#because I think the voice is lovely and fitting
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permeated by jealously
Paring: Bucky x Reader
Summary: In your tight-fitting red dress, you look ravishing for the date with a Russian guy—but the moment you retort to Bucky in Russian, it begs to be ripped from your body.
Warnings: smut, angst, kitchen sex, rough/possessive, unprotected p in v, miscommunication
Words: 4k
Bucky's veins are full of the serum, but at this moment, they are full with belladonna tincture, the substance of jealousy. Seeing you with another man, he speaks of Love in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him—that guy coming to pick you up from the compound, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, already a memory. For a split second you stare at each other, you smile at him ruefully. A fleeting, lasting moment for Bucky. Why do you even notice him? Seeing you happy, gives mixed colors to the air of the moment—he is lost in time, sleeping being his only lover.
Bucky wants to kiss you. Instead he puts his lips on the tumbler glass, pretending that it is you. His t-shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and he runs a hand through his hair before he puts the glass down on the kitchen counter—flashes of you in that dress that you wear for your date and the way it lifts your body up from a single look races through his head.
His cock jerks and he shakes his head, grinning as he stares down the bottle of vodka next to his cup.
And, for the first time in his innocent and confined life, he senses in himself a potential for a different corruption that takes his breath away. He doesn’t blame himself. He is a curious, wanting thing—finally, enlightened and free, but also lustful and carnal. But It stabs at him, almost like a physical pain, and he feels both deprived and angry, deprived because Bucky wishes to be with you and angry, because his own choices causes him misery.
-----
“It is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare, you're so relieved. I just wake up into another nightmare."
"And what is that nightmare, Bucky?"
He keeps his blue, lusterless eyes fixed on Natasha with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them as he thinks how to say it
"My love life”
“Maybe you need to ask her on a date, that’s what Vladimir does”
“Vladimir? Oh , so it is not just 'that one guy' anymore?” he says in a quiet voice, without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity, his lips quivering as a forced smile comes on to his face.
Nat momentarily startles. Then she starts to laugh. “You’re jealous of him?”
He clenches his jaw. “I’m not jealous,” a note of personal affront creeps into his voice “I don’t like his name”
-----
You are on a date, having fun—but anxiety grabs his mind, it is self-perpetuating. Worrisome thoughts reproduce faster than rabbits, he is trying not to lose his balance. Not yet. Especially when the jealousy sets in.
Bucky is conscious every moment in himself of many, many elements positively swarming in him, ah these, opposite elements. He knows that they have been swarming in him since you started going out with Vladimir and they are craving some outlet from him, but he doesn't let them, would not let them, purposely would not let them come out, because he believes there is nothing so self-destroying, and so despicable, as his jealousy. He tries to appear as a hard shell on the outside when you finally enter the kitchen at 1 am—while there is a runny mess on the inside as he tenses, waiting for you to say something, anything.
When you near the sink, your fingers find the curve of the faucet, the metal cool beneath the touch. He turns around to lean against the counter as you pour a cup of cold water. Bucky stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. He is in such an irritated frame of mind, because of your quietness that in rude and abrupt fashion he blurts out the words:
“You must love that dress”
He takes time persing down the length of your body as you take a step back, watching you press against the counter and then back up before locking on your eyes again. You are not wearing a bra and your nipples harden from having his eyes on you. Red, the front needlessly too scandalous—at least for Bucky. The dipping v lets him see the swelled sides of your breasts pushed up and together. Just to be sure, though, a golden necklace with a teardrop pearl at the end, letting it trail just over your cleavage.
“I didn’t know that you notice what I am wearing when I go out”
You answer, trying to look as innocent as possible. The vindictive smile that stretches on your ruined lipstick sends shivers down Bucky’s spine—did you make out with the guy, maybe more than that? You look beautiful sitting there looking at him like a she-cat. All he has to do is look at you, and he lusts. He wants to take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to go out with anyone else ever again.
“You’ve worn it for the second time. For your date.”
His gaze drops from your eyes, to the swell of your chest. Your chest tightens and you bite your lip to hide the grin wanting to escape. You notice the disgust written on his face and you laugh coldly, gaze never leaving his buff frame. With the certainty that you have well and truly punished him for not asking you on a single date. The angry, feral part of you feels so close to the surface that you can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. You want to lick the scratches you’ve made on him. You want to scratch him until he breaks apart. You gulp down the rest of your water to ease the heat flaming across your skin. Then you lick your lips. His gaze tracks the movement. You think you stopped breathing.
“His name is Vlad”
An audacious expression plasters on his face as you sigh in irritation at Bucky, rolling your eyes. Bucky is still leaning against the counter and rests his metal hand on the countertop while sipping vodka from the mug in his other hand. A beautiful yet deadly ornament—vibranium has no business being as hot as it is on him.
A note of personal affront creeps into his voice “Vladimir, mhm”
“What else have you noticed about me?” your grin becomes a touch leery, innocently cocking your head to the side.
“Try me” he says softly.
“Favorite color?” you ask, interrogatively.
He chuckles “Red”
“Favorite quote?”
Your brows lift, anticipation making your nerves sing. You are not sure what he is about to say, but you have the feeling that it will be the right one, your heart leaps at the thought.
“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid” he answers, this time winking at you “I know everything about you, sweetheart” he adds and you feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face.
His mind works well when it comes to his work as an avenger, hovering on hummingbird wings, but when it comes to you, especially when you purposely play with his jealousy, It finds a way to push through any seal of his mind, his expressions are always an array of masks he uses to cover it up his emotions—but now, it is all over his face, pure surrender, because he is affected and you can tell, he is staring impudently at you, awning for your response.
“I prefer kotyonok. Vlad says that cognac and wine is all for the heart and that vodka is for the soul. If it's hurting real bad and you’ve never had vodka before”
His brows lift, because this does surprise him and his stomach tightens at that particular Russian word. His mouth curls into a small snarl at the thought of that stupid man calling you that. A pang of jealousy surges through him. The bad kind. The kind of longing that makes him wonder that there must be a natural comorbidity between sexual appetite and sexual jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill. He clears his throat, his face souring before his mocking tone grates:
“Looks like you know a thing or two about me, too”
He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but jealousy is too much, even for Bucky. He settles back into himself, shaking whatever momentary emotion flitted over his face and replacing it with a confident aura that screams laid back and in control as he cages you to the counter, his flesh hand still holding his half full cup.
Your throat gurgles slightly, looking at the bigger frame towering you through your lashes like the starved woman you are. You are overwhelmed by his bold move, leaving you both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion here—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. You try to ignore his hard cock pressing against your thigh, your attention remains on his face. You feel drunk without a drink, your nerves tighten, making your muscles clench―this is going exactly how you want. You want him to kiss you. But you make sure to keep your facial features mundane and level.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me, Bucky”
You also ignore the annoying, visible blush on your cheeks, he must have noticed it because his expression goes grim for a second before a surprised laugh almost breaks free from his lips, responding only by a clink of his tumbler against yours. Judging by the rumble that vibrates in his chest, he likes your reaction, though the noise ends on a cynical note. His blue eyes drop to your mouth, warmth pours through your body and you moisturize your lips as he presses his knee between your legs. Right against your clit—you breathe out, a wave of pleasure sliding down your spine while Bucky just tips his glass back the last of vodka, allowing the burn to sear his throat and warm his stomach—while casually grinding his leg slowly against you, creating a sensation that has heat winding through your core and shooting down your legs.
“Na zdorovie” (cheers)
You smile venomously with a kind of joyous sigh, your arrogance in this moment makes you feel very confident. Up to this moment possessiveness has not been that much of a torment, now it suddenly gnaws at his heart. As in slow motion, he pulls back to put both glasses on the counter. He realizes that you do something to him. Every time. It’s your only detriment this past month. To step on his heart—to test his feelings for you, and his jealousy already has made him erupt like a volcano. He has never been jealous before he met you. It burns. Some nights, watching you go with other men on missions, even that drives him mad.
“You and that fucking mouth, kotyonok”
His voice sounds ill-natured, bitter, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the ways that you are trying to provoke him, but his tone shifts at the last word. Voice warm and low. Intimate. You like it this way. You like the way it sounds and it makes you gasp.
“You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?”
Your character has absolutely changed. It is an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now stands and stares at him somewhat lovingly. There is evidently, he concludes, something at work here, some storm of the mind, some paroxysm of emotion which he won’t question. When you say nothing, his hands move to your waist, his vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire.
You let out a deep breath and can’t deny the strange elation you feel when you feel his hands, needing more of it, of his touch. Your pussy contracts as his hands reach around, gripping a handful of your ass, forcing you harder against his both body and leg. The grip is both bruising and possessive, controlling every movement.
“Oh, god-” You open your mouth, and Bucky dips down, catching the moan with his tongue.
Satisfaction sparks in his irises and he tilts his head and keeps watching you with those fucking lethal eyes of his. Bucky gives a small grin, a fake one. The type that shows no teeth and barely lifts at the corners. You feel a very small spark to your ego, knowing you are getting a rise out of him. But all of the playfulness in the air drowns beneath the intensity of his thousand shades of blue dancing in his eyes as if he is peeling back your mental layers, his eyes looking down watching the bare length of thigh that shows through the slit in your dress.
“You and these dresses” he groans.
Whether you want to admit it or not, physically, this man affects you more than anyone else ever has, and that causes panic to percolate through every nerve, you feel like you are losing control, but you don’t mind it. You feel vulnerable, exposed, almost at his mercy at this point. Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, but his jealousy is combined with modesty and there's even something touching about the filthy words coming out of his mouth. He wants you—and finally, he is not afraid to both tell and show it.
“Ya ne mogu vyrazit', kak sil'no ty menya zavodish'” (I can’t explain to you how much you turn me on)
Your lips part and you swallow audibly while he has the most delicious visual of his dick slipping between them, your eyes staring up at him in surprise and that sweet tongue running along the shaft. He surges forward, your face is an inch from his when you breathe out, he breaths in before crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing his lips to yours. It is not a sweet kiss. It is hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of weeks of pent-up frustration and tension. His mouth is hungry and insistent, his tongue probing your lips, asking for greater intimacy. You grant it, tongues swirling together, yours follow his when it retreats and tasting his in return. When he finally pulls back, he rests his hands on your hips, and stares into your eyes for a minute.
“Tvoy zapakh s uma menya svodit” (your scent drives me crazy)
He speaks without haste, controlling himself so well, yet there is something in his voice, determined and euphoric, resentful and insolently defiant. Passion smolders in his eyes as he traces the line of your clavicle with his index flesh finger, pausing for only a fraction of a second. And then you become aware of all the magnificent silk wrapping around your body, you have the feeling that you might drown in his eyes, his two drops of winter rain.
“I would love to make love to you, but not tonight”
He studies your face, pleading silently for your approval, searching for the smallest sign, the slightest movement of your brow, the vaguest reddening of your cheeks, the surprise of your eyes. At that moment, your soul clenches as well as your pussy. The hard dick still pressing into you distracts you from replying. You can feel your panties dampening. And your nipples are suddenly incredibly sensitive, aching as they pucker against the material of your dress. Your chest warms, desire winding like a rope around your core. You think you like Bucky this way. A smile shows on your face. This would be invisible to any, but the closest scrutiny—Bucky has noticed it and taken it for his sign. Then he leans forward and presses his lips once more, his sugar roughness, his possessiveness is what you need to finally feel.
“What did you do when you went out?”
“We had a few drinks. We danced.” you reply, thinking it best to speak the truth at once.
His lip quivers slightly, forcing himself to seem calm, but Bucky’s eyes are sparkling irefully, there is no doubt in his expression the full success of your endeavors to make him even more detested.
“You danced with him?” he asks, with sudden vivacity.
“Well, he is my date”
You murmur, trying to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, you sense a physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of your own heart, which beats visibly and audibly under the excess of agitation—but before you can even manage to open your mouth again, his metal fingers grab the front of your gown and pull it until it tears, no matter how beautiful, it was meant for another man—perfect breast on display just for him, his cock pulses at the sight. His touch tickles you on his way up to your boobs, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his palms.
“Tony’s rules include no sex in the common areas”
“Fuck the rules” he grits out, more animal than you have ever heard from a human.
And then he gives you a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet—with the filthy touch of his hands, that unexpected warmth rushes through you. His thumbs run over the hardened peaks, making you moan and his dick is so stiff that he is worried that he might come.
“Ty moya” he says coolly. (you are mine)
He leans in, his voice a rumble in your ear.
“Moy kotyonok” (my kitten)
Bucky moves, gripping the meat of your thighs before he spins you harshly around and bends you over the counter. Your walls are squelching around nothing as you feel him pull back, murmuring something in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled whimper from your mouth as you hear him tear apart your panties.
You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you hear his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs before pressing his body against yours until every inch of him melds into you one more. Bucky’s metal hand grips your chin and forces your head back while the other closes around your throat as his cock presses against you—chills slide up your spine, arousal sending a shot of adrenaline through your center as you feel pre-cum on your naval. Fuck, he is huge. There is a certain satisfaction in manhandling you into this position, the flesh arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him.
"How about we make a deal? You wear dresses for me and I take you out on dates?”
He rambles against your ear, tongue slipping out to taste you, just a little bit. His cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead with his metal hand, gliding through your delicate folds and returning his cold grasp around your chin. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you with ease, your wetness sucking him in, making it easy for him to thrust into you until he buries himself to the hilt.
“Fuck, you feel good”
Bucky moans quietly as his eyes close, focusing on feeling your cunt wrapping around his dick for the first time. His lips stay silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands hold, the way he fucks you. You want to see his face, but you can only imagine how perfect he looks.
His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body. It is sick and twisted, he has long learned to run from what he feels and wants, that's why he has nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control. And he needs to take control over something for once in his life. You. He has lost control over everything, even the places in his head.
When your moans become too loud, his hand closes around your neck, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length.
“Come for me, drench my dick”
He whispers, fucking his cock against your cervix. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath as you struggle to breathe. Jealousy…teeth dragging against your skin, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples, shooting up and down your spine as his thrusts never falter, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb.
Lust is the best of all the deadly sins, you realize as he pulls out and helps you go back on your shaky feet. It all happened too fast. You only wanted a kiss. You push his chest like you want him off of you, but your fingers have Bucky’s shirt clutched in them and he knows you are full of shit. You want him.
“I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did. I don't.”
The timbre of his voice goes into that low register that makes your insides curl in on themselves. You want that tongue to swipe your sex like licking the frosting off a cupcake. It is the sexual chemistry you want more of. It is electric. But guilt sets in. You are feeling torn between your commitment to building a relationship with Vlad while engaging with Bucky, in a way it feels like cheating. A part of you is hoping someone from the team would wake up and catch you, so you wouldn't have to live with this lie. But no one wakes up and in the silence that follows, you understand the nature of your new curse: you are going to get away with it.
Your silence hurts him, his mouth tightens. But there are some wounds that he can heal only by deepening them and making them worse. And yet, sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences, Bucky knows how the public will perceive you if you are dating the former Winter Soldier. Seeing you standing there unresponsive makes him realize that silence has a sound—he knows that you regret sleeping with him. You are the people's favorite Avenger, the one everyone look up to with admiration and reverence—he is sure that you are thinking about it, but he understands. The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put his finger on—and he should be sad, but instead, he feels nothing. He feels a lot of nothing these days. He is empty, as if whatever makes him feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving him hollowed out like a shell. This is for your happy ever after, Vlad might be a stupid Russian, but he is at the very core of his existence—a real human.
He turns around and paces the room, as if he can leave his regret, you, behind. But it cracks you as you see him walk away, leaving you naked like an ugly shadow made by himself. You have mistaken his lust for love. Regret. It turns into anger, into hatred. And where there is anger there is always pain underneath. You eventually come to understand that in harboring the anger, the bitterness and resentment towards Bucky who has hurt you, you are giving the reins of control over to him—maybe It’s time to finally say “yes” to being Vlad’s girlfriend.
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#bucky smut#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky imagine#bucky x female reader#x female reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes#winter soldier
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Unread Letters To The Emperor
Mini Series Masterlist
Emperor Blade (yingxing) x Empress Reader
Chapter One: To My Beloved Empress
Word count: 1675
Author’s note: Happy reading readers!
⚠️Warnings⚠️: Death, time-skips, Blade giving everyone a cold shoulder, fluff, angst and use of alcohol , talk of children, having a slight baby fever if you squint
The sheets were as cold and unwarming as always, and tonight was just like all the other evenings you've experienced.
Alone in a larger chamber than you had previously had, you failed to like it because the emperor had chosen the room's décor.
It's not because you didn't like it.
It seemed like a waste.
What a waste of hope that the emperor will cast a light between you two and talk about xianzhou and how he was raised over a cup of tea in the garden.
It was simply wishful thinking that an empress should not care about the affairs of the emperor and should only focus on her duties.
A waste since you couldn't curl up in his arms at night and mumble cutesy phrases like in the book you read. The life in the palace wasn't romantic and bright as in the novels; instead, it was a huge dark hole that swallowed your light so that you could become the puppeteer's next puppet.
A few months had passed since your marriage, but it felt like a year. Love in the palace was difficult, especially if it had never existed in the first place. Everything was a political game. When will you ever escape this pit of loneliness?
It was overwhelming.
It wouldn't hurt to take a stroll through the gardens instead of closing your eyes, would it? You got up and covered your thinly nightgown with a robe.
Not a single person could be seen in the corridor, and the moonlight passing the windows was the sole source of light.
You came to a stop there; the new portrait of you and the emperor was in the center of the stairway.
You can't deny that the two of you appeared desirable together, yet the very thought of it made your heart hurt.
"What are you doing?”
"I intended to stroll through the garden" you uttered, a slight scowl appearing on your lips.
Blade was silent for a short while, and even though you weren't sure if he was judging you, you still felt weak in his presence. He was tall and
When did he become so attractive?
"This late in the evening? with flimsy sleepwear?"
Your robe, which you use as a cover, became undone, revealing your chest and collarbone. Your cheeks burned scarlet, and you hastily covered it up again. The emperor watched in dismay as you panicked.
Blade replied in an impassive voice, "Don't cause any trouble; I don't like cleaning up messe” As he left, a strong smell of alcohol linger in the air.
Even though the smell was strong, he managed to walk and scold you, leading you to believe that he had a high tolerance for alcohol.
You might be able to adjust to this palace and loneliness.
———
Before you knew it, two years had gone by since you and the emperor were married, and during those two years as an empress, the public adored you.
Mostly, the mask you put on, along with the staged laughs and smiles you showed them, made it impossible for them to tell which side of you was fake or real since they never got to know you in the first place.
The longer this continued, the more you began to lose yourself in the high heels that blistered your feet, the fitted clothes you wore, and the diet you followed.
However, even though it hurts, a smile can make up for the emperor's ignorance and the mountain of papers at your office.
As an empress, it was expected of you to be flawless, pretending about everything until the point where you lose the last bit of your sanity that has kept you this far.
Sometimes you cry yourself to sleep until you can no longer cry, considering you're drained. Other nights, you sit up late writing in a diary to remind yourself that you're still alive.
Just like now, the celebration did not feel like it was one, even though everyone brought gifts and expressed congratulations to the empress and emperor on their milestones, to which you could only nod and smile.
If the emperor and empress were strangers to one another, what was there to feel happy about?
A waiter came up to you and offered you a glass of wine, which you eagerly accepted after you excused yourself from the guests you were now entertaining.
Blade saw you standing around five feet away from each other, staring at no one in particular, but he did manage to get a glimpse of your figure as you swirled the crimson liquid gently before taking a sip.
You committed a mistake there.
The wine, or should I say poisoned, had a strong effect on you. The glass broke on the floor, and your body fell like a feather, with blurry vision and struggling to breathe.
As everyone gasped and cried out for aid, you were on your dying breath, and your vision was fixed on the emperor, who was still; all you could do was stare at him with a single tear falling from your eye.
Did he really hate you that much?
———
The empress's death didn't concern Blade in Jing Yuan's eye. He watched as the emperor placed a white rose on your open casket, emotionless, hearing the people behind him crying and talking about on how your death was so sudden.
He waited for Blade in the corner hallway, ready to investigate.
“Jing yuan” blade spoke as he eyed the general; he didn't expect him to be here, especially at this time when the general gazed at the emperor.
"My condolences, your highness; have you found any witnesses?" Jing Yuan spoke loudly and clearly, and the emperor realized what it meant.
“What was the empress to you?”
