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daydreaming-nerd · 2 days

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Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 11

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Once again sorry this took a while! I'm about to graduate college (which I'm not happy about) and I've been packing and moving stuff home. Also guess who finished Iron Flame? ME! (Yes I know that i'm so late to the game. Graduation remember) but hey y'all drop your Xaden Riorson requests ;)

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: mentions of injuries and infertility, smut, violence.

Word Count: 7,238

The next 24 hours I was bedridden, not by my wishes, but my Madja’s and well, Cassian’s. For most of those hours I was asleep, in Cassian’s arms of course. Getting him to do anything but hold me was a miracle. Not that I was complaining, but when it came to matters of him needing to eat and such I was very adamant that he do so.

Neither of us spoke much, both of us just wanting the peace of each other's company. When I would wake up I would tilt my head up from Cassian’s chest to see if he was awake or asleep. According to him I was a sleep magnet.

He would ask me if I was cold or hungry, but mostly he asked how I was feeling, which thankfully was better. My body still aches from the bruises left on me. But since the bloodbane was now out of my system the scars from both of my stab wounds were healing nicely.

I was lying on Cassian’s chest, enjoying his heartbeat when a timid knock sounded on the door. I lifted my aching body to turn and find my brother poking his head through the door, just like he used to when he would ask me if I wanted to sneak out for a midnight flight to the candy shop.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, shutting the door behind him softly, like the sound would be too much for me to stand.

“Much better, still sore and a little tired from the blood loss but at least I’m not near freezing now,” I smiled at him, Cassian rubbed my shoulder as if I needed that small ounce of warmth the friction provided.

“That’s good,” Rhys said, putting his hands behind his back. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to talk to you.”

“Yes I just woke up so I’m feeling rested,” I say moving to sit up on the bed, my joints protesting.

Cassian’s hands found their place under my arms to help lift me into position and then fluffed all my pillows so I would sit comfortably. When the Illyrian made no effort to get out of bed and leave the room, Rhys cleared his throat, getting his attention.

“Yes?” Cassian cocked an eyebrow, clearly oblivious to what Rhys wanted.

“Can I have a word with my sister alone?” Rhys asked.

Cassian just rolled his eyes dramatically and moved to get out of bed. Before he left, he leaned over me and placed a kiss on my lips, one I greedily took as there was once a time I thought I would never taste him again. It wasn’t until my mate sauntered out and closed the door that Rhys spoke again.

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” he laughed sitting at the side of my bed.

“What is?” I ask, shifting in my seat to get more comfortable.

“My little sister making out with my best friend,” he explained, nodding towards the door.

“We did not make out,” I scoff, slapping him in the arm.

“Any kind of kissing I see from the two of you might as well be fucking,” he laughed again, shying away from my hand. “Now enough of that, I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?” I furrow my brows, wondering what my saint of a brother could possibly have to apologize for.

“For being a bad brother, for not being there for you after we escaped, for even suggesting you marry Eris,” he sighed, casting his head down like he couldn’t stand to look at me. “After we got back from under the mountain I started thinking about how I did everything wrong. How if father was still High Lord that never would’ve happened. That’s why I went looking through his things, and that’s how I found the contract. I thought that if I was more like him, I could keep us all safe. I could keep us from having to endure Hybern’s wrath like we did Amarantha’s. I spent too much time thinking about my own mate and my own trauma that I didn’t even stop to consider yours, and I’m so sorry.”

“Rhys,” I breathe, feeling my heart break as I reach for his hand. “You aren’t a bad brother, you’re far from it. You’re the best big brother I could’ve ever asked for. I never gave you the option to be there for me after we got back, and I never made an effort to be there for you. We both messed up,”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Eris? You know I would’ve stopped the whole thing right then and there if I knew he had hurt you like that.” He asks, gripping my hand tighter, his brows furrowing as he searches my weary face for an answer.

“Because you sacrificed so much for me, Rhys. You sold yourself into slavery to keep me from the exact same fate. It’s a debt I never thought I’d be given the opportunity to repay.” I take a deep breath, letting the weight of my own words hit me. “You saved me, I owed you Rhys. I would’ve done anything to help you. I’m sorry that it didn’t work out, that we won’t have those armies anymore.”

Rhys’ violet eyes glisten with tears as he takes in every word I say. There’s an overwhelming guilt that fills the room. One that ebbs and flows from both of us. For the first time in 49 years I felt like I was truly seeing my brother again for the first time and what a lovely sight it was.

“Don’t you dare apologize y/n,” Rhys says, scooting closer to me. “If you were still his wife and living in the Autumn Court, I would have burned the whole place down, given what I know now. Gods I nearly lost my mind when Azriel showed up here with you, and when Madja said you may never wake up? It was worse grief than when mother and father died. Because it would’ve been my fault. You would’ve died before I ever got the chance to make things right again and I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself.”

“But we don’t have to worry about that anymore,” I cry, holding both of his hands. “I’m here now.”

“And you’re not going anywhere,” he assures me. “I can’t be High Lord of this court without my little sister.”

My words get caught in my throat at his words and I decide to hell with them. I throw my arms around his neck for the first time in a long time. He plucks me from the bed, pulling me closer, like I might slip out of his grasp and be lost forever. Both of us blubber like babies, but I can’t help but smile as I’m engulfed in the scent of sea salt and citrus again. I had missed him so much.

I hear the snapping of leather wings and then suddenly the light around me goes dark. I open my eyes to see Rhys' wings wrapping around me, cocooning me, just like he used to do when we were little kids. I can’t help but laugh and wipe away a tear as I take them in.

“We haven’t done this since-”

“Since father yelled at you for trying to sneak out to go on a date with the blacksmith's son,” Rhys said finishing my sentence.

“That’s right!” I gasp remembering the young man with shaggy brown hair. “What was his name again?”

“Arne, and he nearly soiled himself when father and I showed up to his doorstep and told him to stay away from you.” he chuckled.

“I didn’t know you went too!” I gawk, eyes going wide.

“Well of course I did, he didn’t deserve your affections,” Rhys smirked.

“All this time I blamed father but you were in on it! I hate you!” I laugh, slapping his chest. “He was handsome.”

“Don’t let Cassian know that,” Rhys teased and I couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Arne standing next to Cassian. Soil himself he certainly would in the presence of The Lord of Bloodshed.

“I promise you I’m fine. Madja said it would be good for me to start walking around more!” I protest at Cassian’s vice grip trying to keep me in bed.

It had been two days since the conversion with my brother, one that had gone into the late hours of the night as we reminisced about the old days. The only reason the conversation ended was because Cassian barged in claiming he was tired and refused to sleep anywhere but with his mate. Rhys happily obliged him and promised he would eat lunch with me the following day, which he did.

Now I was feeling much better, as my stab wounds were scarred but healed. My body still ached from the bruises all over me, both left there from Eris' hands when he took me by force, and from being dragged through the palace. But I was in desperate need of a bath, and a change of clothes. So I wasn’t taking Cassian’s pleas that I stay in bed another day.

“Fine but let me help you at least,” he grumbles rounding the bed so he can take my hands and help me stand. My legs shake under the weight of my own body but hold strong. The long sleeve shirt of Cassian’s covering my wobbling knees.

“See I’m fine,” I laugh taking slow steps to the bathroom where the house has already prepared me a steaming hot bath. The smell of Jasmine bath salts wafts through the air further solidifying that I’m home, in Velaris, and everything is okay.

I lift Cassian’s shirt over my head, discarding it on the floor and for the first time since I’ve been home I finally get a good look at myself. Except I’m not sure the person looking back at me in the mirror is me. Angry hand shaped bruises mar my hips and my forearms from where Eris gripped me. The hand print around my neck finally started to fade but it was still there. My knees and elbows were bruised from being dragged over stone floors and the scar on my side had finally healed to a faint pink.

“Gods what did he do to you?” Cassian breathed from the doorway, breaking me out of my trance. I turn to meet his worried gaze as his eyes look up and down my body at the evidence of what Eris did.

“You don’t want to know Cass,” I say, turning back to see myself in the mirror again. Cassian’s frame comes to stand beside me as he places a kiss on my bare shoulder.

“If you ever need to talk about it I’ll be here. You don’t have to hide it from me just because you don’t think I want to hear.” he says, staring at me through the mirror.

I turn in his arms to run a hand down his chest, “Can I ask you a favor? One you can absolutely say no to and I won’t be upset?” I ask him timidly.

“You could ask me for the moon on a string and I would fly up there and get it for you my love. Anything you want and it’s yours,” he smiles, brushing his knuckles against my face.

“Will you teach me how to fight? I’ve been thinking about what happened with Eris, and how helpless I felt. How I knew that all I could do was lie down and take it. I don’t have powers like Rhys, or even wings like you and Azriel to take me away. I don’t ever want to feel that way again, I never want to feel helpless.” I admit staring at his bare chest, unable to meet his gaze.

His hand finds my chin and lifts it to meet his eyes, in them, so much love. Pain for what I’ve gone through, but pride for how I’ve chosen to handle it. I could feel every emotion down the bond that I thanked the mother for every day.

“You will never have to feel helpless again y/n. I’ll kill anyone who dares to harm you and I won’t feel a lick of remorse for doing so. But I would be honored to train you,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re going to bring me to my knees in Illyrian fighting leathers,” he laughs.

I giggle at his comment and smack him on the chest, before waltzing over to the bathtub and getting in. The warm water washing over me practically has me falling apart as I let out an appreciative hum. I close my eyes and lean my head against the edge of the tub already feeling the invisible dirt and grime being lifted off of my skin. It’s like being reborn.

When I don’t feel another body I open one eye to see Cassian standing next to me arranging towels and clothes for when I get done. I can’t help but smile at the overbearing mother hen he’s been the last couple of days. If I told anyone that The Lord of Bloodshed was fluffing towels and laying out outfits I’m sure none would believe me.

“Are you going to get in general?” I ask, nodding to the space before me. The bathtub isn’t as big as his, but it’ll do.

“If you’re asking me to get in and just sit with you, yes. But if you’re hoping for anything more the answer is no. You’re not fully healed yet and I don’t want to hurt you,” he says firmly, setting the towels down.

“But Cass I’m fine-”

“No you’re not, the wound on your stomach is still healing,” he states and I know he’s right.

“Fine, get in you Illyrian baby,” I say moving my legs to make room for him.

He rolls his eyes at my comment but drops his pants. The moment he does I instantly curse myself for allowing my eyes to ogle him. Then I curse him and his stupid temporary sex ban. It had been well before the wedding since he and I had been intimate that way and I wanted so badly to touch him. To solidify the fact that he was purely mine. Even as he looked disorientated as hell trying to find a way for his wings to fit in the smaller tub, he was handsome.

“Here,” I laugh, moving over to sit in his lap so that he can extend his legs and move more. “There now we both fit.”

“As soon as you're well I’m flying you back to The House of Wind and we’re taking a proper bath,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to my nose.

“I’ll hold you to that general,” I smile leaning in to kiss him.

Just like the first time we bathed together he takes the time to gently wash all of me. The way his large hands massage my scalp as he washes my hair has my eyes fluttering shut, as do his soft touches as he washed my body. The smell of my jasmine and amber soap filling my nose and making me feel like myself again. His hand lingers over the nail shaped scar across my stomach and his eyes zero in there. As if there’s something on the tip of his tongue.

“There’s something I need to tell you, something that I’ve been avoiding.” he says, not taking his eyes off the scar. “I wanted to wait until you were completely healed but I think you should know now.”

Anxiety starts to build inside of me. I thought that after the wedding he had stopped keeping secrets. Whatever this was, it was big. Big enough for his eyes to start glazing over as they stayed riveted on my stomach.

“What is it?” I say quietly when he doesn’t speak up.

“Madja was able to heal most of you but there were things even her magic couldn’t fix. She says that the wound to your womb was severe, that it hit an area she couldn’t heal. Because of it, you may never be able to have children,” he says solemnly, finally taking his eyes off my scar to look at me. His eyes were full of worry, as tears welled up in them.

My world stopped as I took in what he said. I knew the reason Eris wounded me was to ensure I wouldn't have his child, but it had never occurred to me that it would prevent me from having any children. Prevent me from having Cassian’s children.

A wave of grief washes over me for what could’ve been, and then it’s followed by guilt. Cassian had already sacrificed so much for me, for us, for this court. And now I couldn’t give him the one thing the fae prayed and begged the Mother for, a child. I had been a terrible mate all these months. Not knowing about the bond, marrying another male, letting that male put his hands on me. All things I could never atone for.

What god did Cassian offend to end up cursed with me as his mate?

“There’s still time,” I breathed, eyes cast down to where he held my hands just above the water.

“Time for what my love?” the general’s eyebrows furrowed at my anomalous response.

“For you to reject the bond. We haven’t truly accepted it yet and I understand if this isn’t what you want anymore. I know how badly you wanted children and if I can’t-”

“No,” he answered resolutely, pulling me closer to him pressing his forehead against mine. “This changes nothing. I don’t need children to be happy, I just need you.”

“Then maybe you can seek out a surrogate and then-” I ramble but he cuts me off again.

“Don’t even finish that sentence. I would rather die than lie with another woman,” he said with a strong tone. “A life with you…That is what I want more than anything. More than children, more than armies. I have loved you for so long and now you are mine, and I am yours. Anything else is inconsequential.”

He pauses and leans over the edge of the bathtub grabbing his pants. I can’t help but furrow my brows as he fishes around in one of his pockets until he pulls out something small that I can’t see and holds it tightly in his hand.

“I made up my mind from the moment you asked me to kiss you all those weeks ago that you would be mine until the end of all days. If you recall, I even told you so.” he starts.

“Now I’m never letting you go”

The words replay in my head as he opens his hand revealing a brass ring. The thing looked so small in his large hand. It was beaten and weathered. No doubt having seen years of life and love.

“This was my mothers,” he states, holding up the ring. “It’s the only thing I have left of hers, given to me by someone in her village who managed to save it. As you know I’m a bastard, so it’s not a wedding ring. But I remember her wearing it all the time.” his lips tug up in a small smile as if remembering his mother.

There is a sadness in his eyes as he stares down at the little ring. But as I see the wheels in his head churning, recalling his mothers face, his eyes lighten and he continues.

“I always knew that I would give it to my mate, if the cauldron ever blessed me with one. I never once thought I would be mated to the princess. It feels stupid asking you to marry me with this, but I didn’t carry this thing around all these years for nothing.” he chuckles looking into my eyes. “Y/n I love you. I always have. I don’t just want you as my best friend or my partner or even just as my mate. I want you as my wife. I know this ring isn’t befitting of a princess or The Jewel of Prythian, but will you marry me?”

I can’t help but let out a small laugh and press a kiss to his cheek, “Of course I will Cass, how could you ever think I would say no?”

“I just had to ask,” he chuckles into my lips.

I look down to see him sliding the circlet of brass around my left ring finger and to my surprise it fits like a glove. As if it was destined to sit there for the rest of its days.

“We can get you another one, something more befitting of a princess.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to the band.

“No, I don't want another one. I want this one.” I assure him laying my front down on his chest.

“Whatever makes you happy my love,” he hums, running a hand through my wet hair.

We lay in the newly engaged bliss for a long time. Until the bathwater runs cold and our fingers and toes wrinkle. But it isn’t long enough, we could’ve spent hours more in that bath and it still wouldn’t be enough. No amount of time ever would be.

The next day I woke up to Cassian’s side of the bed cold. No doubt he had finally started training again, something I’m sure Azriel had been pestering him about. Ever since I had gotten back he hadn’t left my side once, and that included training. I joked with him that he was going to lose his rippling abs but he always laughed it off and said I was more important. I wasn’t upset that he had gone to training, if anything it made me feel lighter. It made me feel like things were going back to normal.

I was sitting in the library reading when he finally waltzed in, covered in sweat with his hair tied at the nape of his neck. The sight had me wondering when his little sex ban would end.

“How was training?” I ask setting down the book I was reading and stand to greet him.

“Az kicked my ass, apparently a couple days out officially puts me out of practice,” he smiles, bending down to kiss me.

“You’re stinky,” I laughed, twisting my face at him.

“You like it and you know it,” he teases, grabbing me by the waist to plant another kiss on my lips.

I cursed at the feral part of me that liked seeing him sweaty and dirty, “Yeah, yeah, yeah so maybe I like it,” I smiled, pulling him down by the nape of the neck for another kiss.

His hands pulled my waist so I was closer to him and my arms naturally looped around his neck. I was consumed by the feeling of him. His strong arms around me, his lips all over mine, his scent at its purest form. It was enough to drive me absolutely mad. I pulled him in closer with a groan as I parted my mouth for him.

“Ah ah ah,” he tutted, breaking the kiss. “You’re not healed yet.”

“Ugh Cass!” I bemoan throwing my head back in a mini tantrum.

“You’re still a little sore, I can see it when you walk,” he laughs, kissing my temple. “Just a few more days my love.”

“If you don’t want me anymore you can just say it,” I tease, turning my head to the side so that I’m staring at the wall.

His hand finds my chin and turns it so I’m facing him again. I make sure to don my most irritated face, one that makes his lips turn up in a smirk. I wish I could kiss it right off his face.

“Oh believe me baby I want you plenty,” he smirks. “In a perfect world I would fuck you over the arm of that couch until the only word that you know how to say is my name.”

My breath hitches and my toes curl at the image of him taking me that way. I knew he meant every word. Words I would hold him to once I was finished. I wanted him in every way possible. The kitchen floor, the bathroom counter, the dining room table. Anywhere he would take me.

As if he can scent my arousal he leans in to place a sweet kiss upon my lips. But when I close my eyes I fall into dead air. I open my eyes to see him staring off into the distance, a concerned look on his face.

“What? What is it?” I ask knowing that something is going wrong.

“Eris is here,” he says assuredly and I realize that my brother had been contacting him via daemati.

Cassian drops his hands from my waist and walks towards the doorway, picking up the swords he discarded against the wall. A male with a clear goal in sight.

“Wait, I want to come too!” I shout at him, following him down the hall.

He stops in his tracks turning to meet my gaze, “Absolutely not, I don’t want him anywhere near you.” he fusses strapping his swords and daggers in tightly.

“Cass please I’m not afraid of him. This obviously concerns me, I want to be there,” I plead with him.

Cassian’s jaw twinges and he looks out the window to my right, as if he is contemplating what he wants to do. Things that might happen, things that could go wrong. I see his eyes dart around slightly as if he’s watching all possible outcomes.

“Fine,” he states, though I can tell it’s not truly what he wants. “But you have to know that if he even comes close to you I will fucking kill him y/n. I will slit his fucking throat right then and there. Can you live with that?” he asks me in earnest.

“Yes,” I nod.

In reality my answer is no. The last thing I need is for a war between Night and Autumn just because Cassian killed their heir. I hated the male just as much as Cassian did, maybe even more, but I wouldn’t allow this to happen, which might be the real reason I wanted to attend.

The flight to the house in The Court of Nightmares was short. One Cassian had clearly flown a thousand times. Growing up I was never allowed to go there, my father claiming it was too dangerous for me. One night curiosity got the best of me and I asked Rhys to take me and he declined. It was at that moment I lost all desire to set foot in the city.

As Cassian and I stepped foot into my family's house there I couldn’t help but shudder. No wonder I had never been allowed here. It was all wrong, nothing like Velaris. Suddenly all the stories other courts whispered about the Night Court added up.

When we arrived at the throne room we entered through the back. Standing by Rhysand who was sitting atop the throne he had been born to inherit. Eris is standing before him just a few yards away. Both of them clearly lost in a heated discussion.

We stood aside Rhys, Cassian’s arm wrapping protectively around me as his other hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. Eris’ eyes flickered over to me, then to Cassain and then back to Rhys.

“You hold no claim over my sister, not after what you’ve done. You’re lucky I haven’t melted your mind where you stand,” Rhysand’s voice boomed.

It was the first thing I heard when I walked in, and it made a chill run down my spine. I had never heard my brother this way. I knew Rhys often put on a front for other courts but I had never seen it. As if he was too afraid to show it to me.

“She’s my fucking wife. You can’t keep my wife from me Rhysand; it goes against the laws of every court in Prythian.” Eris growls back. “Come on pet it’s time to return home.” he says, holding a hand out to me. Had he forgotten the events that led me here in the first place?

I step closer into Cassain’s frame, my hand curling into one of the straps on his fighting leathers. As if he can sense my fear, his body tenses and he pulls me tighter to him.

“Take one more fucking step towards her Eris and I will spill your guts on this floor,” Cassian growls and even I’m scared of the tone he uses. Unlike the Autumn Court, Cassian has the upper hand here, and I’m deeply terrified he will use it. While he may be The Lord of Bloodshed, Eris is the son of a High Lord.

“She is my wife, and I hold full authority over her,” Eris seethes, the fire in his eyes returning.

“You hold no claim over me,” I said. “You never did. By the laws of your court our marriage is null and void. Now I belong to my mate, who loves me.”

“You once told me you loved me,” Eris says smugly.

My mind races back to our wedding night. I swore I would never let him hear the words pass my lips. But the pain, it was too much. He told me he would stop if I would just say those three little words, and in a moment of desperation I caved to his wishes. My body too worse for wear to take much more.

Cassian’s body twinges next to me clearly taken back by Eris’ words.

“That’s because you beat me into submission until I did. That’s not love. I gave Cassian my love freely, before he ever touched me. Before I knew he was my mate.” I say firmly, my gaze unyielding at the Autumn Court heir.

Eris simply rolled his eyes, “To hell with the laws of my court, I had it written today that impure females can still wed noblemen. I want The Jewel and I shall have her,” he smirks looking me up and down.

Before I can even retort, Rhysand speaks up, “and I had it written the moment she was found that in my court, mates can’t be separated without consent,” my brother says smoothly. “Sister, would you like to go with Eris?” he asked me.

