closure for the both of us. If you are willing to meet me, I ask you don’t be angry with me and you come alone as I will. The location hasn’t been chosen yet, as I haven’t thought of a place but I will send an owl to Abraxas to give to you as I don’t know your location, I trust you will abide by my wishes and wait for my owl. Meet me at 12 pm on June 16, location will be owled at a later date. I love you Tom, please don’t ever forget it. 

Sincerely yours,

Y.O’C

∞

Sending the letter was half the trouble, the real issue was following through with the meeting. I hoped it would only be me and him but even just the two of us alone had uneased myself. Besides Regulus, no one knew I had gone to meet him and even then he had no idea the date or location of where it was agreed.

On the brisk morning, I apparated to a small secluded area in the English countryside. Walking along the cobblestone steps, slowing up to the dark mahogany doors of the long gone manor I pulled the cloak closer over my head. The grand house succumbed to the vines that began to grow up the sides of the once incredulous architecture. The family home of the Riddles had long gone, becoming an estate, only being in good enough condition to still stand. When preventing Tom from killing his father, his dad started a new family that continued the line. Here I was shivering with the knowledge he would be inside waiting for me, possibly awaiting to kill me but he hadn’t yet so I continued. Pushing the door open, a small squeak of the rusty hinges let out through the air before returning to silence as I closed it behind me. The layout of the house reminded me of the Malfoy Manor, tall doors lining the walls ushering out to separate wings or presumed ballrooms and the giant sturdy staircase lined with oil portraits. I wondered how different he would have turned out if Tom Riddle SR. accepted to raise him, instead of being stuck with the croon Mrs. Cole. 

The farthest door on the left was ajar, the faint light of a fire along with candles were the only indications of another person being here with me. Making sure to pull my hood over my eyes whilst tucking my wand in my pocket I sturdied myself before opting to continue down the hall. Silence hung through the air besides the content click of my boots on the wooden floor, passing a few door frames I made it to the open one. Peering into the room, it appeared to be a study lined with bookshelves filled to the brim with a variety of books. In the center of the room was a lit fireplace in front of a set of couches. The center couch was a dark figure of a man, she knew it was him from the moment she set eyes on his side profile. 

The posture was a give away, along with the book he held in his palms, his diary. His hair was in a tight set of dark brown curls, his skin gleamed with warmth allowing it to dance along his face, his posture was perfect but loose, in his hand opposite to his diary was a cup of firewhiskey, his face was hardly a day older then when you last saw him. Your presence was known but he didn’t glance your way, hiding behind your cloak and the shadows just basking in the way his presence calmed you. Finally closing his book before setting his cup down he spoke “i supposed you would use her as a rouise eventually Albus, such a pity you had to be the first to die in this disgraced house” he twirled his hand before his wand appeared out of thin air.

Glancing up at the doorway, his eyes burned with full fury as he assumed Dumbledore was here. But fearing the worse you spoke softly “Tommy” he instantly froze. 

 “y/n?” his voice shook as you nodded behind shadows of the low pulled hood. “Come on, I know this is a  trick, Dumbledore give up and show yourself” he pointed his wand at you, shaking his anger as he stood up abruptly. Seeing him in person was surreal, you were sure tears were streaming down your face, still hiding in the shadows. “It's me Tom” you spoke, approaching him, faced down as your voice broke. “It can’t be” he said, almost trying to convince himself but in an instant he surged toward you, pinning you to the wall. 

He dug his wand up your jugular where it lay just on top of your pulse point, just as he had so many times in those awful nightmares. His rough palms grabbed your chin, finally lifting it to meet his eager gaze. Tilting it up so far that your hood sunk down, revealing her face to his eager eyes. Standing inches away from his face as he let the shock set it. His breath hitches in his throat, his shoulders tensed before he dropped his wand and pulling you into a tight hug. Nuzzling up into your hair, he caressed your cheek and drank in your appearance as if it was the last thing he got to see. “It's been years, why have you just found me my love” he spoke finally letting his own sobs echo through the air. “why don't you look a day older than when I last saw you?” he mumbled into her hair as he pulled you closer down to his shoulder. You finally broke, “Oh Tom, I missed you so much. I can explain everything I promise just let me hug you”. The experience was surreal, he picked you up to bring you both to the couch. Lying cuddled up, his deep breaths tethered you to reality. He had aged in the past decades, the young boy now grew into an older man. The dark brown hair of his was now parted in the middle with loose curls now framing an older more angular face. His eyes sparkled in a new sheen, the past version you knew was so far away. 

“Can you explain now?” he asked, lifting a hand to rub the hot tears off your cheeks. 

“I will” she said, but now nothing was certain. He had wanted to kill her, but now he hadn’t. He had only wished to when he thought she was Albus, only then was she truly in danger. Now, his aged self comforted the girl in such a scenario no one would have expected. How could she admit the truth, how she existed then only to prevent his own casualties? Could anyone reason to the implication that she loved him to save him, how could he react?

She wanted to greedily enjoy the silence between the both, pretending they had fallen asleep on the Slytherin homeroom’s couch again when they were young. But they weren’t kids anyone, she had lived this year of her life two times already and for Riddle he soaked up the decades away from her, building his power. They had both changed, now they only held ideas of one another but they wanted so badly to fall back in time to before the night their whole worlds paused. 

#ray writes #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fluff #time turner au #marauders era #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot

[fukanouna]

Disconnect

Warning: SMUT 18+ Only, Minors DNI !!!! (and some angst)

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Wanda has a wet dream involving her and Natasha - but it wasn't her Natasha. The Darkhold calls out to her and she succumbs to the book's temptation, discovering the spell to Dreamwalk.

Words: 2580

A/N: I haven't written smut in over 2 years. I hope it's okay. Please enjoy :')

*Cross-posted on AO3

---

It was the first time Wanda ever had a dream that she felt with such visceral clarity.

She dreamt of herself grasping the sheets of a bed that wasn't hers, her body exposed and every inch of her skin on fire with arousal as the head of a familiar woman was settled between her legs, an experienced tongue having her writhing in pleasure. A sinful moan escaped her lips, and though Wanda knew the voice was hers, it also was not. Her attention was drawn back to the other woman, jade green eyes glittering knowingly that Wanda was close, pulling away with a smirk curled on her lips. The woman crawled back up to lock eyes with Wanda, and before Wanda could whine at the loss of contact, the woman plunged two fingers into her throbbing center and instantly pumped her fingers in and out of Wanda at an unforgiving pace.

"Look at me when you cum," she husked out the command and Wanda's legs involuntarily spread further apart, desperate for those fingers to drive into her even deeper.

"Natasha! Natasha!" she sobbed between whimpers, the pressure in her lower abdomen reaching its apex, yet she couldn't deny the other's request, forcing herself to stare right back into Natasha's eyes. She cried out her lover's name when she felt Natasha's thumb rub harsh circles to her clit, hands moving from the sheets to gripping Natasha's shoulders, blunt nails digging into soft skin as Wanda's back arched off the bed from reaching her climax.