“Does it matter general?” The emperor replied no hint of remorse
That was the only answer Jing Yuan needed to confirm his theory: he wasn't talking to the a friend; he knew he was talking to the emperor, who showed no symptoms of mourning.
For Jingyuan, everything fell into place. Did the emperor kill the empress? If so, why was he silent when you were dying?
Blade walked away from the general, uninterested in what he had to say. Everything has been chaotic since your passing, and it has only been three days. He passed by the half-covered portrayal of you and him.
The two of you looked exceptional together, he thought, staring at the opposite part, where your form was barely visible due to the curtains shutting and the portrait getting ready to be removed.
Why was everybody fond of you?
It was silent, his office door was open, and it was odd that no one could enter until he specifically said so. In truth, he was restless. When you were here, he had time to relax, even for a few minutes.
Dan Feng was positioned at the window of his office, glancing at the vase touching the flower as it wilted and lost its color.
"The empress did a good job taking care of the flowers, although they're starting to die” Dan Feng pondered, looking back at the emperor.
"Apologize for my intrusion, your highness. I came here to pass on my condolences"
"Leave"
The Vidyadhara withdrew before he could say what he had come for.
Blade sighed as he watched him go, wondering why it was that the mere mention of you set him off. His hand found its way to his hair, pulling his long locks through his finger. There had never been an issue when you were here.
———
He was told by his butler, "Your highness the empress left a diary and a few letters attached to the pages; it might be valuable." He accepted the item and left to give the emperor privacy.
He never imagined you kept a journal like this. As he traced the patterns on the cover, he noticed how cold it was and wondered if your warmth would help.
It was strange; the maids were nowhere to be seen, and the gardener you were close to failed to maintain the herbs and rows of roses you enjoyed.
The entries were like any other diary—a brief rumble about your day and things you found hysterical. Blade found himself half smiling and felt like he knew you after reading the first few pages.
— entry 25
"I'm getting married. Will I do okay? I need to be ideal so that the emperor would acknowledge me.
— entry 32
The palace was not for the kindhearted; my feet ached from the blisters on my heels, my clothing was too tight, and I missed eating sweets, but I have to maintain a diet for the emperor.
— entry 44
I went to an orphanage today. Everyone was thrilled to see me. The children's laughter was like music to my ears, and their lovely thank-yous were all I needed to hear.
I want to be near you, Emperor, and for the daughter we won't raise, she will wait for your care—the son you never sought.
—
Reading the empress journal was an emotional rollercoaster. Why would you keep this to him? Your fears, insecurities, and concerns
He couldn't stand the guilt; it was eating him alive. Why didn't he move when you were dying? With your begging eyes, you looked for him even as you died.
It was the first and last time he witnessed your tears.
How can he cast a light between you two if he is the shadow of your light?
Yingxing was an emperor who mastered the art of swords, from crafting them to wielding them. He knew that changing the past would affect the future, and he knew who could help him.
His darling empress, he vowed to change for the better even if you did not end up in his arms at the end of the day, seeing you alive.
It was all he needed, and it was worth it.
"Prepare a boat; I want to visit the high elder now" His voice was commanding enough to make his long-time butler shudder.
#ᗯiᒪᒪoᗯ#hsr x reader#blade x reader#honkai star rail x reader#dan heng x reader#emperor blade#jing yuan x reader#yingxing x reader
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Hi! Can I request a romantic yandere concept for Vox with Singer! Darling? The Vees already control fashion and entertainment industries, so Vox looking to expand isn't too far-fetched.. Seems like a fun idea. With him visiting his darling when she practices singing her new song or.. threatening her to let him listen to her voice once again or else she'll lose her job.
Or him kicking and giggling like a schoolgirl when he listens to love songs because he thinks she sings abt him lmao
OMFG I am so excited to do this one as I can see him assuming your songs are about/for him. Did female due to the pronouns used in the ask. Let me know if there's any formatting issues. Tumblr likes to do that.
Yandere! Vox with Singer! Darling
Pairing: Romantic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Mature themes, Delusional behavior, Stalking, Manipulation, Coercion, Soul contract, Mentions of ownership, Toxic relationships, General yandere themes, Violence, Murder, Blood, Possessive behavior, Forced relationship.
It only makes sense that Vox would want to branch out.
He and the other Vees control the TV/adult film entertainment industry and fashion industry.
Eventually the music industry should be included.
I love the idea of Vox falling for a singer he met at a bar or something.
You're a young singer just starting her career in Hell.
When Vox sees you, you're such a beautiful thing.
Your voice is almost too divine for Hell.
Like a siren he falls for you and thinks of a plan to have you under the control of the Vees.
He never thought too much about singing until he met you.
He doesn't give you a job immediately.
First, he decides he should "scope things out".
He watches your every performance, making sure every one of them is recorded to look at later.
He listens to your songs on repeat and definitely looks to see if you listened to any love songs.
Eventually Vox will approach you to speak.
You originally seem nervous, he's a known Overlord after all.
Yet Vox plays himself off as a friend.
He's no threat, dear!
He just wants to see what you have to offer.
Safe to say, your voice and looks get you a job with Vox and the Vees.
Vox wants to harness your voice, to hear you sing because he tells you to.
You become his little songbird, often asking Velvette to prepare your outfits when singing.
Said outfits are often colors that represent Vox, like blues accented with reds.
Despite the fact Vox likes to dress you up and listen to your voice, I imagine he's jealous of your other fans.
Now in terms of if he'd own your soul or not, that can happen.
At first there's no soul contract, just him paying and supporting you to sing so he can listen to all of your songs on repeat.
Vox may slowly fall in love with you when listening to the songs you sing.
I like to imagine he gives you love songs to sing, much to your confusion.
When asked about it he just says its "what the people want!"
In reality, it's what he wants as he records you singing the lyrics to listen to later.
He definitely giggles to himself while listening to your songs in private.
Vox is a very charismatic Overlord who likes to keep up appearances.
I can see him manipulating or coercing his little songbird into things.
After all... Don't you want to be famous?
He can make you a star, lovely... Just sign his contract.
He'd definitely coerce his singer obsession into a contract, wanting to own her soul on a pretty blue chain.
He appears at every practice you have, in fact you've never seen him miss one.
It's surprising to every demon there at first when Vox appears to watch you sing.
Although... once word gets out that Vox does indeed own your soul, they stop questioning it.
You're off the market now.
If you ever tried to neglect him, he'd definitely have a bit of a fit.
For example, maybe you're tired and mad at him... You tell him you have to skip a practice.
Well, maybe he'll let you skip a practice... But now you have to sing for him in private.
If you don't? Then he summons your chain and reminds you of just who you belong to.
He grins when you comply, singing cute little songs for him whenever he asks.
After all, this is your price for luxury.
At first you can deal with having to sing and dance for him.
Then he brings up something new.
Vox wants to make his claim over you known... He wants to be in a relationship with you.
You don't have much of a say, right?
He has control of your job and soul.
Even if you said no, he could easily just drag you around by that cursed electric blue chain.
Reluctantly you comply.
You become Vox's little songbird and lover.
He doesn't let Valentino anywhere near you and still allows Velvette to place you in cute dresses for shows.
If any other demon fan gets any ideas about you... Vox will deal with them.
He'll make it a message for others to know not to touch you.
You're his, his little songbird to adore.
Vox seems like he'd keep you on his lap or in a special little room.
You can even hear him listening to your songs, humming along as he works on something.
The other Vees may even get tired of it, leading to Vox to tell them off.
Every song you do is perfect in his eyes.
He even forces you to sing specific lyrics that vaguely imply you and him.
If your voice is feeling sore, he'll get whatever he can to soothe it.
It's not surprising if he interrupts a show to deal with a rival.
Maybe you're doing a meet and greet, only for Vox to drag away a demon who thought they could get too close to you.
You know better than to question the blood on his clothes.
Valentino often calls you Vox's pet due to the fact he owns your soul and calls you "songbird".
In reality, it does feel like you're a pet.
He has you on a leash, you listen to every order he gives, and you're used for his entertainment.
He's possessive, his touch tight and kisses rough when he has you in his arms.
He often praises you, calling you affectionate nicknames as he holds you close.
He doesn't care about PDA, in fact it probably just gets the message across.
By the time Vox has you, you don't just belong to the Vees, you belong to him...
Even if you tried to leave your job, you'd never leave him.
"Come on, Songbird! Sing another song for me... Sing a song about us, won't you~?"
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Part 4 to ganondorf x male readers engagement like who the wedding was and the maybe the wedding night? Please.
Title: ganon omegaverse
Fandom: the legend of Zelda
Chapter 4
Characters: loz ensemble
Fic type: series
Pairings: ganon x reader
Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, nsfw, smut, heat, marking, biting
Notes:
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
(Name) Fit in exceedingly well, the people recognizing him as not just their kings mate but future queen.
(Name) Hadn't seen his sister since he left, she hadn't sent a letter or anything and frankly it hurt (name) deeply as he sat in Ganons lap, the Alpha soothing him with callused hands, they left tomorrow for the wedding and (name) was genuinely excited to marry his alpha but he was also so anxious! Anything could go wrong!
"What is troubling that pretty head of yours?" Ganon kissed the others temple as the smell of distress was suffocating but Ganon refused to let his love struggle alone "what if something goes wrong?! What if I trip! O-or it rains!" (Name) Turned to straddle his lap as he looked up anxiously and clung to the alphas tunic "what if I make a fool of myself!"
"Darling, I had an indoor wedding arranged because I know you hate that you can't control weather and don't want wind blowing everything away especially with the winds of central Hyrule, your wedding attire is just high enough so that your feet can't get caught and you will not make a fool out of yourself, you are brilliant and I will do everything in my power to assure that our wedding is nothing short of magical" ganon promised and (name) looked at him with watery eyes and nodded, ganon kissing his tears away.
The trek to Hyrule was longer than he remembered, (name) still looking out eagerly at the vast desert that turned into the mountains and fields of Hyrule as ganon read his book quietly, the two fully invested in their own things. Something Ganon appreciated as he was a rather reserved alpha, he liked that (name) could handle himself and didn't need him 24/7 for every little thing, the two developing an excellent schedule.
(Name) Was depwndant on him but not co-dependant on him, he didn't need Ganon to feed him unless it was his heat or he was gravely ill, the Alpha remembered when the poor thing suffered with gurudo fever... Poor thing.
"I feel... I can barely move" (name) was covered in sweat as the palace medical team kept his body cool with water and cold soups "why do I feel like this" his voice hazy and waved in and out as he looked at Ganon as if he had all the solutions to his problems and in a way he did "it's gurudo fever, my love... Your little Hylian body can't handle the heat but it will pass with proper care" the poor Omega was bedridden for almost two weeks as he slowly recovered from it.
And now he was as happy as ever, writing everything down he saw to research later in the gerudo libraries and possibly Hyrule castles libraries as they would be at the palace for a few days before setting off to their honeymoon.
Though Ganon didn't think (name) would have much of a chance seeing as the wedding and post events would take up so much time not to mention the fact (name)s heat was close.
The way to the castle was filled with cheers and joy as (name) waved at them as ganon looked at him lovingly, the Omega was so happy to see everyone take the time to see them on their way to the palace, festival decorations everywhere.
Their wedding wasn't until tomorrow and the couple was thankful, Zelda greeting them formally "it's nice to see you in good health little brother" (name) saw the small smile on Zelda's face before letting them settle in, having her own things to attend to as the wedding would be tomorrow and guests were already in the city.
Ganon smiled at the omegas bedroom, such a large bed for a tiny little Hylian.
(Name) Sat on Ganons abdomen as they kissed, having not had a moment of privacy the entire trip and (name) was getting needy "you have to wait till after the wedding to do that little one" ganon could smell the neediness on (name) as the other pouted, the two has gotten much bolder with their touches but Ganon knew never to go too far, not until the honeymoon where ganon was going to blow this cuties mind.
"I can't believe Zelda let us stay together, unwed" (name) giggled as ganon rubbed the others things "she would lose her mind if she caught wind of what we have done back home"
Back home, ganon liked that (name) saw gerudo valley as home.
That he potentially saw Ganon as home.
(Name) Woke early, as did ganon, Gurudo women and Hylian maids came in to get them ready for the wedding and bring them to respective dressing rooms, the castle in full affect as royalty and high standing people from across Hyrule joined festivities, everyone absolutely thrilled at the couple blessed by hylia, (name) and ganon deemed by the people a power couple. (Name) Was dressed in a beautiful blend of gurudo and hylian as Ganon gifted him heirlooms from his ancestors, beautiful gold's and rubies that (name) wore with pride while glancing at his mate to be occasionally as he was dressed in Gurudo regalia, something he couldn't take his eyes off of.
He was just so beautiful... His thick red hair woven into braids down his back and muscles in display... Thank god the maids and such were betas as Ganon gave him a look that said 'behave' and (name) pouted a bit but controlled himself.
If you asked him months ago if he would ever consider acting like this, he would have been scandalized but Ganon had been working hard to let him embrace himself "Gurudo do not believe in shame with ones body" he once said when (name) panicked at the fact he slicked when they were making out and from that point, ganon made points to compliment and help (name) embrace his Omegan qualities and quirks.
The best in their bedroom was a start.
(Name) Sat before Ganon, the two on their knees as they looked at one another lovingly as their respective priests spoke, two very different wedding cultures being blended together wasn't easy but (name) was happy it worked.
"You may now present your mating marks" Uberosa said calmly as the Hylian attendees of the wedding looked confused and Zelda was even a little confused despite being told of this. (Name) Adjusted himself so his neck was bared to the king who gently slotted his face against it and bit down, carefully to not hurt his precious mate but firm enough to bound him forever and to the Hylians horror, watched as (name) returned it though he had to sit up a bit more to do so.
An Omega marking an alpha? That was the topic of conversation as the ceremony finished, all the guests going to the great Hall for cocktail hour and the party as the mates changed and got ready for the reception.
But first, Ganon calmed his omega down who was a bit overwhelmed from the mating and neediness that came from it, typically guredo weddings were ceremony then everyone parties while the couple gets busy with it and on last night they join the final party with a traditional dance.
But since it's Hylian as well, they had to do it in a day.
"Shhh, my love... You did so good" ganon cooed as he removed the jewelry as (name) grew stressed when the maids tried to remove it for him "my beautiful mate, you were beautiful... Absolutely wonderful" his praises and kisses calmed (name) as they gently cuddled, they had more than enough time till they were to make their presence and (name) could feel the slight burn of his preheat, something now only Ganon could smell.
"Now, shall we get ready and show the world just how wonderful you are?" Ganon cooed as he led (name) to get dressed, dismissing the maids as he dressed the Omega himself and gently laying kisses wherever he saw. He wore Hylian heirlooms along with gurudo though now in silver, his sister's silver and crystal tiara made to look like Leafs and silver and diamond jewelry, white robes with silver embroidery of gurudo and hylian aesthetic.
Ganon sat (name) down as he put the sandals on the other, kissing his ankles as he did so "truly, the goddess's blessed you with nothing less than the beauty of Hyrule" (name) grabbed the alphas jaw and slowly pulled him into a kiss before resting his forehead onto the others "I love you" (name) whispered and the world stopped for the two as ganon broke out into the largest smile "I love you as well, my darling" Ganon would move the heavens for this radiant star that was (name), he would do anything to hear those words again.
(Name) Held onto Ganons arm during the reception, the kingdom partying for the royal wedding as the Goron Chief bludo stomped towards the couple with a large grin "my! King ganon you are truly a lucky man!" He said happily as he looked at the Omega "you let me know if he's being a knothead, I'll whip him into shape!" He teased and (name) giggled at him "maybe one day you two can visit our suanas, we recently found one low enough from the mountain to not harm Hylians fragile skin!" (Name) Looked up at his mate hopeful and ganon smiled "we can visit come the winter months, enjoy the waters to their fullest"
The couple greeted their guests and various royalty and tribe leaders, (name) excited to see impa as she praised him "My, you truly have grown" Impa smiled as she looked at the prince, now queen consort who dazzled the room "you must visit me sometime soon, enjoy the peace" (name) remembered when he was very little, his father would take him there kn disguise to see the omegas god mother of sorts along with Zelda, the two playing with Cuckoo's and Zelda learning archery as (name) helped impa, she gave him his first book for himself; Hyrule: a history.
The couple watched as the guests danced, (name) grinning as ganon and him did traditional Gurudo dances together as a newly wed couple before Zelda and (name) danced, typically it was the Sire or the Dam but since they had neither Zelda stepped in.
"I just apologize" she said softly to her brother as they danced, fire arms touching as they moved in sync and years of formal training coming into action "it was unfair of me to deny you your mate, it was selfish and cruel... I hope you can forgive me" her words sincere and hopeful as (name) smiled "I forgive you, I know you care... Even if it's in your own way" he teased as the other smiled, lost in their own world as ganon smiled at the siblings and glanced at his sister "he is truly remarkable" she whispered and ganon felt his heart melt.
Yes.
He really was.
Eventually, Ganon wisked (name) off as the Omegas preheat set in and washed the Omega in a bath as he was dizzy and needy "were married..." (Name) Mumbled as he rested his head between Ganons pectorals, purring softly as the other rubbed up and down the omegas back soothingly "we leave come dawn, your heat won't be arriving for another day or so and then you finally get to do what you want you horny Omega" ganon teased as he explained the plans to his mate who was almost passed out on him "sweets?" The Omega was already out of it, during heats he often craved sweets and meats.
"Uberosa made sure you will have some for the trip, now sleep my love"
(Name) Wore soft and light clothes during the ride as he slept in Ganons arms, his body slowly growing warmer as ganon read his book quietly as to not wake (name).
He was gonna need all the sleep he could get.
Their honeymoon was a month long as the first week was dedicated for (name)s heat and Ganons possible rut, newly mated pairs had the possibility of them triggering one another's cycles early.
It was quite small, but enough for ganon to get around but for royalty the seven bedroom cottage on the lake side was tiny.
But that's not what ganon cared for, it was what was around it that was important to him.
(Name) Never really experienced his home land, horses and wildlife all around them and guards hidden throughout the area but for now he had a needy omega to attend to.
(Name) Had woken and whined, the early stages of his heat... He hated now painful it was.
(Name) Chirped as ganon kissed him, removing his clothes and letting the other worship his body with kisses and touches as ganon groaned at the taste of the Hylians sweat, like concentrated pharamones "take... Take off your clothes" (name) grumbled as he tugged at Ganons large tunic with a point "still coherent? How are you feeling my star?" Ganon asked his mate while removing his clothes and not missing how (name) stared at his gurthy cock with a hungry expression, Ganon knew outside of heat that this Omega would be a mess at the concept of his cock.
He had that heat confidence.
"I don't.. hurt as much .." (name) whispered as ganon kissed his cheek gently "do you wish to nest before we get into it?" Ganon asked his love who nodded and took the Gurudo kings large tunic and his pants before looking to ganon hopefully, thankfully the Alpha understood the assignment immediately and went and collected all the nesting supplies he could for the other.
It was adorable seeing (name) make a big nest for the two, both butt naked as ganon slowly stroked his cock at the sight of his naked mate, (name) was perfect and god he couldn't wait to see him pregnant with his pups.
When (name) finished, he laid on the nest sweetly as he looked at the others hard cock and the fog in his eyes and the chirp told ganon one thing.
It was go time.
(Name) Spread his pretty legs and ganon was between them in lighting speed as he lapped at the others hole, a gutteral groan escaping him as (name) jolted at the pleasure having never experienced something so blissful and powerful as the others tongue pushed in and deep, he knew the others tongue was larger than his but fuck!
(Name) Let Ganon do as he pleased as he clung to anything he could, currently it was Ganons head and the pillow behind him as he let the man devour his ass, slick sticking to the sheets as (name) came in record speed.
"Beautiful..." Ganon rumbled as (name) reached out to him.
"Please..."
Ganons massive cock was already lubed and lined up, the Alpha soothing him as he slowly breached (name) who whined and shook as he tried to adjust to the other, their racial proportions making it difficult as (name) was impaled.
When ganon bottomed out, (name) was shaking and the two adjusted for ten solid minutes as ganon whispered praise to (name) and kissed him lovingly "you're so good my love, you took me perfectly..." (Name) Experimentally moved his hips and moaned out shakily and ganon in turn slowly began thrusting, light experimental thrusts that made the other shake and convulse.
Ganon grunted as he began thrusting, watching as his cock went in and out of (name) and slowly began picking up speed as he suckled on the others chest and lifted him closer as he slowly picked up speed, (name) crying and moaning as he clawed at the others skin in pleasure.