“No I would not,” I say firmly. “You wouldn’t benefit much from me anyways. The healers say I may never bear children now.”

“What a shame, now you’re just spoiled fucking goods,” Eris lips twist in a self satisfied sneer. “At least one good thing came out of that nail to your womb. You won’t be making any bastard children.”

Before I can even start to bring him down to earth Cassian is launching himself at Eris. A frenzy of swords, flame and raw power from Cassian’s siphons barrel around the room. I can’t help but gawk and run to my brother's side as Cassian unleashes his fury upon Eris. Most of Eris’ moves are on the defense, as Cassian never lets him have a moment to strike.

“Rhys stop this!” I say clutching my brother's arm.

Rhys simply smirks, crossing an ankle over his knee clearly amused, “No I’m actually enjoying this,” he smirks leaning into the arm of the throne as the sounds of metal on metal ring through the room.

I look up to see Cassian hovering over Eris, a sword held to his throat as Eris uses every ounce of power he has to keep the general from piercing his throat.

“Did I get under your skin, dog?” Eris taunts, trying to catch Cassian off guard enough that he can get the upper hand. “Did I tell you how she screamed as I took her?” he grins.

Cassian falters just long enough for Eris to get out from underneath him. Eris’ hands are ablaze as he tries to burn through Cassain’s leathers, but the general has him on his back before he gets the chance. His hazel eyes ravenous as he lifts a sword to cleave Eris’ head. I realize that this is truly the Lord of Bloodshed standing before me, and now I know why he had been given the title.

“Rhys!” I cry out hoping he can end the carnage.

“Fine, fine,” he assures me standing from his seat. “ENOUGH!” the High Lord bellows, his power pulling the fighting males apart. “My word is final. Eris, go home while I’ll still allow it.” Rhys finishes sitting back in his chair with a swagger I wish I could recreate for myself.

Cassain comes running over to me, not a scratch on him as Eris limps out the doors behind him.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I fuss surveying the burn marks in his leathers from Eris’ hands. Thankfully none of them burnt all the way through.

“I’m fine baby,” he beams down at me, trying to mask the anger he feels for letting Eris walk out of here alive.

“By the mother can the both of you get a room?” Rhys chastised, standing from the throne.

“You’re going to have to get used to it brother,” Cassian laughs, wrapping his arms around me.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys dismisses us. “Go home, both of you, before I lose my lunch,” he jokes, stepping down from the dais, moving towards the door Cassian and I entered through.

Cassian and I enter his room, this time at the House of Wind. Both of us had decided that Rhys needed to learn to take the new dynamic in doses. The Illyrian rid himself of his leathers, his body practically vibrating with anger, desire, sadness? I couldn’t quite tell.

“Cass, are you okay?” I ask laying a hand on his now bare shoulder. My voice is small and timid worrying what I might awaken in him.

“Yes my love I’m fine,” he says, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my open palm. “Just left over adrenaline inside of me, that’s all.”

My thoughts wander to the sight of him nearly taking Eris’ life. In the moment I was scared he would get hurt, but looking back now? I hated to admit how it made my heart race and my thighs clench. I had never needed him more than I did now.

“I can think of a few ways to dispel that adrenaline,” I smirk, leaning in to kiss him but he stops me.

“No stop, I won’t hurt you y/n,” he groans, pushing me away.

I felt something in me snap, something breaking. “Cassian please,” I beg and his eyes meet mine. “Please, I'm begging you to touch me. I am whole, I am well. I just want my mate. I can’t bear it any longer.” I plead with him, tears welling in my eyes.

He moves swiftly, his frame towering over me as he comusnes my mouth as if he’s consuming my soul. I feel the need in him sink into my very skin as he takes me in his arms. I nearly whimper at the way he kisses me so thoroughly.

“If I hurt you, tell me right away. Okay?” he says between kisses, his hands roaming up and down my sides.

I can only nod my head in agreement before his lips are on mine again. Every touch of his hands on my body is so all consuming, yet never enough. The male could be melded to my skin and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I feel my thighs hit the back of a rogue desk and suddenly I’m being hauled up until my bum sits on the cold surface. My hands wander up and down Cassian’s chest, committing every muscle to memory once more. His own hands wander around my back until I hear a deafening rip ricochet off the walls. My dress being torn in half and discarded on the floor.

“Cassian,” I breathed as the cold air hit the bare skin of my breasts.

I was happy to see that his little sex ban had affected him as much as it did me. His hands and mouth were feral on me, no doubt from the adrenaline. His hand tugged my head back by my hair giving himself full access to my neck. The open mouthed kisses he left all over me drove me wild. But I didn’t stop the general on his mission to worship every part of me.

His lips wandered over every ghost of a bruise Eris had left on me.

“You are loved, you are safe, you are mine,” he whispered before consuming my mouth once more.

My hands flew to the leathers of his pants, ripping them open seamlessly. His cock sprung free, hard and ready for me. But once again he stopped me.

“I mean it princess. You feel pain at any time and we’re done.” he says pressing his forehead to mine.

“Shut up and fuck me general,” I grit bucking my core towards him.

“Is that an order princess?” He teased, kissing my temple.

“Yes it is,” I groan. “If you don’t I’ll throw you in the dungeons.” I tease running my hands down his chest.

“Well then, as my princess commands.” He smirks, sinking himself into me.

If he didn’t have me seated on his desk my knees would’ve buckled. The feeling of him inside me was so overwhelming, so amazing. I found myself crying out in pleasure from the fullness.

“Good girl,” he smiles before thrusting in once more.

My eyes already see stars as he sets a steady pace. One not nearly as hard as he did at the ball, clearly not wanting to hurt me. Nonetheless, the pace he set felt amazing.

“Oh Cass,” I moaned, my nails raking across his back.

“Did I tell you how I missed this?” he groaned, thrusting into me deeper. “How badly I missed being inside you?”

His words had me going limp in his arms. My mouth leaving sweet kisses on his neck to encourage him to keep fucking me. I run my hands all over his body, wanting to feel all of him. This man, this glorious, brave and strong man was my mate. For the first time since realizing it, it had begun to truly sink in. This was our first time together now that both of us knew, and I could practically feel the bond between us screaming to be consummated.

“Mine,” I breathed into his ear as he hit me particularly deep. “My mate.”

His hand came back to cup the base of my neck so that I was craning up to meet his stare. The fanning of his breath on my cheek as he fucked me languidly.

“All yours baby, forever.” he smirked, leaning down to kiss me.

Large hands cupped my bottom and I felt myself being carried towards the bed. He set me down in a way that made it so he never had to pull out of me, and I was thankful for the gesture. I didn’t want to be separated from him for a single moment.

He resumed his relaxed place, one that had me feeling every inch of him. There would be time for fucking in the future, but for now I just wanted him to make love to me, and by the cauldron did he.

I felt my legs start to shake and tremble as he continuously hit the part of me that always had me falling apart. My hands threaded through his hair as I heard his moans and grunts in my ear, only making my stomach flutter even more. The damn inside of me getting ready to burst.

“Cass I’m going to,” I shudder, raking my hands down his back, an action that spurs him on.

“I’m close too y/n, just hold on for me,” he grunts fucking into me harder.

In my efforts to hold off on my release in order to wait for him I feel myself clench around his length, his hips stuttering as he tries to keep his pace.

“Oh shit baby you keep doing that I’m gonna-”

“Cass please,” I cry, nearly arching my back so I can feel more of his skin on mine.

“Fuck, cum with me,” Cassian groans.

The ragged deepness of his voice has me seeing stars as my own release washes over me. He continues rutting into me as he buries his head in my neck, breathing in my scent. Both of us are panting as I run my hands through his hair some more, calming us both down.

“My beautiful, smart, amazing, sexy mate,” he says, kissing my neck with each phrase.

He rolls over so he doesn’t crush me under his weight, and his arms pull me up to rest on his chest like always. The skin under my cheek is covered in a thin sheen of sweat as I hear his heartbeat beginning to calm down. I can’t stop myself from propping my chin up on his chest and placing sweet kisses all over him. From his abs to his chest, to his shoulders, and his neck.

“If this is us now how bad are we going to be after we accept the bond?” Cassian chuckles, pushing my hair out of my face so that he can see me.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to wait any longer to accept it,” I say, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “Not after today, with Eris. Who knows what kind of crazy strings he would pull to take me back and have me be his lap pet. If we’re officially mated Rhys’ laws will hold true.”

“Trust me, Eris would sooner have his head on a pike than have his hands on you again,” Cassian laughs lightly.

“I’d rather not have it come to that. If you were on the other end of Beron’s wrath for killing his heir we couldn’t do this as often,” I smirk, placing a kiss on his neck.

“You have me there princess,” Cassian laughs, pulling my bare body impossibly closer to his.

“By the end of the week?” I ask boldly.

“What?” he says, caught off guard.

“I want to be mated by the end of the week, I want to call you my husband,” I smile, bringing my left hand with the engagement ring up to cup his face. “Unless you think it’s too soon?” I ask worried I might be pushing him too far.

“Too soon? I’ve been wanting to make you my wife for over 50 years y/n. I’d marry you right now if you wanted me to,” he rambles and I can’t help but giggle.

“While I love the sound of that I would like a dress, and maybe a ring for you as well.” I say brushing a hair out of his face.

“I suppose I’ve waited this long,” he laughs, pulling me over so I’m lying directly on top of his chest. “By the end of the week it is.” he beams, sealing the promise with a kiss.

Hey I’ve been having some problems with tagging so lmk if you get this or if you saw it but didn’t get the notif!!

Taglist: @crystalferret202 , @nickishadow139 , @graceshifts , @writeroutoftime , @heyyitsnat21 , @stinkinstuffie , @lilah-asteria , @12358 , @fxckmiup , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @mybestfriendmademe , @anxious-study , @bxm-1012 , @mal-adaptive-dreams , @sh4nn , @talesofadragon , @5onedirection5 , @saltedcoffeescotch , @flourelle

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always

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justagalwhowrites · 20 hours

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Gurll, lavender is my go-to reread everytime. Ig u are taking requests (😂🫶🏻), I would really like to see how Joel found out Doc was pregnant of Sylvie and those sweet pregnancy exchanges - like him being worried (‘cause in the original we skip the whole pregnancy). 😎

OMG Hi Bestie!!!

So you'll see some of this in Girl Dad, a canon one shot I did for Doc's birthday back in October. You see some of Doc panicking about Sylvie on her birthday because she's never made it further in a pregnancy and her birthday has just such an awful personal history for her and Joel loves her through it. We also see Joel being just a precious father to his newest baby girl.

BUT... here's some more of the pregnancy for you ❤️

Expecting

20 years after your first pregnancy, you find yourself expecting again. Things are a bit different this time. A Lavender Drabble.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender

Warnings: Pregnancy. Smut adjacent. No use of y/n. 18+ only Minors DNI

Length: 2k

September 2, 2024

The first time you threw up, Joel was on patrol.

It's not like you'd gotten your period since the two of you had started trying but you didn't put much stock in that. You'd never been regular and you were nearing menopause now. Missing a period or two was hardly monumental.

But the nausea the morning you woke up alone was.

You rocketed to the bathroom, doubling over the toilet, everything left in you from the night before coming up.

"Shit," you whispered, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand as your stomach still churned.

You knew this feeling. It had been a long time but you knew it.

And you knew you should be happy about it. It wasn't like last time. You and Joel were together now. Not just together, you were married. Things were secure - as secure as they could be in the apocalypse, anyway - and you were trying for this.

But it was still the apocalypse.

It was no small part of you that thought this wasn't going to happen. That you were going to try and try and then menopause would kick in and you'd never have a child you made with Joel. You'd resigned yourself to that a long time ago, that you'd never be a mother to someone that grew inside of you, never raise someone that you'd brought into being through love. You had Ellie who was your child in every way that mattered and that was more than enough.

But you were pregnant. You were sure of it. And you should have been happy about that - thrilled, in fact. Part of you was. The rest of you was terrified.

What had you been thinking? Bringing a child into this destroyed world? Would Joel even still want this now that it was real and not some imagined, idealized thing on the distant horizon? How were you supposed to protect a baby from the horrors of this reality? Even here in Jackson there was fear and risk and you'd gone and done this on purpose.

You didn't tell anyone, though the nurses at the clinic could tell you were off all day. You assured them that you were fine while trying not to panic. What if Joel changed his mind? What if, when faced with the reality of it, he didn't want to bring a baby into this world?

You threw up again that afternoon, the sickening feeling hanging around after everything came back up and you tried not to cry.

Joel got home after Ellie was already in bed that night, his patrol keeping him out late. You were pacing the kitchen when you heard the front door open and close quietly, the squeak of the floorboards under his heavy boots.

"Baby?" He frowned poking his head into the kitchen. "What're you still doin' up, it's late..."

"I know," you smiled a little, looking him up and down and taking stock to make sure he was still in one piece. "I'm glad you're back."

He smiled back, coming all the way into the kitchen to take you in his arms and kiss you, gentle and deep.

"You and me both," he said. "Gettin' too old to be sleeping rough like that, feel like I did my time with that shit getting out here..."

You laughed a little and nuzzled into him, breathing in the sweaty, woodsy scent of him.

"What's wrong, baby," he whispered, his arms enveloping you totally, holding you against him. "Can tell you got somethin' on that big brain of yours."

You pulled back from him just enough to see his face, his arms still holding you loosely. His face was smeared with dirt, the grime of the trail and sweat on his skin and his eyes were soft and warm and like home.

"I'm pregnant," you said softly. Those eyes got wider. "I know we've been trying but... It's real now and..."

"You're pregnant?" He breathed, stepping back from you, his hands going to your shoulders. You nodded, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. "Oh Baby..."

He took your face in his hands and kissed you again, so hard you could taste the passion on his tongue.

"Really?" He asked, his eyes searching yours as he pulled back from you and taking your shoulders again. You just nodded again, your heart pounding. "Fuck, that's... that's amazing, we're gonna... Baby, you're pregnant!"

"Yeah," you laughed a little. "Yeah, I am... You're happy?"

"Happy?" He laughed back. "Baby, I'm... I'm so far beyond fuckin' happy that word don't even begin to cover it."

He got to his knees in front of you, his hands on your hips, sliding around to cradle the small of your back as he looked lovingly at your stomach.

"You're pregnant," he said, awed, almost to himself. He pressed a kiss to you, over your womb, before one of his hands came to hold you reverently there. "Our baby is in you, right now."

"Yeah," you smiled, voice wet. "Yeah, they are."

"That's amazing," he whispered before looking up at you. "You're amazing, you're the most amazing thing I've ever seen..."

You ran your fingers through his curls before cupping his cheek.

"Thank you," you said, your whole being feeling lighter now, knowing that he was really in this with you.

"For what?" He asked, getting to his feet and pulling you against him again. "You're the one doin' all the work."

You smiled a little.

"For wanting this with me," you said quietly. "I was afraid... I'm still afraid. But we can do this."

"We can do this," he echoed you, kissing your temple. "You, me, Ellie, this baby. We're a family. We can do this."

You put a palm over your womb again, cradling where the child you'd made with Joel was growing inside you.

He was right. You could do this.

But things were different after that.

Joel hovered. It reminded you a bit of when he first came to the QZ, back when he thought his fear was something he could push past if he just got close enough. You’d be working at the clinic, turn around to pick something up and then Joel would be there. You’d be relaxing on the couch and decide you needed a cup of water and, the second you started to move, he was up instead asking what you needed.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting my own drink, you know,” you said a two months after you’d told him you were pregnant and Joel had damn near held you down instead of letting you go to the kitchen. “Also capable of walking to the mess hall on my own, making my own lunches…”

“All the work you’re doin’ growing my baby, I should do something,” he replied, bringing you a glass of water. “Seems like this is the least of it.”

You might have believed him if it wasn’t for the other things, too.

You’d become insatiable during pregnancy, all but demanding sex at least once if not twice a day. You couldn’t get enough of Joel but he seemed to be able to get enough of you.

It was close to Christmas when you finally brought it up, Joel’s hands more gently roaming over your skin rather than with any desire or need.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not interested, you know,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound too desperate.

Joel frowned, looking over your face for a moment.

“What?” He sounded completely puzzled. “Why would I not be interested?”

“I know I look different now,” you ran a hand over your growing bump and took a deep breath. “It’s OK if you’re not as attracted to me at the moment…”

“In what fuckin’ universe am I not attracted to you?” He asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “Baby, if I could spend the rest of my damn life inside you, I’d be a happy man.”

Your confusion must have shown because he brushed your hair back before adjusting your face to look at him.

“What’s goin’ on,” he asked gently. “Why are you saying this stuff.”

“You don’t touch me like you used to,” you said quietly, hoping you didn’t sound too wounded by it. “And it’s OK if you don’t want me like that right now, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t really want and…”

“Baby,” he cut you off. “I’m gonna stop you right there. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted you more than I do right now. Not when I first met you and you were some hot young thing, not when you first got off the plane to come visit, not when I first saw you again in the QZ. Seeing you grow our baby is the most beautiful, most sexy thing in the damn world, don’t go thinking otherwise.”

“Oh,” you frowned. “Then… I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“I just…” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at you again, a pained look on his face. “I’m scared, baby. I’m scared in a way I ain’t been since we came to Jackson.”

“Joel,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “We’re OK here, we’re safe here…”

“I know,” he said. “You’re safe from infected and you’re safe from raiders but… baby, what if you get hurt? You’re the doctor here, what if something happens to you or the baby? What if there isn’t someone who knows how to save you? What if I do somethin’ to you on accident, what if I’m too rough because I’m caught up in touching you the way I want? I can’t risk that, baby, I can’t.”

“Oh Joel,” you breathed, pressing yourself closer. “You’re not going to hurt us. I promise, you’ve never been too rough with me. If something doesn’t feel right I’ll tell you but it’s OK. We’re safe. You’re safe.” You guided his hand to your breast, his large palm curving around the soft flesh. “And I want you to touch me, really touch me. Please.”

He was cautious at first, hesitant. Now that you knew he was afraid, it was easier to see it on his face and feel it in his touch. But you guided him through it, holding his hand, reassuring him, until he was lost in you and things felt right for the first time in months.

You learned how to head things off after that. When he would appear in the clinic, you would give him a kiss and tell him how you were feeling. If the baby was moving, you’d guide his hand to your stomach to let him feel them alive inside you. When you needed something at home and could see that he was restless and distracted by worry, you’d ask him for help. You started meeting him at the gates after patrol so he could see you and touch you as soon as he was back, feeling how he relaxed when his hands were on you.

When you went into labor, though, you were worried. You knew he was afraid but then, so were you. You were afraid not just of what could happen, of how it would hurt under the best of circumstances, but of how to help Joel through it, too.

But he sensed what you were doing right away, so in tune with you now. He climbed into the bed behind you, pulling you back so your head was resting on his chest.

“Don’t you dare worry about me,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, baby. Got both of you.”

You smiled a little as the contraction eased and he held you a little tighter.

“I know you do,” you relaxed into the firm, strong body of your husband. “I know.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #kit answers #send asks #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #lavender #lavenderversary

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fuckyeahisawthat · 2 days

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I've been obsessed with @demon-of-the-ancient-world's post about Paul bandaging his own wounds after the duel with Feyd ever since I saw it. Partially because I am pretty sure he would not be physically able to do it, but he sure would try. So have a little thing.

Eventually, he is able to stop giving orders and having them fervently obeyed long enough to limp over to the hallway leading out of the war room. With every step, he is figuring out how to better hide the limp. His side still fucking hurts.

Close to the relief of the cool dark hallway, he spots a familiar face. Mari, the medic from his old band of fedaykin. Her gaze falters as he approaches.

"Bandages," he requests. At least his voice is still coming out steady.

She fishes in her pack and pulls out a roll. Holds it out to him like an offering, her fingers retreating as soon as he takes it.

She'd once held him down with a knee on his back while she pulled a piece of shrapnel out of his shoulder. Now she is afraid to touch him.

"More," he rasps.

She produces another roll. That should be enough.

There's a little anteroom just off the main chamber. A few Fremen trail after him as he heads there.

"Guard the door," he says to no one in particular. "No one enters." He shuts them all out.

He doesn't remember what this room was used for, in the brief time that he had lived here. It's empty now, save for a stone platform that runs along one wall at waist height. He drops the rolls of bandages on the platform and sags against it.

As soon as he lets the control slip, a wave of nausea washes over him. His head is pounding, blood drying tacky and itchy on his face, and with every breath it feels like both knives are still inside him.

Focus. He hears it in his mother's voice. She taught him this, how to reach inside himself and master pain. Attention stretching inward, finding the nerve endings that are screaming and shutting them down. He'd practiced with an embroidery needle pricking his finger. This is a bit more than that.

He concentrates until everything still hurts, but not so much that he's going to pass out. Probably. Then he starts working the fastenings of his stillsuit loose.

He gets the shoulder straps released and the moisture seal broken at the main seam, but then he's stuck. Pulling the suit off his left shoulder requires raising his right arm, and that comes with a spike of pain and an abrupt tilt of the floor underneath him. He grabs the edge of the platform and has to spend some more time working on not passing out. Starting with his right shoulder proves no better; twisting his torso in that direction makes his vision gray at the edges.

He's leaning heavily against the stone platform trying to figure out what to do when there's a commotion at the door. He hauls himself into standing up straight just as a young man, wide-eyed and with blood all down the front of his stillsuit, gets shoved into the room. "Forgive me, Lisan al-Gaib," the man says. "The scarfless warmaster insists on entering."

It takes him a minute to realize who he is talking about. "Let him in."

The man retreats, and Gurney steps into the room. "My lord." His gaze takes in the bandages, the pathetic progress he's made on removing his stillsuit. He closes the door behind him. "If I may."

Paul nods.

As soon as Gurney peels the stillsuit back from his injured shoulder, he realizes he never could've done it alone. It's a two-handed job, easing his arm out of the garment, and he needs his one free hand to bite down on to keep from making noise.