Then suddenly, the dream was over.

Wanda's eyes snapped open.

She was back in her own bed.

Alone.

---

In her isolated cabin away from civilization, Wanda prepared herself a simple breakfast that consisted of an omelet, hash browns, and a black cup of coffee. Typically, she preferred tea but after last night, she needed something dark and bitter. Her brows knitted together, trying to ignore the ache between her legs and focus on eating her breakfast.

A sinister whisper slithered into Wanda's ears. She didn't need to get up from her seat to know that the Darkhold was speaking to her, the Book of the Damned set on top of a desk in the living room, wide open to the last page she left off of. But there was something different. It wasn't just trying to speak to Wanda, it was trying to teach her something.

Unable to take the book's incessant whispering any longer, Wanda pushed her chair back and walked into the living room where the book resided. The first thing she noticed was that the book was turned to a page that was different from before. She scanned the ancient text, fingers gliding over the pages.

Her eyes flared red.

The whispering grew louder into a malevolent hiss.

"Dreamwalking… The Multiverse…" Wanda murmured.

As Wanda continued to read more into this new spell, she failed to realize that the tips of her right thumb and index finger became tainted black.

---

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Natasha pressed Wanda against it and captured her mouth in a heated kiss, the latter instinctively moaning into her mouth. Her hands were busy undoing the buttons of Wanda's blouse while the brunette's hands wandered to unbutton her jeans.

"Someone's impatient," Natasha teased in between kisses as if she wasn't equally feeling the same.

"Do not blame me for wanting you when you've been away on a mission for a week," Wanda said hotly, nipping Natasha's lower lip playfully. "If this keeps up, I will have to talk to Margaret myself."

"Calling Peggy by her full first name? You really are upset." An amused hum vibrated past Natasha's lips as she pushed the blouse apart, revealing a lacy scarlet red bra beneath and licking her lips at the sight. She moved to leave a trail of wet, open-mouth kisses on Wanda's jawline, down to her collarbone, then gently sucked on skin between her breasts.

Wanda groaned as she tangled her fingers in Natasha's reddish brown locks. "Natasha, as eager as I am, you are not taking me right at the door."

"Well, you were the one who went straight to undoing my jeans," Natasha quipped but she did agree with the unspoken concern that it'd be best to move to somewhere more comfortable. Wanda cupped her cheeks and brought her back up into another kiss, sighing contently.

"I missed you," Wanda murmured.

"I missed you more," Natasha whispered before kissing her again.

Somehow, they successfully staggered together up the stairs amidst the flurry of lips, tongue, and tangled lips. The moment they entered their bedroom, they helped each other tear off every article of clothing from their bodies and were naked within seconds. Wanda gracefully fell backwards onto their queen-sized bed and flashed a sultry grin as Natasha crawled over on top of her, tilting her head upwards when the older woman lifted her chin with a single finger to kiss her at an angle, moaning against her lips when she felt Natasha tease and pinch her nipple.

The erotic sound of Wanda moaning her name never failed to make Natasha throb. Her mouth replaced her fingers on the pert nipple, alternating between suckling and lapping it with an intensity that had her lover whimpering for more. When Natasha switched to give attention to the neglected breast, Wanda gasped in a way that shocked her and she immediately lifted her head in concern.

"What's wrong? Was I too rough?" Natasha quickly asked, worry bubbling inside of her when Wanda sat up and her eyes were wide, not from arousal, but from something else that Natasha couldn't decipher.

Wanda was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she was gasping for air, but after a minute, her breathing returned to normal. "I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me."

Natasha deeply stared at her with a furrowed brow. "Are you okay to continue? I don't want you to ever feel pressured with me."

Wanda leaned forward and pressed her lips to the Russian's, her hands traveling up and down her sides. "I'm okay. I'm sorry for worrying you."

The simple touches to her skin was enough to ignite the heat between Natasha's legs once more, pressing her knee against Wanda's slick center which caused the brunette to whimper. Still, Natasha wanted to make sure. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

Wanda wrapped her arms around Natasha's neck. "Don’t… I need you." Then she fell back down onto her back, tugging Natasha down on top of her and kissing her hard.

Natasha didn't miss the way the tone of the other woman's voice shifted in a different direction compared to moments before, but then her attention was drawn back to the way Wanda's tongue tangled with her own and the way she grinded her slick center against Natasha's thigh, groaning from how hot she was for her.

Natasha wasted no time worshiping the beautiful, flawless expanse that was Wanda's body. Kissed-swollen lips, fingers that dug into soft mounds of flesh, and her tongue lapping at every drop of sweet nectar Wanda's pussy gave her.

But something was wrong; something was different.

Wanda's body was normally sensitive to Natasha's ministrations, but Natasha had never seen her this sensitive and responsive. Wanda gripped the sheets beneath her so tightly that her knuckles turned white and wondered if she'd draw blood from digging into her own palms. The younger woman would thrash about and throw her head back, seemingly overwhelmed from the pleasure she felt, and tightly squeezed her eyes shut, her whimpers almost sounding guttural.

Unease bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

Natasha had to confirm her suspicions.

Without warning, Natasha thrust two fingers into Wanda's sopping wet folds, causing the latter to cry out in pleasure, and Wanda shamelessly rocked her hips against her fingers. The sight alone made Natasha gush and throb, loving how easy it was to turn Wanda into a whining mess, but the other more rational part of her brain didn't miss the way the Sokovian continued to keep her eyes shut.

Natasha pressed small, firm circles against Wanda's clit and moved upwards so they were face level. "Are you close?" she asked huskily.

Wanda's hips jerked and a long moan tore from her throat. "Yes!" the younger woman sobbed, desperately clinging to Natasha's shoulders. Natasha responded by pumping her fingers more vigorously.

"Look at me when you cum," she commanded, the speed of her thrusts not faltering for even a second.

"I-I can't!" Wanda cried out with flushed cheeks and back arched off the bed.

"Yes, you can," Natasha insisted hotly, gazing down at her writhing lover, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in her gut. She felt Wanda's inner wall tighten and convulse around her fingers every time she went knuckle deep. Wanda couldn't even respond, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, the pleasure overwhelming.

Natasha bit down on her lip, feeling her stomach drop; she got her answer.

Natasha pulled out her fingers and began rubbing Wanda's clit mercilessly, and Wanda squealed with her hips jerked into the air. Leaning down towards the Sokovian's ear, Natasha's voice is soft and affectionate. "It's okay… You can let go," she whispered.

A strained cry tore out from Wanda as she called out Natasha's name and reached her climax, her petite frame shuddering violently with each wave of her orgasm washed over her. Her hips twitched as Natasha slowed down her fingers to ease her through the small aftershocks. Wanda covered her eyes with her forearm, chest heaving from exhaustion.

"Wanda, look at me… Please?" She wasn't sure if the other woman would comply, but to her surprise, Wanda brought her arm down and back to her side, finally looking at Natasha with teary eyes.