Ganon grunted at how perfect his mate felt, the room heavy with pharamones as they fucked like animals.
"So flexible..." Ganon marvelled as he had (name) in splits, one leg raised in the Gurudos hold and the other barely touching the grounf as ganon fucked him, cum leaking out of (name)s cock and ass as he moaned pathetically for more.
Ganon fucked him everywhere, in the kitchen between making them food, in the livingroom when they had a chase (ganon learned that (name) loved being chased during his heat) and in the baths as he tried to clean the cute Omega up.
When (name) woke, he felt sticky and gross as he looked at Ganon, throat sore and body aching as he gently touched the others face "one moment, Omega... I'll knot you good" ganon grumbled as he sat up and lifted (name) into his lap, the Alpha clearly tired as (name) simply snuggled into him "morning..." (Name) Mumbled sweetly and ganon smiled "ah, you're finally back to normal" ganon was relieved as he kissed him gently, the smell of heat dissipating as he slumped against the alpha.
"Do you think I'm pregnant?" (Name) Mumbled and ganon chuckled "with the rate we went at it? It would be impossible for you to not be pregnant"
(Name) Smiled at the thought of him being pregnant and sure enough he was, nine months little Riju was born.
#omegaverse#omega male reader#loz x male reader#loz x reader#legend of zelda x male reader#legend of zelda x reader#ganondorf x male reader#ganon x male reader#ganondorf x reader#x male reader
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Let it Be Close-watch
Paul, sweety, it's beautiful, but it's killing the vibe.
Ringo looks like a very old, very tired lab rat whose been put through the maze a few too many times
Somehow the air-brown mostly eaten apple is very appropriate.
She looks far too sweet here to ever let John down. Yoko has very kind eyes.
I love how it makes it seem like Paul and John are calling Maxwell “the corny one” but really we know from Get Back that they're talking about a particular arrangement they were trying out for Don't Let me Down.
I swear he's saying “John” there, not “Joan” and also he said “came down upon His head” so… Oh! And Max died in the end in this version? “Sure that Max was dead” Okay. So Paul kills John and then himself. Murder suicide story. Yeah, Paul, you're doing great mentally, we can all tell.
I love how George getting electrocuted was important enough to make the cut for both films. Poor baby. “If this boy dies you're gonna cop it” from the guy who was just singing about a serial killer.
They're so silly
Yoko does not agree with me
Paul: stealing your man, sweetheart. John: oh no I'm being stolen teehee!
They're so silly
Oh wait, were those bitchy looks at George??? Because there he is. Idk could easily be him or Yoko.
this poor autistic baby trying to use words (not his language) to explain music (his language)
“Good MoOornin! Wooah!” I think I just … You know how Mike said people were booing Paul in the theater watching this? Yeah it's because they were pissed he didn't step out of the screen and onto their necks.
Oh Michael put himself in his own movie too? Huh, cool.
They are always in my heart
The way Paul says “get on the mic” to John??? I would've thrown something, that was so fucking bossy! Just his tone and his face and his angry pointing fingers. So mean. And John just goes “okaaay”. Oof.
Ringo covering his eyes like a little kid watching a scary movie during the orange sweater fight. Same, babe.
Sounds like the original lyric John's going for is something long “All I want is you. Nothing else is gonna do.” But that obviously didn't fit with the tune. I wonder if there was a particular conversation with Paul being controlling that made the “everything has got to be the way you want it to” line click in.
Oh my gosh! So George is showing I Me Mine to Ringo and Paul and he says the “I don't give a fuck it can go in musical” line before he even plays it. Not after John's making fun of him like he does in Get Back. Nagra reels experts: which one is correct??
George: it's a heavy waltz. Ringo:*claps hands angrily and punches the air to a ¾ beat. I love him, he's like the core of “Beatle humor” to me.
Woah there! Okay this is the John/Yoko pda Peter Jackson cut, I see. I wonder if there's a lot more footage of them swapping spit that might make the “oh John was just so in love” theory more reasonable.
It's extremely impressive that George just wrote this whole thing last night. You know? John and Paul have brought in all fragments from what I can tell. He's the only one to come in with a basically finished product.
LMAO and we're just going to Apple now. No reason. Nothing happened. Nothing to see. Moving on.
Ringo is so so cute pretending to hide from the cameras. Really he should've been the cute one.
Is it just me or does Paul drop the sillies and get sad when he sings “always be mine” at John? It's his regular voice, too, for a minute, if I'm not mistaken.
Silly cuties. But John's grin and little sexy tongue action happens the second time Paul sings always be mine, so…
What friendly artistic collaboration looks like when it's not psychosexual
Paul: have you played the dubs? George: yeah. Terrible. Paul: Great! Ringo: terrible. John: laughs Paul: (sarcastic) oh, so dreadful. …. John: where's my guitar? Paul: (still sarcastic) well we're just the greatest band ever. Idk I just like this dialogue. It's very them, you know?
This is adorable.
But I also love how they're already communicating with eyebrows, you know? They just bonded so fast and I find that beautiful.
And then Heather ups their game from taking turns going “chchchchch” into the mic to meowing into the mic. She looks at Paul like “okay your turn” and he sets her down lol he's thinking ‘if I meow into the mic right now after John already had a sex dream last night about me, he might actually cream his pants and we can't have that on camera’
Lol Billy just magically appeared!
Paul you're literally so annoying. You started the goofing off and now you're like “alright lads, that's enough.” Mkay.
He is unbelievably sexy and talented though so you know he does have those little things going for him. Someone write me a Paul/Billy fic please!!
Kinda crazy how they all four just slide straight from “Kansas City” to “Miss Ann” to “Lawdy Miss Claudy”. Makes me think of something they might've done in Hamburg.
I'm sorry but Paul finishes “please don't excite me baby. I'm down in misery.” And John's immediate answer is, “well you can get it if you want it, and if you want it you can get it!” And Paul ends up singing “I want it I want it I want it I want it”. Nice. Very subtle, boys. And that's before John gets kinky.
I love how Heather just forces a hug from George and then immediately runs away. What a cutie.
But really. How did anyone watching this get the idea that John hated Paul? Just confirmation bias I guess?
All the cut off conversations kill me but especially the one where John's working though Paul's anxieties. They're just in the middle of it and then cut. “two of us Sunday driving…”
Someone should do a study of whistling in their songs. I feel like it's another one of their tip offs that “hey this one is about us” Anyway I love John's whistling here. He's so good at it. I can just imagine him as some farm boy picking apples, you know?
Imagine booing this poor stay puppy though, like. What? I mean, what if Johann Weiner was wrong and John wasn't crying at the sight of him and Paul playing triumphant together on the rooftop, but at Paul playing his little heart out about their doomed love. Idk it's probably both. Let's be real, John was bawling through the whole thing.
What is George laughing at? Picture quality is garbage because evil corporations don't let you take screenshots of their content, but he looks like that one kid in your elementary school class that just dumped Cheetos all over his crushes desk and thinks he's a criminal mastermind.
Also I do appreciate all the attention given in the chosen shots to the musicianship. I bet they liked that at least if they had the heart to like anything about the movie at the time.
I'm sorry but I love how in sync Mo and Paul are. With this ducking and later the shimmying. I know it's wrong to ship Ringo’s wife with one of the Beatles she didn't sleep with, but… idk I really want her to have bedded all four at one point, you know? She deserves it, being an og.
Okay but yeah I'd be having a public meltdown if I fumbled that too holy fucking shit
Ringo feeling himself as he should
George just looks like he smells nice. Unlike the others. You know?
John has such a beautiful smile. If somebody looked at me like that I'd put him up on a giant screen behind me on my world tour after he'd been dead for forty years too.
That pleeeaaaheeeaaase though. Looking at Paul. How did he survive I'll never know.
The cut from screaming Paul to grouchy nap lady is extremely painful.
John was so cool in this concert. Like the epitome of cool.
Kevin, my love, thank you for your service
I love Yoko leaning so far and craning her neck. She's like a mom at a school talent show. Like “I only came to see my baby.” Type vibe. Which is exactly what she's doing, unlike Mo, and honestly I find both of them extremely valid
You know in movies where the romantic leads are never looking at each other at the same time?
I think I watched George and John switching back on their amps like fifty times because I just love it so much. And from this angle, you can see John's saying something to Paul about it. He looks serious and he's shaking his head. I wonder what he's saying.
Mal Evans I love you forever for this. Look at his hand on the rail, just blocking them off completely, so protective.
Them turning to each other at the end always gets me. It's automatic, like second nature, and it's the last time ever. They deserved better.
Oh Darling duet in the credits are you fucking kidding me??? Was that in the original? “Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh I do.” That's the second time that they gave away in this footage that they know they're talking to each other in their music.
Alright, that's it, I guess. And then MLH is haunted by this experience for forty years until he makes Two of Us to purge the demons.
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AS LONG AS YOU WANT (Part 3 - FINAL) Joel!Miller x f!Reader
chapter summary: The truth comes out
tags: enemies to lovers, miscommunication trope, fluff, HEA
a/n: This shit is fluffy AF y'all. A little love letter to the sweetheart that sent me a donation (I won't name ya unless you want me to!) that really touched me. I think it's a fitting finale to our sweet little story that all began as a gift to my heart @katiexpunk.
series masterlist here
AS LONG AS YOU WANT PART III
The next morning the door is pushed open without so much as a knock. You're elevated on your back, feeling every touch of pain that crackles along your body. Your head is throbbing and you need to pee so badly it hurts.
"Who is it?"
"Me," a young voice replies, accompanied by the sound of boots being kicked off and a jacket being hung over a chair.
"Come in," you call. "I'd offer you a drink but I can barely fucking move."
"Yeah, I heard."
Your eyes go to the door frame to see Ellie entering with an armful of snow-flicked books. Her cheeks are pink from the cold.
"What are you doing here?"
"Joel sent me," Ellie explains, pulling the chair next to your bed so you can look at her easier. "Wanted me to drop this off."
She places a gently clattering container of pain pills on your bedside table. You hold in a growl of irritation.
"I don't need those."
"Joel says that if you say that then I'm supposed to tell you that he's already gone today to get the Teton Village medicine so you can take these ones now."
Joel went on patrols in this weather? You can see the blustery day from your bedroom window, can hear the strong winds on your roof. Your face contorts into a confused scowl.
"But the s-"
"He also says for me to remind you that he's a good rider," Ellie says imitating his deep rasp, amusement in her young teenage face. "And that he knows how to handle the fuckin' snow."
Ellie smiles broadly, amused at your momentarily awed reaction.
You scoff. "Anything else?"
"Yeah," Ellie smiles. "He says not to miss his handsome face too much while he's gone."
You feel a heat go to your cheeks as you pretend to laugh along with her. His voice echoes in your mind.
You think I'm handsome?
Ellie hands you one of the pills from the bottle. You take it reluctantly, swallowing it dry.
When the pain ebbs slightly a short while later Ellie helps you to a standing position so you can use the toilet. You decide to shower yourself up the best you can before returning to the bedroom. Ellie is just finished changing your sheets.
Gratitude for both her and Joel sears through you. That they would go to all of this trouble for just you.
Wrapped in a fuzzy towel you pad over to the dresser. You pull on a nightdress over the towel before dropping it down to the floor, drying your feet. You think about crouching down to pick it up but you can't chance it. Just the thought makes your side ache.
Your attention is drawn to the pile of books she's emptied from her bag and heaved onto the bedside table.
"What're those?"
“You’ve never seen books before?”
“Ha ha,” you mock drolly rolling your eyes.
“They’re from our place," Ellie tells you before bringing them over. "Joel thought you'd want some new reading material."
Something slithers through your body at this comment. Joel is being so thoughtful, remembering things about you and he’s going to all this effort... But why? Was it just for you? And if it was, how do you feel about it?
You let yourself search your body and brain for a reaction and are surprised because You feel... Warm about it.
That's probably just the medication.
When you come back to stand next to the bed Ellie gives you a scan.
"You okay?"
"Yup," you say happily. "Just feeling good."
"Oh yeah?" Ellie holds in a laugh. She watches you roll awkwardly back into the bed, eyes glazed.
"Thanks for doing this Ellie. The books and pills and my bed and everything."
"Joel would be upset if I didn't," Ellie admits, moving the pillows under you until you're half seated. She darts a glance at you. "He cares a lot about you, you know."
"Mhm," you offer noncommittal. You're feeling that same loopy sensation from before. The one that has you feeling loving towards everyone. "I care about him too."
"Really?" Ellie sounds surprised.
"I think he's so handsome. And his mouth is so soft, Ellie. I wanna kiss him all the time."
"Gross," Ellie is trying not to laugh at your obviously drugged state. "I thought you two couldn't stand each other? You're always starting in on each other when I see you."
"He's annoying," you say with a pout. "But he's good inside. He just hides it."
"Oh yeah?" Ellie is tilted back in her chair secretly screaming in amusement. She's known you for over a year and never gotten so much as a hint of your affection for Joel.
But now that she thinks about it though it all seems so obvious. The way the two of you always seem to find one another in a crowd, even if it is just to argue. The way Joel gets up extra early on patrol days and uses extra shampoo. The way you both go pink in the cheeks when you have a disagreement, eyes flashing.
How didn't she see it before now?
Her surrogate father figure means a lot to her. He always has and always will. She wants him to be happy. She thinks about the two of you together and it brings a grin to her chapped lips.
"What's your favorite thing about Joel?"
She pulls the sheet up to your waist, amused at the dreamy look that's taken over your features.
"How well he takes care of things. Like, how he takes care of you and the horses and the community," you're slurring now. "He's got such a big heart."
"He does," Ellie agrees, thankful that it's not just her who knows it.
"I think about him all the time," you murmur, head tilting against the pillow. "But I try not to."
Ellie finds her amusement giving way to something deeper as she watches you fall into a medicated sleep. But not before you seem to momentarily come back to yourself.
"Don't tell him," your drugged self begs slowly. "He can't know. He doesn't see me like that."
///
Ellie drops by every day with food and to help you out of bed when you need it. You're doing much better however, and a lot of that is in thanks to the pills. They make it possible for you to sleep without waking.
Gemma also returns daily to check up on you, thankful that you're taking the pills and sleeping.
Your body begins to mend and soon you don't need the pills at all. You keep them right there on your bedside table just in case. But you plan on returning then to Gemma when you're completely healed up.
After a week you're able to get to the washroom independently without doubling over. You're able to shower and to wash your hair.
Joel doesn't stop by.
By week three Gemma is only visiting every couple of days to ensure that you're healing properly. Ellie comes by with food daily but she doesn't stay long as she's started helping in the community garden after school.
And in all this time your thoughts draw to Joel. His eyes when he looked at you over his whiskey glass, the curve of his smirk, his finger in your mouth. All of these jumble up in your mind leaving you irritable and confused.
You'd almost convinced yourself he liked you. Almost could have believed that there was a mutual attraction underneath the bickering.
He went and got the medication didn't he? Wasn't that something?
But maybe it hadn't been for your benefit. Joel feels similar to you about the community of Jackson. Putting it first before your own interests. Maybe that's why he headed out in a snowstorm.
Probably.
Because he hasn't been by to see you since that night. You don't blame him - it's not like you're friends. You're patrol partners and he felt responsible to see you didn't die that day in the stables.
It shouldn't bother you that he hasn't come by since.
But it does.
///
Week four is when you feel good enough to go out for short walks. You decide to get food from the dining hall. The pain is fairly minimal, but you're breathing is a bit labored.
It takes you three times as long to get there but you feel very proud of yourself. Folks greet you, but politely. You don't know many of the people that live here; you've always been more of a hermit.
Ellie spots you when you shuffle towards the drinks station and she waves you over.
You slowly make your way to their end of the table, shooting a wan smile that Ellie returns. Joel meanwhile has his head facing down to his meal, his countenance withdrawn.
"Come eat with us," Ellie insists.
"Not really up to it today," you confess. "Was kinda just trying to stretch my legs and grab something to take back. Give you a break from having to bring me food every day."
"I don't mind," Ellie shrugs. "I like feeling useful."
Joel is studiously ignoring you, his eyes on his plate. You don't know why but this upsets you. Joel is always finding some way to tease you or throw a sarcastic comment your way. But right now he's so quiet, so still.
"Well I appreciate what you've done for me," you say, tucking the sandwich into your pocket. "Both of you."
Joel feels himself straighten, his heart picking up speed, his entire body prickling at your nearness. He can smell your soap, see the way your face looks so much healthier now that you've been getting regular sleep.
"No problem," Ellie replies. She shoots Joel a look before kicking his shin under the table. By the time he gets what she's trying to communicate you're already gone.
///
"She told me," Ellie says to Joel for the twentieth time that morning. The two of them walk over the frost covered landscape.
Ellie has finally told Joel about your confession. She shouldn't have betrayed your privacy but seeing the two of you walking around so oblivious is frustrating to Ellie.
"She was high as a kite," Joel mumbles, unable to look at her.
"So?"
"She didn't mean it."
"She did so," Ellie insists. "She likes you Joel. Thinks you're handsome and kind and-"
"Ellie just drop it," Joel throws over his shoulder.
He doesn't want to nurse this pathetic crush of his anymore. It doesn't matter what you say when you're on medication. In the cold light of day you don't want him and that's fine. He's been single a long time.
And yet...
When his walk with Ellie ends and he starts up the stairs of the porch to head inside his house something tugs at him. It makes him mumble to Ellie about grabbing something from the shop, ignoring the knowing smirk on her face.
It tugs him hastily towards your home, to your front door and when you invite whomever is outside in, it tugs him by the collar to stand beside your bed watching you place a mug of tea down on your bedside table.
He takes in the nightdress you wear, the dark under your eyes. He sees the blanket pulled up to your collar, looking cozy and warm. Somehow that thought turns him on more than he can explain, just knowing your skin would be warm and soft and…
"Hey, everything okay, Miller?" Your eyes scan his face as he stares at you without speaking. "You seem... Weird."
Joel swallows a scowl. This is what he rushed over here for? This was the woman who really really liked him according to Ellie?
I'm a fuckin' idiot.
"Yeah I'm fine. Just... Checkin' in on you."
"Oh." You seem surprised at this, smiling faintly. "Yeah, well, I'm getting there. I feel pretty good most days."
"S'good," Joel nods, shuffling slightly. And he means it, he is really glad that you're okay. It makes the coil of rope around his heart go slack. As if now he can properly breathe. His hands go into his jean pockets and he clears his throat awkwardly.
"You went to a lot of effort," you tell him, feeling shy. "Before. With the medication.'
Was it for me?
"Yeah, well, we needed more meds," Joel reasons, unable to look you in the face. "And I had nothin' better to do."
Of course it wasn't for me.
You're so stupid thinking that there was anything there. You want to shake yourself silly for thinking that there was any chance Joel Miller sees you as anything more than an annoyance.
"Right, yeah." You sigh softly. "Well, thank you. I got a few days of really good sleep, managed the pain. Couldn't have done that without your help."
Joel makes a small grunt of acknowledgement in return.
He doesn't want to stick around too much longer. He feels awkward enough knowing that in the sober light of day you want nothing to do with him. It's made worse knowing that he so easily and readily would have opened his heart if you had given only the slightest indication today.
"Well, get better soon," he mumbles. "Patrols need as many people as possible."
You try not to look deflated. Everything he’s saying today hits you like a punch to the gut. You give a weak smile, nodding up at him.
"Right."
"I'll send Ellie by with some more books next week if you want." He motions to the books scattered on your bed, some dog-eared, many finished.
"You'll probably be done with all these by then."
You want to deny this offer, not wanting anything more from him. But he's correct, you read quickly and these books will surely be done by next week.
"That would be nice, thanks."
He gives a short raise of his fingers before he's turned and preparing to walk out the door into the chill of the day.
"Joel?"
He stills mid-step at the sound of your voice. He turns, hearing you tentatively approach him. He's surprised to see you out of the bed, bare feet padding over to him. You’re wearing a thin nightdress and he fights everything in his body not to stare at the way he can see the tight buds of your nipples through it.
"I never really thanked you for everything," you say softly as you approach, chest heaving nervously. "The doctor, the soup and drink."
You're so close he could wrap his hand around your neck and pull you to him. His fingers twitch against his thighs at the thought. His feelings for you are coursing through him and he's having a difficult time reminding himself that you don't want him like that.
"So thanks," you finish lamely, gaze unable to drift from his. It feels like his dark brown eyes are hypnotizing, drawing you into their depths.