Gurney helps him slide the suit down to his waist. His torso is painted with blood but there's nothing to clean it with now. Best to focus on keeping any more from coming out.

Together they bandage his side, then his shoulder. Gurney's hands are not unkind but they are pragmatic, efficient, not flinching away from his wounds but not lingering either. There is no talking save Paul telling him to wrap the bandage tighter.

He remembers a time, long ago. Sitting on a storage chest in the staging room of the parade grounds below Castle Caladan, watching Gurney help his father put his armor on.

There had been a surrender--of whom, he can't remember. He could not have been more than five or six at the time. Generals of the army they'd just defeated coming to sign the armistice agreement, but with enough resentment about it that everyone was nervous, and his father was wearing armor to declare peace.

There had been no talking then, either. Just Gurney moving practically around his father, an extra pair of hands for pauldrons and breastplate and greaves, while his father practiced the speech he was going to give under his breath, making subtle adjustments to tone and emphasis along the way. He doesn't remember the speech, only the feeling, Gurney preparing his father's body while his father prepared himself in other ways.

That is what is happening now.

Once they get his shoulder wrapped as tight as they can, Gurney helps him ease the stillsuit back on. Gurney still needs some direction to get it laced properly, the Fremen way, but having another pair of hands to pull the straps tight over his shoulders means he only has to grit his teeth, not spend time waiting for the room for stop spinning.

He takes a few test steps across the room. The bandage around his ribs restricts his breathing a little, but it makes walking slightly less painful. That will do.

He pulls himself up to his full height, straight-backed, head held high. The posture of an emperor. Ready for battle.

#dune #dune part two #paul atreides #whump #tumblr fic

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wolven91 · 6 hours

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Introducing; The Hyenids

Warren rubbed at his wrists.

Despite being out of the cuffs for over an hour now, he could still feel them compressing his wrists until the bones grinded against one another. When the draconian merchant, or rather kidnapper and slaver, had turned on the bright lights and blinded him, he’d expected his torture to continue.

The young man still remembered the words that made his blood run cold.

“We’ll take ‘im.” Declared the looming shadow that had the comparatively tiny human shrinking away, despite his arms still being latched to the wall of the merchant’s vessel.

But that was an hour ago and his new ‘owner’ had appeared to collect their purchase.

It was a towering hunched creature, with a dark brown mohawk that ran from the top of it’s head, up and over the hunch before disappearing beneath it’s armour. It grinned wickedly with dangerous looking fangs. To Warren’s eyes, it’s body was a sea of scars and overdeveloped muscle. He took a guess that she was female based on the cleavage, but she looked as if she could tear a book in half with ease.

She grabbed ahold of his elbow and roughly led him away, a whimper escaped him.

This thing was massive, easily ten feet tall and all claws, teeth and muscle. At least the merchant had left him alone. What did this thing want?!

The march was brisk and silent as the grave. Warren focused on his feet, keeping his head low and doing everything he could not to burst into tears and beg them to let him go, to not hurt him. To just leave him alone.

The others had horror stories that they told one another when it was quiet and they were supposed to be asleep. Warren didn’t have any to add, he was a ‘new’ acquisition, was what the draconian had said. They’d taken him from a market place. One moment of needing to step away from the crowd and large, scaled hands had grabbed him.

“Boss!” Shouted a new voice, a brief glance upwards and Warren saw a new creature, similar in appearance to his current captor, but different enough to tell them apart.

“Since when we slavers? The crew ain’t ‘appy ‘bout this! Boss, *I* ain’t ‘appy ‘bout this.” Urged the newcomer, obviously pointing a clawed, meaty finger as Warren. He just kept his head down, the less they knew he was there, the less likely something bad would happen to him.

“We ain’t slavers.” The one holding warren retorted, before releasing the smaller human with a small shove forwards that felt like freight train had just tapped him. Warren stumbled forward into the oversized hands of the newest arrival, who just held him in place.

“I’ll get us away, n’ send a signal to the clan, n’ track the tracer I’ve dumped on their ship. Ain’t nobody ‘round ‘ere gonna’ be able to afford the rest of ‘em. We got a good few weeks to raid that asshole…” Explained the large canine-like creature. They weren’t canids, not by a long shot, but that was the only specie that they even remotely resembled. The one now holding Warren grunted with a nod, satisfied with the leader’s words.

“And get this’un somethin’ t’ eat. Damn thing’s gonna’ turn inside out by the looks of ‘im.” She ordered, jabbing a finger warren’s way.

Without warning or any say in the matter, Warren was bodily lifted and thrown over the shoulder of the newcomer and carried away as the, seemingly, leader of the crew closed up the ramp and marched off before the human lost sight of her.

Shortly afterwards, he was brought into what could have only been a canteen. It was messy, old food stains had long since dried and were flaking off the walls and floor. The whole room was alive with similar looking creatures. Some wore armour, others; jumpsuits, some wore nothing at all. It was only because of this, Warren mentally realised that he may have been off on his guess of genders with these creatures.

They all sported chests that would make any man blush, but when his eyes naturally were drawn down the ‘nude’ creatures, he found that every one also sported significant endowments between their legs too. The whole room’s eyes were on him, the lights over head played with their gaze, some of their pupil turning reflective as they stared at him.

“’Ey! We ain’t slavin’! The boss has gone mad if their thinkin’ we’re gonna’ accept this!” Called one, which got the crowd to murmur and agree, their large heads bobbing in agreement. Warren could only glance around, petrified at the room full of at least thirty or forty dangerous looking creatures. Spikes and piercings adorned them. Some had weapons in their hands, from crude clubs to sharpened blades. They all had the posture of those who weren’t afraid. Neither for themselves nor to get what they wanted.

Raiders? Marauders? Although, based off what he’d heard, Warren couldn’t confidently pin ‘slaver’ to them. The one carrying him shouted back to the room, rather than addressing the one that spoke.

“We ain’t slavers! This un’ was all we could get our hands on.” She jostled the young man roughly as she spoke, punctuating her words. “The clan are comin’ to free the others by the tracker Boss snuck on the slaver’s ship.” She explained as she made her way to the far end of the canteen although Warren couldn’t see where she was going. He lay there, draped over her shoulder, his arms laying against the inch thick fur that was surprising soft, even with the diamond hard muscles that rippled underneath.

“So what that’un?” Shouted another voice on the other side of the room to the original that spoke. The one that carried him grunted.

“Hungry. Is wha’ he is. Get ‘im some food!” She demanded before Warren was once more lifted and brought down, placed on the floor at the feet of all these strange creatures. The one that carried him turned away and began to leave, Warren wanted to sprint after her… him? Them. Instead he remained rooted to the spot until they had left and the whole hall turned in unison at him.

He came very close to pissing himself in fear at the sight of an entire pack of giant bipedal hyenas all staring at him, some licking their chops with lines of spittle dangling down...

== 0 ==

Twenty minutes later, Warren had the fattest, largest steak he had ever seen sat on a large flat piece of metal still sizzling in front of him. It was easily an inch thick and wider than his whole torso. The idea he could eat all of this was a joke, but his growling stomach promised a good attempt.

The crew found it hilarious that he wouldn’t just pick up the meat and eat it, but one rather friendly Hyenid, as he found out what they were called, had taken out a gigantic bowie knife from their belt and sliced it into much smaller chunks. His fingers were greasy with fats, oils, salts and herbs that the chef had cooked it in. It tasted like the best steak Warren had ever eaten. Whether that was from his hunger or their skill, he didn’t care.

“So, you can’t smell?” Asked one, reaching over to touch Warren’s face and nose, only to have the same bowie knife that had cut his steak to appear, blade pointed towards the speaker, right between her fingers. The overprotective Hyenid shoved the knife towards the hand which had the speaker retract their hand, or risk the webbing between their fingers get sliced open.

“He eats first.” The wielder of the knife grumbled before shaking the bench Warren was sat on as she heavily sat down. They scooted forwards until their massive legs were touching his hips and their body was only inches away from his shoulder. He could feel her fur tickling him.

Warren chewed quickly and swallowed.

“I can smell, just not to the same degree as you guys… or many species.” He admitted, each of the creatures, still crowding him, but hanging on his every word.

“He’s tiny.” Whispered one, far too loudly.

“Is he one of the crew?” Asked another.

“What’s ‘is species called again?”

“I’m a hu-.”

“A ‘ooman!” Shouted one near to his back, obviously having heard him the first time, but talking over him now.

The crowd ‘aahed’ . It was weird being the centre of attention, and whilst they obviously had no personal boundaries, what with the overprotective Hyenid leaning forward and very obviously sniffing the young man, they weren’t the worst set of aliens he’d met before.

Being picked up like a sack of potatoes and having no manners was certainly not a deal breaker.

“Ey! Question!” Called another, Warren having long since given up trying to figure out names.

“What?” Called another.

“Where’s he sleepin’ tonight?”

The room went suddenly quiet, only broken by the loud anxious gulp as Warren swallowed a half-chewed chunk of meat and broke into a nervous sweat, now that all eyes were on him again.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #hyena #hyenid #hermaphrodite

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bestworstcase · 13 hours

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Thanks for your response ala Ruby & Yang, great stuff!

Idle aside, but do you have any thoughts on Yang's role as the sort of black sheep of the family by dint of Raven associations?

Cos like, Tai overtly favors Ruby, projects Raven onto Yang, resents Raven being rough up and is bad enough about reminders of her Yang feels she has to apologize for his negative reactions. Let alone his... Everything else.

Then there's Qrow who doesn't seem to interact with Yang over much at all and one of if not their most major interaction. Involves him straight up saying he thinks she's either a liar hurting people for fun or "crazy".

I recall someone I was chatting with wondering: Imagine doing everything you can to keep your family from breaking apart & being compared to the woman who left you when you were a baby?

Cos I do wonder how Yang feels about all that given she seems to downplay and or try to work around her family's issues when she can. Let alone what it says about the adults in the room.

smth i think about a lot is the way yang’s narrative about her childhood shifts between v2 to v5

’cause in v2 it’s: “it was tough. ruby was really torn up, my dad kind of shut down. it wasn’t long before i learned why…” all to provide context for this anecdote about putting ruby in a wagon and running away to find her mother. and then her conclusion is “my stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.”

and while there is a degree here of yang framing the story to emphasize the point she wants blake to understand, it’s also very obvious in her delivery that the emotional reality of this memory for yang is “the time my stupidity and stubbornness almost got me and ruby eaten by grimm”—when she was [checks notes] like five, six years old, and regularly left at home unsupervised.

but in v5, it’s: “my mom left me. ruby’s mom left too. tai was always busy with school, and ruby couldn’t even talk yet; i had to pick up the pieces. i had to pick up the pieces. alone.”

aside from the telling slip (tai, not dad)—yang centers her own feelings and the harm this situation did to her this time. which is something she’s always felt but i don’t think she could have brought herself to say it out loud to anyone during the beacon arc, because it was pressed down under the guilt on display in burning the candle, the feeling of having been inadequate and too stubborn and too selfish and and and–

coughs quietly. “my stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.” / “you were predictable. and… stubborn. and maybe a little boneheaded.” yang’s narrative about the wagon incident—which happened when she was five or six!—pinning the blame on the thing tai imagines to be her fatal flaw is…probably not coincidental. yang in v4 after a year of being loved by her team and supported by mentors like glynda / oobleck / port has the perspective to know that tai doesn’t know what he’s talking about; but as a small child who’d just had a terrifying near-death experience with her baby sister… 😶

it definitely had a big impact on the way yang sees herself

BUT i do read qrow's talk with yang in 3.8 pretty differently ->

because the context is: yang saw mercury attack her and struck back in self defense, then had like a dozen synthetic soldiers point guns in her face, then looked up and saw the replay footage of herself walking over to shoot a boy who was just kneeling on the ground. and some of the most powerful authority figures in the world are pushing this narrative that stress and adrenaline "clouded her judgment."

like this would make anyone doubt their sanity. bc holy shit.

yang, though...a couple weeks ago, yang after being knocked unconscious woke up and blearily saw someone she thought was her mother walk away from her and disappear in a flash of red light. she hasn't mentioned it to anyone, because it's just so bizarre—yang doesn't know about raven's semblance yet—she must have just been seeing things. right?

aside from raven (who isn't here) and yang (who believes she hallucinated), the only other person who knows that yang saw her mom on the train is qrow, because raven told him about it. he also knows that:

tai insisted on not telling yang ANYTHING about her mother, and qrow respected that up until now; so yang doesn't know about raven's semblance and can't make sense of what she saw.

salem's infiltrators are the same people who attacked amber, and qrow didn't get a good look at them because they seemingly vanished into thin air—pretty damn good chance that one of them has a semblance that manipulates what you see.

ozpin wants #2 kept secret, so yang has some very powerful people actively trying to convince her that she's crazy. ironwood is straight up gaslighting her.

qrow also—based on the first thing he says, which is "why'd you do it?"—seems to consider it a possibility that it is what it looked like but yang did have a good reason, and i actually do not think that is an outrageous thing for qrow specifically to think. because qrow was emotionally abused as a child, and he knows yang, and in the event that yang really did suddenly turn around and punch a guy who was kneeling on the ground, why would she do it?

glances at shay d. mann. well. maybe this kid has been harassing her? maybe he said something horrible or threatening to her and in the heat of the moment she just snapped? maybe "he attacked me, i saw him attack me" isn't really a lie per se, she's just scared that "he's been picking on me ever since he got here and he made a disgusting remark and i just couldn't take it anymore" won't be taken seriously? as in, he did attack her—verbally/emotionally.

it's probably worth asking, at least!

so, qrow leads with "why'd you do it?" in case there is some invisible reason justifying the apparent action. yang says "you know why." qrow goes okay, well, i only know what i saw, so you're either lying (i.e., yang had a reason she now isn't telling) or crazy (i.e., yang saw something different from reality that was very real to her).

she says "i'm not lying." qrow believes her: "crazy, got it."

at this point, he knows the most probable explanation is that one of salem's infiltrators fucked with her head. the inner circle's gaslighting doesn't sit right with him; he's not going to buck ozpin by telling her the truth outright, but he wants to make sure yang knows she isn't losing her mind. he also has all the info needed to guess that yang is actually really really scared that she might be crazy.

which is why he kicks off the wall and begins to pace around. the language he uses sounds dismissive, but his tone is mild and his body language implies "let's talk about it, let's figure this out."

leading to:

YANG: Who knows? Maybe I am. QROW: And here I thought your dark-haired friend was the emo one. YANG: I saw my mom. …I- I was in a lot of trouble, took a pretty hard hit. But when I came to, the person attacking me was gone, and I thought I saw… her. Her sword. Like the one in you and dad’s old picture. QROW: You’re not crazy, Yang. That was your mom, alright. Let me guess—she didn’t say a word, did she? YANG: How did you know that? QROW: I don't see my sister very often, but she does try to keep in touch... whenever it suits her. YANG: Wait—you mean you talk to her? That was real!? QROW: Yeah, she found me. Had a tip from my most recent assignment and wanted me to give you a message.

it's really telling that yang responds to him this way. 'cause we've seen how yang acts when she feels dismissed or belittled:

TAI: Well, "normal" is what you make of it. YANG: What is that supposed to mean? Do you want me to just pretend like nothing happened? I lost a part of me. A piece of me is gone. And it's never coming back. TAI: You're right. It's not coming back. But that doesn't have to stop you from becoming who you wanna be. You're Yang Xiao Long, my sunny little dragon. You can do whatever you put your mind to. So whenever you're ready to stop moping, and get back out there? I'll be there for you. YANG: I– I...

she freezes and shuts down! her teachers have to come to her rescue!—but when qrow goes "crazy, got it" and suggests she's being "emo," yang blurts out her big secret. i saw my mom. to me that suggests a level of trust and understanding that isn't there with tai: qrow says stuff like "okay, so you're crazy" and "here i thought your friend was the emo one" but what he means is "hey, i know something's really bugging you, tell me about it," and yang picks up what he's putting down.

it's akin to how ruby goes "did you miss me? DID YOU MISS ME??" and qrow's like "nope" and they both laugh. or the back-and-forth ribbing between him and the girls in 3.4. there's this layer of mild ironic meanness in the way qrow converses with his nieces that all of them are fluent in, and in this scene he's using that mode to signal that "crazy" is not off-limits, that it's okay to talk about openly.

crucially, there's a code-switch in the middle of the conversation: as soon as yang gets real and says "i saw my mom," qrow reflects that seriousness back to her. you're not crazy, that was your mom, she found me afterward and told me about it. it was real. you're okay. qrow's ability to do that—to shift into a more serious mode when irony isn't appropriate—is why yang can have this rapport with him that she doesn't have with tai, because tai isn't... being ironic when he says mean or dismissive things to her.

anyway, qrow passes on raven's terrible message and then kind of annotates it: "raven's got an interesting way of looking at the world that i don't particularly agree with, and she's dangerous." (which is a very diplomatic way of saying he thinks raven is full of shit. lol.) but then he connects this whole conversation about raven back to what happened after the match: "you're a tough egg, kiddo. don't let this tournament thing getcha down. you had a slip-up; sometimes bad things just happen."

implicitly: yang isn't crazy. what she saw on the train was real, a product of raven's personality and her semblance. sometimes bad things just happen. qrow believes that yang had the experience she says she did when she punched mercury. he doesn't know why she had that experience—yang doesn't either!—but he knows she isn't just "crazy." sometimes things that seem crazy are actually real.

remember what he tells the girls in 3.4? "you may be acting like huntresses, but you're not thinking like one." same thing here. he's telling yang, hey, you're not crazy, you know what you saw, but you don't know what or who caused you to see it. "you cut off the head of the king taijitu, but now the second head's calling the shots."

hint, hint.

it's subtler than the hints qrow drops for ruby in 3.12, but very much in the same vein, and yang is plenty smart enough to figure it out. she might... not have? in the couple of hours between this conversation and everything going to straight to hell, but if they'd had literally just one more day, just long enough for the wheels turning in yang's head to click together with what ruby heard from velvet about coco hallucinating during her and yatsu's 2v2 against emerald and mercury, she would've had it.

more... generally, i've never gotten the sense that qrow projects raven's flaws onto yang in the way that tai does; qrow is definitely a lot closer with ruby than yang, but i think that has less to do with favoritism on qrow's part than it does ruby thinking he's like the COOLEST uncle ever and wanting to use a scythe like he does.

'cause like, qrow isn't their parent, he doesn't live with them, he's not responsible for raising these kids like their dad is, so while he obviously did contribute to fucking them both up because: alcoholic, ultimately there just isn't the same degree of betrayal or emotional abandonment; he's not their dad. both times yang talks in detail about her childhood, it's "my mom left, ruby's mom left, tai wasn't really around, ruby couldn't even talk, i was alone"—she doesn't mention qrow. there isn't that deep hurt, that feeling that qrow is someone who left.

when he isn't drunk, yang seems to feel pretty okay around him, and qrow likewise treats her... honestly a lot better than tai does:

he stops by their dorm in v3 to hang out with both his nieces; yang is fully in sister mode—cheers for ruby to beat him until ruby loses, immediately shoves her out of the way like "my turn!! >:D"—and qrow ribs them both, takes ribbing from both of them in good humor, tells both of them "you two are gonna go far."

qrow nicknames to show affection; ruby is "pipsqueak," yang gets "firecracker."

we only see qrow's goodbye to ruby, but in 5.4 yang indicates that qrow came to talk to her before he left, too. she also has complete trust that he's keeping the promise he made to look after ruby.

yang, as noted, opens up to him about seeing her mom; she's also shocked that he's still in contact with raven and indignant that he didn't tell her sooner, but—unlike with tai—she doesn't seem surprised that qrow is willing to talk about raven in general.

which tracks with what tai says in 4.11: "despite asking him numerous times not to, i know qrow told you where you're mother's been at these days"—meaning, this was a point of contention between him and qrow. behind the scenes, while tai refused to discuss raven at all, qrow was going okay well, let me tell her then, she deserves to know. and then ultimately he just bit the bullet and told her behind tai's back. i wouldn't be surprised if it turned out qrow had been straight with yang that her dad wanted to be the one to tell her the important stuff, and he wanted to be respectful of that, but raven wasn't an off-limits topic.

general contrast between yang-tai and yang-qrow dynamics; for example both of them say almost verbatim "you've got a long way to go before you're ready for the real world" (3.4/4.4). from tai it's belittling, he's insulting her; from qrow, it's meant to encourage, it's "remember you're still new to this, you'll make mistakes, just keep learning, keep trying." (rwby does stuff like this all the time, refracting an idea in different directions to highlight contrasts between characters; ozpin's advice to ruby vs port's advice to weiss is another example.)

a lot of qrow's resentment toward raven is centered on her abandonment of yang: "did you know yang lost her arm? [...] rhetorical question, i know you know. it's just obnoxious that you'd bring up family and then carry on like your own daughter doesn't exist. [raven: "i saved her."] once. because that was your rule, right? real mom of the year material, sis." like he is PISSED on yang's behalf that raven won't even try.

my impression is that qrow—although a) often away on long missions in far away places and b) an alcoholic who sometimes got blind drunk and became a burden yang and ruby needed to take care of—when he did manage to be there, made a serious effort to connect with both of them. he ended up being closer to ruby bc she wanted to learn scythe-wielding, but i do think qrow would've trained yang too (or instead) if the girls had different combat interests.

and while his relationship with ruby has a mentorish aspect, i don't get the sense either of the girls see him as a parental figure: he wasn't part of their household, he traveled a lot, his alcoholism in combination with tai's neglect eroded the adult-child boundaries because they had to be responsible for him as often as the reverse. he's a friend who also happens to be related to them. and that's especially true for yang, because he wasn't her teacher.