Natasha quietly studied the woman beneath her, deeply searching those ocean-green eyes that were so familiar yet not, and struggled to get out the question that had been itching at her conscious for some time. "You're not my Wanda, are you?"

Tears slid down Wanda's cheeks, smiling sadly. "Even in this universe you're very perceptive, Natasha Romanoff. You are right. I am not your Wanda…"

---

After putting back on their clothes, Wanda followed Natasha back downstairs and into the kitchen. Wanda thanked her when the other woman made her a cup of herbal tea, but all Natasha did was give her a nod then turned to focus on preparing a cup of coffee for herself. The silence between them was heavy, almost tangible, and Wanda understood why all things considered, patiently giving the woman space.

Finally, Natasha spoke.

"If you're dreamwalking, then that means you possess the Darkhold," Natasha observed, watching her warily. It was strange to look at this woman across the kitchen island. The body was her Wanda yet the person inside was someone different. She felt so conflicted and confused.

Wanda nodded then took a careful sip of her hot tea, well aware of the distance that existed between them. She tried to ignore the pain it was making her feel. "Yes. It seems that you're knowledgeable of the Darkhold's capabilities."

"In this universe, Steven Strange was in possession of the Darkhold," Natasha began, eyes downcast as she took a couple of sips of here coffee before continuing. "He used the book to dreamwalk to his other selves in other universes to find a way to defeat Thanos, and while he proved to be successful, his actions caused the destruction of those universes he traveled to."

"You talk about Strange in past tense," Wanda noted softly and tilted her head. "What became of him?"

Natasha shrugged her shoulders, still averting her eyes from Wanda's. The coffee tasted bitter than usual. "He atoned for his actions with his life. The Illuminati made sure of that."

Wanda fell silent. She wasn't sure who or what the Illuminati was, but their presence must have an impact on this universe. Her eyes fell back on Natasha, the woman's visage still unreadable as ever. "You must be revolted by the fact I'm using the Darkhold."

"No, that's not it at all," Natasha responded, finally looking at Wanda in the eyes since the bedroom. Her brow furrowed, trying to formulate her thoughts and feelings into coherent sentences. "It's just… I don't understand. Why did you resort to using the book? It corrupts its user the longer the person is in possession of it. And why come to this universe to dreamwalk into my Wanda?" The spy stood in place as Wanda came close to cup her face in her hands. Even though Wanda was smiling, Natasha could clearly see the pained anguish swirling in her eyes.

"Because I lost you. I was jealous that this Wanda had her happy ending with you. I know that doesn't excuse my actions but..." Wanda quietly trailed off. She swallowed back the tears that were welling up in the back of her throat. It slowly occurred to her that this was the first time she's acknowledged her reality out loud. "In my universe, Thanos succeeded in obtaining all six Infinity Stones and snapped half the universe's population away. I was one of those who were snapped away. But my Natasha survived. Because Thanos destroyed the Stones after he accomplished his goal, Natasha and the remaining Avengers devised a plan to go back in time to collect the Stones from the past to reverse the Snap."

The tears grew hotter in her throat, but Wanda pressed on as this Natasha quietly listened. "Clint Barton went with Natasha to retrieve the Soul Stone, both unaware of the price that had to be paid in order to receive it." The tears finally fell and streamed down her cheeks. "The two of them fought each other as they both wanted to be the sacrifice… and Natasha won."

Natasha felt her heart tightened. Wanda's tears wouldn't stop but she went on.

"When I was brought back into existence, something died inside of me when I learned that the one person I desperately want to see was gone. I didn't get the chance to thank her for saving me." The last words came out in a defeated whisper. "I didn't even get the chance to tell her I loved her…"

Natasha held the younger woman close, letting Wanda quietly sob into her shoulder, her heart ached at the thought of what this Wanda went through and how she became so broken as a result.

"I'm sorry… I just… I wanted to see you again…" Wanda whispered.

"I understand," Natasha answered back just as quiet. "But I'm not her. I'm… not your Natasha."

Wanda held this Natasha tighter.

"I know… Just a little longer. Please."

Natasha couldn't say no. There was no way she could. If she could, she wished she could take away all of the other woman's pain and suffering.

Once Wanda calmed down, she pulled away from Natasha and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "Thank you for allowing me to be selfish."

Natasha nodded slowly with pained eyes. "Of course. What will you do now?"

Wanda gave a rueful smile. "Say goodbye. I've taken away the person you love long enough."

Natasha hated how sad she looked but she knew she couldn't allow this Wanda to remain in her universe any longer, fearing an incursion could happen. "And the Darkhold?"

"I'll close it for good. I know it's what my Natasha would have wanted." Wanda gazed into her eyes. "Your Wanda… Please know that she loves you dearly. I can feel it. Never forget to cherish her."

"I won't," Natasha promised.

Wanda gave one last tearful smile then mouthed her farewell, her irises flared red for a brief moment before eyes fell to a close and the body went limp. Natasha rushed in to catch her lover's body before she hit the floor, cradling her in her arms. The former assassin held her breath in anticipation, exhaling in relief when eyes fluttered opened.

"N-Natasha…?" Wanda rasped lowly.

"Hey, baby," Natasha smiled as she pushed some stray strands of hair away from the other woman's face. "Are you okay?"

Wanda stared up at the ceiling, eyes distant. "I… I had a dream."

Natasha pressed her lips tightly together. "What did you dream about?"

Wanda blinked a few times, swallowing thickly. "I dreamt of another me. From another universe. I felt all of her pain, all of her sorrow… because she lost someone really important to her."

Natasha was trying not to cry and blinked back the tears threatening to fall. "Is that so?"

"Yeah..." Wanda nodded slowly and turned back to look up at the older woman before wrapping her arms around Natasha's neck and burying her face into the crook of her neck. "I hope she'll find happiness again. I want her to be happy."

Natasha pressed her lips to the Sokovian's forehead and held her lover tightly, her thoughts drifting to the other Wanda she wished she could save.

"Me too, Wanda. Me too..."

#wandanat #wanda maximoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #scarletwidow

[shifterglitter]

My Waiting Rooms

The Hord

My first waiting room was inspired by the labyrinth, my love for friendly monsters and my need to live inside of a tree like a pixie.

The reason why I named this "The Hord" is because underneath the roots of my tree house is an elaborate cave system that I can access from my library. In those caves lives a Dragon that hordes all of my memories for current, past, and future lives. That dragon is a reflection of my Higher Self should I need any advice.

Around my tree house is a Labyrinth with serval moon doors, these are magical portals that can take me to any DR that I wish at any time.

Several agreeable monsters also call this waiting room their home and have designated territories.

I do have a non human mental health professional here that fits all my needs.

A few of my favorite parental figure characters of other medias also live here for any needed advice. Like Iroh and Genkai for example.

It has a different biome and mode of travel in each cardinal direction that leads to a different Waiting Room. This is the center of all my experiences and should I die in any of my other realities unexpectedly I would immediately shift here.

