#no idea if there's a canon description of what she looks like
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The Fall from the Heavens (32)
[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, assassination attempt, misunderstanding, physical violence, swearing ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
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It seemed to him that it was only when he saw her that he awoke from some kind of half-sleep – as she threw herself into his arms, rejoicing, he remembered with affection how often she had done so when they were children.
He, his mother and his siblings, at the invitation of his uncle, Ormund Hightower, had travelled to the Old Town to visit their relatives and, certainly in his grandfather's eyes, to demonstrate to the Black party the extensive support his elder brother had offered them.
Daeron, his youngest brother, was to stay there under his protection.
He regretted it deeply, for although he was much younger than him, Daeron was a quiet and curious child, just like him; he liked to read to him before sleep about the great dragons and the conquests of their ancestors, sharing his knowledge with him.
However, his mother and father decided that he would receive his education in the Citadel and that he would stay there for many years until he reached the age of maturity.
He did not think it was a good idea to separate him from his family, but he did not dare to oppose his parents' wishes.
Even then he lived in the belief that they were infallible.
He shyly suggested that his betrothed could accompany him, knowing how much she wanted to see the legendary city, and in fact, he felt that her presence by his side would be something he would cherish.
However, his Queen responded to his proposal coldly, saying that Rhaenyra would surely be concerned about her and that she would not be separating the little girl from her mother.
His niece received this news with sadness, however, she beamed at his words that he would bring her some sort of memento from the Old Town.
Indeed, the Hightower family stronghold and the great white tower dominating the entire city made a gigantic impression on him. History beat from the buildings and tenements built of white stone, hundreds of years that had passed since Aegon the Conqueror had set foot there, walking the exact same streets as he had.
He thought sadly that he regretted not having his Rhaenys with him, for she would surely have delighted in everything around him, sharing with him this common joy, giving him the feeling that he was experiencing it all with someone rather than his older brother − he was yawning, bored, looking around only for a place to sit and drink wine after supper.
He might have found the time he spent there enjoyable had it not been for the fact that he felt lonely − despite spending time with his family and finally not having to watch Jace and Luke, he felt neither satisfaction nor contentment as a result.
He thought helplessly, lying alone in bed, that although he had a solitary nature, he had become used to her presence, the warmth she emanated, to the tender, soft embrace of her arms, the sound of her heartbeat under his cheek as he fell asleep.
He realised then, for the first time in his life, that he did not desire to marry her simply because of his father's will.
That he would have wanted to do so even if he had changed his mind.
The door to his chamber opened shortly after he had returned to the Red Keep − she ran through it with a smile wide and sincere, filled with laughter, her eyes shining like rays of sunshine as she was by his side a moment later, enclosing his waist in a tight, tender embrace of her little arms.
He smiled involuntarily under his breath, feeling satisfaction at the thought that she had immediately come to welcome him, which meant that she had missed him as dearly as he had missed her.
Taking advantage of the fact that they were alone, he enveloped her in his arms and cuddled her into him, pressing his face against her vanilla-scented hair.
"− I've missed you so much, uncle −" She muttered, squeezing him tightly, as if trying to melt into one with him.
"− there, there − your husband is by your side now −" He hummed, feeling proud, loved, wanted.
A thought flashed through the back of his mind that he had felt exactly the same then, when she had thrown herself into his arms in Harrenhal, when his hands had lifted her in a gesture of euphoria, when her legs had crossed over his back and their lips had found each other in a deep, lustful kiss from which his cock had swollen all over, slapping impatiently against her abdomen.
He felt like throwing her to the ground, pulling off her breeches and fucking her like a whore.
As it turned out, she shared this desire with him, for as soon as the door of his chamber closed behind them they behaved like animals − he took her as she stood, pressing her against the wall, pounding into her from behind with greedy, deep, impatient thrusts of his hips, her little, tight cunt barely able to fit him in, intensifying his sensation.
He knew he wouldn't last long, his cock was so hard it almost caused him pain.
"− why is it − so big − o-oh, gods −" She mumbled, clearly feeling herself exactly what he did. He licked his lips, watching as he opened her wide again and again with thrusts of his fat erection, her folds glistening in the sunlight from their shared sticky wetness, slick and warm, welcoming him home.