(i know it's a... pretty common headcanon / fanon that qrow lived with them, but i really don't think that's supported by the text? whenever ruby or yang look back on their childhoods, the family unit is always them + tai, and qrow isolates himself out of fear that his semblance will injure those he cares about. plus ozpin sending him all over the place as the one member of team strq still active. it makes way more sense to think he lived alone, and visited when he had the chance. which is the main reason i'm WAY softer on him than on tai, 'cause qrow wasn't in a caretaker/parent role; at most he was an occasional babysitter. so while his incidents of turning up drunk on the doorstep contributed to the harm... it's like, it would absolutely have been better for them if qrow were sober, but that wouldn't have changed anything about their home life. they'd just have somewhat easier relationships with qrow.)

TO WRAP THIS BACK AROUND TO THE QUESTION, tai is unfairly judgmental and harsh with yang bc he projects his idea of her mom onto her; yang also has a better relationship with her mom's brother than she does with her dad. how do these two dynamics interact? how does yang feel about hearing from tai that she's too branwen, so to speak, while also getting along better with the branwen side of her family? how might that fuel her desire to find raven?

if her uncle treats her better than tai does, then... maybe her mom would too, if only yang could reach her?—obviously it's not rational, but like. i don't think five year old yang put her baby sister in a wagon and ran away to find her mom because she thought she would ask "why did you leave me?" and then get her answer and go home. as yang grew older and developed a more realistic perspective it shifted to "i just need to know why she left" and she projects that backward onto herself as a child, but at the time what she wanted, what she was looking for, was someone who would take care of them.

#never-ending heap of yang thoughts

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kittyminion · 3 days

Text

An Eye for a Finger (Series, Part One)

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!OC

explicit, 18+, violence, dubious children

summary: Vysella Velaryon lost her fingers because of him, Aemond Targaryen lost an eye because of her, but why can’t they stay away from each other? It becomes even more impossible once they are to be married….

word count: 2.3K

a/n: first fic yayyyy, hope you all enjoy this plus it’s been sitting in my drafts since feb. love vysella and I hope you all do too <333

series masterlist here

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

At the ripe age of nine, Vysella Velaryon was a grim little thing. No smile had ever covered her face, unless she found something extremely funny and nothing usually was in a place like Westeros.

Full of dragons, death, and maliciousness, she had nothing to smile for.

Especially being the youngest child of Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon. Vysella was constantly left out of conversations, teased by her older siblings who had been adults for years upon years. Vysella had been on Driftmark alone ever since she was two years old—her brother too busy with his wife Princess Rhaenyra and Laena off in Pentos with her husband Prince Daemon.

Besides that, being the youngest did have its advantages: even when everyone else thought she wasn’t paying attention, she was. For example now as she watched her mother scream and cry her lungs out. Laena was dead, at the flame of her own dragon no less. Vysella felt tears pricking her eyes as she watched her brother wrap his arms around the white-haired beauty, but the youngest Velaryon continued hiding behind the curtains.

All of a sudden, someone snatched her arm, throwing her into the air and eliciting a scream. She didn’t stop screaming until she saw Prince Daemon, a mischievous look in his violet eyes and she huffed, “Daemon, what did you do that for?”

Daemon raised an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, “Prince Daemon.” “You shouldn’t see your mother that way.” He grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the scene and down the hall to where the other Velaryon and Targaryen children were.

Daemon was Vysellas favorite cousin, and he was the only one to know it. He kept things true with her, no sugarcoating or lies, which is all she ever wanted from the others. “Did you try to save my sister?” Vysella questioned in High Valyrian her eyes staring at Prince Daemon, unwavering, even when he bristled and gave her a weak glare.

“Why would you ask that, little one? Of course I tried to save her.” “You’re lying. If what my father said is true, then you just watched as she was burnt to a crisp by Vhagar.” Daemon didn’t get angry at the nine year olds accusations, and instead, he hooked his hands under her armpits and placed her in the nearest seat, which happened to be in the sitting area where the other children were.

Rhaena and Baela were sitting near Princess Rhaenyra as she spoke lightly, her eyes focusing on not only them, but her younger sons, Lucerys and Jacaerys, who were both mourning the loss of the Strongs. “My love, come here.” Rhaenyra whispered, waving towards Vysella and she spared Daemon no glance as she walked over to her other favorite cousin and sat next to the others.

“How are you feeling?” Vysella shrugged, already pulling Baela and Rhaena into hugs, enough to give them some of her courage. “What will happen to Vhagar?” She said changing the subject quickly because she could feel tears pooling in her eyes.

Of course the ever observant Rhaenyra noticed and she brushed a finger over the child's cheeks. “Little Rhaena will claim her soon. Isn’t that right, love?” Rhaena nodded, looking at her father then squeezing Vysellas hand. “And what of your dragon, Vysella?” Daemon sat on the arm of Rhaenyra’s chair.

“Onyx is well, cousin.” Rhaenyra chuckled at Vysellas cold tone, “what have you done to the child now?” Before he could respond, Corlys, Rhaenys, and Laenor walked in. Vysella stood and ran over to her father who picked her up and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“The King has arrived, along with the other guests.”

The funeral was just as unbearable as Vysella expected it to be. The Velaryons and Targaryens were standing in front of Laena’s casket, each of them holding their own form of sadness on their face. All but Aemond and Aegon Targaryen. Vysella glared at the young princes, her hands clenched at her sides as they shoved each other.

Queen Alicent, another person Vysella wasn’t too fond of, glared at the boys until they stilled and eventually, Aegon opened his mouth, “even Vysella had a dragon and she’s a year younger than you.” Aemonds eyes locked onto Vysella’s and he muttered something, still watching Vysella. “I’m surprised a dragon even wants to be claimed by her. She never smiles.”

Vysella smiled sarcastically just to creep Aemond out and when he finally looked away, she smiled genuinely, but it quickly fell as Vaemond, her uncle, began his High Valyrian speech. Vysella found pride as she was the only of the children who could understand the language, mostly because her parents taught her.

Daemon, not as close to his daughters, only taught them certain phrases, and Rhaenyra’s sons didn’t have a good grasp on it either.

“Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours run true.” The atmosphere around the two families became tense as Vaemond gave Rhaenyra an accusatory glance, while King Viserys watched the two, his eyes barely straying to his daughter's brunette children.

Of course Vysella, among most people, knew Luke and Jace weren’t her brother's children, but she also was smart enough to understand that calling them bastards was treasonous. Luke and Jace were her nephews and although they didn’t spend much time together, she still cared for them.

Daemon suddenly chuckled and everyone glanced at him, but he continued to smirk, eyes watching his shoes. Peculiar man, Vysella thought.

As Laena Velaryons casket was dropped into the ocean, Vysella pressed herself into her mothers side, allowing the postponed tears to finally slide down her cheeks and stain her black mourning dress. “She’s gone, my sweet. But we shall never forget her.” Rhaenys muttered to her granddaughters and her daughter.

As the dragons flew in the air, everyone gathered on the balcony, each of them either talking about Laena or mumbling about things that Vysella thought didn’t matter. She leaned against the walls of the balcony, eyes watching Onyx, her dragon, flying through the air, matching her riders restlessness.

Vysella looked over to Jace and her nieces, who were attempting to comfort each other, while Luke was talking to her father about the inheritance of Driftmark. Vysella thought it was all bullshit. With Laenor the future King Consort, she was the last Velaryon child, but of course, women weren’t the ‘natural’ inheritors, so she was stuck, knowing her future was to be married off to a power hungry man.

People like Aegon and Aemond Targaryen were lucky. They had no one to reprimand them or take their birthrights, plus, they were male. Speaking of, Aemond appeared next to her, his white hair pulled back. “You smiled earlier. Was it real?”

Vysella shrugged, “did you think it was real? Would I really smile during my sister's funeral?” Aemond glared at her tone, “you should be lucky your brother is still alive. We all know who he lays with at night.”

Vysella shoved Aemond, grabbing the hem of his shirt, but he was taller and he pushed her onto the ground, “you shouldn’t put your hands on the prince!” He spat and she stood up, “I won’t when you finally gain a dragon!” Vysella raised her fist to punch him in the eye but Daemon grabbed her.

“Vysella, we shouldn’t anger the Hightowers.” Aemond sneered at the man, “I’m a Targaryen!” “I can’t tell. Wearing green and with no dragon.” Vysella remarked and Aemond’s fists shook with anger, but with one glance at Daemon, he stormed away.

Daemon kneeled in front of the nine year old, hands on her shoulders. “We shouldn’t be so quick to anger.” “As if you didn’t laugh during the funeral, Daemon. Aemond made accusations of my brother!”

“And what were these accusations?”

“He said we all know who he lays with at night. What does that mean?” Daemon’s permanent smirk fell and he shrugged, “nothing you should entertain. Go to your mother, I think she is looking for you.”

That night, eight pounding feet ran into Vysellas room. She woke up startled as Jace shook her shoulder, “Vysella, wake up! Someone stole Vhagar!” Vysella muttered incoherent words then finally got out of bed, “how did the biggest dragon in the world get stolen?”

“Just come on!” Baela grabbed her hands and all five of them ran into the foyer, where Aemond walked in, his face dirty with dirt while his green cloak was on the ground next to him. “It’s him.” Baela said, tugging Vysella forward who was still drowsy with sleep, but when she saw Aemond, a sudden energy overtook her and she walked forward, “it’s me.” Aemond replied easily, walking closer until Vysella and him were chest to chest.

“Vhagar is my mothers dragon!” “Your mother is dead.” He continued to stare down at Vysella, but she kept her chin raised, exhaling shakily at his reply. “Vhagar has a new rider now.” His eyes buzzed with smugness and he pushed past Vysella. She reached out to grab his sleeve, but he pushed her away, enough that she stumbled on her feet but didn’t fall.

“Vhagar was mine to claim,” Rhaena said but Aemond retorted quickly to that, “maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride, it would suit you.” Rhaena suddenly came forward, grabbing Aemond’s shoulders to wrench him to the ground, but Aemond pushed her easily.

Vysella attempted to help Rhaena up, but before she knew it, Aemond had punched Baela in the face. Vysella fisted Aemond's hair and pulled him away from her nieces then punched him in the mouth. But then, Aemond clawed at her face and straddled her, delivering two solid punches to her face.

Jace pulled Aemond away and punched him in the throat but was ultimately put on his ass along with his younger brother. Vysella was bamboozled on how good of a fighter Aemond was. Eventually, all of them, excluding a bleeding Luke, got up and started to pummel Aemond, each of them hitting him in the face until his lip and nose were dripping beads of blood.

Aemond kicked Jace in the crotch, pushed both of Daemon's daughters then finally, not only spat in Vysella’s face but slammed her head onto the ground. Luke had finally gotten up and ran stupidly towards Aemond, but was quickly subdued.

Suddenly, Aemond picked up a rock and aimed it at Lukes face but didn’t put it to use. “You will die screaming in flames just as your father did,” Aemond glared at Vysella as he said, “Bastards.”

“My fathers still alive,” Luke cried and Vysella dizzily watched Aemond continue to insult the two, then Jace pulled out a knife. She dragged herself off the ground and kicked Aemond’s leg out and he fell to the ground. Jace shot towards Aemond, knife raised, but the Green boy kicked Jace away and the knife fell to the ground.

Vysella wrapped her hands around Aemonds throat, glaring down at him, “I will happily smile as you die, Hightower.” But before she knew it, Aemond had retrieved the fallen knife, pressed it to her hands around his neck and sliced not one, but two of her fingers off.

The Velaryon girl fell unconscious shortly thereafter.

Daemon was holding the girl when she awoke. And as soon as she saw the severed ring and pinky finger on her left hand, her eyes immediately locked on Aemond.

But he had lost something too.

“What is the meaning of this?” Corlys busted in the room, eyes searching wildly until they landed on his daughter. When he saw her clutching her bandaged but bloodied hand, he practically lost it. Rhaenys pulled Vysella out of Daemon’s arms, “Baela, Rhaena, what happened?”

Rhaenyra came in shortly after and the arguing ensued but all Vysella could focus on was One Eyed Aemond as the maester stitched up his deep cut. Everyone wondered why the girl wasn’t crying but instead staring hatefully at Aemond.

“And what of my daughter? She has lost two fingers!” Rhaenys spat, still clutching onto her hand. King Viserys, after demanding silence, focused his attention on the Velaryon girl, “tell me the truth, Vysella.”

“Aemond cut off my fingers, called Luke and Jace bastards and stole Vhagar. The Queen shouldn’t be so hasty to be angry over her son's lost eye when I’ve lost something too. Not everything is about him.”

Alicent stared at the girl with a lick of surprise, deflating slightly, “Viserys, your son was attacked.”

“It was a regrettable accident.” “Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush, he meant to kill my son.” Alicent looked dreadfully at the King, but he spun around, focused on the door. “It was my son’s who were attacked! Not to mention Vysella who lost two fingers.”

The lot of them continued to argue, until Viserys questioned his sons on where they heard the rumors. Eventually, Alicent stole Viserys blade, tears running down her face, and she walked towards Rhaenyra, determined to exact her revenge.

But Vysella had expected this so she stood up, the others focused on Alicent and Rhaenyra, and she walked towards Aemond, her nephews screaming in the background. “How does it feel to have lost an eye?” Vysella questioned the prince and he glared at her, “how does it feel to have lost two fingers?”

The two were focused on eachother, not the violent scene occurring.

“Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to be a princess or perhaps a prince.” Vysella kneeled next to his chair, eyes staring into his, “but I see it is just a bunch of eyes focused on someone who doesn’t deserve it. One day, I will take not two, but all of your fingers. I will laugh and smile as everyone in your life turns their back on a useless, fingerless, one eyed thing such as you.”

#aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #explict #18+ content #fanfic #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #fire and blood #dragons #aemond targaryen #daemon targeryan #oc #ewan mitchell #hbo max #hotd #hotd aemond

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ursuburbanmother · 13 hours

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I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Four

Pairings: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: did you guys know fifty dollars back in ‘66 was like five hundred dollars??? I didn’t and now I wish I never did. Anyway I kinda just wanted to explore more of Angus and Y/n relationship before the event of the holdovers. So a little backstory on this one. I maybe got carried away. Also this is a long ish chapter cause I have MAJOR exams to take so yeah :0 it might be while till I update again.

Word Count: ~7.5k

Enjoy!

Four Years Before - June 12th, 1966

Your parents had fled to Barbados for a destination wedding which they would follow with a cruise they claimed to deserve. Although it was one of those rare occasions where they had extended an invitation, you had declined. The prospect of being able to stretch your legs on the couch without worrying if you would be crushing some unknown guest, or to be able to walk into rooms without crashing into a waiter passing out shrimp puffs, was much more appealing. You had been left behind with fifty dollars for your fun fund, as your mother called it, and a kiss on the forehead. The nanny your parents kept on retainer would check up on you occasionally only to find you were much better at cleaning up after your messes and doing ordinary tasks than your parents. She’d leave after a few hours and then over the course of the first week she stopped coming.

You had prepared yourself for a month of solitude after Angus had announced he’d be spending his vacation at a tennis camp in Montauk. You must have been reorganizing your bookshelf for the third time that day (once by alphabet, then by color, and finally by size) when you heard a knock at the door. The sun had just begun to set, the sky colored a purple-blue, and you cautiously decided to take your fathers golf club. You dropped the club shortly after opening the front door to find not the face of Norman Bates but of your best friend. You scanned his tear-stained face. His eyes were glossy and his cheeks rosy, like when one stands in the snow and is attacked by the harsh winds that nip at your skin.

He collapsed into your arms, and you are quick to hold him steady. He was crouched over, having had a growth spurt a few months earlier, making it hard for you to look at him eye to eye.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

It was the summer of ‘66, where paranoid parents were starting to believe rock music would possess you. Ironically, it was the year Pet Sounds came out and you couldn’t stop rewinding the songs on your turntable. And most significantly it was the summer you spent with Angus.

He broke the news through jumbled words and choked down tears. How his father had been placed in a Mental Health hospital and how taking him to camp was just an excuse to make sure he wouldn’t be there when the people from the hospital came to pick his father up. They had apparently come early, mixing the dates up.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” You asked, hugging his torso.

“No. I'm sure she’ll be coming to check soon though,” he sniffled, “She’ll probably try to drag me to Montauk anyway and say that ‘it’ll be good for me’.”

You kiss his curls, “What if you stay here?”

He lifts his head up, “I’m not sure she’ll let me.”

“I think she will,” you reassured, “I am a very good guilt-tripper.”

“You can try if you want. How much did your parent’s leave you anyway?”

“Enough for both of us, don't worry. Even if we run out, we could whip something up to eat.”

His eyes widened, “Let's stick to take-out.”

Your house was the first place Angus’s mother looked in, just like he had predicted. He hid at the top of the stairs, staying away from his mom's line of sight as she pressed you for his whereabouts. You had been truthful about how he wanted to spend the next few nights here.

“Are you serious? I’m not going to leave two fourteen-year-olds alone, unattended, unsupervised! God knows what you’ll get up to.”

“We’re not going to do anything!” you argued, “We’re smart enough to not light the house on fire and to dial 911, in case we happen to. Angus just wants to be away for a little while. You should understand why,” you glared.

She looked down, shuffling her heeled feet.

“Besides, you take him away now he’s just to keep coming back here,” you sighed, stating the obvious.

She cleared her throat, coughing as she nodded, “Fine. Alright. Uhm- just make sure he calls me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you do your best to stop yourself from slamming the door in her face. "Bye.”

“The coast is clear,” you shout to Angus who came barreling down the stairs, skipping the last few steps.

“Did she look mad?”

You shrug, “A little. But she'll move on.”

He hums, agreeing as his eyes flicker around the room. He’s looking at the house he must have been at least a thousand times, whether because you invited him or because your parents did. And for the first time in either of your lives… it was completely silent. …

That first night Angus slept on your bedroom floor on a mattress you had dragged from the guest room. You had only your lamp on, and your window was open just wide enough to bring in the refreshing summer air. You were reading a few pages of your book to Angus, and when you glanced down you saw his eyes beginning to close.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. You have a nice voice is all.”

“Thank you. You do want to go to sleep though,” you observe.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” He says almost immediately. He lifts himself up slightly so he can reach your bedside table and waits for your permission to turn it off.

“Yes please.” You settle deep into your duvet. You turn to the side that faces Angus and wish him goodnight.

A few minutes later he speaks up again in a whisper. “Thank you again. For letting me stay here. I'll be out of here by next week, swear.”

“If you could, I would want you to stay here your whole life.” He scoffs at your words as you lean up with the support of your elbows to stare him down. “I’m serious. I only wish I could live in a house with you. Except somewhere far away from here.”

“By the beach,” he adds.

“Yeah. On a beach so obscure they can’t even send us mail because no one will know our address.”

“Oh no. How would your parents ever send you the invitation for your debutante ball?”

“I guess they’ll just have to throw it without me.”

“Shame,” Angus sighs. “I would love to see you in a white dress.”

You pause and then crash down back into your bed. You admire the garland that hangs above you. It’s made of postcards your parents sent you during their many endeavors. In that moment you're reminded of them and turn to Angus. “Oh. About that. My mom told me to tell you to prepare to be my escort in a few years.”

“Already?!” …

You and Angus had fallen into a routine. He’d sleep way later than you, sometimes until noon, and you’d wake him when you got too impatient and hungry for breakfast. He’d stir and groan to the point that it was obvious he was faking before finally getting up.

You would carry what you could from your kitchen pantry onto the backyard patio and eat under the summer sun. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of fig jam, English muffins and sometimes pears from the tree that stretched over your neighbor's fence. Afterward you and Angus continued your day in the green grass. He would sprawl himself out on a picnic blanket and read a comic book, wearing shades that were on the verge of tipping off his nose. Meanwhile you would tend to your mother's garden. You’d put on her straw hat too, just to make it feel like you were with her.

When you were little, you’d pull the weeds out of flower beds as your mom pruned her lavender. It was her dearest plant, and she treated them so, regularly nursing it to keep it alive. She’d motion for you to come with her and pick up the shears from the gardening shed. Eagerly obedient, you did as she said, and you would work together until called for lunch. Your mother was always a vivaciously elegant woman, always knowing the right things to say and charming anyone she met. You often wondered why you hadn’t inherited her brilliance, the one that made her seem as if she was glowing in any room she inhabited. It was odd that she’d often claim her ability to converse was her greatest ability when the two got along best when moving in silence.

You did your best to care for the plant too. Before you mom left, she asked to handle their upkeep. You took your duty seriously, checking in on them every day until you saw one sign of disarray.

That summer was like playing house. And although you never admit, for the fear that he’d read too much into and freak, it was exactly as you had often dreamed it to be. June and July passed quickly, and you hadn’t even noticed it. You imagined a life where it could just be you two forever, away from your parents and outside of stifling Massachusetts.

You imagined a life in an apartment described as ‘quaint,’ by the realtor to disguise the incredible small square footage. You wondered if he would like to be in a city like New York or Chicago. Somewhere that was always busy, and the chirping of morning birds was replaced by honking cars.

By the time August had rolled around, you could practically hear the unmistakable sound of the school bell ringing in your ear, warning you of its proximity. Thoughts about the future had you asking Angus one bleary Sunday afternoon, “Are you nervous about starting high school?”

Angus was pushing you on the tire swing, trying to give you motion sickness by twisting the ropes of the swing and letting them untangle a second later.

“Not really. It’ll be like eighth grade just with more tests.”

“I guess. But aren’t you nervous about making new friends and stuff? What if we tangled ourselves into a web so deep that we can’t talk to other people normally.”

“Then I have done my job of keeping you to myself.”

“Haha,” you deadpan, “Seriously though. Won’t you miss having me to talk to?”

“Of course I will. But you’ll write to me and crap… right?”

“Of course,” you echo his words back to him, “You’ll visit me when you get the chance too, correct?”

“Eh. If I’m not busy.”

“Angus!”