Your eyes move to his mouth, that pouty, soft-looking mouth that haunts your fucking dreams. You realize with a shiver that you want Joel. You need to feel what it is to kiss him. Suddenly you can't help yourself.
A hand snakes out to his collar, tugging his face down to yours. Your mouths collide because you are desperate to see if Joel's lips feel as soft as they look.
They do.
They're so soft and they go firm as he kisses you back, groaning gently into your mouth. His hands travel to your waist, quickly banding around your lower back, pulling you into his hips. You smile against his lips, hands moving from his collar to grip his neck, needing more of him.
Joel feels like he’s on fire in the best possible way. You’re so warm in his arms, just like he imagined. And you’re pulling him against you, needy for him like he is for you. He backs you against the wall, careful to be gentle as he does. He licks into your mouth, his hips grinding against yours.
“So fucking sweet,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand on your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head so that he can taste all of you. Every crevice, every sensation, everything that’s you. His hand slides to your hip, urging one leg to band around his waist, his thickness rasping through his jeans against your clothed core.
“Oh f-fuck,” you groan as his mouth goes to your jaw, pressing desperate kisses down the side of your throat. Joel feels as your hands go for the buckle of his belt and his mouth comes back to capture yours once more. As your tongue greedily dabs against his and your hand slides underneath his jeans you feel Joel suddenly tense under you.
"Wait what-" Joel pulls back, his hands gripping you by the shoulder, looking into your face. He peers into your face a long while before his eyes fly to your bedside table behind you, fixing there before you see his face fall.
You see the way his brows rise and the almost pained look in his eyes as he speaks.
"I gotta go."
Before you can say anything to him Joel has scrambled to buckle his pants and then rushed out of the room. You can hear his boots slapping against the porch steps as you glance over at your bedside table.
There you see the collection of books, a glass of water, the opened pill container, a hairbrush. You don't know what upset him so much but you feel a rush of shame go through you. It has nothing to do with what’s on your bedside table, it’s that Joel realized that he doesn’t want you like that.
You were an idiot to think Joel Miller cares for you.
///
After six weeks you’re feeling back to your normal self. You tell a very excited Maria that you’re ready to get back to patrols but added: “Do you think you could swap my shifts though? I’d like a new partner.”
It hurt having to ask her that, but it felt necessary. Maria hadn’t questioned it – it was commonplace to switch people out from time to time. The man currently filling your spot with Joel would continue on in your place and you’d be moved to D-Watch.
It seemed like a perfect plan until the next day when you rose very early and headed to the stables.
You wanted to take your time saddling Glimmer as it’d been weeks since you were riding. You wanted to make sure you weren’t rusty for whoever your partner turned out to be. Glimmer looked happy to have the company in the pen this early, the dappling sun dancing around the paddock.
You were just releasing the cinches on the saddle when you felt the sound of footsteps making their way into the barn and then the heavy presence of someone behind you.
“Since when’re you back on patrols?”
Fuck.
"Hi Miller,” you sigh. “And to answer your question, since yesterday.”
Joel watches you saddling up Glimmer, his dark brows furrowing. “But it ain’t your watch today.”
“It is starting this week,” you answer breezily, wishing he’d just go away and leave you alone.
You don’t want to be talking to Joel right now. Just the memory of how you threw yourself at him last time makes your cheeks burn.
"What the fuck... Why?"
“I wanted to try something new,” you lie, still not facing him.
You hear the sound of his boots dragging, his body warm behind you. You hate that your stomach jumps at his nearness. You hate that your body yearns for his despite everything that’s happened.
“Anway, I’m busy,” you tell him as you reach for Glimmer’s breast collar.
You wait for Joel to turn around or to say something caustic. But instead you hear the sound of his feet drawing him closer to you. A feather light touch of his hand is at your shoulder, resting there. It compels you to stop what you’re doing and listen.
“I don’t want you to switch.”
His deep voice is soft and almost wounded. It makes your motions still and your head tilt to the side, about to respond.
Out of nowhere Glimmer rears back, sending you throwing yourself backwards in anticipation of a kick. Joel grabs her bridle, forcing her to still.
“Calm now, girl. C’mon, shhhh.”
She gives a sharp whinny, settling almost immediately. Joel pats her muzzle, murmuring soothing words before making sure the flank cinch is tightened properly.
He turns to look over at you, confused to see you cowering beside the stable door. You’re on your knees, half bent and eyes squeezed shut. As he watches, you tilt forward as if you’re about to vomit and you let out a low moan of what sounds like pain.
“Fuck.”
Joel rushes over to you, falling to his knees before you. “Are you hurt?”
"Just ... Just go away, Joel," you sputter before dropping to your knees. You need him to go away. You need the world to go away so you can get your bearings.
"Is it the ribs-"
"No!" You moan, feeling as the cold sensation grips your lower body. You let out another strangled noise, feeling like you heart is going to burst out of your chest.
"My h-heart," you sputter.
You don't know how to say the words: this has happened before but no one has ever been here to witness it. And for some reason this morning's is so much worse than you remember the last one being.
“I get these sometimes,” Joel explains, urging you to sit up and face him. “It’s just panic. Take a minute and breathe.”
“I-I a-am b-b-breathing,” you managed to choke out, even as you feel your chest constrict. You feel frantic, like you’re going to explode if something doesn’t happen quickly. Joel recognizes the look and his hands move to rest firmly on either side of your neck, forcing your eyes to his.
"Copy me. Inhale.... Exhale."
The panic is overwhelming, your entire body starting to break out in chills. You're scared and you grip onto Joel's shoulders as if he's a lifeboat and you're at sea.
"Joel, I-"
"Breathe with me, baby," Joel instructs. You feel his thumbs on either side of your jaw, grounding you. "Are you listening? In... And out... Just like that. Yeah, good girl. Just like that."
You breathe in slowly, watching his mouth as it form a perfect little ‘o’ shape. You exhale along with him,
"In.... And out ..."
His mouth. His perfect, pouty lips forming the words. The feeling is overwhelming, the desire to press your mouth to his is quickly edging out the panic you’d been feeling. He holds you in his strong palms and you feel boneless, his voice lulling you into a calm state. You gaze at him with glassy eyes.
"In... And out..."
Joel is so worried that you're going to pass out. You've gone from hyperventilating to sudden slow and deep breaths. But after a few moments he thinks you must be in the clear.
"There you go," he murmurs, gaze lingering on your face. Your skin is so soft under his hands, your eyes meeting his with lowering lids.
You continue to stare at him, unable to find the right words. Joel smiles crookedly.
"Guess I know how to get you to listen to me now. Just gotta catch ya in the middle of a meltdown."
He's trying to lighten the tension because your faces are so close to one another, he can feel the warmth of your breath huffing against his face.
You want to press your mouth to his but he gently releases your face, leaning back to regard you.
"Let's get you home. I-"
But you’re not moving from where you sit kneeling against him, your hands still on his shoulders.
"Why don't you visit me anymore?"
Joel doesn’t know exactly how to respond to this. He can tell that you’re obviously stressed and he doesn’t want to add to it. But on the other hand he has no desire to keep anything from you.
"Didn't know we were friends enough to visit," Joel shrugs.
"But you did the first few days," you reason, fingers digging into the warmth of his jacket. "The soup, the whiskey. Then that last time."
"You miss me or somethin'?" Joel teases lightly.
"Yeah," you say in a voice so gentle it could have been a sigh. "I do miss you, Miller. The place feels good when you're around. Better than good, it feels right."
There. You've admitted it. No matter what happens at least you know you've shared how you feel with him.
Joel stares at you for a long moment before he stands, suddenly overcome. You bring yourself to stand across from him, watching as he begins to pace in front of you, lower lip slightly protruding in thought.
"You know that night you got hurt?” Joel asks, darting a glance at you. “And I took you back to yours?"
"Obviously."
"You uh, you surprised me that night,” Joel confesses, his cheeks reddening. “You kissed me."
Your eyes blow wide. "What?"
"Yeah. You said a lot of stuff 'bout wanting to kiss me for a while and,” Joel licks his lips nervously. “You asked me to stay the night with you."
You're in total shock about this. You have no recollection except for waking up and being needlessly unkind to him due to the surprise of seeing him in your bed. You cover your face with your hands, humiliating overtaking you.
“Oh my – Joel I’m so sorry-“
“No, no nothing to be sorry for,” Joel says almost desperately. “I mean . . .I just. . .That’s why I was there when you woke up," Joel explains.
“Because I guilted you into it,” you moan, burying your face in your hands further. “And then I forced myself on you.”
“You didn’t force anythin’.”
You want to jump into a fit of infested bloaters if it means this conversation can be over. All this time you thought Joel liked you and it’s because he’s what? Embarassed that you threw yourself at him in a drugged episode?
You’re surprised when you feel his large hands overtaking yours, dragging them from your heating face. He looks so concerned, so nervous. It makes your heart pound. He holds your hand in his, thumbs absently trailing over the knuckles.
“I liked you kissing me. I liked being there with you when you woke up,” he finally confesses throatily. “I liked holding you. I like being around you. . . Even when you drive me crazy and you talk shit. I only like patrols ‘cuz you’re on ‘em with me. I don’t want you to swit-”
Before he can even finish his sentence you’ve jerked forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your mouth to his. Joel responds immediately, his lips slotting between yours instinctively as his arms go around you.
But then you feel him tense again and your body stills. Joel wants to kiss you back so badly his entire body goes up in flames. But all too soon he pushes you from him gently.
"You don't actually want me," Joel tells you flatly, swallowing thickly. "It's the pills. Like last time."
What?
“You get like this when you’ve taken the pill,” he explains. “Makes you more emotional or somethin’. I dunno. I just-“
"Joel I haven't taken a pill in weeks," you say, brows furrowed. "I haven't needed them."
Joel peers down into your face, uncertainty etched there. "Last time I came over to see you, those pills-"
"I hadn’t taken any that day."
"They were open.”
“I was counting to see how many were left. I wanted Gemma to know when she came by so she could use them in the pharmacy.”
Joel stares at you a long moment and you begin giggling nervously when you see his eyes darken. Immediately his hands on either side of your face, pulling you into a searching kiss as you whimper. And just like in your bedroom he backs you against the wall, pressing his frame against yours.
He kisses you in the way he’s been aching to do since he last saw you, teeth clacking in over-eager need, tongues and grunts and your hands fisting in his hair, needing all of each other. His knee goes between your thighs and you rest there, hips grinding.
"Fuck, I wanna do so much with you," Joel rasps against your jaw, planting sloppy kisses there. His teeth graze your pulsepoint and he groans when he feels your body trembling against him, your pelvis canting towards his.
"Do it," you beg brokenly. "Please, do it."
You want his hands and mouth everywhere on your body and he wants you in his bed right this fucking instant, but he feels how you move in his arms, still slightly stiff from your injury.
"Not until you're officially all healed up," Joel murmurs amazed that you’re here in his arms. "Can't risk it."
"You think pretty highly of yourself, Miller," you tease, grinning broadly when he does.
"Not Miller," he says giving you a full-lipped kiss as he circles your waist gently with his arms. "Not when I'm lovin' on you."
You grin up at him, feeling your eyes water at the sincerity in his expression. You run your hand through his greying curls; your thumb gently tracing over his cheek.
"Alright then," you whisper. “Kiss me again, Joel."
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller#dad joel miller#pedro pascal#fanfic#joel miller x f!reader#joel tlou#the last of us hbo#joel the last of us#joel x reader#joel x you
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my heart a frozen thing (I of III)- capitano x reader
the tsaritsa's handmaidens are enviable indeed; perfect, chaste, and honoured beyond measure. a well-oiled machine. but you do not quite fit in. lucky, then, that the tsaritsa herself has intervened, to find you a position that befits who you once were - to arrange your marriage to one of her most trusted lieutenants.
cw: arranged marriage, mentions of death/freezing to death, corpses, weird religious themes, bullying. reader is referred to as a 'handmaiden', wears a gown, but no pronouns are used. wc: 5.4k. sfw.
a/n: capitano and his little handmaiden are a little thing i've wanted to explore for a while; i don't usually do series, but i have a very clear idea of where this is going and i hope i can get it there! in my head this ought to run to three parts, but here is the first! i had a lot of fun just making up background for this honestly fbgnkjgbfn.
i.
The halls of Zapolyarny Palace have never felt so cold.
They are halls that you have walked a thousand times, at the behest of your Goddess; chambers that you have traversed for as long as you can remember. You learnt yourself here - so much so that the person you once were, the family you once had . . . that has faded to nothing. You have been a ward of the Tsaritsa since you were six years old, and you would not have had it any other way.
After all - are you not one step down from divinity? Do you not follow in her wake, untouchable and lovely? Do you not provide her with anything she could need? You see the Fatui members who walk these halls, the Harbingers - their hands are stained with blood up to the elbows, their figures stooped from war, their faces twisted with their troubles. They have clawed their way up the ranks -
And you? You have done no such thing. Something about you had called out to the Tsaritsa and she had welcomed you to her bosom and you had accepted, allowing yourself to be draped in furs and glittering crystals, to stand proud and haughty, to kneel for her and ensure her skirts are never dirtied, her every whim is met . . .
Until today, you suppose.
Her lips had felt like ice when she had kissed you on your forehead, and you had known then that you would walk from her chambers freezing cold and stripped of everything you held dear. You have always known that your fellow handmaidens did not like you; that they had envied you the Tsaritsa’s favour, that they have whispered that you are unworthy. Such things are easy to ignore when you know that you are cherished, though - and you had ignored them. You had ignored how they had ripped holes in your stockings and sent you on wild goose chases and errands, how they whispered behind your back when you fell into formation looking harried and rushed and imperfect because you had not been able to find your hairbrush in the morning.
But the handmaidens of the Tsaritsa are supposed to be a unit. You are all supposed to see one another as siblings; to think of nothing more than Her, and how you may serve Her. It is this that the Tsaritsa had said to you in your private meeting, as you had shivered and burned with the cold ice of humiliation.
“I love you,” she had said, with her voice as lovely as shattering crystals, as she had pressed that traitorous kiss onto your forehead. “Do not worry, little one. I shall ensure that you will not be thrown to the wolves.”
And then she had told you exactly how she was ensuring that, and you had had no choice but to stand before her, trembling, chin jutting proudly up - and pretend that you agreed with her decision.
There is nobody in the dormitory when you go to pack what little things you have; you are glad of that, at least, so that those who have brought you down to this station in life cannot gloat at you. You do not have many things of your own; of course, the handmaidens are given fine clothes, but they are more uniform than ordinary wardrobe. You pack your hairbrush, a book, a few other creature comforts - but you are supposed to be a homogenous unit, after all, and to make yourself too individual would simply not do.
One of the Tsaritsa’s servants is waiting outside of the door for you when you emerge. You shiver in the cool air, but try to keep a thread of your calm; give her a trembling smile. She looks at you with curiosity in her gaze, but she does not pry; that is not the way of things here. You soon lose track of where she is taking you.
In Zapolyarny Palace, there are paths that you walk every day; to the chapel, to the Tsaritsa’s chambers, to the hallowed halls and meeting rooms and anywhere else a handmaiden may be needed. But you do not wander freely beyond that. You know there are offices and spare bedrooms and studies and libraries galore - it is a most magnificent work of architecture - but you are not at liberty to explore them. So you soon lose your bearing as the servant brings you through hallways you’ve never seen, past doors you never knew existed. You feel your heart begin to beat too fast in your chest, anxiety crawling up your throat.
You do not know what is to happen to you now.
You know in theory what the Tsaritsa expects to happen, and you ought to believe her - find her infallible, as your Goddess and Archon surely is - but you have learnt, today, that nothing is infallible. You do not think any handmaiden in the history of Her Majesty’s service has ever been let go like you - and, too, you know none of them have suffered the humiliation of being--
You can barely even think the words. You think of the first Harbinger again, the one directly beneath the Director; the looming presence, the always-worn mask, the whispers that follow in his wake . . . you cannot imagine yourself on his arm. Cannot imagine yourself in his bed. Cannot imagine yourself standing beside him at an altar, promising him eternity--
“We’re here.” The servant’s voice is timid; even though she must surely know that you are disgraced, there is still - in your bearing and in the fine white furs and silks you wear - the reminder of what you were before disgrace came knocking at your door, and she has been taught that the Tsaritsa’s handmaidens are pure and perfect and precious. How you wish you felt that way.
“Thank you,” you say to her, swallowing to try and clear the dryness in your throat, trying to summon a smile. She bobs an awkward curtsey and inclines her head before she scurries away down the corridor, no doubt to whisper to someone about the scandal that is unfolding within the palace’s halls.
You look at the door to your new life. It is carved with swirling snowflakes; a solid impenetrable wooden shield from the rest of the palace. You do not know if it will stay your door, but you have nowhere else to go now. You cannot go running back to the dormitory of the handmaidens; surely, by now, they will all have been told exactly how you have been disgraced--
Your gloved fingers fasten about the doorknob as you force your traitorous heart to beat evenly. You must take things as they come; there is no point getting too frightened just yet. Some of the Harbingers do indeed keep quarters in the Palace - Pantalone, you know, has a wing set aside for his use. And Pulcinella, too, needing to be near the beating heart of Snezhnaya, has rooms here.
It is in the nature of a handmaiden, you remind yourself, to be calm. To keep their wits about them. It is proper of you to maintain an even voice and a pretty face, to be ready to be called to your service at a moment’s notice; and though you are not, really, a handmaiden any more . . . your entire life has been governed by these rules, and such things do not desert one so easily. So you keep your head held high as you step into the room, your chin jutting out, your eyes wide, your face proud--
And you do not let the tears fall, like your life is collapsing into the sea around you and leaving you adrift with no safe harbour (your beautifully designed ice sculpture of an existence), until the door is closed and nobody but you and the sharp coldness of the mirror mounted on the wall opposite is there to see it.
ii.
You are expecting to be brought before him, as would befit a man of his status - a status that now far outranks your own. You are expecting Fatui grunts or serving maids to come and fetch you from the neatly appointed little room of the Palace, to drag you before the Harbinger you are to become reliant upon, and to have every part of you scrutinised. Perhaps he will find you wanting, you think bitterly; perhaps he does not want to be a part of this mockery any more than you do. Perhaps he will snarl beneath the mask and despite the Tsaritsa’s attempts to save your life, will have you banished to some cold unfeeling corner of the Palace where you will freeze to death and nobody will find your corpse.
(It would hardly be the first time such a thing has occurred in Snezhnaya).
You are not expecting that the first of the Fatui Harbinger, he of the war glories, second only in the chain of command to the Director himself, would lower himself to come to you.
But come to you he does.
The room that you have been given is lovely if impersonal; a bedspread patterned with sprigs of blue flowers, an ornate mirror, a wardrobe and a shelf of knick-knacks. You, as a handmaiden, have never had cause to tend to the guest rooms - that is for those whose service is less important, whose place in the world is less holy - but you do at least know enough to know that is what this is. And you suppose, too, that is what you are now too.
No longer somebody who truly belongs in the Palace; no longer one of a flock of beautiful befurred doves, cooing and twittering over who will be granted the honour of smoothing Her Majesty’s dress, of combing her hair. Simply a guest - a person waiting to see what the next step in their life will be. Perhaps Zapolyarny Palace will be a pitstop; perhaps your new betrothed will have somewhere else to put you like an ornamental doll.
Perhaps he will take you to his camps, his fields of war, install you in his tent until you have forgotten the luxury of silks and glass and the blood he sheds stains your white furs red. Your nails dig crescent moons into your palms at the thought of it; of all of the ways your life could spiral into decay and dirt when it has only ever been pristine and beautiful before.
You are sitting on the bed when the knock comes, when the door is opened before you can even call out. You see the faintest outline of some Fatui soldier, before his bulk is silhouetted in the doorway and your breath is robbed from your chest.
Seeing him pass by you in hallways, or at the table when you have been called to the Tsaritsa’s side, does not do the man justice. He seems to tower over you; his presence in the room makes it seem like a dollhouse more than anything functional. Your eyes flitter, afraid to rest upon him too much lest you see something terrifying staring back at you.
You cannot describe it, but your entire body seems to go into a freeze response; you sit there, exactly like the ornament you are so afraid of becoming, your gloved hands neatly balled into fists upon the luxurious fabric of your handmaiden’s gown, your eyes wide with surprise and fear.
You expect him to stride in; to take what he has been given, self-assured as only a member of Her Majesty’s most esteemed lieutenant can truly be. Thoughts flash through your head; of him throwing you upon the prettily patterned bedsheets and having his way with you, of him grabbing you roughly and letting his hands explore the merchandise he has been granted.