To the East there is a horse drawn carriage that goes though grasslands that will take you to Barbie's Mansion. To the south, between two forested mountains, there is a train that will bring you to the Dreamweaver station right outside Haven Village. To the West there is a bioluminescent beach with a yacht that will sail you to a Vacation Resort Island. To the North is a garage with a convertible Jeep prepared for your camping trip into the desert. Should you go far enough you will find yourself stopping at a gas station with strange burritos.

One day I'll post a map of everything.

Barbie's Creepy Dream House

Have any of you been to a Meow Wolf location yet? I have. I am obsessed with this string of immersive art experiences in the American south. I also have a wooden barbie doll house that my uncle made me when I was 8 that I am upcycling into a creepy display piece. This was the inspiration for my second waiting room.

In the fields, meadows, and marsh lands that surround the house I can find apparitions of ancestors and other loving entities on my spiritual team should I wish to speak with them directly.

Because I haven't finished the art project I have not solidified this WR, but I'll get to it in a few years.

The Haven

This inspired by the meditation series by The Honest Guys called Haven and Dreamweaver.

Important people (my core chosen family) in each of the realities I end up in will also be here with our collective memories together. This could be from one life as friends; or multiple, like my siblings. The souls here that have lived multiple lives with me can change their body to appear like any of their DR forms at will.

The soul of my "Kiss Me Again" lover lives here as my spouse in my English cottage with a thatched roof.

I often collaborate with my siblings and lover about who they want to be in my next DR, and who they want me to pull here for them to live an eternity with.

All of my past, present, and future pets live here.

Wii Sport Resort

I use to fucking love the Wii Sports games. SO yeah, I am going to play it forever. With tons of Mountain Dew.

And why not on an island with all my friends from every DR.

My OR biological family will also live here, but they will all be idealized healed versions of themselves.

This will have ALL Wii Sports games among other fun vacation activities, and PC Lounges were we can all play video games too.

Desert Skies

Inspired by a after death fictional audio drama podcast called Desert Skies.

I'm still working on the other details, but this will be a solo adventure of self discovery and processing the loss of each lived life.

*these are all waiting rooms because: they have no plot, are unaffected by time, every living thing is immortal, there are no bugs I dislike, no one ever gets dirty, or experiences any sort of discomfort/harm, we all always smell good, what every your want will appear upon your will of thinking it, you don't need to eat sleep or drink water if you don't want to, there are no ill effects to drugs, you can't get sick, and all of everyone's needs are provided for. There is no suffering of any kind.*

#current reality #desired reality #shift #reality shifter #shiftblr #shifting community #shifting #loa #loa tumblr #law of assumption #waiting room #shifters #reality shift #reality shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting consciousness #shifting motivation #shifting realities #shifttok #quantum jumping #quantum imortality #manifesting #manifesation #the meditation series is the haven playlist by the honest guys on yt

[tc-doherty]

Silly WIP Summaries

In order of where they placed in the poll. Also putting them under a cut because this will probably get a little long and I'm including some art if I have any :3

I don't really know who to tag so...everyone who reblogged the poll or who I think might be interested @unclear-contributions @outpost51 @thegoddesswater @did-i-do-this-write @verba-writing @writingamongther0ses @ruitethewingedfox @enbydemirainbowbigfoot @magefaery

Untitled 3 - Two idiots are stuck together b/c they accidentally triggered ancient blood pact

A long time ago Anrikas' family helped a group of people escape persecution and the leader of that group swore a magical oath to repay that kindness in a time of need. Anrikas knew nothing about this when he accidentally triggered that blood pact after being entered against his will into a competition that could lead to the throne. Now he and his would-be savior Kit are stuck together until Anrikas makes it successfully through what could end up being a bloody, life or death struggle. The problem is, they just really don't like each other very much.

(Admittedly this one is actively in the middle of reworking the plot so I haven't written any of it to those specifications yet)

Magic Black as Knight - Evil witch decides that he also wants to be a knight in shining armor

The son of a notorious witch falls in love with a trainee knight and decides to enroll in the same military academy under false pretenses in order to get close to him. His mother only allows him to do so under the condition that he continues to study and practice evil magic in the meantime, so he's really burning the candle at both ends trying to have his cake and eat it too. It does not go well, this story sounds silly but is, in fact, a tragedy.

Second Chances - Gay idiots spend 20 years pining because they cannot get their shit together

I don't really have much more to say about this one, that is literally the plot. Two people grew up together, in love with one another but each thinking it's unrequited, and each one of them with their own baggage that makes them think it's better that way. It's overwrought and angsty but has a happy ending.

(apparently it's been so long since I drew them that I'm not willing to share any of the art that I have, so I gotta get on that, wild because I think about them literally all the time)

Miracles - 3 people with different curses go on a road trip and have a weird time

Larkin stabs a god. The god deserved it but that's not really the point because now he is a mortal with divine blood on his hands, and the only way that he can avoid divine punishment is by crossing dangerous territory to the fabled Temple of Miracles to replace the sword he used with a new, unsullied one. When he tries to hire mercenary to help protect him on the journey he ends up with a sorcerer too.

None of them are who they say they are, and they all have their own curses to bear and secrets to hide, so as you can imagine the journey goes great. They have excellent chemistry and it is not awkward at all.

(alas I've only drawn Larkin and Arwyn, not Guiscard so you only get two out of three)

Hoofbeats - Horse trainer enters illegal horserace to win the hand of a mafia boss' daughter

Again this basically is the plot. A horse trainer falls in love with the daughter of a crime lord who forbids the match due to the difference in their social classes. But every year he hosts an extremely dangerous, illegal horserace and the winner gets to request anything they want as the prize so Kadife enters it in order to ask for Tirzha's hand in marriage.

I've never drawn any art for this one so far.

Silverwood - Family causes problems on purpose for four generations (so far)

Silverwood is Silverwood, they cause problems on purpose in multiple countries over multiple generations, it's very much just focused on politics and consequences and on this one family who cannot stop being insane for one moment. It's a nearly 20-year-old mind baby that's just really fun to play with.

I draw them fairly often but not in a meaningful way, so you can have this picture of Ithea who is, after all, my Main Babe(tm) and who also kinda started everything.

Northbound (et all) - Man the current sociopolitical climate between these 8 countries sure is fucked

This is a series of political/war dramas set in the same world all of which are sort of interconnected at least in so much as the events are happening roughly at the same time and often due to the political situations in the other countries around them changing.

The plot of Northbound is a princess from the Kerivian Empire accepting a very controversial match with a general of the recently conquered northern territories. Unbeknownst to her family she has no intention of smoothing relations between the two sides and instead might actually be intending to incite the north to rebel. Along for the ride is her personal mage/best friend who is really just trying to keep her alive through of this.

There are other stories going on as well. The crew from Northbound is stuck between a rock and a hard place as the Empire is already difficult to deal with by itself but also some freak has decided to conquer all of the far north and might eventually grow bored of his own continent and try to cross the sea to theirs so they have to deal with him. It's much more about the situation in the far north though.