“Yes! Obviously, I will.” He pushes you a little harder.

“I do want you to be more out there though. Don’t go sulking in corners like you always do. People would really like you if you let them talk to you for more than one minute.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother Y/n.”

“Seriously though. Did you notice we’re always addressed as ‘Y/n and Angus’ by teachers. Never just Y/n and never just Angus.”

“Yeah. But I like it. It’s like Bonnie and Clyde. You can’t separate them because then it sounds plain wrong.”

“Okay Clyde,” you roll your eyes. You stop swinging, scraping your shoes through the dirt until you are still.

“I’m giving us two weeks before we break down to each other over the phone.” You lose the hold you have on the tire swings and let them drop onto your lap. You simmer under the sun and enjoy the breeze that flows through your hair.

“Don’t go replacing me when you get to your school.”

“Don’t worry, you got a head start seven years ago. No one else will be able to catch up,” you smile teasingly. “Maybe I’ll find myself a boyfriend though. About time for the both of us, don’t you think?”

He frowns, “You don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do. Everyone else does.”

“Since when do you do what other people do? I think you should stop talking to people who peer pressure you,” he flicks your forehead.

“Why?” You rub your forehead, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” You smirk.

“Gross! No! I was just kidding. Get a boyfriend, I don’t care.”

“You wouldn’t care if I got a boyfriend?” You look at him skeptically.

“As long as he treats you nice and shit,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s just that we do everything together Angus. There are some things I would like to get over with that I can’t do with you.”

“Like what?” Angus wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Like hold hands and go to bowling alleys or whatever.”

“We’ve done that.”

“I like…kiss,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands.

“Oh,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So would you want to do that … now?”

“What!” You shout, leaping off the swing and walking a few steps away from him. “I’m not asking you to,” you clarify, shaking your head.

“No, but I would like to be over and done with it too… so maybe we should just…” He motions his finger between you two.

“Uhm,” you laugh, tilting your head, “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’ll be just to check it off the list,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Um, yeah, okay,” you move closer to him in small timid strides. “You lean in though. I read that the guy is supposed to do that in my mother's Cosmopolitan.”

“Right, right,” he nods eagerly, interlocking your fingers together. With hesitancy he leans his head down and pulls you even closer to the point where you are bumping your noses. You close your eyes, and it's like your brain begins to spin like those show wheels with choices on them. Your brain tries to land on a feeling but loops on endlessly. His lips are softened by the humidity, and you don’t even notice it is over until a couple seconds after he pulls away.

When you think back on it, it really was the most 'first kiss moment’ to ever exist. It was more of a peck, both of you were bright red and shortly after you were as stiff as statues. Not knowing what else to do, Angus clears his throat and removes his hands from yours to wipe them on his shirt. “So, uh, what does your mothers Cosmo say to do afterward?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “I don’t know. I didn’t read that far.”

…

Christmas Eve - December 24th, 1970

After that summer, when you shared a weepy goodbye and headed off to your own high schools, it was undeniable that something had shifted between you both. Even if it often went unspoken. Neither you nor Angus had brought it up, but on occasion you would acknowledge it. Like last night after leaving the auditorium to return to the common room and pick up the dishes, your eyes drifted to the TV where a cheesy kiss scene was happening on screen. The two of you shared a knowing look that said, “That’s not how ours went down,” before shutting the television off and helping Mary into a more comfortable sleeping position.

You tried not to dwell on the past, but it was hard not to when the only thing in your childhood that had always been good, always been constant, was Angus. Every time you looked into his eyes it was like the decade you had spent together flashed by in a sequence of blurs. All he had to do was breathe a specific way in his sleep to remind you of some obscure memory that had died but he had brought back to life.

This morning you felt like you were ten again and Angus was trying to steal your bread rolls at Thanksgiving dinner. Except today he tried swiping your bacon as you shoved him off playfully.

“Get your own Angus,” you say playfully.

“I’ll trade you for my toast,” he offers.

Rolling your eyes you accept, grabbing the bacon and shoving it in his mouth, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says, muffled.

You munch on your toast and catch Mr. Hunhams stare.

“I see you two finally made up,” he comments with a sly smile on his face.

“Mm-hmm,” you cover your mouth with your hand as you chew and turn away embarrassed.

Mary joins you all a second later, emerging as usual with her coffee and a cigarette. She switches between eyeing the two men infront of her, “Why’d you two miss supper last night?”

Mr. Hunham and Angus freeze. “We went into town on, uh, some school-related business.”

“And you couldn’t call? You left me and Y/n out in the cold.”

“Yeah Angus,” you pout at him as he nudges your ankle under the table.

“Sorry,” Hunham turned to you, “And to Ms. L/n.”

“No worries. Really. I had fun,” you smile up at Mary who pats your shoulders gently.

Danny, a man you had been introduced to a few days ago, enters with a mop and bucket. You wave to him which he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.

“Good morning, everybody.”

“Hi, Danny,” Mr. Hunham greets.

“Good morning. You can go on in and make yourself a plate,” Mary points to the kitchen.

“I just saw something funny,” Danny focuses onto your friend. “I walked into the gym, and somebody had vomited in there.”

Mary and you raise your eyebrows in sync.

“You don’t say. I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Hunham feigns surprise.

“Yeah, me neither,” Angus wipes his mouth as he speaks.

“I’ll look into that right away. Thank you,” he dismisses the conversation.

“Mm-hmm. I see how it is. Trying to leave us out of your boy's club,” Mary tsks. Danny places the custodian supplies beside Angus' chair and walks away.

“Gross Angus,” you say, like it's his full name. You shake your head in disappointment. He nudges your ankle harder, shaking the silverware above. You fight back, beginning to use your hands as a defense. You two are soon in a game of tug of war.

“Knock it off you two! You are acting like fractious children!” Mr. Hunham scolds and stands up from his seat. Across the table, he tries to part your hands. “This is not how young scholarly men and women behave!”

You and Angus are too drunk on laughter to care. …

You and Angus are in a search for Mr. Hunham who stomped away upon realizing stopping you two was a fruitless cause. You intend to apologize; Angus intends to nod along as you speak. You follow the chatter you hear coming from the kitchen to find Mary replacing you as you as her sous chef.

“Hey that's my job,” you point at the potatoes Mr. Hunham is peeling.

“That’s the culinary industry for you. It’s cut-throat. You still want to be a part of it?” Mary peers over her glasses.

You run a hand through your hair, shrugging. “Um. Mr. Hunham?”

He stops his task, “Yes Miss L/n?”

“I want to apologize for my-,” Angus clears his throat, “Our behavior. You were right. It was very inappropriate. Emily Post would turn in her grave.”

“She certainly would. I accept your apology, however unnecessary. I understand it was that childlike spirit in you that is still intact that came out.”

You shoot him a quizzical look. “Uh yeah…”

Angus gasps behind you as he notices the tray of brownies on a table beside him.

“Brownies? God, yes. I want all of these.”

“Each of you just take one. The rest are for the Christmas party tonight.”

Angus snags you a brownie before practically chomping his down.

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He perks up like a dog being told he’s going out for a walk.

“Yeah, at Miss Crane’s house. I’m only gonna go for a little bit, show my face and say I was there. You know Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

“Who’s Miss Crane?” You ask, inspecting the brownie and wondering what Mary does so differently to get it to taste so good.

“School secretary,” said Angus with a full mouth. “Just one of the loveliest faculty members at Barton,” said Mr. Hunham at the same time.

A beat passed as you all noted the flustered expression that passed through Mr. Hunham face.

“Ah- anyways, she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

“If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take them.”

“Mary can take us,” problem solved, Angus thinks.

“Oh! Okay… so we are going! I packed a dress that’s been collecting dust in my luggage.”

“No, that’s not how it works. You’re under my supervision,” Mr. Hunham reminds.

“Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around reading books all day, but I am losing my goddamn mind! Jesus!” Angus' suddenness makes you flinch. You avoid the flying brownie as he storms past you.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man. Not on Christmas Eve!” Mary yells after him.

“You, see?” Mr. Hunham points at his retreating figure. “I can’t trust him in a social situation.”

“Mr. Hunham, if you’re too chickenshit to go to that party, then just say so. But don’t fuck it up for the little asshole or his sweet little angel of a friend! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a party. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Hunham said so quietly you could hardly hear him.

“Shit. Now you’ve got me nervous,” Mary wipes her hands on her apron.

You’re still standing there until they hear you go retreat the brownie and throw it in a nearby waste bin. “I could replace those?” You laugh uncomfortably.

“That’s alright sweetie. I want to come out of this party with my reputation intact,” Mary winks.

“Ouch,” you clutch your heart jokingly. “So can I go get dolled up?” …

Someway, somehow, Mary had gotten Hunham to take you to the party. You got ready in the room Ye-Joon and Alex had occupied before. You hadn’t anticipated wearing anything fancy, so the dress you had was a relatively simple one. It was red which fit the Christmas theme well enough and ended just above your knees. You hoped Mr. Hunham wouldn’t make a big deal out of it like Ms. Orchard probably would. You wore flats and did your hair the best you could without products. Although you had managed to give it some more volume by using some leftover soda cans that had yet to be thrown out. It was a common hack all Janie Patrick School girls learned in their freshman year. It was practically a seminar, as the senior girls taught you how to roll them into your hair just right.

You waltz out of your room, feeling as fresh as a daisy and catch Angus shaving. You sneak up behind him, putting your hands on his shoulder and looking at him through the mirror. “What is there to shave Augie? You’re as clean shaven as a newborn baby,” you tease.

You try to check your makeup and feel Angus stiffen under your touch. You remove your hands and see him staring at you open-mouthed.

“What?” You panic. Had you screwed up your hair? Was your mascara too clumpy on your lashes?

“Nothing,” he gives you a once over as he gulps. “You just, you look, you… you look pretty.”

“Oh,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. It’s just the makeup.”

“No, it’s not that. You always look pretty; I just never have a reason to tell you. But I can… today.”

“You look handsome everyday too…” you fidget with your hands.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him bashfully. Quickly you take the razor from his hands, “even more handsome once you change. We’re going to be late."

You run back to your room and try to regulate your breathing. In the reflection of the fogged-up window, you admire yourself momentarily. You suppose you do look pretty tonight. …

You four travel in Mr. Hunhams rickety car. You awe at the town Christmas lights before arriving in front of what you assumed to be Miss Cranes house. One by one you all enter, lingering by the front door like wallflowers. You inch closer to Angus, self-conscious suddenly. You loop your arms together when Miss Crane enters to greet you.

“Oh, hi. Oh, you made it! Welcome,” she pauses to address you and Angus, “Aw hi!”

“I'm so glad you're here,” she tells Mary.

She laughs at the flattery and refers to the brownies, “Where should I put these?”

“Um, oh,” Miss Crane lifts the cloth draped over the tray and gasps, “Those, I’ll be putting on my bedside table.”

“Oh! You're a wicked woman.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she takes the tray off Mary's hands.

“Certainly a lot of people here,” Hunham comments, surveying the room. It is lively with Christmas classics blasting on the radio and kids running around playing tag. The entire house is decked out, almost looking like the spirit of Christmas had barfed out the decorations. Some adults take a swing of their liquor, others smoke, others do both as they chat.

“Yeah, yeah. Some family, friends from town. Only you guys from work.”

“That’s my mom on the couch,” She points to an older lady sitting by the silver and blue Christmas tree. Next to the woman dancing with her toddler who wears no pants. “Uh, that’s my sister Kathy and her son Marvin.”

As she continues to point out each invitee you wander with Angus further into the living room. He seems captivated by a snow globe on a mantel. He shakes it and watches as the snow falls around Santa. You too are enchanted by the sweet melody that plays from it.

“Angus!” Miss Crane snaps you both from your trance. Miss Crane stands next to a girl who appears to be around your age.

“This is Angus Tully. He’s one of our students at Barton. Angus, this is my niece, Elise,” she introduces.

“Niece Elise. Nice,” he glances at you, hoping you got the joke as Elise rolls her eyes at his word play. You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And is his friend Y/n L/n. She goes to the school across the lake from Barton. Janie Patrick’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” you stretch out your hand for her to shake. She does so awkwardly.

“And this is Mr. Hunham. He’s one of our finest teachers. History, right?

“Ancient Civilizations, yes”.

“And this is Mary Lamb. She’s the manager of the cafeteria.”

You don’t know why, but you start chewing your nails. A habit you had thought you had broken in the seventh grade. You bite down particularly hard every time Angus glances at Elise.

“Hey, why don’t you take Angus down to the basement and introduce him to our family tradition?” Miss Crane has a hint of something you can’t identify in her voice.

“Come on,” Elise tilts her head and hesitantly he seems to follow.

“Um. What about Y/n? Can’t she come?”

“Don't worry about that! I have someone I think she would like to meet,” Miss Crane nudges you forward.

“Oh?” you say worriedly.

Elise takes Angus away by the hand and distantly you hear him call out, “Wait what?”

“His name is Joseph Leery. He’s a freshman at Yale!” she gushes.

“Oh? Great? Go bulldogs? That’s the mascot, right?”

“Honey, save your charm for him!”

…

Angus descends downstairs. He repeatedly glances behind him, desperately searching for the remaining bits of your voice. “Um. Maybe I should go back upstairs? My friend Y/n doesn’t do so well with crowds so.”

“Nonsense! She’ll be fine. If I know Auntie Lydia, she’s probably introducing her to the Leery's son, Joe.”

“Joe?” Angus scowls at the name.

“Yeah. Family friend of ours.”

Elise leads him to an arts and craft table, full of scattered red, green, silver and white pipe cleaners. Glitter is spilled everywhere, and the kids take their time decorating their popsicle sticks.

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I grew up playing down here during my aunt’s parties. I think it’s kind of cool. There’s a purity to it. I mean, every child is an artist. The problem is remaining an artist when we grow up. Picasso said that.”

“Picasso’s cool,” Angus digs his hand further into his front pockets, “I saw Guérnica once. You know, the big mural, with the horse,” He tries to mimic it as best he can.

“Yeah, I know Guérnica. You really saw it?”

“Yeah. At the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It’s huge. My dad took me.” And Y/n too, he wants to say. Although if what Elise said was true, that Miss Crane fancied herself a modern-day cupid, then he figures he should try not to scare her off by bringing up another girl.

Although it's hard not to think of you when he thinks of his dad. His dad liked puzzles which you happened to have a plethora of that your parents had bought you to keep you entertained during long plane rides. This was before they trusted you enough to leave home alone.

In the winter you’d sit by the fireplace and lay out the puzzles of Monet’s Water Lilies. Then when the spring would offer you limited warmth, you’d all be found in the backyard of Angus’s house trying to piece together Van Gogh's Starry Night.

So many art inspired puzzles eventually had Angus’s father turn to you both and asking, “How would you guys like to see these in real life?”

That easter break had you three crammed into a yellow taxicab and enjoying New York pizza slices.

“Hey Guérnica,” she breaks through his nostalgia plagued mind, “You just gave me an idea,” she smiles.

…

Mr. Hunham stands by the funky-looking Christmas tree when he feels someone’s lips crash onto his cheek.

“Oh!” He says shocked. He feels as if he had just been dumped into a cold bucket of water.

“Mistletoe!” Miss Crane laughs, pointing at the little green and red plant that hangs on the ceiling. She hands him the Jim Beam he asked for earlier as she wipes the side of his face clean to get rid of any lipstick that might have been transferred.

“Yes, of course,” he laughs along, unsure of what else to do but to let her caress his face. “I didn’t you know you were quite the mastermind.”

Miss Crane tilts her head and motions him to elaborate

“Playing matchmaker for Mr. Tully and Ms. L/n.”

“Oh! Well, when Angus said they weren’t an item I figured they’d were itching for a chance to mingle outside of their little circle. I hope I didn’t overstep anything. After all I imagine they don’t get many opportunities to openly chat with people of the opposite sex! Dating is crucial in shaping character.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Mr. Hunham agrees, unsure if that is fact or fiction. He is awful at letting silence just be silence, so he does what he does best. Spew nonsensical facts.

“You know, it’s interesting. Aeneas carried mistletoe with him when he descended into Hades in search of his father.”

“Oh. Huh…” Now it is Miss Crane who is unsure of what to do with that.

“Um. Anyways. I like your tree. It’s really space age,” he comments and is hit slightly in the shoulder by her enthusiastic hand.

“I brought it to commemorate the moon landing!”

“Really? Wow.”

Miss Crane takes a sip of her punch, “So where is your family this Christmas.”

“Nowhere. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was young.”

“And your father?”

“Let's just say I left home when I was fifteen.” If Mr. Hunham had known this was what small talk topics had evolved into, then he must have been right in avoiding social functions all this time.

“You ran away?” She guesses.

“Worse. I got a scholarship to Barton. And from there, I went to college and never looked back.”

“But you did a little,” she points out.

“Hmm?”

“I mean you came back here.”

“Ah.” He really did not feel like being questioned so heavily tonight. Not to pat himself in the back, but he believes he's credible enough to label himself as a decent writer, able to handle the equal weight of a pen and his words with ease. But as a conversationalist, he figures even one of the dimwits in his Ancient Civilization classes have him beat.

“It feels kind of like home I guess,” he muses, “and I guess I thought I could make a difference. I mean, I used to think I could prepare them for the world even a little. Provide standard and grounding that Dr. Greene always drilled into us.”

Mr. Hunham can feel himself run out of breath, “But, uh the world doesn’t make sense anymore. I mean it's on fire. The rich don’t give a shit. Poor kids are cannon fodder. Integrity is a punchline. Trust is just the name of a bank.”

“Well…” Miss Crane tries to soothe him by running her hand back and forth on his arm, “look, if that's all true then now is when they most need someone like you.”

Mr. Hunham knows when he is being humored and told what people he wants to hear. He looks at Miss. Crane and for the first time in a while he is looked back at with genuineness.

…

Elise and Angus finger paint on a wide piece of blank paper. He’s mixing the colors, and they all tend to come out looking a sickly brown. Elise covers her side with an untainted red. She seems to be more into it than him as she incorporates real swirls and shapes onto their canvas.

“Am I doing this right?”

“There is no right or wrong,” she reassures. He feels her stare linger on him for a second. He is scared to look up. “Are you okay? You seem… gloomy.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. But, uh, tell me about this Joe guy.”

She looks at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“Just curious. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of him around my school is all.”

“Well probably because he graduated over a year ago.”

“So, he’s in college.”

“Yes. A freshman at Yale.”

“Yale!” He shouts loud enough for even the kids to glare at him for disturbing their fun. “Sorry,” he apologies to them.

“Would you say he’s cool,” he asks a millisecond later.

Elise tries not to laugh at his blatant desperation, “Yeah I would say so.”

“Funny?”

“He's basically Gene Wilder.”

“The dude from The Producers?!”

“Yes, and he was also a football quarterback.”

“What.”

“And valedictorian, and the heir to the Campbell Soup Company.”

“What the hell? Is this guy superman or,” Angus takes a minute to recognize the smug face on Elise. Finally, she breaks out in a loud giggle.

“Oh,” Angus sighs in relief, “You’re messing with me.”

“A little,” she says through fits of laughter. “Anyways if you’re so worried why don’t you go back up there?”

“I was just worried that he would try something. But technically he sounds alright.”

“Ah. So, you’re jealous?”

Angus rolls his eyes, “No. I’m a concerned friend.”

“I’m not sure about that. Concerned friends don’t start interrogating the girl they are on a hypothetical date with.”

She leans down to point at a glob of paint in the corner of the paper, “I think you even doodled her name.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, going over it and trying to cover it up along with his embarrassment.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like this was going to go be framed at the MET.”

“What are you implying anyway,” he narrows his eyes.

“You’re going crazy being gone from her for two minutes. What do you think I’m implying?”

Angus slumps his shoulders and admits what had been ignoring. It's like a message in a bottle he threw into the sea, desperately trying to avoid the shore. Even when it does reach land, the cap is tightly sealed, clinging on to the bottle and doing it best to remain unread. When it does pop open and the paper is unfolded, although it might be difficult to read, the message still exists. It still exists even though time fought so hard to destroy it.

“I do think about her that way. Sometimes. Then the rational side comes out and tells me that it's human nature for a girl and guy friend to think about each other that way.”

“Well, does she know you think about her that way?”

“No. Sometimes I imagine she feels the same, but you’d have to know her to understand why I’m so confused. She’s the most thoughtful, kind, and perfect person in the world. It's hard to tell if she’s showing that side to everyone or if I’m special enough for her to give me that treatment.”

“You know Picasso also said that ‘Everything you can imagine is real’.”

“Are you Picasso's biographer?”

Without missing a beat, Elise smirks and says, “Yes.”

Angus is up the stairs without having thanking her, too fueled by adrenaline to practice basic manners. He’ll have to tell Miss Crane to pass on the memo. He’s on the hunt for you but is yanked into the house's kitchen by a mysterious hand.

“Hey?” He asks, disoriented.

Danny is staring straight at him, with both hands on either side of his shoulder.

“I need you to find Mr. Hunham,” he orders. Angus looks past the man to see Mary weeping heavily into the sink. Understanding, he nods firmly and is back out the door.

…

Joseph Leery is not half bad. He’s kind of funny, clever and not a bad person to pass the time with. You sit in the back of Miss Crane's living room on a couch all to yourselves. He tells you how he’s majoring in English in hopes of becoming a journalist.

“What kind of journalist?”

“Investigative. I would love to be the next Upton Sinclair. Or Seymour Hersch.”

“Ew! The Jungle made me so sick for a week after. It was so gross.”

“I know but that's what made it so great. Exposing the meat packing industry probably put him on a few hit lists too.”

“Oh yeah definitely. So, then who are you planning to expose?”

He laughs, “I don’t know yet. Is there any chance you’re planning on becoming some corrupt politician?”

“Not in the foreseeable future. I’ll let you know if I ever do,” you giggle.