"− and what do you think − fuck, Rhaenys, I'm not going to pull it out of you tonight −" He exhaled, ashamed of his own desperation and what was happening to him, his own helpless groans, the violent, desperate stabs of his hips with which he thrust again and again into the delicate flesh of his beloved wife.
Her scent, her closeness, her sounds were driving him mad.
"− let me, Rhaenys − let me, let me, let me −" He breathed out pleadingly, feeling how wonderfully close his fulfilment was, which after a moment shook his whole body.
He leaned his head forward and parted his lips wide, making indefinable sounds of pleasure and relief as he felt his wife's little cunt clamp down on his cock, sucking his warm seed deep inside her.
He embraced her at the waist, sinking his face into her neck, into her hair, trying to calm the rapid pounding of his heart and his anxious, ragged breathing.
"− Rhaenys −" He whispered, in his tone of voice something like a question and a request at the same time.
"− hm? −"
"− stay wtih me −"
He heard her sigh softly and for a moment he was terrified that she would refuse him, that she would reject him again.
"− I will, my love −" She hummed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, kissing the skin of her neck with tenderness and devotion with his lips swollen with fulfilment.
"− what did you want to convey to me? − your mother has another condition? −" He asked reluctantly, at the same time wanting to focus only on her and wanting to know what the situation was like, whether anything had changed in his absence.
"− I'm carrying your child −"
He felt his heart stop, his healthy eye open wide in shock.
"− what? −" He mumbled.
He felt her take his hand in hers, placing it gently on her lower abdomen.
"− you're going to be a father, uncle −"
He tried to remain composed, but was unable to − a laugh of disbelief and joy left his throat, one he hadn't heard come from his lips in a long time. When her face turned to his he immediately shut her mouth with his, with a caress of his thirsty, wet lips showing her what he felt.
"− Rheanys − oh gods − this must be a dream −"
He became so euphoric that he took her twice more, the third time bringing her to such a state that the bedding had to be changed for fresh ones − he decided he would give the order after they had both rested, not wanting to rouse her from her slumber.
Bare, tired after the journey and the exertion he had forced her to make, filled to the brim with his spend and with his heir in her womb, she fell asleep peacefully in his arms, covered by him with thick furs to keep her from growing cold.
He thought that never before in his life had he loved her as dearly as he did now, although even then it seemed to him that his heart could not house such deep affection.
The thought that he could love her even more terrified him.
As soon as she was awake he ordered that a bath be prepared for them − they were both all sticky with sweat and he thought they could benefit from a moment of relaxation together.
After his servants had done their job and left his chamber they stood up, completely nude and shameless, sinking into the wonderfully warm, fragrant water. He pulled her in behind him and seated her between his thighs, a quiet murmur escaping his throat as her cheek pressed against his chest.
He was content.
He was satisfied.
He was fulfilled.
"− the gods are gracious to us − they support our cause −" He whispered, looking ahead with blank gaze, combing his fingers through her soft hair.
"− I wish to spend the day with you − I will order whatever you desire to be prepared for the supper −" He muttered, taking an unruly strand of her hair from her face, wanting everything to be perfect that day, his proof of how much he cared for her welfare and happiness.
His wife looked at him, her gaze clear and calm, without a shadow of regret.
"− I wish Baela would dine with us −" She murmured, raising her hand to his cheek. He closed his eyelid and pressed his lips together, reminding himself with frustration, though he tried to forget it, that his niece had not arrived in Harrenhal alone.
"− why? −"
"− if it wasn't for her, my mother wouldn't have allowed me to come here − she protected me and our child in the sky −"
He swallowed hard, letting the air out loud, feeling both discomfort and understanding at her words. Now that he knew his wife was with child, he actually appreciated that their cousin had not allowed her to travel alone and that, if only for that, he should show her hospitality.
"− so be it −" He muttered, wanting to end the topic.
"− where is Alys? −" She asked uncertainly, and he felt his heart leap up into his throat, his stomach squeezed into a knot. He ran his hand over his face, trying not to show his nervousness.
"− she is locked in her chamber −"
"− I wish to see her − perhaps tomorrow, when I…−"
No fucking way.
"− no − I spared her because you asked me to, but only for this reason − in return I demand that you do not go near her − she is a dangerous woman −" He said impatiently, all tense, feeling his heart pounding like mad, afraid of what else this hag might tell her.
What else she might lie about.
His wife seemed surprised by his reaction.