To the northeast people are plotting to overthrow the magical governor of the area. It just so happens that that governor has a friend who was just released from prison with horrible memory problems and the only thing that he remembers is that the two of them knew each other so he shows up hoping to find out more about his past. But he has a very unique magic skill, is unknown in the area, and has nowhere else to go so he ends up getting roped into all of this nonsense as a spy.

And to the southeast an inheritance dispute in one country has broken out into all-out war between two countries who have a long and complicated history. And honestly it wouldn't be so annoying if not for one (1) fucking guy who gets really, really interested in how magic from the enemy country works and how they, as a people without magic, can beat it and just makes it difficult for everyone. I say everyone, but actually he really just ends up getting under the skin of one particular dude who honestly isn't even on the side of the conflict that he wants to be on, but he just has no choice in the matter and this is not helping make it any easier to deal with.

These aren't separated by story but this is basically all the main cast for all of the books.

#writeblr #writing #my stories #my characters #anyway that got long #hope you can enjoy tho!

[seth-shitposts]

Near the beginning of Tua and Him working together, it's just the two of them traveling between systems and doing small one-offs here and there. Small work.

They're hungry & without credits, and He suggests that they could just steal from the market place, but Tua refuses. At this point He is getting A Bit Bitchy because He's hungry.

🐟🐟🐟

"Fine, then what do you suggest, Maketh?"

"There's a large river on the outskirts of town."

"Oh, so suddenly you fish?"

"Don't try to sound so impressed." *glares slightly at him*

"If I weren't starving I would think the prospect of you trying to catch a fish with your bare hands and failing would be most amusing."

Tua rolls her eyes before leaving to barter a local fishermen into allowing her to borrow a cast net, with the promise of bringing him back fish.

Him: "so not only do you 'know' how to fish, but you also have the strength to use *that*, *and* You're already promising what you haven't even caught?"

Tua, getting very done with this: "you know what, you're right. How about you use the cast net first. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm too dainty to do anything other than forage and even then I wouldn't know what I would even be looking for."

He squints at her before accepting the cast net, as she was Very Serious about Him trying first.

The first toss is a very shitty throw; the net twists in on itself before it even hits the water.

Tua resets the net and genuinely encourages Him to try again, her irritation dying down. When she gives Him a few tips on throwing it, He actually listens, which helps the annoyance fade away from both of them.

He struggles bringing the net in, the water causing a lot of resistance. But when the net is drawn out, He searches for what had gotten caught in it. Tua points out three or four fish that are barely the size of commlinks.

He just glares at them.

"Well, it's not terrible for a first throw."

"Don't do that."

"Maybe you could snack on them while I catch you a meal?"

"These are minnows."

"That they are."

"I'm allergic."

"... well," Tua searches for anything to say to try and make Him feel better because she has never seen someone go from arrogant bastard to 'put me out of my misery' within a matter of less than five minutes. "They're good bait fish."

"I'm done here."

He walks away from the net to watch Tua from the shade, being in the sun for too long beginning to irritate His skin.

Tua releases the minnows back into the water and preps the net again. She goes a bit more upstream.

When she walks the net back to Him, He's just gaping at her. At least a dozen carps from a single throw.

"How did... where did *you* of all people learn..."

Tua gets to work on gutting the largest carp, skinning it, cleaning it. "I come from a big family. Extended family. One uncle that I spent fishing seasons with back on lothal when I took breaks from my studies and work taught me. Though, honestly, I got most of my experience with cast net last year when I was fishing to feed the community that took me in."

After cutting up the fillet, she plates half for Him and hands it to Him.

He looks from her to the food and back, taking the plate but not eating it yet. "You're... fine with me eating raw meat around you?"

It's in reference to how back in the empire, Tua would always cringe when she saw Him eating, as pau'an eat their meat raw.

"Yes, I've learned better. I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable before."

"Well, there goes that amusement too." He rolls His eyes and places one of the bite-size cuts on His tongue.

"What do you mean?" Tua takes out a hot plate to start cooking her half of the fish.

"Those times you would just happen to walk by on me eating wasn't on accident. Not after the first time."

She looks up at Him, trying to find the annoyance in her bones at the wicked grin He bares, but can't. "Are you telling me that-"

"I was never even hungry. I just loved how uncomfortable it always made you." He smirks as He plays with another small cut, making an overdramatized show of it just as He used to.

She scoffs, turning her fillet over as she shakes her head. "I can't even be upset over it. It was my own ignorance that made me uncomfortable."

#star wars rebels #swr #the grand inquisitor #minister tua #maketh tua #SoFS&V AU #SoFS&V #Sense of Faith Self & Valor AU #Sense of Faith Self & Valor

[rey-jake-therapist]

Lost Souls chapter 8

If you missed the beginning

Chapter 7 on AO3

SUMMARY CHAPTER 8

We're back in the present. Jake hasn't forgotten the night he spent with Mina, but she seems determined to keep their relationship platonic. Sasha and Ari are already making bets about Jake and Mina, while Jake doesn't know how to behave with Tess. Notes: I just want to say that to those who don't like Tess very much because of what she did at the end of Sweetbitter season 2 not to worry: as I'm telling the story from Jake's point of view, who still knows nothing about what she did, I'm still cuddling her... But I promise that when the day of revelation comes, she'll get her due!

AO3 link to chapters 8, 9 and 10 if you prefer reading them there

New York, February 2019

Despite a rocky start, Mina quickly proved to be a competent and efficient partner for Jake. As they navigated the lunch shift together, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her unfamiliarity with some basic aspects of bartending. Her lack of knowledge about cocktails in particular surprised him, considering her years of experience in a high-end Los Angeles restaurant.

Their shift coming to an end, they went out to smoke a cigarette. Jake chose this moment to  voice his concerns but she responded defensively, claiming that in L.A., her role had been more specialized and she hadn't been required to work behind the bar often. Her irritation was palpable as she brushed off his questions.

Jake let out a chuckle, breaking the tension. "No need to get so defensive. Howard was probably desperate to find a replacement for Nicky, or..."

"Or what?" Mina prompted.

"Or he had some ulterior motive when hiring you," Jake mused.

Taking a step closer, he couldn't help but be drawn to the curve of Mina's neck. Leaning in, he whispered near her ear, his voice low and playful, "Not that I blame him..."

Mina shot him an irritated look, her cheeks tinged with a blush, and her breath slightly hitched. "I'm sure he did a background check before hiring me back. Now back off, playboy. Your girlfriend's watching," she retorted, nodding towards Tess, who was indeed keeping an eye on them from a nearby table she was cleaning.

Jake let out a sigh, his playful demeanor fading. He wanted to respond with something witty, but Tess's gaze held a mixture of pain and unrealistic hope that gave him a pang of guilt. He had hoped that Tess might have been too high the night before to remember the confession of love she had made. He could choose to pretend that he hadn't heard anything, but that might not help if Tess decided to bring up the subject again.

"And the other woman, the one who didn't bother to say hello but instead quizzed me about wines during the... What do you call it? "Family lunch"?" Mina inquired.