“What are you planning to do then?”

“Then? Um... Like as president? I don’t know. Fund schools-.”

“No,” he laughs harder, “I mean like with college and life. Do you have anything planned out?”

“Erm, not really. My parents probably want me to go to the Ivy Leagues and crap. I should have a plan, I know, but I guess I’ve been putting it on the back burner.”

“Why?”

You shift in your seat. “I have this friend. He’s sort of had this rocky life, not I haven’t, and I know it's stupid to mold your entire life to fit around one person’s but for him I would.”

Joseph sniffs and straightens his posture. “Sorry. Lydia didn’t mention you having a boyfriend.”

“No, I don’t,” you stress, “I just really care for him, you know. We’ve known each other for so long. He’s important to me.”

“Y/n have you ever read Persuasion?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, not yet. I know the gist of it.”

“Well, it's ultimately about regret, right? Anne spends eight years longing for Wentworth when she could have been with him instead, had she not given into pressures. The point of the novel is not to wait to love the person you’re sure is it for you.”

“Love?” You hear someone say above you. You look up to see Angus, his arms stiff by his side. He glowers at Joseph. You jump off the seat and on operating on some strange reflex you go to fix his shirt collar that has stood up.

“What's wrong?”

“What were you guys talking about?” he interrogates.

“Books. Why?”

Angus doesn’t buy it but ignores the gnawing feeling in his gut, “Mary needs us in the kitchen. Go ahead, I still need to get Hunham.”

“Oh…Alright,” you turn and wave to your brief companion. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah maybe,” Joseph lifts his canned soda as if to say cheers.

You walk on ahead as Angus loiters behind, silently scrutinizing him.

Joseph takes a sip from his coke and points towards the direction you disappeared to. “Your girl went that way man.”

Angus rolls his eyes but leaves, nonetheless.

…

Miss Crane and Paul are sitting next to each other, their drink half-finished. They can feel the red tinge on their cheeks and themselves becoming looser.

“Are you planning anything special for tomorrow?” Lydia inquires.

“No. Why? Are you having a…”

“No, I just thought maybe you’d be doing something special for Angus and Y/n.”

Mr. Hunham shakes his head and Miss Crane lets out a small gasp, “You should! Help preserve some of the magic. Angus may be a little difficult, but he’s still just a kid. So is Y/n. And life catches up to them so fast. Them,” she stares at her lap, contemplating. “Ha. Us!”

“You’re a very sweet person, Miss Crane,” he compliments.

Miss Crane melts, “So are you, when you want to be,” she quips, “and it’s Lydia.”

He enjoys the feeling of camaraderie between them. He feels a cool breeze at the back of his neck and the sound of the door opening.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Miss Crane gets up and moves past him.

Mr. Hunham turns in time to see a man take off his coat, a gift under his arm. A moment later Miss Crane is there to receive him with a kiss. Together they walk away, and Mr. Hunham is left alone. Once again.

“Mr. Hunham, could you come with me, please?” Angus nearly trips as he stumbles over to the teacher.

“Yeah, what is it?” He sighs as he gets up with a groan.

“Come on, it's serious,” Angus leaps away. Peeking at him at the corner to see is Hunham is following, “Come on.”

Mr. Hunham is dragged into the kitchen, where he spots Mary, crying quietly to herself. Danny is next to her. You’re across the room biting your nails and hinting at Mr. Hunham to do something.

“Mary? You alright?” he questions, even though he knows it's in vain.

“Just leave me alone,” She mumbles.

“Want me to take you home?” Danny offers, placing what he thinks is a consoling hand on her back.

“Back off! Back off!” Mary whisper-shouts, her hands shaking down in anger. Mr. Hunham shuts the door, giving her privacy if nothing else.

“He’s gone,” she erupts into full on sobs. The mask comes off and she’s no longer Mary, the woman who appears to deal with grief like it was nothing but a bump on the road. Instead, it's Mary, who lost a son and whose grief has entirely consumed her until she can no longer breathe.

…

Angus and Mr. Hunham support Mary on both sides, as they make their way to the car. “I was right. This is why I hate parties. That was a disaster. Total disaster!”

“Speak for yourself. I was having a pretty profound conversation. I was about to make some serious life altering moves,” he blurts, angry and unable to believe his window opportunity was slammed shut. He had an internal plan. That'd he’d whisk you away from stupid Joseph and ask you to dance, maybe lead you to a mistletoe and see where it goes.

“With whom? The niece? Are you kidding me? This poor woman is bereft, and all you can think about is some silly girl.”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m not talking about Elise; I'm just saying this is the first good thing that came from being in this prison with you.”

“Need I remind you it’s not my fault you’re stuck here? Do you think I want to babysit you? I was praying to the God I don’t believe in that your mother would pick up the phone, or your father would arrive in a helicopter or a submarine or a flying fucking saucer to take you-.”

“My father’s dead,”

“Angus-,” he hears you say but he holds up his hand for you to stop speaking.

Mr. Hunham stops dead in his rant, “But I thought your father-.”

“That’s just some rich guy my mom married. Give me your keys,” he sticks out his hand.

“It’s unlocked.”

Furiously, Angus stomps away. You excuse yourself from the two adults before doing your damnedest to not slip on the ice. Flats at this time of the year were not your best idea.

“Angus,” you reach him, tugging at the back of his jacket so that he’ll slow down. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“The thing about your dad,” you mumble.

“The way my mom and Stanley talk about him, he might as well be don’t you think?”

“You don’t mean that,” you scold. “What happened? Are you really this mad about Elise?”

“No. Damn it. I don’t even like Elise.”

“Oh,” despite the circumstance, you can’t help but feel giddy. “Then what is it?”

“You seemed to be having a pretty good time yourself with Joe on that couch.”

“Joe?” You cross your arms. “You mean Joseph?”

“Oh great. You have a nickname for him.”

“Angus, Joseph is his legal name, that's the opposite of a nickname.”

“I don’t want to talk about Joe,” he says. You both reach the end of the block where Hunhams car is parked. In the distance you see them come closer, their feet crushing the white snow.

“You brought him up,” you massage your temple. You think back of the endless list of books you have read, or the many movies you’ve watched. You scour through the genres. You think of how Joseph managed to connect to life. You think of the rewatch of Cactus Flower with Mary. How envious Ingrid Bergman character was every time she saw Julian talk to Toni.

“Angus, were you jealous of Joseph?”

He stops his ongoing struggle with the car handle, finally prying it open.

“Were you jealous of Elise?” he asks you.

You frown and fixate on the pavement; your nails dig into your palm as your hands turn into fists. Deafening silence engulfs you before Angus exhales heavily. Before you can speak, Mr. Hunham arrives and motions for you to scooch over so he can open the passenger side for Mary.

“Sorry,” you apologize and get in the backseat.

“Straight to bed you hear me,” Mr. Hunham warns once you are all buckled in. “Enough theatrics for one day.”

“Mmhmm,” Angus responds, but all he is doing is looking at you.

#angus tully #the holdovers #angus tully x reader

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beskarandblasters · 3 days

Text

Stonecatcher

Chapter Three: Let Me Be Your Stonecatcher Please

Din Djarin x OFC Athalia (Second Person POV)

Artwork: The Lovers by René Magritte Gif: @cherubispunk Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Series summary: An up-and-coming bounty hunter and a promising arms dealer cross paths on Dantooine. What starts as a business relationship quickly becomes more. How long can you bury your emotions and be a stonecatcher for someone else before you finally snap?

Series warnings: pre season one of The Mandalorian, instant smut but slow burn romantically, Athalia is able-bodied but other than that has no physical description, angst

Chapter summary: While on a supply run to Coruscant, you run into Mando.

Word count: 3.4k

Chapter warnings: anxiety, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal sex, creampie

You’re on your way to Coruscant for a supply run, the first one you’ve ever had to do. This opportunity sort of fell into your lap. One of your new customers, Clint, was buying a blaster from you when he told you he knew a guy in Dantoo Town who was going to Coruscant. The contact in question, Sid, was looking for others to join the trip so long as they chip in on fuel. That agreement seemed fair to you so you said yes.

You’re leaning against the window of a ship, cheek pressed up to the cool glass, and staring out into the vastness of space. You’ve never left Dantooine, much less ventured out of Casia more than a handful of times, and yet you’re handling space travel better than you anticipated. The chatter among the passengers turns into white noise as you close your eyes, imagining what Coruscant is like. It’ll be weird to be around so many people, so many speeders, and so little nature for once.

Once you get to Coruscant, you’ll head to the lower levels, a place Sulee warned you about. You’re not sure how she knows so much about them considering that you’re almost certain she’s also never left Dantooine. Yet she has mysterious knowledge and wisdom that you definitely took into consideration for your journey.

Mind your business.

Don’t make eye contact with strangers.

Keep your head low.

Don’t let anyone walk all over you.

You’re nervous but also excited. You’re excited to see a new place and for this wonderful business opportunity.

But you can only think about your future endeavors for so long until your mind eventually wanders…

Mando.

It’s been another few weeks since you’ve seen him. You wonder what he’s doing. Probably off chasing another bounty.

You didn’t expect to see him after the first time you crossed paths. And yet you did. That has to mean something. It’s unfortunately all you’ve been able to think about. You told Sheva about the event that led you to miss the party at the cantina. But you’ve neglected to tell Sulee, assuming that in her old-fashioned ways, she’ll tell you that casual sex is a bad idea. Even though you think it’s already growing deeper, that a meaningful connection is already being forged. But all this begs the question;

When will you see him again?

You’ll get your answer soon enough.

Sid lands the ship in a docking yard while you stare out the window. Neon lights flash in your face and heavy raindrops pelt the windows. He reminds everyone that the ship will be leaving by mid-morning the next day, before disembarking. You’re doing this supply run alone. So you’ll have to meet the supplier, pay them, and carry everything back to the ship on multiple trips.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Sid asks as you head down to the lower levels. He must be going there, too.

You look over at him, watching as he shivers in the rain and noticing how the wet strands of hair stick to his forehead. He’s a human male, a couple of inches taller than you, with dark skin and warm eyes. His hair sits at his shoulders and goosebumps prick his skin where it’s exposed. You’ve only met him once before coming here but so far he’s proven to be a valuable contact and also a good friend.

“I do.”

“Do you need me to show you where to go? You know the password?”

“You did enough by getting me here. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hang around the area if you need me. Chances are I’ll be in a cantina.”

“Sounds good,” you chuckle, bidding him goodbye before you head to the meet-up spot.

You’ve heard rumors of a sort of flea market for arms in the lower levels. Sid seemed to validate that it does indeed exist. He said it’s on Centurion Street, inside of a clinic. You have to approach the front desk and say the phrase, “I need a central processor for my Protocol Droid.”

You’re not nervous. You’ve got Sulee’s advice repeating in the back of your mind and a blaster attached to your belt. If you want to break into this industry, you need to know how to navigate it and how to interact with the clientele, plus all of the other shifty characters that come with territory.

You wander the streets before locating the correct street. It’s slightly less busy on Centurion Street but still just as shady. Your hand hovers above your blaster and you pray to the Maker you won’t need it. Soon you find the clinic and it definitely looks fake. You head inside and get a brief refuge from the rain. You’re the only one in the lobby and the overhead fluorescent light is somehow worse than the neon sign. Everything is absurdly clean, a harsh contrast to the neighborhood the clinic is in. You approach the front desk where the receptionist is sitting and tell her the code, half expecting her to laugh in your face. She gives you a knowing look and gets up to let you in. You follow her behind the desk and into an open doorway. And it’s a little underwhelming. For some reason, you were picturing a large secret market place but it’s just a guy in a back room with an absurd amount of weapons.

“Who sent you?” the man asks.

“Sid Clemon.”

“He didn’t come with you?”

“Nah, he decided to hit up a cantina.”

“Typical. Tell him don’t be a stranger,” he says before turning around to comb through his stock.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Anything and everything.”

You buy a decent chunk of his stock, mainly different types of blasters and a few thermal detonators. It takes you a couple of trips to get it all back to Sid’s ship. The man who sold them to you (whose name you didn’t get) didn’t offer to help you but you didn’t expect him to either. He did help you load all the product into large gray bags, telling you “Can’t be out there on the street with all of this out in the open. Can’t be showing your cards to just anyone.”

After the last trip, you head back down to the street, deciding to look for Sid in random cantinas and find out what to do next until you leave. Are you expected to sleep on the ship in the docking yard? Or are you supposed to find a random motel to stay at?

The rain has let up but everything is still rather wet, including your clothes. And now that the rain has gone away the street is even more crowded. You scan your surroundings, looking for a sign for a cantina. But you find something else instead.

There he is, standing in the busy street. Not Sid– Mando. Although you can’t see his face, you can tell by his body language that he’s overwhelmed. His helmet swivels in all directions, trying to keep an eye on every person around him. But it’s hard when the streets are packed with people shoulder-to-shoulder.

He still hasn’t noticed you yet. Instead of bursting through the crowd to head towards him, you wait. You wait for him to notice you. And when he does you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach. For some reason, it excites you to see him at a place other than Dantooine.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, placing a hand on the small of your back and guiding you off to the side.

“Supply run.”

“It’s not safe here.”

“I can hold my own, you know,” you say, tapping the blaster attached to your belt.

“Do you… need help?”

‘What do you mean?”

“Carrying stuff back to your ship.”

“Oh! I already finished, but thanks for the offer.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Killing time. We’re not leaving until tomorrow morning.”

“Who are you here with?”

“Just some guys from Dantoo Town.”

“Are they going to miss you for a few hours?”

“No… Why?”

He points to something behind your head so you turn to follow his gaze. Across the street is a neon sign for a motel that looks abysmal at best. Is he suggesting that you get a room together?

“Are you asking me to”

“Yes,” he says abruptly, replacing the hand on the small of your back and walking you towards the motel.

“Are we splitting it?” you ask.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He’s taking you to a motel. He’s paying for it. Stay calm. Stay calm.

It all happens so fast. He books a room and pays for it with a hefty handful of credits, leading you down the hallway. Once you’re in the room, he lets go of you, collapsing onto the bed.

“Are you… alright?” you ask, walking over to the side of the bed as the door closes behind you.

“I’m fine. I just don’t like this planet,” he says softly.

“Why?”

“Too many people.”

“Do they make you anxious?”

“...No.”

“It’s normal to get anxious, Mando.”

“Not for me.”

Poor guy. From what you’ve seen of him so far he doesn’t seem to be in touch with his emotions, which is why he’s rejecting his own anxiety.

“Can I help?”

“How?”

“You’ll see,” you say, moving to the foot of the bed.

The bulge in his flight suit catches your eye. He needs to be taken care of. You sink to the floor and motion for him to inch closer to you. He obliges, boots planted on the floor on either side of you. You palm his cock, hearing him groan while you touch him so delicately.

“You need to relax,” you tell him softly, increasing the pressure of your hand, “You’re so tense… Have you ever had anyone take care of you before?”

“...Not like this,” he says, poking up his helmet and looking at you.

“Lie back down,” you say gently, placing a hand on his breastplate and coaxing him to lie on his back again.

You remove his cock from his flight suit, watching it spring free from the confines of the fabric. You wrap your hand around the base, watching the pre-cum bead up at the tip of his cock before spilling over and running down his shaft. As you stroke him you watch the stress and exhaustion leave his body. He practically melts into the bed and it makes you feel good that you are the person to take care of him like this. Surely, he’s gotten head before, but probably not by someone who cares about him like this. You’re just assuming but you gather he’s not one for long-term relationships. It makes sense given his line of work but maybe he’s changing his ways. Why else would he cross the galaxy for you? He could’ve purchased that blaster anywhere. Maybe he’s developing feelings for you, too. Maybe he’s just not showing it.

You enclose your lips around the head of his cock while your hand continues to stroke him. Your other hand cups his balls, eliciting a deep moan from him.

“Feeling good?” you ask, pulling your mouth away for a moment.

“Mhm,” he moans, voice all strained and dripping with arousal.

You return your mouth to his cock and suck in your cheeks, watching as his hands grip the sheets at his sides. Your tongue slips in between the head of his cock and his foreskin, swirling around the sensitive tip. Saliva seeps out of your mouth and coats his shaft, making everything that much more effortless.

He melts into the bed as you bring him closer to the edge. But you’re not done with him just yet. You rise from the floor much to his dismay until he realizes what you’re doing. You peel off your wet clothes, nipples perking up in the cool air of the motel room. Goosebumps prick your skin and a shiver runs down your spine. He’s so attractive lying there on the bed, broad and spread out with his cock dripping in pre-cum. For once you’ll get to be face-to-face (well really face-to-helmet) when you fuck. The arousal drips down your legs as you get onto the bed, straddling him with your entrance grazing the head of his cock.

He doesn’t protest you straddling him. He embraces it instead, hands gravitating to your waist. You lower yourself onto his cock, slowly taking all of his length. He groans, reveling in the feeling of your warmth encapsulating his cock.

“Kriff, you feel good,” he says, squeezing your waist.

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling his cock sink into you deeper. You rest your hands on his breastplate, staring directly into the visor of his helmet. You lean forward, bringing your face closer to the black T shape.

“You’re so big, Mando,” you moan, voice getting high pitched on the last word as his cock hits a sensitive spot.

“Mmm, you take it so well, ruusaan,” he says, voice sultry and silky smooth.

Ruusaan. What does that mean?

You don’t have time to think about it as he jerks his hips up into you. You’re getting closer and closer to coming, and tingling sensations run throughout your body. Your fingers grip the edge of his breastplate, clinging for purchase as you rock your hips back and forth even faster. He’s getting closer, too, strained moans come out from underneath the helmet.

Your orgasm erupts from your core and your sounds of pleasure fill the small motel room. His orgasm is triggered by the sensation of yours, spilling over the edge thanks to your cunt clenching his cock. He guides the movement of your hips as you both cum, feeling you squirm and writhe while you ride out your high.

Once you’re done coming you pull yourself off of him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. You catch a glance of your wet clothes on the floor and get up to set them on the heater, wondering what’s next for you two. Normally, he leaves.

This time he doesn’t. Instead, his chest heaves up and down. You just want to take care of him again.

“Mando?” you ask, turning to face the bed. He doesn’t sit up. He remains where he is, his chest rising and falling as he tries to control his breath.

You glance at the chair at the desk across the room and walk over to it, pulling it out for him before reaching for his hand.

“Come sit.”

Reluctantly, he gets up from the bed and sits on the chair. His hands grip the armrests for dear life as if this is his way of releasing the stress. You stand behind the chair and ghost your hands over his shoulder pauldrons.

“Can I take these off?” you ask.

“Why?”

“To massage your shoulders?”

“Oh… Go ahead,” he says stiffly.

You remove each pauldron and place them on the desk, bringing your hands to his sore muscles. He’s as stiff as a board as you touch him and you have to gently remind him to relax.

“Relax,” you whisper beside his helmet.

You rub his shoulders like you’re absorbing his stress and anxiety. He slumps into the chair, helmet thrown back. You imagine his eyes are closed underneath.

Is this what peace looks like?

He falls asleep on the chair. You let him. It seems like he really needed the rest. Your clothes dry in the meantime and you get stressed again. It’s the middle of the night and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do until it’s time to go. Maybe you’ll sleep in the bed? And secretly hope he’ll wake up and join you.

That’s a reality you’ll only see in your dreams, though.

When you wake up you’re greeted by darkness. He must’ve turned the lights off. You feel around for him in the bed but he’s not there. Perhaps he’s still sleeping in the chair? Maybe he didn’t want to encroach on your space in the bed.

You reach for the lamp on the nightstand which illuminates an empty room. You’re alone. Sadness builds in your gut. He just… left you.

But not without a word. There’s a note on the nightstand. It reads;

Thanks for the massage. Catch you back in Casia.

At least he left a note.

You do one final look over of the room before leaving, grabbing his note and putting it in your bag. You set out into the early morning and wonder where Mando is now. You’re one of the first people to arrive back at Sid’s ship, waiting around in the stillness of a quiet Coruscant for once, before the planet wakes up. But eventually, you’re joined by the others.

“Jeez Athalia, did you stay up all night?” Sid asks, laughing at your disheveled state.

“Something like that,” you sigh.

“You could’ve stayed in the ship,” he points out, lowering the exit ramp.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, slumping into the same passenger seat you sat in on the way here.

The other passengers talk amongst themselves as you lean against the cool window of the ship. Sid takes off and before you can fall asleep you think about what he called you.

Ruusaan.

You’ll have to ask him what that means next time you see him.

There is one thing that’s certain- you have a lot you need to tell Sheva about.

Once you’re settled back in Casia with all of your purchases put away, you head to the cantina to tell Sheva about your trip.

She places her hand over her heart when she sees you, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” you say, chuckling as you sit down at the bar.

“To be honest I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back.”

“What do you mean?!”

“Come on, the lower levels are sketchy.”

“Well, I survived.”

“Congrats.”

“Anyway… I have something I have to tell you.”

“Spill,” she says, leaning on the countertop.

“I saw Mando again.”

“On Coruscant?!”

“Mhm.”

“Like you just happened to run into him?”

“Yup. On the street.”

“And how did that go?”

“We spent the night at a motel together.”

“Wow, things seem like they’re getting serious.”

You bite your lip and grimace. If only that were true.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Well… he left in the middle of the night.”

“He what?!”

“I mean he left a note!”

“But still… Girl, that’s suspicious.”

“I don’t think so. I think he just has an issue with commitment.”

“Do you have the note?”

You reach for your bag and pull out the folded-up piece of paper from the motel, handing it to her as she looks at it with a raised eyebrow.

“ ‘Thanks for the massage. Catch you back in Casia’… Girl, what is this?”

“I found him on the street. He took me to a motel where we had sex and then I rubbed his shoulders after. He seemed stressed,” you shrug.

“Exactly! He’s using you.”

“What?? No, he’s not.”