Certainly, the visual of him makes those seem the most likely course of action. The massive stature, the shadows that his shoulders throw across the room. The impassive iron mask; the armour that he dons, whether he is on official business or not. Your shoulders draw up against your ears, preparing for something, though you know not what. You catch a glimpse of eyes, bluer than the hottest fire--
And then Il Capitano sinks to one knee in front of you and reaches for your trembling, gloved hand. Your breath catches in your throat as he draws it closer to himself - but then, he presses his mask against the fabric in an echo of a kiss, and from beneath the helmet he wears comes a voice like an echo in an iron chamber.
“Little handmaiden,” he says - and then, “I regret not coming sooner.”
“I--” Your tongue will not work around the syllables. It trembles in your mouth; only your willpower alone stops your teeth clacking together like some awful grisly musical instrument. “My Lord Harbinger, I . . .”
“Do not worry,” he says, his voice still a strange echo - you cannot imagine getting used to it, cannot imagine it whispering words of love into the shell of your ear. You can imagine it, though, booming across a battlefield, and the thought makes your heart seize in your chest. “I have no intention to hurt you. I am . . . most honoured by the privilege that has been entrusted to me.”
You realise with a start that you are the privilege; that this is punishment for you, but it does not seem so to him. The thought gives you pause.
Even the word . . . ‘privilege’. He does not call you a reward; does not act as though he has been given you as some Archon-won right, to do with as he pleases. For the first time, you let yourself wonder if perhaps your fate is not to be as cruel as you had feared.
“Thank you,” you say to him, your voice a thready little mouse-whisper of noise. Capitano does not move from his place before you, kneeling upon the parquet flooring of the room - his hand does not let go of yours for a moment, as if he cannot quite believe that you are real flesh and blood there before him. You cannot properly see his eyes behind the helmet - only that bluefire suggestion, the glow of something behind the ornate visor - but in your time as a handmaiden of the Tsaritsa, you have grown used to the sensation of being looked at, and that is certainly what he is doing.
“I intend to do this properly.” He tells you, with the door still open, with the Fatui soldiers who had accompanied him still stationed outside of the door listening to every word that he says. “I intend to make you mine in the eyes of the Tsaritsa and everyone else who matters.”
You think once more of the altar; you think of your uniform of pure white furs, traded for something lacier and gauzier, something more of a wedding gown than a ritual dress. You think of being chained to this man for all eternity--
And though he has been kind to you in these few brief moments, though your Archon had said she wished to see no harm come to you . . . once more, you think of Capitano’s reputation. Of the war fields and the bloodshed, of his victories and his spoils, of the way you have heard he throws himself into conflict like it is the only thing that keeps his blood pumping through his veins.
But you cannot say a thing.
“Tomorrow,” he tells you, and he says the word like a sacred thing - a prayer on his breath. “Tomorrow, I will marry you, and I will take you home.”
He does not leave his words in a question; there is no space for you to reply. You swallow your protestations as he stands back up and bows his head like a gentleman, though you know he is stained with blood in a way you had never expected to be yourself.
(You think of his hand on yours; imagine bloody fingerprints where he had clung to you. Marked. Soiled. No longer pristine and pure; no longer one of the Tsaritsa’s favourites. You stand upon the precipice of becoming something else, and it terrifies you).
“Tomorrow,” you echo, but the door has already closed behind him.
iii.
You cannot sleep.
The bed is fine; finer, perhaps, than the one in your dormitory that you have slept on for decades. The blankets and coverlets, with their pretty patterns, are warm (warmer than you are used to; the handmaidens are kept close to Her Majesty, and coldness permeates the air wherever she dwells. You had not realised just how cold you were used to being until you had slipped into this bed in a guest-room of the place you thought of as your home).
But your mind will not quieten.
You cannot stop thinking of Capitano, and all that his future entails; cannot stop the whisper of his voice, constrained as it is by his helm, when he says the word ‘home’. What is a home for you, now? At this moment in time, ousted from Her Majesty’s Service and not yet yoked to the first-ranked Harbinger, you are a creature that has nowhere to lay down their roots.
If you slipped out of this room, and out into the cold Snezhnayan winter . . . you would be another nameless person, another corpse frozen to a block of ice. You have not been out amongst the general populace in some time - that is not a duty that befits one of the handmaidens - but what memories you do have, before six, remind you that you would hardly be the first. Indeed, finding some poor soul frozen into the next life is an occurrence that happens to all citizens of Snezhnaya, eventually.
A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of your mind; another child, who looks like you but older, concentration writ clear on their face as they try and unbend fingers from a poor man rimmed with frost with lips of pale blue. An older woman, shouting - a sickening snap--
You squeeze your eyes shut and force the memory away. There is nothing, you remind yourself, before the Tsaritsa’s tender care. If there ever was, it has gone the way of snowstorms and blizzards; there is no use remembering. It has been so long that all of the figures in your memories, too, are perhaps no better than markers in the frozen ground.
If you cannot sleep, you tell yourself forcefully, you are not going to allow yourself to be haunted by nightmares of your own making. You will lie here, in this lovely little room. You will let yourself think of the warmth that seeps into your bones; you will let yourself remember it.
One final night; the first night you can truly remember where you are free.
And as for what tomorrow holds - as for the thought of standing beside Capitano, as to the thought of his home - be it tent or wing of rooms or little shack or anything in between - you will not think on them. You will think of how, if you wished, you could toss and turn and no other handmaidens in the dormitory will hiss anger at you beneath their breath. How you could sing in this room, like a pretty bird, and nobody would shout for you to shut up as they throw their pillows at you.How there will be no ringing bell in the morning, no sidelong glances from your fellows who do not think you deserve to play the role you are given.
There is blissful silence; the luxury of having a bedroom to yourself, of being an individual when you have for so long been an entity made up of so many.
You do fall into sleep, eventually.
You dream of being a beautiful white horse, your hooves leaving distinct prints in the snow, blending alone into the barren landscape of your homeland.
When you awake, there is a dress hanging on the wardrobe opposite the bed.
You do not question it; how they found time for your measurements, who made it, whether it is Capitano’s design. Your training does not fail you; things happen, and you must accept them. The easy freedom of last night is gone, and the weight of what you are to become settles like a mantle around your shoulders.
It is still service, you tell yourself, as you bathe in the little basin in the adjoining room. The soaps and potions that are lined neatly up on shelves are scented like something fresh and clean and floral; the kind of flower that makes you think of rolling hills and ticklish breezes. The handmaidens used toiletries scented with spearmint and frostflower, as the Tsaritsa had chosen - you wonder if these bottles here are the choice of your betrothed, or merely coincidence.
You perform your ablutions and ignore the fact that you are preparing yourself for something you do not fully understand. If you stop to think too hard upon what it is you are primping and preening for, you do not know if you will be able to keep the thread of your calm - as it is, your hands are shaking when you step into the gown left for you.
It is undoubtedly a wedding gown.
It is not cut in the Snezhnayan fashion; there is no trimming of pale blue diamonds, of furs or feathers or warmth. This is the gown of a beloved maiden in a tower; something to be worn whilst dreaming of gardens, all pretty eyelet lace and delicate embroidery. Wearing it, after being so used to the garb of one of Her Majesty’s attendants, feels almost like being naked.
There is nothing for your hair; you leave it unbound. There is no other ornamentation; you suppose, when you think about it, your glimpses of Capitano have never suggested him to be a man of excess. If it were one of the others you were to wed - Pantalone, perhaps - you have no doubt you would be draped in jewels.
If it were Pantalone that you were to be wed to, you think, he would not have been satisfied with a mere ceremony, rushed through the next day. You know from gossip he is a man who thinks he deserves better than the world has given him, that he would never take less than excess. A brief gladness that it is not the Regrator that your Archon has given you to flashes across your mind--
And then you remember Capitano, the size of him, the mystery of what lays behind his mask, and you swallow the lump in your throat.
There is a serving maid at the door, holding a bunch of flowers in her hand - they are delicate things, white petalled and lovely, scattered with pink roses. You breathe in the scent to calm yourself and recognise them as the same scent that lingers on your skin and in your hair - and the serving maid gives you a small, nervous smile.
“They’re Cecilias,” she tells you. “from Mondstadt. The Captain asked for them specifically.”
She says his name in the same way so many of the citizens of Zapolyarny Palace do; with respect, and reverence. There is none of the fear that edges those who whisper of other Harbingers in her voice - you have heard horror in the tones of those who speak of Dottore, the Doctor . . . But Capitano seems to command awe and respect. You want it to be comforting - but you cannot help but wonder if it is merely that those who know his true nature are quieted by his sword.
“Thank you,” you say, for you cannot make your voice shape any other words. Your tongue has grown leaden in your mouth, the moisture gone from it completely, and you know the thing that has sapped your ability to speak is fear. She gives you another smile, and looks at you in your gown.
“You’re beautiful,” she says to you, as if to reassure; perhaps misunderstanding your terror of your bridegroom as the normal nerves of someone about to tie their life to someone else’s in matrimony. The whispers of your dismissal have had time to grow their own stories, after all; few things move faster than gossip in a place like this. “Come. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
You’re helpless to do anything but let her lead you. The hem of your gown trails on the floor behind you, but the Palace is spotless; it does not gather dust or dirt. You pass through the halls like a ghost, and you wonder if that is how you look.
As a handmaiden, you had moved with purpose, with the assurance that you were Somebody. As the betrothed of a Harbinger, you move like somebody sentenced to execution, your heart pounding in your throat. The halls seem silent around you. You wonder, if given the chance to do it all again, how you would stop all of this so you would not find yourself in this position, walking to what could very well be your own doom.
“Here,” the serving maid whispers, stopping by a door. You look at it with dumb terror in your heart, but you keep your face an impassive mask as you have been taught to do. You know where you are; you know this chapel to be the Tsaritsa’s most sacred place. You have been given access only a handful of times; the handmaidens who serve your Archon here are far more senior than you. In time, you had hoped you would become one of her most trusted, one who could sit with her in prayer in this private sanctuary--
You suppose that is a dream that will never come to fruition now.
You give her a smile - a trembling thing, but you have been taught how to behave - and as she opens the chapel door for you, you square your soldiers and summon all of the courage you have (what little there is; courage is not a thing that is encouraged amongst the handmaidens, amongst those who must move and act as one), and you place one foot in front of the other as you begin your walk down the aisle.
You tell yourself you will not look at the pews - hewn of glass, the more to resemble the Tsaritsa’s beloved ice - but as you begin a walk that feels as though it lasts forever, you cannot help it. The chapel is still a sanctuary; it is almost empty, in fact, but for a few faces sitting at the very front.
The Tsaritsa herself presides, and you immediately lower your eyes to the ground. You have seen her before, of course - have tended to her when called - but it would not be proper of you to stare. She is still your Archon. Your fingers tremble where they are wrapped around your bouquet.
Capitano stands, as patient and as still as a massive statue, at the altar. He is dressed still in his armour; the only concession he has made to the idea of a wedding is a buttonhole tucked into his chest, of matching roses and Cecilias to your own. You can see that burning bluefire from across the room, and as you walk closer and closer to it you are hit by the urge to laugh at the thought that perhaps you are simply walking into hellfire.
And a few other familiar faces fill the first row; that is Pierro, you know. The Director. He sits ramrod straight, the second-largest man in the room, his cloak serving to highlight the severe lines of his face. There is The Knave, too - in her beautifully-cut suit. There is the smallest smile playing on her lips, as she looks from you to Capitano and back again.
Not all of the Harbingers have come to see this spectacle - you are silently glad of the absence of the Doctor - but there are enough there that you feel sweat prickle down your spine, gathering in the small of your back. You force yourself to swallow and to breathe. This chapel’s aisle has never felt so long before.
But even though it feels as though the aisle will never end, end it does - too soon, too quickly, and you are at the end of your last walk as somebody free and unmarried. You are standing beside Capitano, ready to pledge yourself to him as your Archon has demanded you do.
You wonder if he is smiling beneath the helmet. Your own face, you’re sure, must have the look of a deer staring down a bow and arrow; wide, frightened, terribly aware suddenly of its own mortality. But there is nothing a doe can do when she is a hunter’s quarry, and there is nothing you can do now either.
So you say the words, after they issue forth from the Tsaritsa’s lovely voice and she commands you to repeat them. You listen to Capitano make the same oaths, his voice still a strange echo. You do not hear them, not really - but it does not matter, because they are binding in the eyes of your Archon and it is your Archon who has witnessed them being said.
Your hand is shaking when Capitano takes it to slide the ring upon it. It is plain, too; a silver band, etched all over with some decorative scrollwork and words in a language you do not understand.
You have never seen a marriage. The handmaidens do not do such things - they are chaste, and pure, and when they are done with the service of the Tsaritsa they remain so even when cast back to the powdery snow. But you have read books, and you know that a marriage usually ends with a kiss; a sealing of the pact that two people who love one another have made.
You steel yourself, then, to see below Capitano’s mask. You try not to dwell on possibility; the idea of him being monstrous or disfigured or perhaps even just perfectly ordinary. You try to prepare yourself for the feel of another’s lips upon yours.
But the Tsaritsa never decrees that it is time for Capitano to kiss his spoils.
Indeed, Capitano takes your hand - his own like a massive claw, yours delicate and tender in his grip - and leads you back down the aisle. He does not look at you as he does it; but you have the strangest sensation that he is . . . uncomfortable, with the way that everyone is looking at him. That such pomp and circumstance is perhaps not something he would generally choose.
In fact, when the door closes behind you - when you and he are briefly, briefly, briefly along in the corridor . . . something in him seems to unknot. He lets forth a rattling breath, his shoulders sagging just a touch, that would perhaps be invisible to any other eyes but the eyes of a frightened, lonely little mortwal who has been torn from what they thought was their purpose in life and thrown to the whims of somebody that may yet be a monster.
“Little handmaiden,” he rumbles, from somewhere low in his chest, and you wonder if it is indeed relief that makes his tone seem almost comforting. “The formalities are done with. You are mine, and I am yours.”
He tilts his helmet, and that bluefire burning behind the visor finds your own eyes; almost imperceptibly, perhaps because he sees the terror in your gaze, he seems to soften at the edges.
Hesitantly, he reaches out a gloved hand; just as hesitantly, he cups your face, the metal cool against the softness of your cheeks. He turns your face towards him, with a grip that you expect to be rough and possessive but is as gentle as the first layer of snow upon a shooting leaf.
“Let’s go home,” he says.
Home brings to mind your dormitory; the identical rows of beds, the identically dressed handmaidens, the comfort of routine. Home whispers in the back of your mind of something cooking in the oven, of a rowdy family gathered around a battered old table, of three children older than you and three children younger than you.
You cannot return to either of those places.
So all you can do, then, is smile for the man who could be captor or lover or liberator, but is now, inarguably, your husband.
And let him lead you home.
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Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2
summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong
pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 3.7k
a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu
gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🔪read part 1 here!
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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers.
“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied.
It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it.
If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels.
“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side.
“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”
Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head.
“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now.
You had.
But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.
“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand.
“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.”
“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”
“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil.
Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise.
“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely.
“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest.
You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her.
Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you.
“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you.
“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible.
He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”
“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”
“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”
“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”
“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot.
“Can… can I see it?”
Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning.
Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?
Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back.
Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.
“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”
“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”
“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”
“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat.
Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror.
“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”
“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”
He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck.
Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans.
He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin.
“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”
Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other.
He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”
Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.
A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.
“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”
“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”
“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.
“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets.
Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark.
But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm.
Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty.
“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”
He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”
You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.
“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”
All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust.
“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time.
“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”
You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine.
“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end.
“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”
His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright.
“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching.
You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down.
“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”
“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –”
He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.”
Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before.
Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined.
Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side.
By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders.
They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.
Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat.
“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”
“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”
You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh.
Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw.
The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side.
“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”
“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.
“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”
“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”
The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do.
“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.
thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)
consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond fic#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x reader#aemond x you#house of the dragon#house of the dragon smut#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon fic#hotd#hotd smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#smut#my writing
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Hey ! Recently, I've heard about a guy in my college, a young jock fresh from high school, that honestly acts very weirdly.
Apparently, his friends all went to local universities, while he moved all the way out to the capital, apparently in a bid to get some "elite" education. But that's not really weird, isn't it.
No, the weird thing starts at how he already acts like he's the king of uni, belittling everyone, including those like me who have been here for quite a few years, acting and even stating that he is the "alpha" of our department - as if such an outdated and so obviously false way of classifying people was even remotely correct.
But then, he just goes around stating that he needs some "betas". Now, while I can imagine what they must be, those "yes-men" you see in movies accompanying the bully, I can't even begin to see how he wants to bring that to real life ! Especially since he's not in high school anymore !
Well, whatever. The real thing that creeps me out is how he seems to hang out near me weirdly often... Should that be cause for concern ?
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I’ve only just seen your message. Hopefully there's still enough time for me to warn you. What you’ve met isn’t human. Not exactly. He’s… more.
Most teenage boys go through puberty with drastic changes. They shoot up, gain a bit of hair and possibly some muscle. Their voice deepens, and of course they get some… urges. It’s all very natural. But some teenage boys undergo a… startling transformation. They don’t just shoot up, they tower. They don’t gain a bit of hair, they grow bushes of it. Some shave it so that they can better show off their muscles, but most don’t. Muscle isn’t just possible for them, it’s inevitable. They’re bodies become beefy and hard, even without exercise, though most still become obsessed with lifting weights and getting even bigger. But what sets these boys, or rather these men, apart from the rest most are their urges. They don’t just feel the need to cum like most guys. They get the urge to dominate. The urge to show their power. The urge to fuck.
These men are what’s known as Alphas. And no, that’s not just some arbitrary classification. This isn’t some guy calling himself an alpha male because he’s an insecure Andrew Tate obsessed bitch. What you are dealing with is a real fucking Alpha. Once they were normal people like you or me, but something… awakened in them at some point. Usually during puberty, as I showed before, but it’s not impossible to have an Alpha discover his true self later in life. These men, if they can be called mere men, are bigger, stronger, more dominant than the average man. Much more dominant. So much so that the world seems to… bend to their will. I don’t know how they do it. Maybe they have some sort of special pheromones, or magic powers. But what I do know is when they want something, it just happens. If they want to be good at something, they just are. If they want to win at something, they just do. If they want the world, it’s served up to them on a silver platter with a protein shake.
And if they want you to be their Beta, you will be their Beta.
I’m not kidding. They can just.. change people. You’ve probably already seen some symptoms, in you and your friends. A sudden interest in fitness, in sports, in ‘bro culture.’ A strange growth spurt, the kind that really shouldn’t happen after puberty. An increased libido, a simpler vocabulary. And most of all, a great admiration for your Alpha. Not just admiration, a deep love. A need to do what he says, be what he says. Once those feelings start it’ll be too late to save you. Soon you’ll be nothing more than his Beta. Everything about you will revolve around what they want.
It’s not the worst fate in the world. Most people think that if a horny Alpha could do whatever they want to you, you’d end up a brainless sex doll. But more often than not what they really want is a bro. Or, more accurately, they want bros. Alphas are so competitive that they rarely are able to spend extended periods of time together. It’s like having two leaders of a pack. Eventually they end up locking horns. So they find, or rather make, Beta bros for them to hang out with. Big, but not as big as their Alpha. Sexy, but not hot enough to take any pussy away from the Alpha. Cool but not cool enough to take any attention away from the Alpha. There are some differences based on what the Alpha wants. Some Betas are stoners, some are jocks, some are surfers and some are skaters. It all depends on the Alphas personal aesthetic and taste. But Betas are all muscular, horny, hung, and completely subservient to their Alphas.
If you’re lucky, you can get out. Move somewhere far away, and forget about all of this. If you’re lucky the Alpha won’t care enough to go after you. You can keep your identity and sense of self intact.
But if you’re not lucky? If you’re too far under his influence? If your Alpha has taken a liking to you and won’t let you go? Well…
… be grateful you’re his Beta bro and not his Beta bitch.