"Family lunch, yep, we've got family dinner too. That would be Simone. She loves terrorizing newcomers, asking them wine-related questions," Jake explained with a touch of amusement.

"Oh, I thought she was probably that Simone," Mina replied, casting a curious glance at Jake. He suddenly realized he had mentioned Simone to her before, multiple times even. Anxiety crept in as he couldn't recall everything he might have said.

Mina continued, her tone sly, "She kept giving me those death stares when she came to the bar later. Quite the welcoming party. Did you spill the beans to her already? I could practically feel the jealousy radiating off her."

Jake frowned, taken aback by Mina's assumption. His response carried a casual tone, though he was slightly unsettled. "Nah, you've got it all wrong. Simone couldn't care less about who I fuck. Our relationship is... different. And no, I haven't told her anything about you."

"But she knows something happened, right? You two seem pretty close, the type that shares everything," Mina probed, displaying an unexpected astuteness that caught Jake off guard. Not ready to delve into the topic just yet, he subtly gestured toward the wedding ring adorning Mina's left hand.

"I see the ring's still on… Is your husband coming to New York?" He inquired.

Mina, taken aback, fiddled nervously with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down her finger as she responded with evident anxiety, "Johnny, in New York? Good Lord, no. He has never left California, probably never will! I needed time far away from him, and I think he felt the same way about me. Hopefully, we can figure it out! We probably just need time."

Jake suspected that she was trying to convince herself that her marriage was not over yet, but he didn't feel that it was his place to tell her otherwise. Even if he had wanted to say something, he wouldn't have had the opportunity because Sasha, a Russian server with a distinctive accent, burst onto the scene, his voice loud and slightly high-pitched, and interrupted their conversation to complain about Howard. Throughout the shift, Sasha had been somewhat rude to Mina; Jake assumed it was likely due to the stress of the job.

Others had also shown a mixture of curiosity and skepticism toward Mina as she stepped into Nicky's former role. Mina was still unaware that they were mourning Nicky's absence due to his wife's illness. Only Heather and Tess had welcomed her, with Heather being a mutual connection through a friend who had tipped Mina off about the job opportunity.

Sasha's interruption continued as he exclaimed, "Awwww! Pussy Cat and Baby Jakey! Taking a little break together, huh? Did I catch you two in the act?" He grinned suggestively at them before lighting his own cigarette. Jake rolled his eyes at Sasha's teasing, refusing to take the bait. Mina, on the other hand, simply shrugged and responded with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, "We were just smoking. And what did you call me?"

"You got a problem with Pussy Cat? Prefer Big Whore? What's your preference?" Sasha shot back.

Mina grumbled, "I don't know, do I look big to you? You could just call me Mina, that's my actual name, but whatever."

Sasha didn't seem to take a hint as he continued his teasing, "So, when's the big event happening? Need to know so I can win my bet against Ari. I could use some new shoes, but I have no money!"

Jake groaned, a mix of annoyance and amusement. The topic of his romantic life had been a favorite subject of speculation among his coworkers for years. He retorted, "Screw off, Sasha," though his tone held more exasperation than actual irritation. They were all behaving like children, he thought.

Mina's response jolted him, making him feel like he had stepped on a landmine. "Been there done that already! You won your bet, go tell her!" she declared, her face deadpan and seemingly unfazed.

Both Sasha and Jake stared at her, their expressions a mix of surprise and disbelief. Jake, in particular, felt his heart skip a beat. He wasn't prepared for the world to learn about him and Mina like this, especially from Sasha, of all people.

Sasha couldn't contain his excitement. "Really? That was fast!" he exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Yeah, you know, just a quickie in the locker this morning! Jake is just that irresistible," Mina retorted, a playful tone in her voice.

Jake immediately realized that Mina was joking, and his tense shoulders relaxed. He decided to play along, trying to mask the relief in his voice. "Why the surprise, Sasha? That's me!"

Sasha squinted at them suspiciously, sensing their exchange of complicit looks. "You guys are messing with me!" he accused, his tone a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Mina giggled while Jake playfully blew a puff of smoke in Sasha's direction. Sasha responded by blowing a playful kiss back at Jake.

Sasha then offered Mina a piece of advice, "I should probably warn you not to get involved with this slut. He's dating Tess, and Tess is my friend. But honestly, I don’t care."

Mina stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, moving closer to Sasha with a mischievous smile. "What a caring friend you are! But don't worry, even if it were your concern, you'd have nothing to worry about," she replied, her gray eyes fixed on Jake, a hint of challenge in her gaze. "I don't sleep with coworkers."

We'll see about that, Jake thought, while keeping a straight face.

Mina then walked back into the restaurant with a confident stride. Jake's attention was momentarily drawn to her graceful movements before he realized Sasha was still looking at him.

"You're not planning to let this go, are you, Baby Jakey?" Sasha asked with a sly grin.

Jake sighed. "Does Tess know about your bet?" he asked Sasha, his concern evident.

"Nah, we're not assholes! But she knows who you are. We all do!" Sasha replied.

"Yeah, everyone thinks they've got me all figured out," Jake muttered under his breath. But the truth was, nobody really understood him.

As he finished his cigarette, he flicked the butt into the ashtray and headed back inside the restaurant. Upon entering, he spotted Howard conversing with Mina in the dining room. Jake could feel Howard's eyes on him, assessing the situation. When he walked by his boss, Howard didn't say a word to him.

Jake wasn't just joking about the possibility that Howard might have ulterior motives for hiring Mina. He had once viewed Howard as a tightly-wound, overly serious man and a hopeless romantic mourning his wife's death for years. However, the revelation of Howard's affair with Becky, the previous manager, had cast a different light on his boss.

The way Howard had treated Becky was repulsive. After seducing her, he had orchestrated her transfer to the Smokehouse, a barbecue restaurant with TVs plastered on its walls. For Becky, it had felt like a downgrade even though the wages were rumored to be better there compared to what they offered at the 22W. Still infatuated with Howard, she had continued seeing him until it was painfully apparent that he was using her. At least, this was what the grapevine said; not much was heard from Becky after her departure from 22W. There were whispers that she had recently left the Smokehouse as well, but Jake wasn't invested enough in her personal drama to keep up with the latest gossip. He had never been particularly close to Becky, despite having shared some heated moments with her a few years back. Their interactions had been more physical than verbal. After a few weeks of casual encounters, she had ended it with him, citing a "serious" relationship with a guy she had refused to name. When Jake had later learned about her affair with Howard, he had wondered if Howard was the same guy she had dumped him for. The timelines seemed to align.

Not wanting to appear nosy, Jake decided to head to the locker room. Inside, he found Heather and Tess preparing for a shopping trip with Ari waiting for them outside.

"Hey, handsome!"

Tess called out to him, her arms encircling his neck as she placed a tender kiss on his lips. Seeing the affection in her eyes, Jake felt both touched and uneasy. Gently pushing her away while he loosened his tie, he responded,

"Hey, princess. What's going on?"