“He buys your products, has sex, and then leaves every single time. Except this time your “product” was in the form of a massage.”

“…You don’t think he’s feeling anything for me?” you ask, starting to feel doubtful.

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not saying he doesn’t… I’m just telling you to be careful.”

“Thanks…” you say, getting up from your stool, “I’ll be careful. I promise”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No!” you half-lie, “I’m just tired from the trip.”

“I get it… Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” you tell her, smiling at her before turning and leaving. The evening rush is just starting to make its way to the cantina. You’re tired from the trip but you also need to think about what Sheva said.

You don’t think he’s using you but also… so what if he is? You can take it until he fully realizes his feelings.

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Tag list: @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @freelancearsonist @djarins-cyare @survivingandenduring @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @chiyo13 @pedrostories @schnarfer @burntheedges

If you like my work, consider supporting me on Ko-fi!

#stonecatcher #din djarin x oc #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x original character #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian smut

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saintbleeding · 1 year

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i think jon jarchivist should get to have some ability on piano as a treat

#not a Ton (i sorta hc him having eds and i Know from Experience that means piano is tricky)#but i just imagine someone like him would be able to play some chords and flesh out accompaniments by ear #like he knows enough piano to accompany his own singing when he’s a little tipsy and there’s one nearby #maybe his grandmother had one that was more intended as ornamental #a weathered brown upright perhaps #and when she was out and he was old enough to be left alone he began figuring things out #maybe in the books she’d get him there were sometimes music theory books and he learned enough about keys and bass and chord inversions #that he picked up a little bit of skill #and kept practicing #bc us adhd havers can form habits when we’re not Meant to >:3 #and now something something i have an image of him drunkenly at the piano #singing ‘the baffled king composin hallelujah’#then he tries to get thru the chorus and maybe it’s s3 maybe it’s s4 maybe he starts crying #who knows! jon playing piano mediocrely! ur welcome!

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nerdie-faerie · 1 year

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It seems to really be hitting my mum just how young she was when she had me in light of her upcoming birthday

#+Extra #like on the one hand she feels old cus its a big birthday coming up but on the other hand it seems to only just be hitting her just #how young she is to have a 22 year old daughter which is frankly old news at this point she was always too young just in denial #we had a very odd conversation last night in which she started off by saying that my soon go be 18 yr old brother and the 19 yr old #definitely arent responsible enough to watch the kids for a couple of hours while she gets her hair but then that its ridiculous that an #under 18 yr old (her phrasing) cannot open a bank account without a parent because she was entrusted with an entire human being at that #age and so he should be able to open a bank account by himself and i was listening like no thats the wrong conclusion its the opposite the #adults in your life shouldve been more concerned about you also what a revisionist recount saying that no one was concerned about you #having a baby at the age and it was probably because my dad was an adult so they felt they had no need to be concerned when i know all of #your family tried to express concerns that you wouldnt hear which led to years of animosity during my childhood staff at your college also #expressed concern as did your friends you just dont wanna admit that now. also how can they not be trusted with the kids for a couple of #hours when youre 15 minutes down the road as basically adults when 1 is going off to uni in September supposedly and the other has #basically moved out already and i was left entirely alone with the kids at younger than 15?#the sexism and gender stereotyping continues to perplex me #anyway hoping no one got to the end of this rant to add that im once again reminded that my birthday is actually just a day for my mum to #mourn the youth she missed out on by having a baby stupid young

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shisurus · 2 months

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this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

#im listening to fmab sad soundtrack while writing this im gonna die actually #dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 4 months

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Competing With Gods

Luke Castellan x Aphrodite!Reader, Apollo x uninterested!Reader

Request: Hi could you write luke castellan x reader, where Luke gets jealous of a guy who tries with y/n? How would he react if y/n is at the game? Thank you

Summary: When Apollo is sent to camp as a punishment, he sets his sights on Luke's girlfriend.

Warning: Fighting, jealousy, making out, the slightest allusions to/implied smut, Apollo being a dick

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

A/N So instead of another camper or whatever, I’m making the other guy Apollo.

Apollo crashed into the ground of Camp Half-Blood. Right in the middle of all the cabins. Great. He briefly cursed Zeus for this. He was being punished for flirting with a nymph the big guy was interested in. And when Apollo had told his father to maybe focus on his wife, Zeus banished him to Camp Half-Blood for a few weeks as a “warning.”

The Half-Bloods began to peek out of their cabins but one girl was already rushing over. Her hair fell over her shoulder so nicely as she kneeled over him. Okay, maybe camp wouldn’t be so bad. She gave him a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

“Now that you’re here,” he immediately started flirting. He enjoyed the way she immediately became flustered and jumped to his feet. She looked up at him in bewilderment. She saw him fall. She wasn’t a daughter of Apollo but he should have been suffering from at least a few broken bones. “I’m Apollo,” he clarified with a proud smirk. By now all the other campers within the vicinity were near enough to hear and kneeled. The girl did too, kneeling with a lowered head. He reached out a hand to her. She took it hesitantly, standing up. “Who are you, gorgeous?”

She became further embarrassed. How do I bring up Luke? She briefly wondered. “Y/N. Daughter of Aphrodite.”

“I should have known,” the god flirted. “What with those mesmerizing eyes.”

“Lord Apollo,” a voice interrupted him. He turned, finding Chiron trotting over. “My apologies, I was just notified of your arrival.”

“No worries,” the god smiled. The nice thing about not being around gods is that you get called things like Lord.

“Please,” Chiron began, gesturing over to a big house, “let me show you around. Your father has a few requests for you whilst here.”

“Of course he does,” he rolled his eyes. He turned back to the girl. “I’ll see you around, gorgeous,” he winked.

As he left all the campers were left in shock. Especially Y/N. And even more so, her boyfriend. Luke went up to her, finding her still in astonishment. “Sooo… that was weird,” he began, trying to not show his jealousy.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Was Apollo just flirting with me?”

“Yes!” Silena gushed as she ran up to her best friend/half-sister. “Oh my gods, a god is interested in you!” She then seemed to notice Luke and remember their relationship. “Oh- uh. Sorry, Luke.”

He just gave her a tight lipped smile.

“Oh my gods, what am I gonna do?” Y/N asked, clearly stressed out.

Luke shrugged, again trying not to show his jealousy. “Not much you can do. It’s not like you can tell him to leave you alone.”

“If you really don’t want him then you can tell him you have a boyfriend. And a sister,” Silena suggested with a raised eyebrow.

Her sister laughed. “I was trying to think of a way to mention Luke. And Silena, you’re 16.”

“He looks 18!” she insisted.

“Even if he was actually 18 I’d say he’s too old for you. Come on, the bathroom still needs to be cleaned after Drew decided she wanted to dye her hair black.”

“Yeah well, she’s crying now because she wants to be blonde again,” Silena explained as the sisters walked back to their cabin.

Feeling mildly ignored, Luke yelled after them. “I’ll see you at dinner!”

Remembering her boyfriend, Y/N ran back to him, pressing a peck on her lips. “Sorry. I’ll see you later.” He watched her go, trying to not think about it too much. She never forgot to kiss him goodbye but he tried to chalk it up to the fact that she was shocked by Apollo’s appearance.

That evening at dinner everyone had noticed the “new camper” sitting at the Apollo table looking very unhappy. Chiron stood up and called everyone’s attention. “As you all know, we have a very honored guest staying with us for a while. Lord Zeus had requested that we treat him as we would any other camper.” As he finished he gave us all a long, hard look as if to say, “Don’t get yourself killed when his immortality is restored.”

Once dinner finished, everyone was at the bonfire. Luke sat on the ground, his back resting up against a log. His girlfriend was leaning up against his shoulder, her legs over his lap. His free arm would occasionally swipe the mosquitos away from her with his other arm supporting her weight. They were talking to a few other campers when Luke let his gaze fall onto Apollo. Some campers, mostly girls from Aphrodite, sat around the god, looking at him with cartoon hearts in their eyes. He knew for a fact Y/N had told them to stay away as a. they were all minors and b. he was a god and she didn’t want to deal with their broken hearts.

When Apollo’s gaze fell on the girl in his lap, Luke tightened his grip protectively. He knew it was ridiculous. Y/N would never cheat on him and he knew she’d slap any guy who tried anything, immortal deity or not. But he couldn’t help but be worried. Hell, he had nearly punched an Ares camper last year and that kid wasn’t a god. And Apollo was known for his womanizing ways.

He tried to shake it off and go back to his conversation but his brain was still stuck on Apollo. “Hey,” he whispered so softly that only the girl in his lap could hear. She turned and he immediately kissed her. She kissed him back briefly but pulled away, not a huge fan of PDA especially in front of the entire camp. But Luke persisted, gently holding her cheek and kissing her deeply.

When she finally pulled away for breath she looked at him quizzically. “What was that for?”

He smiled and shrugged. “What? I can’t kiss my girlfriend?” She just smiled, pushing his head away jokingly before going back to her conversation. But he was looking at Apollo again, hoping the god saw that kiss. If he did, he was playing it off.

Later that night, when the fire was extinguished and he had kissed the Aphrodite counselor goodnight several times, Luke was trying to sleep. Keyword: trying. Normally the several snores or creeks of the Hermes cabin didn’t bother him, but he was so on edge thinking about Apollo’s flirting, that every noise jolted him awake. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Apollo had immediately begun to flirt with Y/N and how she had seemed to forget him for a moment.

Frustrated, Luke crept out of bed. As he opened the cabin door, he checked for harpies keeping watch but found none. So he went to the Aphrodite cabin, knocking on the window right above Y/N’s bed. It took a few tries but eventually, she poked her head up, gesturing to shut up and that she’d be out in a minute.

So Luke waited until she came around the side. “What?” she asked, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. But her hair was already falling back to the way its usual flawless look, courtesy of being Aphrodite’s daughter.

“I just wanted to see you,” Luke smiled sheepishly. And make sure Apollo isn’t sniffing around. He realized he didn’t have a reason to be out here that didn’t stem from insane jealousy. She looked mildly annoyed at that so he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her. If he couldn’t get rid of Apollo, he could completely occupy her mind. So he did the only thing he could think of. He was pushing her up against the side of the cabin, one hand on her jaw, the other around her waist.

She had no clue where this came from but she gave in nonetheless. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.

After a few minutes of making out, she finally managed to push him away enough to get a deep breath in. “What was that for?” she asked, both of them still gasping for air.

Luke smiled, grabbing her by the hips to pull her closer. “‘Cause I love you.” He pressed the lightest kiss to her nose before stepping away abruptly. “Night, see you in the morning.” And with that, he walked away the happiest demigod in all of camp.

The daughter of Aphrodite still just stood there, completely taken off guard. The only thing that snapped her out of her daze was the faint caw of a harpy, making her quickly scramble inside. Luke ended up getting his wish as that night, the only thing on her mind was that kiss.

The next day was Capture the Flag day. When Chiron announced it at dinner that night, everyone lost their minds. It was Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, and Poseidon vs. Ares, Apollo, Demeter, and Dionysus.

As the couple was walking over to their cabins to get their armor, Apollo caught up with them. “See you out there, Y/N,” he said as he passed with a wink.

“S-see yah?” she called back hesitantly.

Luke was frustrated but at least she didn’t seem flattered by his flirtations. Now she was just confused.

Once they grabbed their chest plates, then went back to the creek where they’d be starting the games. As Luke put his on, she was struggling to get hers tightened. “Hold on, I’ll help you in a sec,” he said, finishing strapping his onto his body.

“I got it,” a voice interrupted. Apollo seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He was standing in front of Y/N, tightening the strap.

“Hey!” Luke yelled without thinking.

Apollo held up one hand in surrender, the other still on her shoulder. “Chill man, I’m just helping.” Luke didn’t say anything else as Apollo walked away with a slight smirk.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, stepping closer to him. “What was that about?”

Luke gritted his teeth. “Nothing. C’mon, I need to assign everyone and talk strategy.” He took her hand gently, reminding himself to not let his anger get the better of him. He headed over, gathering the team. “Alright, Cabins 6, 3, and 11 will be offense. Cabins 9, 10, and 12 will be defense. Except for Y/N, you’re with me. Beckendorf, you’ll also be offense.” He pointed out a few Athena and Hermes campers, directing them to defense as well.

After a few minutes, the conch blew and everyone was in their places. The couple quickly jumped over the creek, slipping through the Apollo cabin’s defenses. They had done this so many times, their routine was well practiced. They ran through the woods, searching for any opposing defense.

The other teams had learned that Y/N and Luke always worked as a pair so they started also pairing defensive players. That is when Hermes and Aphrodite were on the same side. If they weren’t, Capture the Flag could go on for hours since they knew all of each others’ tricks.

They continued on, occasionally making quick work of disarming opposing campers until they reached the flag. It was only guarded by one person. Apollo. Clarisse must have figured that everyone else would be too afraid to offend a god. But Luke was honestly looking for this opportunity.

So while Y/N fell back, hesitating, Luke was jumping at the god. Apollo blocked him with a sword but he was clearly not very good with it. Archery had been banned since before Luke got to camp. Even though the arrows were enchanted not to kill, someone had been blinded so Chiron banned them forever. He didn’t even make an exception for the god of archery.

While Luke fought Apollo, Y/N was grabbing the flag. “Luke!” she yelled, waving the flag. She then took off, heading for their territory. Because of Apollo’s inexperience with the sword, Luke was easily beating him. After a few slashes on the god’s arms, legs, and even face—nothing major, they were honestly just cuts a band aid could fix—Luke was disarming him. He didn’t have to be as brutal as he was or knock him over but he did, throwing the god’s sword far away before following after Y/N.

Luke was still a few feet behind her when she hopped over the creek into safety. He watched proudly as she ripped the helmet off her head and held the flag up triumphantly. The members of their team around her cheered triumphantly as the conch blew and their team was announced the winners.

Luke was still in enemy territory, watching her have her moment when Apollo showed up. “She’s really something,” the god announced, his smile focused on her.

“Yeah, my girlfriend really is incredible,” Luke said pointedly.

The god was still smiling. “I know she’s your girlfriend. I saw you making out with her last night.”

“What were you doing out at two a.m.?”

The god looked even more smug, his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t have to answer to you. But if you must know, I had the same idea as you but you got there first.” Luke finally looked at him, rage once again filling his body. So he wasn’t paranoid. “How long have you been together?”

Luke was confused but answered nonetheless. “Uh three years,” he answered suspiciously.

“Aw, three years down the drain. I’m sorry in advance,” the god said in exaggerated regret.

Luke tried not to let his fury show. This is why he hated gods. They thought they could do whatever they wanted without regard for mortals. “Well, she loves me. At night she swears we were made for each other,” he said, recalling sweaty nights during the school year when every other Aphrodite kid was home. And how they’d make breathless promises of eternity.

Apollo gave him an almost pitiful look. “I’m sorry about your relationship but you can’t actually believe she’ll pick you when she could have a literal god?” he gestured to himself arrogantly.

Now it was Luke’s turn to gloat. He just shrugged, “I’m the one she calls for. She doesn’t call for the gods like most others would. She only ever says my name.”

Apollo was a little taken aback by the kid’s boldness. “Well, that’s the nice thing about being a god. I can make anyone mine.” And with that Apollo headed over to the capture the flag winner of the night. It took everything in him not to race up to her but he kept his composure. She’d have to reject him on her own, he couldn’t keep running defense.

He watched in surprised satisfaction as Apollo reached her. He congratulated her before pulling her into a hug. His arms were around her waist and creeping kind of low but Luke once again kept his resolve. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she pulled away quickly, pointing over at him. What was she saying? Was she praising him for fighting the god? Or telling him that she had a boyfriend?

Apollo tried to hug her again but she ducked under his arm, running over to him. He immediately broke out into a smile. Her arms were opened to hug him but he just grabbed her face to kiss her instead. He turned her towards the tree he had been leaning on, pressing her up against it again. He only pulled away slightly to whisper a congratulations but then their lips were connected again. When he finally pulled away, he threw an arm around her shoulder, shooting a look to the god before heading off to their celebration.

That night as they were celebrating, Luke was glued to Y/N’s side. It wasn’t until some of the other Hermes boys needed help getting their illegal video game working again that Luke left her side. “I’ll be back,” he promised her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

As soon as Luke was gone, Apollo was swooping in. “Congratulations again,” he said, handing her a drink.

“Thanks,” she smiled nervously, taking the drink. “How are the cuts?”

Apollo shrugged. “They sting more than I would’ve thought but they’re fine. Your boyfriend’s a hell of a fighter.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, relieved that he was acknowledging she had a boyfriend.

“I mean, he’s good for a mortal. He’s certainly no god,” Apollo flirted.

“Well, none of us are. Present company excluded,” she laughed nervously, gesturing to him.

Apollo casually threw an arm around her shoulder. “There’s other things we’re better at,” he said, letting the implication hang in the air. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. “Have you ever been with a god, Y/N?”

She was immediately pulling out of his grasp. “I- uh… um no. I’m flattered but…” She had no clue what to say. She couldn’t just say no to Apollo. If this were any other man she’d throw her drink in his face but this was a god.

She didn’t have to say anything because Luke had seen the whole thing. As he came back he saw Apollo throw his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder and subsequently watched her back away quickly. “I told you she loves me,” he smirked before tugging her away. She gratefully pressed herself into his body.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, careful that Apollo couldn’t hear.

“Hey, you don’t have to thank me. This is kind of my job as your boyfriend.”

“Still, you basically told him to back off. Kind of bold to deny a god.”

“Yeah, well,” he began, brushing a hair back from her face, “if he smites me we’ll just have to make up for the lost time in Elysium.” She giggled, hugging him closer as they headed off to bed.

Masterlist

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #the lighting thief #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #x reader #apollo #apollo x reader

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lehguru · 5 months

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THINK YOU NEED SOMEONE YOUNGER + ONE PIECE MEN

they start to realize they might be a little too old for you ft. crocodile, mihawk, smoker, shanks, doflamingo, corazon

info: will do this for other fandoms too i think, angsty on some; not proofread

crocodile never felt insecure, at least when it came to your relationship. after he left impel down and came to look for you, things got a little... weird. he was avoiding you. you knew it wasn't because he didn't want to bring you into his business (he did it more than once), it was something you didn't really understand. before you could even confront him about it, he said out of nowhere one day: "did you... get with anyone while i was away?" he looked at you with a hard stare. "someone... younger?" you almost laughed at his question, but you held yourself back. your arms circled his waist and you rested your chin on his chest. 'i don't know anyone younger that is as attractive as you, sir.' he grinned, holding the back of your head with his hand. "good."

mihawk noticed how you and zoro interacted during his time at the island. he wasn't suspicious that something was happening, he knew you would never cheat on him or break his trust; but... a thought started to spread in his mind like poison. once zoro and perona left, and you two finally managed to carry on with your married life alone, he asked you one day while you drank tea together. "how do you feel about me being... older?" you looked at him with raised eyebrows and 'the only thing that matters to me is you. i fell in love with your personality and the way you treat me, not your age.' he hummed, a deep sound that you know reverberated on his chest. even if it was faint, you could see a soft pink dusting his cheeks.

smoker didn't think about your age gap until he overheard some of the new recruits talking about you two. captain smoker having a younger partner is a little weird isn't it, was what they said. when he was back home and you were resting against his chest, softly playing with the hair on the area, he told you about it. you looked up, your eyes shining, 'old pan makes good food'. the laughter that left his lips was one that he always reserved for you, his most sincere and genuine laugh; he pressed his lips on the top of your head, murmuring praises and love confessions against your hair.

shanks really didn't care about it, not as much as other members of his crew did – with how well they knew their captain, the man would be destroyed if you decided to leave him. 'she might go for a younger guy, when your thing doesn't get up anymore.' they usually voiced their concerns in the form of jokes, so they wouldn't be too harsh on their captain, but it was effective. those comments made him start to realize what you two were – lovers. one day, without telling you, he and the crew left. simply left the island, leaving you behind with only an note written "don't look for me." in a messy manner.

one thing about doflamingo is that he gets whatever he wants whenever he wants. and since the moment he laid eyes on you, you were his. the people that tried to comment on your age gap always "mysteriously" disappeared, even if they were from inside his organization. no one could talk about him and his partner like that. if he ever brought up the topic, it was only to test if you were seeing anyone or wanted someone younger (he knows you don't. he knows everything); your praises towards him and your love always left him pleased – he would give you the same in return.

corazon is frequently insecure about your relationship. he wonders if you really love him, if he's good enough for you, if he's being a good boyfriend, if he missed any important date that he should've remembered – your age gap (made worse by your height gap too) is only another one of those concerns. no matter what you say, he often asks you if you wouldn't want to be with someone younger and with a better family than him. one day, after he asked that for the millionth time, you answered: "we can have a family of our own, rosi. you deserve happiness. you said once i made you happy, so i will stay. the only way you're going to get rid of me is if one of us is gone." he chuckled and smiled widely, as he often did around you and law, hugging you tightly against his body. 'i adore you. with all my heart and soul, i love you.'