**3 post in 2 days! I feel like I’m on fire! Guess I’m just very motivated to write recently. Anyways I hope you guys liked this one! Hope mentioning Andrew Tate wasn’t too political. I hate to let irl politics ruin my online fun. Enjoy!**
#jock tf#jock transformation#jockification#muscle growth tf#nerd to jock#Alpha with a capital A#muscle tf
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sweet
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston sneaks into your bedroom
( a/n : this request was so cute! i want dal so badly HOLYY but anyway i hope u cuties enjoy )
the smoke of a candle danced through your room, coating it in a subtle smell of vanilla. the beatles was playing on vinyl, the record spinning endlessly. your vanity was covered in expensive makeup and one of the lightbulbs on the fairylights strung to your wall was flickering, slowly burning out. the new pink pyjamas that your mother bought you sat comfortably on your skin, and the pages of a book were flipping every few minutes.
you feel a sense of calm as you relax. it’s storming heavily out but you’re safe inside, your parents are asleep, and it’s just you and your little dog hanging out on your bed. you’re almost ready to blow out your candle and head to bed.
until you hear a knock on the window. you jump at the sudden sound disrupting your quiet time, but ignore it, thinking it’s just the wind. but then it happens again multiple times. your head is going to worst-case scenario. serial killer? kidnapper? you don’t know, but they’re impatient. so you hesitate, but peak through your lacy curtains. your lover, dallas winston, is staring at you.
you relax your shoulders and sigh, opening your window. “you scared me,” you whisper-yell so you don’t wake your parents. “how do you know where i live?”
“two-bit told me,” he tells you, talking in a normal voice. you elbow him, and he whispers as he continues. “i should be asking you why another man knows your address.”
“i babysit his sister, he drops her off all the time,” you whisper. you’re annoyed at him for showing up at midnight, and you’re about to force him out, until you notice how drenched with rain he is. “you’re all wet, dal,” you sigh. “are you cold?”
he shakes his head and shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed. “nah, i’m alright, sugar,”
you sit beside him and gently rest your hand on his cheek for a second, checking his temperature to see if he’s lying. “you’re freezing,” you have a worried look in your eye. he knows it all too well, you get nervous for him easily. “i’ll go get you a towel. do you want hot chocolate?”
“baby, i ain’t gonna die of hypothermia,” he assures. “i don’t need hot chocolate.”
“okay,” you give him a kiss on the cheek, then stand up and walk out of the room to grab a towel.
as you walk out of the room and into the hallway, careful not to step on creaky floorboards and wake your loved ones up, dallas sits up from the bed, and starts looking around your room. he’s never been in a rich kids house before. he picks up your expensive lipstick from your vanity, the one you wear everyday, the one that stains his face when you kiss him. he picks up your perfume — he loves your perfume. he loves how you smell, rosey and feminine. the smell of you makes him feel serene, relaxation washing over him. you have this way about you that makes him feel so safe.
after he’s done looking at your vanity and your shelves of books and crystals, he catches a glimpse of himself in the vanity. he doesn’t fit in with you or your room. his hair is wet, his jacket is dirty, his shoes aren’t shiny and he looks roughed up. but what’s funny is that you don’t even care. most socs care about their reputation, they would never want to be seen around a greaser, but you don’t care. he’s never experienced unconditonal love like yours before.
you walk back in with a pink towel and see him looking at himself. “doing your makeup, dal?” you tease, and he playfully rolls his eyes in response.
“very funny, sweetie,” he sits back down on your bed and takes off his jacket.
you sit down beside him and start drying him off, because frankly, you don’t trust him to do it himself. you brush his bare shoulders and you pat his hair with the towel. he’s watching you do it all, admiring your focus and your need to take care of him. he takes your free hand in his own calloused hand, gently rubbing it with his thumb. he has so much love and thankfulness towards you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. him taking your hand causes you to lose your focus and look up at him. his gaze doesn’t drift, a soft smile on his face as your cheeks blush.
“i think i’m dry enough,” he whispers.
you nod, and set the towel down. “okay,”
he takes a breath before speaking again. “can i stay over here tonight?”
you hesitate. you would love for him to stay over, you would love to talk to him all night and spend time with him, but it’s a school night. “my dad wakes me up during school days, dallas, he’ll see you,” you whisper. “and i don’t really want him to know that a boy snuck in my room.”
“what? why? you’ll get grounded or somethin’? c’mon, doll, nothing is gonna happen,” you shrug, and he continues. “i just want to spend some time with my girl, is that a crime?”
“he’ll be mad—“ you start, but he interrupts you with a compromise.
“i’ll be out at 6:00, your old man won’t see me. i gotta help buck clean up the bar, anyway,” he insists.
“..fine.” you agree, a little smile growing on your face at the excitement of dallas sleeping over.
he gives you a peck on the lips. you guys continue talking for a little bit longer, about how he didn’t know you babysat two-bit’s sister, and about how your teacher got you in trouble for chewing gum. and when your beatles record stops and you change it, he tells you he’s never listened to them before because they’re a “soc band.”
after a while, you two are lying down, still talking in hushed whispers. it’s mostly you talking, but he loves your voice, so he doesn’t mind. his arm is around you, pulling you into his side. you let out a small yawn as you start to get tired, and he gives you a gentle pat on your back.
“go to sleep, sugar,” he tells you.
you disagree with him. “i like talking to you,”
“yeah, well, you can do that all you want tomorrow, doll,” he takes a breath. “you wanna swing by buck’s tomorrow?”
“yeah,” you nod. “i’ll come after school.”
he rubs your back gently, and adjusts himself to get more comfortable.
“can you blow out the candle?” you ask him before he gets too tired.
he nods, and leans over to your bedside table to blow it out, then he turns off the lamp. his st. christopher necklace and the smoke are the only things you can see in the darkness hugging you two. the beatles continues to play in the background, and you two stay close together, a feeling of serenity in the air. dallas chooses to stay awake for a bit longer, watching you fall into a peaceful state as you sleep.
dallas isn’t the same person with you as he is when he’s in public. when he’s with his friends, or even walking around town, he has this intimidating aura that can scare anyone who has the mispleasure of walking past him. he has a dangerous reputation around tulsa, and he’s seen as a teenage dirtbag who’s been to jail more times than you can count.
but when he’s around you, he’s completely different. his walls are torn down the minute he smells your perfume. he lets you take care of him, he doesn’t wipe off the lipstick stains on your face, and he’s oh so sweet.
so as he watches the candle smoke dance through the room, he can come to one conclusion. he will never leave the safe place that he calls you.
#the outsiders#dallas winston#dally winston#dallas#dallas winston imagine#dallas winston headcanons#dallas winston x reader#dallas winston fluff#dally winston fluff#dallas winston x y/n#dallas winston x you#dating dallas winston#dallas x reader#dallas winston fanfic#dally imagine#the outsiders dally#matt dillon
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Maintenance Request Chapter 22
Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday
18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list
chapter word count: 2k
chapter summary: checking in with Joel 🥰
a/n: chapter 22 is here! we have chapter 23 next week and then the epilogue. keep an eye out on Tuesday or Wednesday next week for something fun 👀 I'll tag everyone on the tag list. 🧡 and thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕
chapter tags/warnings: flirting, pet names (darlin’, baby, honey), annoying coworkers
Chapter 22
Thursday, December 5
Fifteenth week of the semester
Sometimes Joel couldn’t believe his luck. Not only had he convinced you to talk to him – and gotten past all of the mishaps, misunderstandings, and ridiculous interruptions – but you’d agreed to date him. To be his. Most days it had him walking just a bit taller, shoulders just a bit straighter. He looked like a man who loved his life, and he knew it. (He’d gotten more than his fair share of teasing for it, around his office and at home. And Tess was a menace.)
On this particular day, he was walking to your office to meet you and take you to lunch to celebrate finally reaching the last week of classes. He wondered if the people he walked past could feel the good mood radiating off of him, but shrugged. He was in a good mood, after all. Just last week you and Ellie had joined him and Sarah and Tommy for Thanksgiving in the afternoon, since Ellie’s mom had been at work, and it had gone better than he could have ever imagined. You just fit – in his house, in his life. Ellie and Sarah got along like a house on fire (which was a little worrying, to be honest – those two were going to get up to some mischief, he just knew it). As he’d watched you get into your car around dinner time, off to have a second meal with your sister, he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if you didn’t have to go. If you didn’t have to leave his house in order to go home. If home was right there. With him.
He’d already started trying to calculate when he might be able to ask you to move in without scaring you off. (He’d decided on the end of spring semester. That was enough time right? Four months? Sure. Had to be.)
(If he could wait that long.)
As Joel entered your building, he felt himself start to smile, unable to stop it from taking over his face. Just because he was about to see you again. He was already looking forward to the weekend after next, when finals would be done and you would be done grading. When you would be all his.
He was about to turn the corner to head down the hall to your office when he realized he could hear your voice coming from the hallway, apparently talking to someone. He slowed, trying to figure out if it was a student and if he should wait out of sight for a moment. But then he realized how tense your voice sounded as you asked what the other person wanted. When they responded, Joel started to frown and crossed his arms, leaning up against the wall where neither of you could see him.
“Well, since it seems like you’ll be joining the course committee in the spring, I think we should meet to talk about it more.” Trevor’s voice was unpleasant, as always, but something in his tone made Joel frown even harder than usual. Even though he wanted to laugh, remembering how you’d told him Trevor had been taken off the committee, but didn’t know it yet. You were actually meant to be Trevor’s replacement.
“Trevor, I don’t think that’s nec–” Joel could almost picture you trying to keep yourself from rolling your eyes and this time, he did smile.
Trevor interrupted you. Of course. “No, it really is necessary. You could learn a lot from me, you know, I’ve been on the committee for two years.” Joel tried not to laugh at the absurdity of that suggestion.
“That’s ok, Trevor. I–”
He cut you off. Again. Joel frowned, listening carefully. “You know, you really do need to start pulling your weight around here. If you do want tenure. Some things are more important than teaching, you know. It’s nice and all that the students like you, but that’s not what really matters.” Trevor sounded so haughty as he said it that Joel’s hands clenched into fists without his conscious input.
“Trevor, I’ve already talked about everything with Claire, and she’s happy with me, so I don’t know what you mean by that.” Your tone had gone ice cold and it made Joel smirk, darkly approving. You tell him, baby.
Trevor cleared his throat and Joel knew he was probably squirming under your clear disregard. He could almost picture it. “Well. If you ask me, you need to learn more about the politics of surviving in this department and at this school. We really should set up a meeting. I know what’s really going on in this department, you know. If you want to be in-the-know.” It sounded like Trevor was clinging to his haughty tone with both hands, barely able to keep it up.
You sighed, loud enough for Joel to hear it from his hiding place. He smirked again. “Look, Trevor, I really am going to be too busy until after finals, and then it’s the break, I–”
He cut you off again and Joel shifted his weight, annoyed. “Well then we should meet at a different time. You know, it would probably be best to talk over dinner? I–” Joel heard the suggestion but not the rest of his sentence – there was a sudden roaring sound in his ears that took over and urged him forward around the corner before he even realized he was moving.
Turning the corner, he took in the situation: you, with your back to him, arms crossed in front of you as if to ward Trevor away. Your shoulders looked tense and he could tell even without seeing your face that you were desperate to escape this conversation.
Trevor, on the other hand, looked almost like he was aiming for predatory, but his demeanor couldn’t quite manage it. He was angled towards you and attempting some sort of one-handed lean against the wall to your left, staring you down. He didn’t look away as Joel came around the corner.
Joel noticed all of this without stopping his forward motion and kept walking until he was right behind you. He wrapped his right arm snugly around your waist as he stepped up next to you. He watched as your shoulders relaxed when he touched you and smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
“Hey, darlin’, you ready for lunch?” He interrupted whatever Trevor had been about to say without an ounce of regret.
Out of the corner of his eye Joel watched as Trevor suddenly stood up ramrod straight, eyes utterly disbelieving as he swiveled his gaze back and forth between the two of you.
“You– what– that’s not! I–” Trevor actually sputtered. It was very gratifying. Joel squeezed your waist and smiled, wide and disingenuous.
“Oh! Hello there, professor. Didn’t see you there.” The other man eyed him distrustfully, which Joel supposed was fair.
“Um–” Trevor started to reply, but you cut him off.
“Hi Joel, yes, let me just put my bag down.” You moved to finally step past Trevor towards your office, but suddenly the other man’s arm shot out in front of you, keeping you from leaving. He wasn’t touching you, but only because Joel had kept his grip on your hip and pulled you back a a step. You stared at Trevor quizzically, obviously surprised that he wasn’t letting you leave. “Trevor, what is it?”
“You can’t!” Trevor looked incensed, suddenly. “Um, you can’t date other employees?” He said it like a question, like he was scrambling for an excuse to keep you there.
Joel thought this sounded a bit rich from a man who’d been about to ask Joel’s girlfriend on a (very unwelcome) date. He was opening his mouth to say so when he heard Claire’s voice come from behind Trevor.
“Trevor, that’s not a rule.” She sounded exhausted and spoke with a cadence that made it clear this was a sentence she had said so many times it had its own specific rhythm. “I need to talk to you anyway, it’s convenient to find you here. Come with me to my office.”
She walked right past the three of you with a nod to you and Joel. Trevor gaped after her, mouth wide open.
“But! But she–” he sputtered, but Claire cut him off.
“Now, Trevor.” He scurried after her, head down, face red.
Joel turned to you and smiled. You looked shocked, and laughed incredulously as you watched Trevor round the corner.
“Am I imagining things, or was he about to ask me out? In like, the most condescending way possible?”
Joel started herding you towards your office with his hand on your lower back before he responded. “Pretty sure he was, yeah. Before I interrupted.”
“And thank god for that,” you scoffed. “Why on earth does he want to go out with me? He hates me!”
Joel smiled and shook his head. “Seems likely he thinks that’s flirting.”
The look of utter disgust on your face was very gratifying. Joel stood a little taller in satisfaction.
“Flirting?! He’s horrible to me, all the time. He just told me he thinks teaching isn’t important and was judging me for thinking it is! Just now!” You entered your office and threw yourself into one of your arm chairs. “God, he’s such a prick.”
Joel laughed. “Come on, honey, let’s get to lunch.” You rubbed your hands over your face, but nodded.
“I have to tell Beth about this,” you muttered as you stood and stretched. “She’ll never believe it.”
Joel let his hand come up to rest on your lower back again as you headed back down the hallway towards the doors at the front of the building, and he let himself feel smug when he felt the muscles in your back relax under his touch.
…
Joel
(3:42 PM): You know that professor in her department that everybody hates?
Tess
(3:45 PM): the British Lit Prick? yes. and yes everyone does hate him.
Joel
(3:46 PM): He tried to ask her out today.
Tess
(3:47 PM): 🤣and she turned him down, of course
(3:47 PM): please tell me she was mean about it
Joel
(3:48 PM): It didn’t even get that far, Claire interrupted. But she looked horrified.
(3:49 PM): I walked up just in time to make it clear she was taken, anyway.
Tess
(3:50 PM): as she should, he’s a horror
(3:51 PM): damn. how big is your ego right now
Joel
(3:52 PM): No idea what you mean.
Tess
(3:54 PM): sure, Joel
(3:55 PM): don’t run into any doors with that big head
Joel
(3:57 PM): 🙄
Tess
(3:58 PM): at least you can fix it afterwards if you do
Joel
(4:00 PM): See if I help you with the crickets, next time.
…
Beth
(4:17 PM): nice work with the showing off and being scary in front of Trevor
Joel
(4:18 PM): Did she say that?
Beth
(4:19 PM): she told me you walked up just in time to stake your claim
Joel
(4:20 PM): Damn right I did.
Beth
(4:21 PM): 😂well, good job
(4:21 PM): wish I could have seen his face
(4:22 PM): god that guy is such a prick. I did wonder if this was a gross flirting situation but I was afraid to make it real by saying it out loud
Joel
(4:23 PM): He turned a very bright shade of red.
(4:23 PM): Now that I know, it’s obvious. I’m surprised it took him so long.
(4:24 PM): Apparently they hate him all the way over in the chemistry department.
Beth
(4:25 PM): that is the least surprising thing I’ve heard today
(4:26 PM): he used to go to the faculty senate meetings and act like his normal charming self. I’m sure at this point it’s everyone on campus
Joel
(4:28 PM): I see how he earned his nickname.
Beth
(4:29 PM): I might have heard a student use it the other day 👀
Joel
(4:31 PM): If the students have it, it’s over.
(4:32 PM): Bet it’ll end up on rate my professor and he’ll have a meltdown.
Beth
(4:32 PM): it’s what he deserves
...
a/n: everyone hates Trevor 🤷🏻♀️ he may or may not be based on a real person 👀
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#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fic#x reader#maintenance request fic#JHCGBDM
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sugar stuck in your teeth
They're grimy and tired and Benson's neck is sore. Randy gives him a shoulder rub and thinks hard about the allure of being a biological organism.
2.5k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. implied sexual content, nothing explicit. sweat and oil and general nasty. sharing of a toothbrush. so fluffy i'm spinning it up and putting it on a stick and selling it at a carnival. read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.
They spend a full day on the road. Seven hours across Texas through scrub and sand. Nothing to see. No end in sight. Randy falls asleep in the dead-eyed sun of mid-afternoon and wakes up in the dark, dry air whipping through the car from Benson's window rolled all the way down.
"Hey." Randy sits up, disoriented, mouth gummy and tasting of bygone Mountain Dew, bladder fit to burst. "Why didn't you wake me up? You've been driving for hours."
"Didn't want to stop." Benson's voice is rough. Randy can read the exhaustion in his posture, the way he grips the wheel with both hands. "Besides, you looked like you could use it."
Randy shifts in his seat. He hasn't slept well all week. "Well…it's my turn now. Let me take over."
"Nah." Benson rolls his neck slowly. "Town's up here in like ten minutes. Figure we stop for the night."
Randy peers through the bug-splattered windshield and sees lights in the near distance. "You wanna find a motel?"
"I'd fucking love a motel. Gimme that lukewarm shower and a box spring mattress. Fucking luxury."
As it turns out, they get none of that. The only place in town has a sign that says Closed and no lights on in the lobby. Doors all locked, despite Benson's best efforts to rattle them open.
He doesn't say a word, doesn't even curse, just slumps defeated back to the car with Randy in tow. "You want the backseat or the front?"
"Benson, I slept for hours, I can–"
"There's not another town for forty miles and if I spend one more second on that fucking highway I'm gonna peel the skin off my face."
Randy doesn't argue. "I'll take the front."
"You sure?" Benson tosses a weary look at him over his shoulder. He squeezes the back of his neck and winces.
Randy nods. "Yeah, I'm sure."
The front sucks. You either have to fold your legs to fit around the steering wheel, or risk nailing the thing with your arm or your head. One time he hit the horn with his knee and scared them both so bad they ended up packing up and driving through the night because neither one could fall back asleep.
He's had plenty of rest. Benson should get the back.
They leave the car parked in the rear lot of the motel and pick their way through the scrub in the dark to take a piss, elbow-to-elbow. Randy barely feels self-conscious anymore. At the start he used to walk ten paces away and make Benson turn around. But that seems silly now. Benson's seen and touched every inch of him. This is nothing.
Benson zips up and takes off down the sidewalk with a haphazard sense of purpose. Randy has to jog a little to catch up. Benson holds out his arm and he ducks beneath it, the weight comfortable across his shoulders. By now Randy feels like he belongs there, pinned against his side.
He reeks. They both do. It's been three, almost four days since they last had a shower, been making do with baby wipes and clean underwear since they left Tennessee. Randy almost can't stand it. Back home, he showered every day, sometimes twice a day if work was rough. Right now, he could scrape the grime off himself with a fingernail.
He's adjusting to this level of awareness of his own body, like he's just now cognizant of the way his skin fits. It makes him sort of anxious. But he's coping. He doesn't really have a choice.
And it's funny–Randy doesn't mind Benson's stench at all. He's uncomfortable with his own stink, but he actually thinks Benson smells kind of…good, maybe. In a gross kind of way. It's such a foreign concept that he keeps inhaling a little too deep at this distance just to prove it to himself.
"What're you doing later?" Benson asks, oblivious.
Randy clears his throat. "Um…not much."
"Oh. Huh." Benson squints down the road towards the distant light of a gas station, the only thing in town that looks alive besides the two of them. "Well, how about I take you to dinner?"
A smile steals its way onto Randy's lips. He hooks his pinkie into Benson's pocket. "That might be nice."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Benson takes a deep, thoughtful breath. "There's this place…Seven-Eleven?" He casts a dramatic sidelong glance in Randy's direction. "You heard of it?"
"Yeah, I…I think so."
"It's just fantastic. The beer list? Unbelievable. And the atmosphere, well…there's really nothing like it." He's talking with his hands, throwing them off balance. Randy stumbles happily along with him.
"I don't know, um…I've heard they don't have Pringles. Like, the big can. Just the little ones."