Tess sounded casual, but there was a hint of fading happiness in her smile, as if she had sensed his hesitation.

"How's the new girl doing?" Tess asked, keeping up the pretense. Her smile was fading, a mix of curiosity and worry flickering in her eyes.

"Fine, I guess," Jake replied, maintaining the facade. "You can ask her yourself when you see her. She's still talking with Howard."

"Really? What are they talking about?"

Jake detected a slight flinch in Tess's eyes, but she quickly brushed it off, murmuring that she was just curious. He wondered if Tess was worried that Mina might outshine her as a server. She had mentioned previously that she was hoping for a promotion from Howard.

Offering his professional analysis, Jake quipped, "If you want my expert opinion, she's about as good at bartending as you were at waiting tables when you started." This made Heather laugh, who chimed in,

"Oh, she's that bad?" 

"Hey!" Tess playfully protested before joining in the laughter.

"Honey, nobody thought you'd last a week," Heather confessed.

"I didn't even think I'd last two days," Tess admitted with a grin.

Jake found himself reminiscing aloud, 

"I remember the first time I saw you. You surprised me."

Why did I say that? Jake immediately questioned himself. It had just slipped out, but now he was second-guessing his choice of words. He remembered Tess's arrival vividly. At the time, he hadn't thought much of her, aside from noticing that she seemed as innocent and vulnerable as a deer caught in headlights. She didn't seem to fit into the atmosphere of the restaurant. Yet, he couldn't deny finding her cute. He had seen the way she looked at him, a mix of curiosity and attraction, and he had known that winning her over wouldn't require much effort on his part.

Tess responded with a soft smile, gazing at him fondly as he changed into a black shirt. "I remember you too." The memory brought a smile to her lips. 

"You liked that oyster, didn’t you?" Jake teased. Tess had once shared that while tasting the oyster he had offered her, she had wondered if his kisses would be as salty.

As their playful banter continued, Ari's impatience finally interrupted them. Her head popped into the locker room, her voice laced with annoyance.

"Are you done? Where's Sasha?"

Ari's attention then shifted to the entrance of the room, and she adopted a sultry tone. "Oh, hello there, new person!"

All eyes turned toward Mina, who made quite the entrance, her embarrassment evident. With a soft-spoken "Hey!" she slipped into the room, throwing Jake a fleeting glance before heading to her locker. Unaware of Ari's appreciative look as she scrutinized her from head to toe, Mina's focus was elsewhere. Jake couldn't help but smirk at the situation. He had a hunch that Ari might soon make her move on Mina – a pattern she had followed with other newcomers, those who were backwaters like her at least. Ari liked to regularly remind her friends about not dating coworkers who had a different position in the hierarchy.

Frankly, Jake found that logic hard to grasp. Among his friends, like Tess and Simone, the distinction between being a server and a backwater was a big deal. It wasn't just about the better pay at month's end; they believed it gave them a certain status. Simone believed that  her extensive wine knowledge and her 15 years at the restaurant made her indispensable. Jake thought it was a naive error in judgment. No one was truly irreplaceable, especially in a place like 22W. Customers and the director saw no real difference among servers, bartenders, and backwaters – all were just serving staff to them.

Heather extended an invitation to Mina, inviting her to join her, Tess, Ari, and possibly Sasha for a shopping trip. Caught off guard, Mina glanced hesitantly at Tess and Ari, both awaiting her response. Ari seemed enthusiastic, likely sensing a chance to uncover more about Mina's sexuality. For what felt like an eternity, Jake held his breath, fearing Mina might accept. It was clear that she had no intention of revealing their intimate connection established just a week ago at the Omega Lounge. But Ari had a knack for reading situations. If she sensed their secret, Jake was certain she'd spill the beans to Tess, driven by her bet with Sasha and Scott that Jake and Tess would break up within a month.

Finally, Jake suppressed a sigh of relief as Mina diplomatically replied, "Sounds nice! But I promised Keisha I'd babysit Zahra so she could hit the hair salon. Can you believe she hasn't had time to cut her hair since the baby was born?"

"Oh, poor thing! That's exactly why I'm in no rush to have kids. They're amazing, but say goodbye to your free time," Tess chimed in.

Mina nodded and bid them a pleasant shopping trip before Ari declared she wasn't waiting around for Sasha any longer. Mina's smile seemed sincere, yet Jake couldn't quite gauge if she was truly disappointed to miss out on the outing. He wondered about her typical social dynamics at work – was she more of a loner like him? She felt different from the Mina he met at the Omega Lounge a week ago, appearing more reserved, even cautious. 

As Tess left the locker room with Heather and Ari, Jake and Mina were finally alone. Lost in his thoughts, he watched her as she undressed. With her back turned, he caught a glimpse of her cherry tree tattoo running down her spine and felt a sting of desire.

"I know you're ogling, you perv," Mina playfully called out, still facing away from him.

"Not my fault the men and the women’s lockers aren’t separated," he retorted in the same teasing tone. Shrugging into his leather jacket, he added, "Besides, I saw you sneaking a peek while I was still sans pants. You naughty girl."

Mina giggled, slipped into a white tank top and black jeans, and quipped with a grin, "What can I say? You were just in the way!"

As she untied her hair, Jake's desire surged, ignited by the tantalizing perfume that wafted from her. The room was empty, everyone else seemed to have left – so what was holding him back? Closing the distance between them, he took a few steps towards her, observing her reactions intently. She maintained an artful pretense of not noticing, retrieving a gray pullover from her locker. When he gently brushed her hair aside to gain access, she momentarily froze. The absence of protest encouraged him, and as he let a finger trail down her alluring neck, he detected the telltale quickening of her breath. The attraction was mutual, he knew it. His lips hovered tantalizingly close to her neck...

"Don't."

The single word, delivered with a cold and resolute tone, landed on him like a bucket of ice. He immediately stepped back, though he inquired, "Why?"

"Earlier, I was serious. I don't date coworkers. Especially not you," Mina retorted sharply. "I have enough problems of my own; I don't need to deal with yours."

"Understandable," Jake conceded reluctantly. "But who said anything about dating?" 

He craved physical contact. Feeling a surge of boldness, he slipped his hand under her tank top, grazing the velvety skin of her back. He knew he'd found a sensitive spot when she shivered beneath his touch. She eluded his grasp quickly, pulling on her pullover. Gazing into his eyes with an unwavering resolve, she issued a clear statement, "No dating, no sexing. Just work."

Jake's jaw clenched, and though he yearned to assert that he didn't care – a blatant falsehood – he was interrupted by the abrupt intrusion of Sasha, his demeanor sour.

"Is it just you in here?! Where are the other bitches?" Sasha blurted out angrily.

"They left already. Where were you, anyway?" Jake responded, equally irritated by the Russian's untimely intrusion.

"I was on the phone, damn it! I swear, Baby Jakey, they're going to pay for this!" Sasha raged.

"Baby Jakey…" Mina echoed, thoroughly amused.

"That's my nickname for him; no one else can use it! Still need to come up with a new name for you," Sasha quipped.