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bottomcyclonus · 1 year

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My sister is a total cunt and around when we were kids, 12 (her) and 15 (me), she became a really big fan of that Jesus guy, but in a ‘if you wear lipstick that’s TOO red you’re clearly a whore who is doing naughty things with the devil’ and ‘all “dark” animals like black cats, snakes, rats, spiders, and bats were sent by the devil himself”. W e had an older home, and the way it was set up is that one of our vents had a chute that went over the porch, and you could look down it and see basically right over the porch itself. This is relevant because I, at the time, really wanted a cat and our parents were considering it. However, cheese cunt (my nickname for her which she hated <3) saw me looking at an adoption page for a black cat. She absolutely lost it and said that I was trying to bring the devil into our home and that I was going to hell and that that cat was evil and going to claw out my eyes in my sleep. We got in a BIG fight over that. By the time we moved out there were still puncture marks in the wall from where she went at me with a fork. Back to the porch and vent. Kind of. I _needed_ to get this bitch, so I recruited two of my good friends who I knew would be ready to commit a fuckery. One of them had a pet snake (which I think she found in her yard and abducted adopted) and she fed him frozen mice and whatnot. Obviously we weren’t going to involve her snake, but the frozen mice? Those were fair game. Her job was to bring the mice and help behind the scenes. My other friend, he’s a big guy, intimidating if you don’t know him, *his* job was to be the devil. We’d found a dead bat in my attic (again old house) and made it look alive with popsicle sticks, then tied it to a string wound through the vent. We planned the fuckery for when our parents were staying at a hotel for their anniversary, so we were home alone all weekend. We had a pizza box as bait outside, with the frozen mice inside arranged in a pentagram. My guy friend was dressed up in a stereotypical grim reaper outfit, big black cloak, white ghoulish face, lantern, the works. We waited around until night, then he rang the door bell and hid, with the pizza box left on the porch, just far out enough that you would have to step outside. Me and my friend were in the bathroom when then happened so that my sister would have to go look. In reality, she was waiting above, ready with the bat, and I was hiding behind the garage door, which was right next to our front door. The moment I hear my sister let go of the door I gently closed it and locked it on her. I heard her scream and the sound of her dropping the pizza box, which was my friends cue to drop the bat on her and dance it around. At this point she’s freaking out and trying to get back inside, screaming and shrieking. I turn off the porch light, and from the shadows across the street, emerges my friend, face dimly lit by the lantern in his hand. I had to muffle my laughter with my fist in my mouth cause my sister is yelling like she’s going to die, which yeah, I can see her thinking that. All my friend had to do was walk across the street and point at her to get her to start crying, and she bolted into our backyard, where she tried to get in through the back door that was unfortunately for her, locked, courtesy of me. We made her stay out there for an hour or so, giving us time to put everything back to normal and sober ourselves up from laughing so hard. Then I let her back in and acted like I didn’t know anything. We got the cat and I named him Pizza.

THIS IS A TRANSFORMERS BLOG

#GOD #its been so long since somebody sent me some WILD ass shit like this #askbox confessional time ig?????#anon #askies #long post

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strang3lov3 · 3 months

Text

Lather

(Inspired by our curly, long-haired Pedro with his broken wing) When Joel injures his shoulder, he needs your help washing his hair and getting off 🧴🧻💦🧼🚿🛀(4k)

Part one of a new mini series!!

Tags- shoulder injury, forced proximity, hair washing, handjobs, blowjobs, Joel finishes little too early, sexual tension, masturbation, pissed off joel, impish reader as per ushe. Joel starts out soft and gentle, this will not last long. Just you wait for part two, mwahahahahah!!

A/N- This new series is written for and inspired by my very dear friend @noxturnalpascal , please do not eat Pedro’s fucking hair. I’m begging you. And thank you @tightjeansjavi for the title name!!

Generously edited by my dear friend, the lovely @papipascalispunk

You’re at the dinner table, watching Joel awkwardly cut his chicken and potatoes with the side of his fork, held by his left hand. He brings the food to his mouth kind of slowly, deliberately, like he has to consciously think about where his fork will end up. He catches your watchful gaze and looks at you, “What?”, he scowls.

You shrug, “Nothing.”

“Quit lookin’ at me,” he huffs, “Creep.”

You’ve been living in Jackson with Joel and Ellie for quite some time now. Ellie’s got the garage and the downstairs bathroom to herself, you and Joel live in separate bedrooms upstairs. It works out. Kind of. The stairs are an issue. They’re old and steep, kind of slippery. It was only a matter of time before someone slipped and fell, and last week, that’s exactly what Joel did. Early one morning, he had misstepped and totally ate shit, landing hard on his right shoulder. You rushed to help him, but Joel shrugged you off, insisting he was fine. But you could hear in his voice he wasn’t, how he strained to speak. And in the following days, you noticed how his routine changed in the aftermath of his injury. He’s been favoring his right arm heavily, eating, cooking, opening doors, picking things up all with his left hand, rarely his right.

Ellie gets up from the table to rinse her plate. When she passes you and Joel on her way back to the garage, she stops next to Joel and just stares at him, a look of confusion and disgust on her face. She reaches her hand forward, pushing her fingers slowly through his hair and watching the curls stand up straight. Joel freezes before turning to look at her, perplexed and irritated. “What’s the matter with you?”, he asks.

“Gross,” Ellie giggles, still playing with his hair. He swats her hand away.

“Yeah, shut up,” Joel grumbles, “You’ll have gray hair one day too. It ain’t that funny.”

“I’m not talking about the color. Your hair is disgusting, Joel. It’s like, sticking straight up. Are you hydrophobic or something?”

“Leave me alone,” Joel tells her, “Go do something. Go play in traffic.”

“You smell like you’re hydrophobic,” Ellie retorts as she continues towards her room.

You turn your attention back to Joel, who looks insulted. Subtly, he turns his nose to his armpit to smell himself and then checks his reflection in the window, using his left hand to mess with his curls. He notices you staring at his reflection as well, “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”, he asks defensively as he messes with his hair a little more, flipping the mess to one side of his head, then to the other, rubbing the strands between his fingers. Joel sighs deeply then, gets up from his seat, and – using his left arm – he drags his chair across the kitchen and sets it in front of the kitchen sink. “I need help,” he confesses in a tone hardly audible, like he’s sheepish and uncomfortable. Disappointed, too.

“What?”

“Washin’ my hair,” he speaks louder this time, “It’s hard with my uh…shoulder. I need your help.”

“Took you long enough to as–”

“Knock it off,” he interrupts. It was probably around day four post-staircase incident that you noticed Joel’s hair taking on a more dirty appearance. You stare at his hair a lot lately now that he’s growing it out for winter. His hair curls in all sorts of directions, little cowlicks all over his head. The ringlets at the bottom of his neck are your favorite part. How gorgeous they look with the multitude of colors on his head. Deep, chocolatey brown with highlights of caramel and silvery gray streaks. With resources being fairly scarce even in Jackson, Joel doesn’t wash his hair every day, which is honestly fine for him. However, the days that he does wash his hair, he struggles to scrub his scalp properly with just his left hand, hence the dirty and greasy appearance. And really, it doesn’t look that bad. Probably feels worse for him, though, all that schmutz built up. Probably itchy and uncomfortable.

You take your plate to the kitchen sink and give it a quick wash before drying it and putting it away. Joel sits in the chair he’s placed in front of the sink, and reaches behind himself for the dish soap, then kind of just puts it in your hand. You look at Joel, tilting your head in confusion. Sure, it's slim pickings for resources, but there’s a reason you’re close with the soapmaker here in Jackson. It’s the little things that keep you going; one of the little things being fruity scented shampoo that the soapmaker hooks you up with.

You place the soap back on the kitchen counter and leave quickly to grab your shampoo, then come back to meet Joel at the sink. Joel looks at the bottle of shampoo in your hand, “What the hell is that?”, he asks.

“My shampoo. It smells kinda like strawberries, see?”, you open the cap and squeeze the bottle to waft the scent towards him.

Joel scrunches his nose, “It’s too girly.”

“You’re too girly,” you taunt, and Joel rolls his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m washing your hair, so I get to pick the shampoo. It’s like a spa night,” you chirp happily.

“Nope, not a spa night,” he replies harshly, “Just wash my damn hair. No funny business.” When you stare down at him, unimpressed with his attitude, Joel backtracks, “Please,” he begs.

“Spa night.”

“Fine,” Joel sighs in defeat and leans his head back into the sink, scooting down the chair. He looks deeply uncomfortable already, putting his weight on the left side of his body and raising his shoulder up and away from resting on the sink. Poor guy. You turn on the sink and begin to run the water over his scalp with the detachable faucet, but Joel yelps in pain. “Hot, s’ way too hot,” he says loudly, craning his neck away from the stream.

“Sorry,” you apologize, quickly turning the faucet lever in the other direction.

“Cold, cold, Christ—cold,” Joel hisses as he reaches behind himself to try to haphazardly adjust the lever himself, swatting his hand violently. He ends up hitting your hand instead, resulting in you dropping the faucet on his forehead. He yelps again and quickly sits up straight, water flinging across the room from his wet hair. “This isn’t gonna work,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Think we need to get this over with in the shower.”

“I think that’d work better,” you agree.

So, you and Joel make your way upstairs, you’ve got your fruity shampoo in your hand. Joel’s wet hair drips down his neck and back as you follow him towards the bathroom where he turns on the shower, letting the water warm up. He shuts and locks the bathroom door before unbuttoning his flannel, again with his left hand only. Turning away from you, you watch Joel twitch and wince in pain as he tries to take off his undershirt. It kind of makes you sad, seeing him struggle like this. You wish he would have asked for help before now. “Joel?”, you tap his back.

“Hm?”, Joel turns around and you reach his right arm. “Oh,” he says. Carefully, you do your best to painlessly help him out of his shirt, pulling his sleeve towards your body and keeping his arm as low as can be. You pull the rest of the shirt off of his body, catching a glimpse of his torso, his soft, pillowy belly. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“No problem.”

“I uh–,” Joel begins, turning away from you again and undoing his belt, “I’m gettin’ undressed and gettin’ in, okay?”

“Am I getting in there with you?”

“I’d reckon that’s probably easiest, yeah. And if ya don't wanna get your clothes wet, then you can take 'em off too,” Joel offers, “I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, so I'm keepin’ my eyes shut and facin’ the shower head the whole time so I don’t see anything I'm not ‘sposed to.”

“I appreciate that,” you reply. You’ve been through a lot with Joel, and truth be told, you’re both past the point of modesty, all that you’ve been through together. You have endless trust and respect for each other. Still though, you appreciate what he’s doing to keep you feeling safe and comfortable with him. A lot can be said about Joel, but he’s never been anything but respectful and considerate towards your safety and comfort. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll undress. Just give me a minute.”

“Not a problem,” Joel says. You face away from him as he takes off his belt, it lands with a clatter on the floor. Next his jeans and boxers, then each of his socks. You hear the sound of the shower curtain moving and his heavy footsteps in the bathtub. “M’done. Eyes stayin’ closed now.”

“Okay,” you say as you look at Joel through the shower curtain, unable to see much. You have no doubt he is, in fact, squeezing his eyes shut, but you smile to yourself when you notice where his arms lie. They’re resting across his body, his hands cupping his member securely. Oh, Joel. He’s a grump, but a gentleman nonetheless.

After taking off your own clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor, you move the shower curtain aside and step inside of the tub. It’s a tight fit, despite being relatively spacious. There’s a built-in bench to the side of the shower where your soaps sit. Joel always complains you have too many lotions and potions taking up space, that they always fall on his toes when he bathes. Dramatic.

Immediately you’re in awe of Joel’s beauty. You can’t see his face, but you can see his back, freckled and scarred and striped with stretch marks here and there. Water trails down his neck and his spine. You can’t help but steal a peek of his ass, so firm and plump. He’s blessed, truly.

“Doin’ okay?”, Joel interrupts your thoughts.

“Oh– yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Gonna shampoo you now.”

“Get to it,” he tells you.

You reach for your strawberry shampoo and squeeze a small amount into the palm of your hand, then reach up to lather it into Joel’s scalp. “I need you–”, using your hands to guide Joel to tilt his head back, “Yeah, like that. Thanks.”

“Mm,” he hums in response.

You begin to wash Joel’s hair, building up a thick lather of bubbles. You pay special attention to the sides of his head, down towards his neck, scratching and massaging his scalp. It’s almost imperceptible, but you hear a slight groan, a soft exhale of relief as you scrub Joel’s head. Washing the hair near his neck, you toy with his curls, wrapping them around your fingers and watching them bounce and swing when you pull your hands away. You’re about to reach for more shampoo when you really see it– the bruise on his shoulder. It’s yellowing now, but there are still purple and blue splotches of his skin. “Fuck, Joel,” you mumble, tracing your fingers lightly over his bruise.

“Yeah, yeah.”

It was an accident. You know this, so you’ll spare Joel from your long-winded lecturing about taking care of himself. Instead, you just press a soft kiss to his bruise.

“You– I um–”, Joel clears his throat, a little bashful now, “Need you to wash up by my hairline, f’ya wanna come up front here.”

“Yeah, of course,” you speak softly. You begin to scoot past Joel, but the tight fit of the two of you in the shower makes it difficult to move. You slip and reach for Joel’s arm.

“Careful,” he warns you softly, “Here, I gotcha.” Joel, still keeping his eyes shut, holds your waist and helps guide you to stand in front of him. When you’re situated, he quickly protects his modesty once again.

You grab some more shampoo and reach for the front of his scalp. This time, you can admire more of him. His face, eyes scrunched tightly shut. Careful not to look at what he’s not supposed to. That little line between his eyebrows is more deep and prominent than usual. Water drips down the slope of his aquiline nose and his plump, rosy lips. Droplets cling to his wiry salt and pepper facial hair. He’s a work of fucking art. When Joel’s properly shampooed, you reach for the detachable shower head and start to rinse his hair, watching the strands fall on his forehead.

You’re not sure exactly what happens, but in an instant, Joel is unexpectedly groaning and reaching for the shower head from your hand. You step back and watch him scramble to wipe his eyes and blink quickly. “Fuckin’, ahh,” he hisses, “Got soap in my eyes. Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“S’okay, was an accident. Fuck,” Joel hands you the shower head and then wipes his eyes a few more times before he stops and stares at you before him, not even thinking about his rule. Fuck. He shuts his eyes quickly, but the damage is done. His mind is swimming with images of your body, the drops of water rolling down the curves of your breasts, your hips, thighs. His cock hardens almost instantly, and he hurries to cover himself again. “Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s not cause of you.”

“Okay, Joel,” you reply calmly.

Joel groans. “No, it’s not like that, you– you’re– it’s…My shoulder’s been hurtin’, y’know how it’s been.”

“Mhm,” you hum, knowing where he’s going with this, “It’s okay.”

“Haven’t been able to take care of myself, uh…in that regard,” Joel clears his throat before continuing, “So I’m just a little wound up– oh–”

Joel’s interrupted when you step forward, reaching for his wrists to pull them away from his member. “I get it,” you whisper, “I can help with that too, if you’d like.”

“Jesus, fuck–”, Joel hisses as you touch his hips, his thighs, skating your fingers along his skin. He moans softly when your fingers lightly touch his heavy balls, the base of his cock, then trailing them up his shaft. “Quit– fuck – quit teasing me, hon. Not a smart idea.”

“I’m not teasing you, Joel.”

Except Joel’s not listening. All he can think about is how fucking good it feels to be touched where he needs it most. He reaches for your hand, but doesn’t pull it away. Like he’s at battle with himself, doing what he thinks he’s supposed to do, not that he actually wants to. He wraps his fingers around yours, encouraging you to grip his cock tightly. But with his brow furrowed, he looks conflicted. “Don’t know what’s gotten into ya, but–”, he says shakily, “Hon– you gotta stop cause, fuck–”, he breathes, “Don’t think I have it in me– fuck – to walk away from you.”

“You don’t have to, Joel,” you coo quietly as you grip his cock tighter. You lean closer to Joel, wrapping one of your arms around his waist. Joel opens his eyes then, and you kiss his cheek, still stroking his cock. His thick head is nudging your hip as you work him, “Why don’t you let me help you with this?”

Joel nods, sighing in relief as he gives into you, gives into pleasure. He’s been hard as a rock all week. Left hand just doesn’t do the trick, but yours, your hand does just fine. “Lord have mercy,” he gasps, “Thank you.” Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, you kiss his neck, then lower, his collarbones and his chest. Lower still, sinking to your knees as you kiss down that soft and pillowy tummy of his, trailing your tongue along that patch of hair that leads to his cock. You take his thick base in one hand and his ass in the other, then press sloppy kisses to his blushed tip, flicking your tongue over his soft skin. “Sweetheart,” he warns softly, “Doin’ too much for me.”

“I don’t think so,” you tell him innocently before trailing your tongue along a prominent vein of his cock.

“I disagree,” he mumbles quietly. Oh, Joel. Silly Joel. As if you’d satisfy him with just your hands. But this is as much for you as it is for Joel. You’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about him, kissing him and fucking him. He’s who you think about at night with your hand between your thighs. So no, taking him in your mouth is not too much. It’s what you both need.

Joel hums sweetly as you guide him to your mouth, his thick head parting your lips. You toy with him, swirling, flicking your tongue, alternating between taking him deeply and more shallow in your mouth. He’s warm and thick, just like you imagined. His cock feels heavy in your mouth as you take him deeper and deeper, hollowing your cheeks to massage him. You love his smooth skin, how he squirms and his hips stutter when you slide his cock to the back of your throat. As he gains more confidence, he begins to draw in and out of your mouth slowly, an action encouraging to both you and himself.

“Good god,” Joel groans as you work his shaft, one hand still squeezing his ass cheek, the other now fondling his balls, cupping and squeezing them gently. You hum against him, sending vibrations down his shaft. He reaches down, stroking your cheek with soft and warm eyes as you work him. His hand finds the back of your head, grunting as he inches you forward to take him deeper.

“Not lastin’ long the way you–”, he chokes out, a stuttered string of profanities following as you feel his cock stiffen and twitch under your tongue, spurting hot ropes of his spend down your throat. It’s salty and warm and masculine, taking you by surprise. His orgasm surprises himself, too. You don’t mind, though. In fact, it’s flattering the way he’s come undone for you so quickly, so desperately. Poor Joel, so worked up and bent out of shape all week. Probably part of the reason he’s been so cranky.

He takes heaving breaths above you, his chest rising and falling steadily as he stares down at you in admiration. He’s got the kindest eyes. When you pull off of his cock, he offers his hand to you, helping you back to your feet. He thanks you again, then apologizes for finishing how he did. You assure him that you don’t mind a bit. “M’not gonna leave ya high and dry, you know,” he says, “You just give me a few days to get myself right and I’ll take good care of you. Return the favor and all that good stuff. Hm?”

Sure, Joel, you think, nodding to him. He nods back at you, feeling good and satisfied, already dreaming about getting you off in a few short days. How soft and wet your pussy will be, pulsing around his cock, all for him. He’ll make you come just as hard as he did, if not harder. He can see it now, he’ll have you falling to pieces under his tongue and his fingers. He just needs to fucking heal first. While Joel’s been favoring his right arm quite a bit, he still hasn’t been taking it as easy as he should have been. But he’s got a woman waiting on him now, and healing is his top priority.

Joel smiles, you smile sweetly back at him as you wrap an arm around his waist for stability and set one of your feet on the ledge of the bathtub. His smile contorts into a confused frown as he watches you take your free hand and snake it between yours and Joel’s bodies, your fingers toying with your center. “Whatcha doin’?”, Joel asks.

“Oh, you know,” you reply plainly. You sigh softly, tilting your head back as one of your fingers circles your hole.

“No, no, no, no,” Joel protests, “No, thought you were gonna wait your turn.”

“My turn’s right now,” you breathe, now dipping a finger into your entrance, curling it and swirling it around. “You’re not the only one with needs.”

“I know you got needs, hon, thought we just agreed I’d be the one to take care of ‘em,” he tries, “Right?”

“It’s alright,” you purr, “I got it.”

It’s almost cartoonish, how Joel’s expression turns from one of satisfaction and bliss to betrayal and astonishment. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, “It’s teasin’ me, you know.”

“Oh, Joel,” you whimper softly, your fingers now rubbing over your clit, “What don’t you like?”

“Uh, that,” he spits, “Don’t like hearin’ you moanin’ my name when I’m not the one touchin’ ya. Don’t like that at all.”

You pout, “Oh, you can touch me,” you offer as you take his left hand into your own, sliding it up your body. He thumbs the plump underside of your breast and glides his fingers over your nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch.

“Oh, real nice. You’re playin’ dirty,” he accuses, “You’re nothin’ but trouble. Shoulda known.”

You don’t bother replying as you begin to trace steady circles into your clit, dipping your fingers at your entrance to collect more of your arousal. Your fingers slip and slide through your folds with such ease.

Joel growls, squeezing your breast harshly one last time before his arm finds your waist and he pulls you flush against his body. With your head still tilted back as you whimper quietly, Joel takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, biting and nipping at your hot, dampened skin. It only fuels you. “Joel,” you cry, “Fuck, oh my god,” as that warm, sticky feeling deep in your gut is beginning to build.

Joel watches you, conflicted. How sweet his name sounds falling from your lips with your broken, honeyed moans, but Jesus, he needs to be the one touching you like that, not you. He should have known it’d turn out this way, that you’d revel in having this one-up on him. Your fucking audacity. I made you come so hard you saw stars, and I’m doing the same thing to myself. And you can’t do a single thing about it. Ha. Ha.

Joel holds you tighter when your cries begin to get louder as you reach your peak, your knees beginning to buckle. You moan frantically, loudly, and Joel watches you knit your brows together and your mouth drops open as you begin to fall apart. Your fingers massage your clit faster, harder, feeling that tension in your gut snap and splinter as waves of pleasure overtake you, washing over your body. With your eyes shut, you feel it deep in your stomach, down the back of your thighs, riding out your orgasm on your own fingers as Joel holds you close to his body.

When you finally open your eyes, Joel’s glaring at you. He says nothing. Deep down, he knew you’d probably end up taking care of yourself tonight, but in front of him? You’ve got some fucking nerve.

When your breathing slows, Joel lets you go. He stares at you, unimpressed, mouth slightly agape. You take the opportunity to slide two of your fingers past his lips, letting him taste your sweet arousal on his tongue. His brows furrow and his eyes flutter shut as he groans deeply, hungrily. “Seriously?”

You nod with a smile, then press a quick kiss on his lips before shimmying past him to reach for your towel. You dry off and step out of the tub, and when you look back at Joel, he wears a scowl.

“You’re the fuckin’ devil.”

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal x reader

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