Benson scoffs. "Well, now, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. You can get two of the little ones if you want. It's on me."
"Wow."
"I know."
"That's–that's really generous."
"Well, you're gonna have to put out."
Randy coughs out a laugh, looks at his shoes to hide the heat in his face. "Sounds, um…sounds fair."
"Randy, come on." Benson laughs, gives his shoulder a shake. "You're giving it up for two cans of Pringles? You gotta know your worth, man."
He'd give it up for less, but that's beside the point. "Maybe toss in some peach rings and we have a deal."
Benson gives him a squeeze. "Fuck yeah, alright. Now we're talkin'."
They pick their way through the snack aisles of the gas station, select a few staples they aren't sick of yet. Benson salutes the clerk behind the counter like he's an American hero. They make their way back down the road to the motel in silence save for the crunching of chips and cellophane.
It's a beautiful night, still warm from the sun, everything orange beneath the sodium streetlights. Not a soul in sight save for them. This town looks like every other one and Randy likes that, likes that it's starting to feel like coming home when they stop for the night in a new place with a single stoplight.
They lean against the trunk of the Chrysler and pass the Big Gulp back and forth. It's too late for caffeine so they got root beer, extra ice, because Benson likes to fish it out and chew on it. There's too many streetlights to really see the stars, but that doesn't stop Randy from trying. He sucks the sour off a peach ring and feels a little bit nauseous and a lot filthy and an overall, bone-deep sense of contentment.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Benson twist his head, trying to roll out his neck again. It's not the sharp jerk of his familiar tic, not quite, but it makes Randy nervous. He's been doing it all night. He wonders if it was something he said, something he did. He still doesn't know what exactly he's trying to shrug off every time, but he knows enough to tread that ground lightly.
"You okay?" he asks, tries to make it casual. He swallows the peach ring whole and has to fight it all the way down his esophagus.
"Yeah." Benson nods, winces slightly. "Yeah. Just sore." He grips the back of his neck and stretches, lips hitched in a grimace.
Randy can imagine. Slumped in a car days on end, cracking the damn thing all the time. He sets the Big Gulp on the trunk, thinks, hesitates. Commits.
"Would you, um…would you want me to rub it out for you?"
Benson looks at him warily as he considers the offer. He's slow to answer, but Randy is patient. Doesn't push it. Lets him think about it.
Finally he nods. "Sure. Why not."
Randy clambers up on the trunk and sits behind him. Benson leans back between his legs, rests his elbows on Randy's knees, hangs his head forward. The space between them is awkward all of the sudden. Too close, not close enough. Too many clothes on. Too much skin exposed.
Randy is nervous and he's not sure why. He thinks fleetingly of their first time, his first time, and the way Benson's hands hovered an inch over his skin and shook a little bit. This isn't that, but it feels kind of the same. "You can…tell me to stop if you want. Whatever you want. It's okay."
"How about you start and then we'll see."
Randy brushes the curls at the base of Benson's neck hesitantly with his thumb before he wraps his hand around the muscle of his shoulder, gives an experimental squeeze. "Right…there?"
"Higher."
He moves his hand up and tries again. "There?"
Benson hisses through his teeth, cringes. "Yeah. Fuck."
Randy sets his hands on either side of his neck and squeezes gently.
"Yeah. Right there."
Benson's all tension beneath the skin, stiff and warm under his cold fingers. Randy thinks about the color of his muscles, the white of bone underneath them. He's pretty sure he's never touched anyone like this before, not even Benson, not like this. Not friendly or sexual, just…intimate.
"If you want me to stop, just–just say so, okay?"
Benson grunts an affirmative. His skin is oily and his muscles are taut as bowstrings, so riddled with knots it feels like buckshot lodged in his flesh. Randy presses his thumbs in deep and pushes up along his spine, again and again, feels a flush of satisfaction as Benson melts back against the car.
"Fuck," he moans.
"Hurts?"
"Yeah. Don't stop."
Randy's nothing if not good at taking orders. He falls into a rhythm, slow and steady, works over his neck and shoulders and back again. Benson swears up a storm and lets out a low whimper whenever he hits a sore spot.
"Sorry," Randy murmurs every time.
Benson never replies, but that's okay. He doesn't tell him to stop either.
At first his hands are balled into fists against Randy's knees, but after a while they go slack. He relaxes, finally, allows Randy and the car to support his weight. It's a selfish thought, but Randy hopes he's the first person to do this for him, or at least the first in a long, long time. Benson doesn't have a lot of firsts left. He wants this one.
Before long, his hands are cramping and he worries he's going to rub his neck raw but doesn't want to stop touching him, doesn't want to forfeit this new familiarity with his body. So he eases up, cheats a little bit, combs his fingers through his greasy hair and scratches at his scalp. It makes his chest feel tight, the way Benson leans into his touch with his eyes closed and groans under his breath.
When he finally pulls away, Randy tries to subdue his disappointment, until he turns around and reaches up to hook a hand behind Randy's head.
"C'mere," Benson mumbles, tugging him close and meeting him halfway for a kiss that tastes like peach rings and root beer. Randy grips his forearm and for a second, in his mind's eye, everything drops out and disappears into the void, save for them and the car and the stars.
When he breaks the kiss Benson doesn't let him go, holds him in place with their foreheads pressed together. Neither of them speak. Randy focuses so hard on Benson's breathing he forgets to breathe himself. There are words, but they creep by in silence like animals in the dark.
"We still got water in the back?" Benson says at last.
"Mmhm."
"I'm gonna brush my teeth. Change into my jammies." His jammies are a pair of basketball shorts made of more holes than fabric.
"Okay," Randy says.
Neither one of them moves. The crickets chat amongst themselves in the brush.
"You still want the front?" Benson asks.
"Sure."
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Benson sighs softly through his nose. He lets go of him and steps back, shuffles from one foot to the other and stares at Randy for a long time, hair sticking up in all directions. Finally he goes to dig through the backseat for the water jug.
"Looks like a bunch of fuckin' raccoons live in here," he mutters.
Randy chuckles, looks at his hands palm-up on his lap. He's got Benson's skin beneath his nails, his sweat and oil worked into the whorls of his fingerprints. He's never been so close to another person. Spent his whole life maintaining a safe distance from everyone around him, treating his body like a blast zone. Now the idea of distance is laughable. They share everything but toothbrushes. Hell, he's been inside him. Randy always figured he would never reach that level of connection with anybody.
He brings his hand to his face and hesitates for just a second before he sticks his thumb in his mouth. The salt of Benson's sweat is familiar on his tongue. He tastes his skin on his skin. He knows him. He knows him. And Benson knows him right back.
He's craved this sort of intimacy his whole life. Laid awake alone countless nights and ached for it, mourned bitterly for what he never had and assumed he never would. But now he lies awake with Benson beside him and basks in how wrong he was. In how real he feels in his arms, wearing a second skin of grit and spit and whatever else.
He doesn't want to sleep in the front.
Randy twists to call over his shoulder. "Hey…um, Benson?"
"Yeah?" he says around his toothbrush.
"You think we could…both fit in the back?"
Benson spits on the asphalt. "No."
"Well…could we try?"
Benson snorts. "Fuckin' clingy, huh?" he says, but he sounds amused. Randy feels those dark eyes appraising him like a pair of hands fumbling at his clothes. He tugs absentmindedly at the collar of his shirt. Well, Benson's shirt. "Yeah. We can try."
Randy hops off the trunk and joins him in the evening routine, bumping shoulders, bumping elbows, their voices small and close in the night.
"Gonna sweat to death together back there," Benson says.
"That's okay."
"If you say so. Think I might skip the jammies. That cool?"
"That's–that's fine, yeah. That's good. Hey…is that my toothbrush?"
"No, yours is green."
"That is green."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is, the light makes it look weird."
Benson looks at the thing again. "Oh. Whoops. Does it really matter?"
Randy gives this serious consideration, thinks about his mouth and everywhere it's been. Thinks about the state of the rest of him. Thinks about pressing his body to Benson's in the backseat, sticky with sweat, breath on his neck.
He wants to say yes, it matters, but he doesn't feel it. He tastes salt on his tongue instead.
"I guess not," he shrugs.
Benson hands it to him.
"Your turn, then."
#i really do be dunking my barbies in mud and then playing house w them#and then posting at such odd hours#oh well. try and stop me. you can't#stockroom syndrome#the passenger#the passenger 2023#the passenger fanfiction#ranson#randy bradley#benson the passenger#the passenger 2023 fanfiction
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— sleepy
I’m still deciding how to characterise him because I feel like he’s got so much depth😫
Togame hates having his naps interrupted— unless it’s by you.
Pairing: Togame Jo x f!reader.
Warnings: 18+, dirty talk, established relationship, handjobs, cockwarming, lazy sex, one spank, dick riding, creampie.
Word Count: 2.1k.
Togame Jo is handsome like this. Thick brows softened behind circular glasses as his dark lashes tickled the lenses, eyes shut softly as his chest rose and fell steadily with the rhythm of his breathing. His yellow Shishitoren jacket is strewn over the back of the couch, sandals are kicked off on the floor as he spreads his thick thighs.
You’re happy to feel him half-hard when you settle yourself on top of him, plush thighs on either side of his hips as you press your weight against his crotch. You’d expect him to wake with a jolt if you didn’t know him any better, so used to having to stay alert to avoid the conflict from Furin or any other rival gangs that may filter into unknown territory. But Togame already has you mapped out like the back of his hand, warm palms immediately smooth along the exposed skin of your thighs as his lashes flutter. Staring up at you through half-lidded eyes as he stifles a yawn.
“You ain’t ever lettin’ me nap, huh?” His voice is laced with sleep as calloused fingers dig into the plush of your thighs, shifting slightly beneath you as he feels the warmth between your thighs press against his crotch from the motion. The way you tighten your grip around his shoulders at the contact doesn’t go unnoticed. He slides his outstretched legs back in as he shifts you on his lap, bringing you closer to him.
“You can nap later” You tease, pressing a kiss to his lips as his tongue juts out to taste your lipgloss, “I missed you today.”
You loved having Togame like this— soft and vulnerable, a side of him that no one else got to see.
“I missed you too.” He hums, tilting his head against the back of the couch to get a better look at you as you grind yourself against his crotch again, “Oh? You missed me like that—” He feigns ignorance— he knows exactly what you want.
“Been thinking about you all day,” You admit, feeling your skin flush as the heat inside you continues to rise, a neglected throb pulses between your thighs as your cunt begs for attention.
“Ah, so that’s the real reason you woke a sleeping man up, hm?” He pretended to grumble, his fingers already dipping into your thighs in response, “Tell me what you need?”
“Need your cock, Jo,” You mumbled, leaving glossy kisses against his jawline, “Please?”
“Take whatever you want, sweetheart.” He goads, “It’s yours.”
You love when he indulges you, leaning back just enough to pull his pants down as he mutters complaints under his breath as he’s forced to raise his hips just enough to leave the fabric nestled around the curve of his ass. A soft pout appears on his lips that you can’t help but kiss away before you take in the sight of his cock, hot and heavy as it lays against his pelvis.
Gently taking him into your hands as you pump him softly, your thumb swipes at the bead of pre that pearls at the tip as you smooth it along the length of him. Togame is so pliant when he’s like this, allowing you to take the reigns and use him how you see fit.
“You’re such a tease,” He chastises, his head strewn against the back of the couch as your eyes follow the column of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs when you press your thumb against his slit, swallowing thickly as his hips jerk into your grip.
“I dunno,” You smile back, “You seem to like it.”
“Your hand’s wrapped around my dick, what’s not to like?” He drawls, squeezing your thigh gently.
“So why don’t you wanna fuck me?” You press, and you feel his grip tighten against your plush skin.
“Believe me, sweetheart,” He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth as he flashes sharp canines, “I always wanna fuck you.”
“So why don’t you?” You pout, running your thumb along the underside of his cock.
“I just like seeing you needy,” Togame grins, and it has your brows furrowing in annoyance.
“I’m not needy,” You gasp in mock offence as you jab a finger against his chest, “You’re the one that’s been out fighting all morning.”
“You always need my cock to shut you up, yeah?” He ignores you with a dull smirk, staring at you with half-lidded eyes.
Togame his calloused palm along your thigh to the curve of your ass as he pulls your body against his, your face buried in the apex of his neck as he grips his cock steady. Giving himself a languid pump with a flick of his wrist as his other hand pulls your panties to the side, too tired to even attempt to undress you. His slender fingers curl around the fabric as he helps guide the tip of his cock towards your drooling hole, holding you steady as you meet resistance and begin to drop yourself down on his cock.
“Fuck,” You sigh as you feel the delicious ache of him stretching you out. Grinding your hips against him as you feel your body begin to relax and mould to him, taking inch after inch as he finally bottoms out inside you.
“Jo,” You murmur against the column of his neck, feeling him shift beneath you as he palms the swell of your ass, “Pay attention to me.”
“You always have my attention, sweetheart,” He replies, smoothing a palm along your spine as he holds you to his chest, “But it’s bedtime.”
“It’s four in the afternoon,” Your lips curl into a grin against his pulse point as he delights in the saccharine tone of laughter that tumbles from your lips.
Togame breaks off into a guttural groan that rumbles deep in his throat when he feels your tight heat clench around him from the rhythm of your laughter, a sound that vibrates all the way through his neck as you feel it against your lips.
“Yeah, see—” He agrees, tightening his grip around your frame to prevent you from grinding yourself down on his lap, “Bedtime.”
He tries to resist the urge to rut into you like this, to feel the blunt head of his cock carve away at your insides as you pulse and whine above him. Your fingers tease through the short hair at the back of his neck as you wriggle your hips in defiance.
“You never let me nap, woman.” Togame grunts.
“We can’t fall asleep like this.” You coo, warm breath fans his ear as you try to find purchase against his broad shoulders.
“Sure we can.” He counters, “Just close your eyes.”
Togame was certain he could quite happily die like this— the last thing he feels as he takes his dying breath is the sensation of your perfect walls wrapped tight around his cock. What better way to go?
“You’re so silly,” You scoff, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you continue to roll your hips above him, lifting yourself before dropping yourself down on his length as you deliberately press against his pelvis with each forward motion to add some friction to your clit.
You think he’s maybe falling asleep until he strokes his palms along your waist, mapping a path along your sides until he finds the curve of your chest. Pushing your shirt over your breasts as he palms them through the thin cups of your bra. The corners of his lips curl into a content smile when he feels you clench around him in response, your pace faltering when his thumbs graze your nipples. Feeling them pebble beneath his touch as he pulls the cups of your bra down to settle below your tits.
“You’re so pretty,” Togame mumbles, rolling the stiff peaks between his thumb and forefinger as you scoff.
“You’re not even looking at me.”
“I don’t have to look to know.” He shoots back, catching you off guard with a rough smack against your ass.
“Oh,” Your hips jerk, velvety walls clenching around him in response as you feel your skin begin to prickle under his touch.
“You’re always pretty.” He parts his eyes into a tired squint, just enough to adjust to the afternoon sunlight streaming into the room as he watches you. Using him for your pleasure as you keep a sloppy pace, hips rolling as his cock moulds you into the shape of him.
You reward him with a kiss— a slow sensual one with tongues clashing and swallowed breaths as a groan rises in his throat.
“Jo,” You mumble against his lips, “I’m tired.”
“Oh?” He goads, “You’re tired? When you woke me up to do this.”
“Please, Jo.” You plead, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth.
“I suppose I’ll have to do the work, huh?” He rasps, squeezing your ass playfully.
“Fuck me, please?” You whine, and Tokgame feels it. The way your walls tremble around him with desire, desperately trying to milk him of his seed as he feels your slick drool down to his balls. His eyes are still shut behind circular glasses as he moves his fingers to where your bodies are connected, stroking along the length of him that pokes out of your tight cunt to feel how wet you are.
“Fuck.” He groans, and you can tell that’s his final piece of resolve wavering.
You’re the only thing that makes him want to go fast— the pulse of your warm hole coaxing him further as he expels a deep breath. Togame’s grip on you tightens as he holds you steady, fingers dig into your hips as he starts a rough pace. The sound of skin against skin echos the room as he fucks up into you with vigour. The harsh movement has your breasts bouncing as you scramble for purchase, clinging onto the back of his neck near the base of his skull as you rest your forearms on strong shoulders.
He loves you like this— so pliant and at his mercy as his balls slap against the swell of your ass with each rough rut. Pulling the prettiest sounds he’s certain he’s ever heard from between your lips as you begin to crescendo, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your climax as your walls clamp down around him.
“That’s it, baby,” He grunts, as his hips snap roughly, “I know you’re close.”
Pearly tears clump in your lashes as your nails dig into his scalp, the coil inside you dangerously close to unravelling as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each pronounced thrust, “Give it to me.”
And you do. Crying out his name as your toes curl and your eyes roll into your skull, euphoria washes over you as it’s all you can do but bask in the pleasure as a mind-numbing orgasm surges through you.
“That’s my girl,” Togame is quick to prolong it, his eyes open and intent on you through polarised lenses as he moves his thumb to rub at your puffy clit. Ignoring your pleas that it’s too much, you can’t— when he knows you can, and you will, “That’s my good fucking girl.”
Your body trembles against him as your second climax hits that much harder than your first. Convulsing against him you pull your face back from his neck, sitting upright as the pleasure wracks through you, flowing through your veins like an addictive drug as he watches you ride it out. Clenching around his cock as your cunt eagerly begs him for his release, wanting to feel every drop of it.
“Fucking hell,” He pants, holding you steady as he begins to use his grip on you to bring your body down to meet his thrusts. Forcing you onto his cock with each rough snap of his hips, “You’re so needy.”
It’s all you can do but sit there and take it as he uses you for his own release, barely managing a handful of thrusts before he reaches his peak. Holding your hips flush with his as he pumps spurt after spurt of warm, white cum inside your velvety walls. Coating you with his spend as he leaves you seated on his cock, basking in the afterglow as he feels your walls continue to pulse and throb around him as he keeps you plugged with his spend.
You whine when you try to pull yourself off him and his harsh grip stops you, leaving you positioned on his cock as he wraps his arms around your body to press you against his chest. Tucking your head onto his shoulder as he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone.
“Not so fast, sweetheart,” He hums, his hands back to tracing lines against the curve of your spine, “You got what you wanted— now we’re takin’ a nap.”
#togame Jo x reader#togame jo smut#togame x reader#togame smut#wind breaker x reader#wind breaker smut
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So I've been dealing with a really bad fever for the last few days, and apparently i had written something i have no recollection of writing so here it is:
~~~~~~~
Tim had dug himself into a hole.
To anyone that knew him, that fact wouldn't be too surprising. Tim had always been a very capable individual, but every now and then he became too in love with how capable he was and he would trip over his own ego. Usually the boy could get out of the messes he created, the sudden humbling giving him a clear head, but this time, he didn't think he could climb his way out on his own.
The first shovel of dirt of this metaphorical hole came over 4 years ago, lining up with the first shovel of dirt of a literal hole.
Jason Todd had died. Robin had died.
Batman was in shambles.
And 13 year old Tim Drake thought that because of the knowledge he had, it was his responsibility to fix him.
Batman needed a Robin, and despite what Nightwing had implied, Tim was nowhere near cool enough to be Robin.
So what would make Batman get his own sidekick? If his enemies had one! Batman would be forced to find someone else to deal with the sidekick while he dealt with the actual Rouge.
The Joker was obviously out. Beyond the fact that the Joker was horrible, Tim may be joining up with a villain but that didn’t mean he wanted Batman to hate him.
That meant he needed to find someone Batman didn’t enact a lot of violence on. That got rid of the Scarecrow and the various crime bosses (Black Mask, the Penguin, etc.). Bruce had been close to Harvey Dent, but a 50% chance of death was a percentage that was just a little too high for Tim (oh how that would change). Most of the lower tier Rouges (Kite Man, Mad Hatter, etc.) had gone under after the got wind of Batman's fury, not to mention that Tim really didn't want to spend his days smelling like ketchup. Poison Ivy and Killer Croc were cool, but their skills weren't exactly ones Tim could replicate.
That left Mr. Freeze, Catwoman, Harley Quinn, and the Riddler.
The Mr. Freeze was more gentle with kids, their “villiainly” being based on the actions of adults, and the latter three were in it for their own interests rather than the purpose of killing or invoking fear, Catowman wanted shiny things, Harley wanted chaos and fun, and while the Riddler didn't share the same soft spot for kids, he respected intelligence.
Tim chose Catwoman; the least lethal, and the closest with Batman. The skills she could teach him would also be more helpful in other situations.