"Anything but PussyCat works for me…" Mina countered. While Jake stewed in his grumpiness, Mina seemed to relish Sasha's entrance, effectively breaking the thick tension that hung in the air. She mentioned she was running late, exchanged a quick farewell, and hurried out of the locker room.

Sasha's giggles rang out as he taunted Jake, "Oops, let me guess – you were about to fuck, and I ruined it?"

Jake managed a wry chuckle and retorted, "You're the one in this room who needs to get laid, Sasha."

"Oh Baby Jakey, sweetie, that's sweet but you know we're incompatible!"

Jake slipped behind Sasha and replied with a teasing voice, "Your loss… Anyway, I've got to run. I promised Chris and my goddaughter I'd meet them after my shift."

Without a parting word, he exited the locker room, ignoring Sasha's playful complaints, "Yeah, sure, just abandon me here, like the others!"

Want more? Chapter 9.

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#sweetbitter #jake sweetbitter #tom sturridge #jake x oc #fanfiction #sweetbitter jake #ao3 link #fic update #jake

[scarlet--wiccan]

what did you think about issue #3 of Scarlet Witch?

I haven't really shared my thoughts on the the series yet, so I guess this is a good time to check in. Issue #3 definitely highlighted all of Scarlet Witch's strengths, but I think it also brought some of its weaknesses, and directions that I wouldn't personally choose, into focus.

First of all, the artwork was the real star of this issue, and I have to say that Pichelli, D'Amico, and Wilson are doing amazing work. Going into this series, I was worried that the artistic sensibility was going to be a little too "superhero" for my taste, but this issue blew me away. Pichelli's fluid lines are complimented perfectly by the painterly, organic finish that D'Amico and Wilson bring to the colors and inks. This journey through the fantasy world of Subatomica was a great showcase, compared #1 and #2. I'm looking forward to seeing more of this vivid magic as we enter into the Bacchae storyline.

Composing an issue almost entirely out of montage can be tricky, but Orlando took advantage of the extra page space to tell a story while also delivering his thesis on Wanda's character. This issue nails down who Wanda is, where she's at, and what she wants moving forward. Orlando has really imbued her with grace and wisdom from all of her experiences, but he also allows her to be vulnerable, and arrive at these moments with a very human touch. I think that's important, and it's something I've been a little worried about, because it would be easy to overcorrect with Wanda and make her too infallible. I appreciate that she has really complex emotions and personal reactions, which is something I find missing in a lot of comics these days.

I've said it before, but Wanda's affinity for chosen family is a core aspect of her character, and I think it was smart to illustrate this with Viv and Lorna in the opening arc, because those two are the least obvious choices. Bringing Tommy or Billy in would be great, but it wouldn't necessarily allow Orlando to say anything new. I appreciate that Viv challenges Wanda and creates a sort of tension, just as much as I appreciate Lorna for accepting Wanda as a sister in a way that she hasn't done much before, showing that Wanda is more well supported now and her family is stronger than in has been in years.

Having said all of that, there are some things that I am struggling with.

As I've said, I don't love Orlando's approach to writing magic. Previous Scarlet Witch stories have made the effort to distinguish witchcraft from other forms of magic, and the current developments with Agatha are promising to expand its role in the Marvel world. So far, Orlando has ignored all of that, and is just defaulting to a very Doctor Strange sensibility-- mostly invocations of fictional entities and whimsically named artifacts. That's annoying, but I'm more frustrated by the lack of internal thought and effort behind Wanda's spellcasting. This is her book, and she's the POV character, so I think there needs to be more detail and intentionality with her powers.

I really liked the scene where Wanda and Lorna forge that sword together-- Wanda didn't just conjure a sword, there was thought and detail put into how it came together-- and I just wish we were seeing more of that.

Issue #3, for me, also called attention to the glaring lack of Romani perspective. I love the way Wanda and Pietro are being drawn, and I love the inclusion of cultural food in #2, but this is surface-level representation, and it's not enough to balance the decades of flawed material. Don't get me wrong, these changes are huge, and they're going to make a difference, and there's just no excuse at this point for the lack of Romani contributors. I literally know people who would take the offer, myself included.

Anyways, I was thinking about it a lot when Mardj was describing hte nomadic marauders that have invaded her home. I was uncomfortable with the language Orlando used in that scene, and I just don't think that very many Romani writers would choose to characterize a displaced people as unquestionably evil.

This lack of authenticity comes up a lot in Wanda's language, too. Orlando's research is still faulty at best, and again, there are a lot of people who could've been paid as a consultant. Mostly, though I'm just disappointed by the fact that Wanda is a small occult business owner, and there's been no acknowledgement of the complicated history Romani people have with magic/fortunetelling as businesses and cultural trade work-- or the very real discriminatory laws and policing of fortune teller businesses and "scam artists," which are designed to target and profile Romani families.

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch (2023) #steve orlando

[twotangledsisters]

I haven't gotten to read your Tangled Sisters AU yet, but I really love the idea! Honestly the only thing I like about Cassandra being Gothel's daughter is the AU potential of if she was raised in the tower with Rapunzel, so it's really neat to see somebody fully tap into that potential in such a committed way!

Oh, I kinda agree, but not fully!

Obviously, I agree that the AU potential of them being raised together in the tower is just amazing! I love AUs, I love exploring how characters change and how that causes a domino effect of changes!

But I do think there was more potential to the Gothel-daughter dynamic than people realise... Just obviously not in the way it was done.

The way it was done was very weird because Cass didn't need to be Gothel's daughter to become a villain. We had a reason! She was sick of warning of dangers, being ignored and then in the Great Tree being the one injured due to those decisions. She wanted to be heard. That was a way more compelling reason to betray the gang than finding out about your mother xD

Buuuuut... we do see Gothel as Zhan Tiri's disciple. And we see Zhan Tiri use Cassandra as a means to an end. Those two things could have been connected so easily! Gothel having a child not to love it but to fulfill a purpose later on in life is very in line with that woman. Zhan Tiri having this really long and convoluted plan, sure!

But the heartbreak that would come with being created for a purpose you aren't on board with. That feeling of lack of autonomy when you realise you are nothing more than a tool, that you've always been a tool. Especially for a character like Cassandra whose literal first introduction revolved around the idea of 'you should be able to do what you want'.

I would probably have to do an entire separate very long post if I truly wanted to talk about how this could have been done cause this isn't just changes to season 3, but hopefully you get the gist.

Other smaller bits of potential are if Cass were perhaps actually drawn to the moonstone because of how much sundrop magic her mother had consumed over the years...

Let Eugene and Cass revisit their chat from Eugene vs Cassandra later in S2 and reveal Cassandra really cares about who she is and where she comes from so that the reveal is a bit more impactful? Like, it isn't just random, but an answer to a question!

Like... There definitely was potential... But in the context of season 3 I really have no clue why they did it xD

Anyway, sorry for that ramble! I've been thinking a lot about missed potential lately...

Thank you for the ask :D

#ask asnwered #tangled the series