It took about a week from the day he knocked on Selina Kyle's door to convince her to train him, but soon enough, a couple days before his 14th birthday and a few more calls to 911 about petty thieves left in the wake of Batman’s grief then Tim would have liked, “Stray” entered the scene.
And his plan was working!
The first time Batman had seen the second pair of cat ears he had paused mid ass-kicking of a carjacker and followed the duo, leaving the guy with more teeth then the others.
Slowly but surely, as time went on, the punishments the Batman inflicted started to fit the crime. By the time Tim was 15, he even thought he had seen a small upturn at the corner of Bruce’s mouth as he witnessed a bit of friendly banter between the two cats!
This was when the young villain had started to become a tad bit overconfident. In his defense, he had managed to keep his identity hidden from even Oracle! Lifts in his shoes, a voice modulator, make-up to disguise his facial features, along with a set of the same goggles Catwoman had kept and physical information from being revealed, and Tim Drake never interacted with Selina Kyle so there was no reason that anyone should have suspected him.
That overconfidence is what led him to replicate his plan. If one Rouge sidekick had benefits, then two Rouge sidekicks would mean double the benefits!
Solving riddles wasn’t too hard for the young boy, being able to see double meaning and red herrings was a skill taught to him by Janet Drake, and he took to the escape-room-esque plans for his heists quite easily. The thing he couldn’t figure out was creating riddles of his own. Mother had taught him that knowledge was power, you only reveal it if there was something to be gained, so purposely revealing information about his intention, helping his opponent was not something Tim was accustomed to, not bound to the compulsion to always tell the truth.
If the boy truly wanted to replicate the Riddler, then he would have to learn from the man himself.
Convincing the enigmatic man to teach Tim was easier than it had been with Catowman, the impressive display of bypassing the puzzles that hid the location of the game-playing criminal certainly helping.
Now, 15 years old with an unexplained skill boost in his AP Lang class (the lessons on wordplay were a definite help), The Riddler’s protege, ‘The Puzzler’ became the newest addition to the Gotham Rogues. He resented that name by the way. It was supposed to be Sibyl or Sphinx, they were on theme because they spoke in riddles and though he would deny it, the use of greek figures were his own little way of mocking Oracle, who still couldn’t figure out his identity. But apparently Poison Ivy and the Riddler had brunch once a month (something about being the green Rouges?) and she had heard the Riddler refer to him as “the little puzzle piece” when he was talking about his apprentice and the puzzle theme stuck despite how uncreative the name was.
This is when things became a bit hectic. Not only did Tim have to hide his nightlife from Batman and his parents, now he had to keep his two mentors from realizing that their mentees were the same person.
He managed to convince Selina that the reason he was so busy lately was the AP classes that came with sophomore year, and while it wasn’t a lie, it certainly wasn’t the full story.
Nygma was easier to deceive. Tim had refrained from sharing his actual identity with the man (just because he would tell the truth in his puzzles for the sake of theme didn’t mean that he would be sharing personal information if it wasn’t needed. The only reason he hadn't hid it from Selina was to gain her trust, something that wasn’t needed with the Riddler) so just saying that he was busy was enough.
All the effort was worth it though. Things kept getting better.
Nightwing was seen in Gotham more often, and Spoiler (someone who Tim initially thought was trying to steal his thing by being a sidekick of the Cluemaster, only to realize she was working against him) had been seen fighting alongside the Batman one or twice.
On an unrelated note, Stephiane Brown suddenly had her tuition for Gotham Academy paid for in full by the newly created Jason Todd Foundation.
Since things were going so well, he decided to push his luck a little further.
Unfortunately for Tim, he would soon realize the reason he was known for his bad luck in the future.
It started off like other times. Tim convinced Harley Quinn to take him under her wing, and “Ace” made their debut along with Tim’s 5 in AP Psych (Thank you Dr. Quinzel).
Steph and Tim happened to share a few classes together, and went from study buddies (Tim helping her in Chem, and Steph helping him in American History) to close friends.
Spoiler officially joined the Bats, and there were rumors of another bat joining the clan as well. Well there were no actual rumors, but the newest Wayne kid, Cassandra, had started joining him and Steph at their lunch table so her becoming a new bat wouldn’t be too surprising.
Soon enough though, things went to shit.
To start off, the first time Spoiler met Ace, she threw a brick at his head.
Second, His parents had caught him sneaking out and had grounded him, meaning that he now had to wait until they did their last check on his room at 12:00 to sneak out.
The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to the highschooler. Handling 3 separate nightlife identities was hard enough, but doing so while exhausted was even harder.
After pulling an all nighter to study for a test the night before, he had gone to Selina’s apartment dressed as Ace, and had both costumes not been mostly black he would have been undoubtedly caught before he managed to fix his mistake.
Puzzler once spent a whole night sounding like Stray, and he didn’t think that his “sore throat” lie was all that believable.
Tim accidentally made a cat pun instead of a bat one when engaging in vaguely flirty banter with Spoiler as Ace and Harley had set him down to have the talk, stating that she would love him no matter who he liked and she would be happy to serve as a wingman for him and Catwoman’s protege. It would be funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing.
Third, Cassandra Wayne definitely knew something.
Tim’s “rumors” were right. 2 weeks after Cass had first joined their table Black Bat made herself known. By pinning Puzzler to the ground.
The next day Cass spent the entire lunch period staring at Tim. When he attempted to throw her off by invoking a mix of Stray and Ace’s mannerisms she stopped staring, instead choosing to freak Tim out more by smiling knowingly. At his wide eyes she mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key only throwing Tim off further. Cass was too smart to not have known, but there was no reason she wouldn’t tell if she did know, right?
Last, but not least, and the worst of all:
Jason Todd was alive.
~~~~~~~
I have no clue where i was going with that last line, but i see a vision, so I'm hoping it will come back to me, but if not, any suggestions or constructive criticism (or a better puzzle themed name for tim) would be helpful
#If there are grammar issues i blame the fever#also i am now more concerned about my dc obsession#Cause beyond the fact that i apparently wrote this#i also kept hallucanituion Diana Prince (voiced by Grey Griffin) working through the problems on my AP CSA Exam#I might be in a little too deep#tim drake#batfam#dc#selina kyle#the riddler#catwoman#edward nygma#harley quinn#harleen quinzel#fanfic#wip
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Now that more of Book 7 in test has been released...... Baul Zigvolt thoughts??
He's so much like Sebek, but also also!!! Older Croc!! Dilf! Croc!!!
He's just so.... 🐊👀
😍 His looks, his voice, his mannerisms—agh, his voice!!! I love the few scenes where he laughs, it's so prideful and so fitting...... 💚💚💚 Mera, what do you think of him??
He's one of my favorite dilfs (gilfs) out of every twst ojiisan!!!!! :D oh, I love Baul so much. It's so fun to see the parallels and similarities between him and Sebek with their personalities! <3 both wanis are so beloved to me!!! Sebek is slowly growing on me!! >w<
Aaaaa I wish I had more coherent thoughts. I haven't been able to play the new chapters yet even though I desperately want to. orz hopefully I can play it soon so that I can better grasp Baul's personality and mannerisms!!!
Although I do like the idea that Baul and Lilia play video games together in their retirement. Lilia showing Baul all of the anime games his online friend (Idia) recommended to him. Like those war games with the anime girls in scantily clad outfits. I think Baul would genuinely assess whether or not the character makes for a good unit in combat instead of paying attention to the other things. T_T but then he also gets so hung up on the outfits themselves: "This is not proper attire for combat. There are so many weak points exposed. You should always protect every inch of yourself (tangent continues)..." I feel like both Lilia and Baul would be intrigued by the way media (like anime) handles and presents war plots. :O
OMG OR!!!!! The way he would judge you so much if you're Sebek's (human) lover....... >_< there's potential for angst,,, if I recall, Sebek carries a lot of dislike for the fact that he wasn't born with more fae features and I think Baul judges him for that??? Admittedly, my Sebek family lore is limited to the fact that his father is human and a dentist and his mother is fae....... I need to revisit Sebek lore because there's more to his character than just his admiration and devotion for Malleus. orz
There are also thoughts of war era Baul falling for his favorite sex worker at the brothel........... hmmm,,,,,, many thoughts indeed. <3 it's yummy if you're a human because then there's a not-so-veiled level of hatred from Baul, but you're too good at what you do for him to stop visiting and buying your services. War is cruel and cold, but your body is soft and warm. orz orz how can he resist?
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Outside The Office Part Thirty Four
I love love love and appreciate the comments! I am so glad y'all like this story!
Three days later I stood in front of the mess of demons in front of me. I tried to hide the nerves that threatened to overcome me, and bit back any trace of kindness. This was the group I had chosen, the group of souls who had the potential to become higher up in my military. The group of souls I needed to trust, because as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t train them all on my own, especially not with the time crunch.
I was grateful Lucifer did have some sort of starting point, encampments of demons who formed some sort of a military base. I sorted through those positions first and kept the ones who demonstrated excellence- and got rid of those who didn’t. I was hopeful that I could fill those spots from the ones in this group. Those who didn’t make it would fall in with the next group of recruits.
“You’re here because the data shows you’re the best of the crop. That isn’t saying much, judging by your peers,” I began. I heard the coldness slip into my voice. I was a soldier, just like my father. “You’re here because on paper, you have the potential to be a leader. Let’s see if you can prove that.”
I fell into the commander role easily. Walking around the room, barking orders, assessing, eliminating, sorting and managing came naturally to me- hell, it should. I’ve been training for this my entire life.
Midday, Lucifer waltzed in to fuck up my plans.
“Ah, no no,” he scolded as he looked over my elimination choices. “No, he’s the bastard son of Greed, I can’t not have him in a leadership position.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. That recruit in particular showed zero judgment, zero remorse, and absolutely zero sense of self preservation based on his actions during our first exercise of the day.
“With all due respect, Uncle Lucifer, he doesn’t deserve or fit into this role. Maybe with time and training.” And a swift kick in the ass, I thought. But I didn’t say it.
Lucifer sighed and leaned back, “do you know what makes my job so hard? Appeasing the beings your mother created.”
“Respectfully, Uncle Lucifer, I don’t give a shit what they think of me and neither should you,” I replied. “Because if this doesn’t work, they’re fucked just like we are.”
Silence filled the room. Thoughts raced through my head. I didn’t have enough time- there just wasn’t any way around it.
“Your brain is working, I can see it. Talk to me, love,” Lucifer said as he leaned forward. He rested his head in his hands and waited patiently.
“There is no way my plan is going to work,” I said out loud finally. “It just can’t happen, I don’t have enough time.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “What were you thinking of doing?”
I explained my thoughts to him. The idea of entering the same portal the angels came out of. Of going through and confronting Sera, of ensuring Adam was taken down. But I didn’t have enough faith in the leaders on the ground to leave them alone. Lucifer would have to step up and take over my total command while I was gone.
Lucifer considered my proposition. “It isn’t a bad idea. But I think we’ll have to see who actually enters the battle. Adam will, and he’s the primary target, correct? Wasn’t our plan to take him down and watch heaven scramble?”
I nodded, “he is, and it was, but am I even powerful enough to take him down on my own? And wouldn’t this send a stronger message?”
Lucifer laughed. “Oh sweetheart. You haven’t even seen yet just how much you’ve grown.” He stood up and began to pace, “as far as messages go, you’re not wrong. They can’t ignore a blatant invasion of their own territory. We’re down to our final month, but I think we can pull off your plan with a few contingencies. One, you’re going to have to go through the portal yourself. I can’t join you for a variety of reasons. Two, we don’t know exactly where Adam will be. And he’s the one we should take down first.” He paused as he considered, “the more I think about it, the more I like your idea. Leave the ground battle to me. You slip through that portal. Give them a good scare. If you see Adam, kill him. If you don’t, leave him to me.”
I considered the amended plan. I supposed it could work, if Lucifer did truly take over my position. As I thought about it, another question popped up in my mind. “Uncle Lucy? Is overpopulation and lack of resources for the sinners in hell an actual concern? Isn’t that what the extermination was initially about? Too many sinners who could overtake hell?”
He shook his head. “No. I have the power to expand the rings of hell as much as needed to contain the sinners within. My father’s creations will never actually over populate Hell…it was a propaganda I needed to utilize to limit riots around the extermination. Vox’s idea, actually.” He paused his pacing and looked at me, “and if you’ll remember, the deal I had with your father was a controlled extermination. I chose the sinners- the worst of the worst- to be sacrificed to heaven. No amount of sinners could ever truly take down heaven. They would need a portal to go through, which is why you’re such a threat. You’re something they failed to account for.”
“How so?”
Lucifer shrugged, “I suspect that with enough souls owned, you’ll be able to open up portals to heaven and hell, much easier than I can see as you’re half and half and not banned from heaven. Technically, you never fell. Nor do they know you don’t yet have that ability. But that’s besides the point. Getting back to your initial question no, the extermination was initially nothing more than a power play. And now, with the end of this deal, we need to make sure that Heaven desires a new contract as much as we do. So yes, I support you going through the portal. I support you going through to Sera and hitting them where it hurts. Show them how dangerous we are, especially with you on our side. Maybe then…we can come to a better agreement. Perhaps end the extermination all together.”
I nodded as I processed the gravity of the situation. “So to be clear, in one month's time, the portal is going to open. You’re going to stay on the ground and be our primary leader. Take out Adam if you see him, or I will if I do. I’m going to take the first opportunity to slip into the portal, and…”
“And approach Sera. Make it clear to her that you will come back and finish the job if she doesn’t call off her troops and agree to a remediation meeting. But whatever you do, I need you to come back through that portal, unscathed. Understood?”
“I’m a bargaining chip. I understand.” I replied without considering my words.
“No,” he said sharply. He reached over and grabbed my shoulders. “You’re my niece. And I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Understood?” He released me and gave my hand the briefest of squeezes. “We’ve got one month. Let’s do this.”
Later that night, I sat across from the V’s at dinner, half listening to them chat about their day. Lost in thought about the extermination and upcoming battle, I twirled my pasta listlessly.
“Reader? Reader? Hey! Reader!” Vox’s fingers snapped in front of my face.
I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to reality. “Sorry, Vox, what?”
He looked at me with concern. “You’ve twirled that same strand of fettuccine at least ten times. Are you okay?”
I looked down at the uneaten dish, and then around at all of their empty plates. Great, one of more thing for them to be on my case about. “Yeah, I’m just tired,” I answered. “Guys, is there any way I can skip the club scene tonight? I have a lot on my mind.”
Valentino looked at Velvette and Vox. “Something you want to talk about, cariño?”
I shook my head. “Not here. Not in public. Maybe in the privacy of our apartment.”
“Then consider your request granted,” Valentino said gently. “I’ll have them wrap up your dinner. You can eat later, okay?”
“I think we could all use a night at home anyway,” Vox added.
“Agreed. I’m dying to catch up on the latest season of All My Favorite Drama,” Velvette added. “Any interest in joining? We can flop on the couch.”
I looked at them with surprise but agreed instantly. Valentino snapped his fingers and within ten minutes we were back in the limo. I laid my head against his shoulder and he kissed the top of my head. He didn’t press the issue, and instead he wrapped his arms around me tighter.
“We’re here for you, pequeño amor,” he replied gently. “You can talk to us. Even Lucifer told you that, right?”
“He did. It’s just a lot,” I replied quietly. “Honestly, all I want is a cup of hot chocolate and to be told it's okay. And I’ve never craved that comfort in my life.”
He sighed and guided me to his chest. “We can provide the hot chocolate and comfort you desire. You have family now, a real family. And we love you.”
The limo pulled to a stop and I interlaced my hands in his as we made our way upstairs. One elevator ride, comfy pajamas and warm mug of hot chocolate later, I was snuggled against Valentino on the couch, Vox and Velvette on the other side, the television playing softly in the background.
“Alright, fill us in babe, what’s got your heart racing?” Vox asked as he looked up from his phone. “And I do mean literally. Come on, you’re gonna have to debrief us at some point.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “This is the plan, guys. We have a month before the angels come down. Lucifer and I decided that while he acted as lead commander down here, I’m going to slip back through the portal they open-”
“Fuck no you’re not,” Valentino interupted sharply.
Vox shook his head at Valentino. “Val, let her finish.”
I pushed myself away from Valentino ever so slightly. “Val, I’m going back through the portal and will confront Sera. Lucifer mentioned that he thinks with enough souls, eventually, I will also be able to open the portal between the two worlds on my own eventually, and that;s going to scare them. Lucifer can already open the portal, they know that, but to have an unknown entity, and I’m one they physically cannot keep from heaven? That’s a double threat. That’s a bargaining chip. Listen, if I don’t do this and we don’t come to an agreement, the world we know will literally end and there will be no one left. We won’t win this fight in the end, so we need to scare them into submission.”
“I don’t like it,” Velvette said slowly. “But I understand it.”
“Princessa, is there really no other option?” Valentino asked softly.
I shook my head. “It’s the best plan Lucifer and I could come up with. And I’ll be fine Val. I know heaven’s layout like the back of my hand. Even though I lived in the military ring, I was taught every inch of the land.”
Valentino reached for me and I let myself lay on him.
“Are you afraid, bebita? Are you frightened?” He asked quietly. “It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not afraid of dying,” I replied quickly.
“That isn’t what he asked, sweetheart,” Vox replied.
I shook my head. “Guys. I trained for this. Have been groomed for this my whole life. Trust me, I’m fine.”
“So confident, muñeca,” Valentino said with a kiss. “What can we do to help you?”
As considered his question, ideas slowly began to form. “I need to work out a little harder. I need to collect more souls, gain more power, and keep myself, my emotions in check. I think that will be the hardest part.”
Vox took a sip of his own hot chocolate. “Well if you and Valentino did less fucking on the gym floor, you might have more time to lift weights or whatever will be in the next plan my algorithm comes up with.”
I choked on my hot chocolate and Valentino gently patted me on the back. “You knew?! You watched?”
Vox snorted. “Fuck yeah I know. And no, I turn off that camera on my monitor specifically so I don’t see you two fucking each day.” He took a sip from his mug, “it’s gross.”
Valentino looked offended. “Are you saying you don’t enjoy watching us? Reader is the most perfect…”
“Alright, enough. Thank you Vox, for the privacy. Val, consider our days of gym sex done.”
Valentino frowned. “But Princessa, I had a great idea for…”
I reached over and covered his mouth. “We can discuss it later. For now, Vox can you algorithm me up a harder workout plan? And maybe a diet plan?”
“I mean, we can start by getting food in your tummy tonight, and I can get it to you by the morning,” he replied. “But only if you think you can stomach something more than sugar. Your body can’t run on empty.”
I laid my head against Valentino. “My stomach is just off, I’m not scared or frightened but its in knots.”
“That’s generally your body telling you you’re anxious about something,” Valentino said gently. “And it has every right to be.”
Vox stood up. “I’ll make something that will make you feel better. Just a little something. Can you agree to that?”
“Yes, Dad,” I said sarcastically.
Vox stood up and walked behind me. I felt his lips press to the top of my head. “Yeah, well, Vel can’t have kids and someone needs to step up and parent you.”
“I was being sarcastic and Vox, I’m in my twenties. I can look after myself.”
“Doesn’t matter, someone has to teach you you’re loved. Show you what an actual family is like. You know, one that supports you for who you are and doesn’t see you as a machine. ”
Velvette looked at me as Vox disappeared into the kitchen. “That doesn’t make me a mom though. Think of me more as your sister, if you don’t already.” She stretched her arms up. “There is a word for it. Found family. It doesn’t mean Vox is your actual Dad, or that I’m your biological sister. But it means we love and treat each other as the family we never had.”
I felt something inside of me. Warmness and security. Love and appreciation. Support and encouragement. “I like that. Found family.”
“Yeah, and if I’m your found Dad, you better eat up or you’re grounded,” Vox said jokingly as he came back out with a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. “See? Told you something light. You’ll sleep better with a full stomach either way.”
“Thanks, Vox,” I replied as I took a bite. “Honestly, I feel better already. Just getting it off my chest.”
“Helps, right?” Velvette said, “Amazing what happens when you trust the people you're surrounded by.”
I laid in bed next to Valentino later that night, snuggled against his chest. “Val? Can you do the thing where you put your hand over my heart and press?”
He looked at me quizzically but laid his hand on my chest and gently pressed the palm of his hand into me. The pressure was settling, grounding, and I snuggled deeper into him.
“I love you Valentino,” I muttered as I closed my eyes.
“I love you too, bebita.”
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