"− she helped me − she tried to protect me −" She mumbled out, and he felt something inside him snap.
In her eyes, this whore was flawless, and he was the cause of all their misery.
Was this part of her plan too?
"− she told you that she tried to seduce me behind your back by saying that she would carry my bastard child? − hm? − that prediction she didn't share with you? −" He hissed furiously, however he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth.
He swallowed hard when he saw his niece shake her head as if she didn't understand what he had said, pale, her lower lip beginning to tremble, her eyes wide.
Fuck.
"− it's a lie − she was hoping I'd betray you, that I'd hurt you − I'm convinced this was part of Strong's plan − to distract me, to leave you alone and broken-hearted − the affection I have for you is a hindrance to him −" He explained quickly, raising his hand to her face, stroking her cheek tenderly, all warm with emotion, wanting somehow to soften his words, to make it clear that he had nothing to do with this vision.
That he felt as horrified and disgusted by her words as she did.
A shiver run along his spine as her hand stroked his bare, wet chest.
"− did you speak with her? − after you conquered Harrenhal? −" She mumbled, as if she was in complete shock.
He grunted, twisting in his seat with a quiet splash of water, unsure how to explain this to her without deepening her possible suspicions.
"− yes − I wanted to draw out of her why she did it −" He said.
"− you didn't tell me about her words − you hid it from me −" She said resentfully, her brow furrowed in exactly the same way as when he had told her about what was about to happen in the Eyrie.
He felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck at the thought, his breath stuck in his throat.
"− because that's what she wanted − to plant uncertainty in my heart and yours −"
"− how am I supposed to trust you if every day I find out that there is still something I don't know about? −" She muttered in pain, wanting to lift herself out of the water. He grabbed her waist in a gesture of horror and surprise, forcing her to fall between his thighs again, looking at her in disbelief.
"− if it wasn't for your request, she would already be dead −"
"− only dead will she give you the confidence that you will not do what she prophesied? −"
He let out a loud breath at her words, angry and hurt, feeling the accusation in her question, though when she was not by his side after he had locked Alys in her chamber, he did not devote his thoughts or his fantasies to this woman.
In truth, the fact that she was near, at his fingertips, and he felt no need to see her confirmed his belief that everything she had said was a lie.
Daemon was right.
Just because he perceived her as a fine-looking, perhaps even tempting woman didn't mean he needed or wanted to put his cock inside her.
He wasn't desperate, he wasn't broken because he knew that his wife, his lover, his childhood friend, though furious at him and hurt, though far away from him, had not abandoned him.
This realisation brought him relief because it made him understand that he was not an animal with no control over his instincts, but a thinking man with a will of his own, filled with warm, tender affection for the woman who was now looking at him in pain.
How was he to explain to her that he had been faithful to her not only with his body but also with his heart?
That what he really feared was that he might lose her again, this time forever?
"− do you want to argue over the words of that treacherous whore whose life you yourself asked me to spare? −" He asked at last, heartbroken that she was slipping out of his hands again, that he was losing her again despite the fact that only a moment ago they had been making love, unable to tear themselves away from each other.
Her lips tightened into a thin line out of helplessness.
"− I didn't know −"
"− so you fucking know now −" He growled, losing his temper, filled with rage and regret because she didn't believe him, because she couldn't see how deep his feeling was, even though he tried so hard.
After a while, however, something happened that he did not expect.
His niece burst out crying before his eyes, like a small child hiding her face in her hands.
This sight cooled his anger, bringing him back to earth.
"− shhh − come here −" He whispered, pulling her head towards him, cuddling her face into his chest, locking her into the tight, secure embrace of his arms, and she did not push him away.
They stayed like that for a long moment, not moving, his lips placing a tender, warm kiss on her head once in a while, taking in her scent.
He couldn't be mad at her, his sweet little wife, the mother of his child.
She had given him everything he had ever wanted.
"− no more secrets, Rheanys −" He whispered.
"− you know everything now − I am bare before you, not just with my body − you see me as I am −" He added, staring dully ahead, playing with the wet strands of her hair, contemplating how exposed he was to her, with what ease she could hurt him if she wanted to.
"− when you were not by my side, I had nightmares − I dreamt that you were dying, each time through my fault − I dreamt it because it is what I dread the most − in the years that you have been in Dragonstone a cold, black emptiness has burned in me − I have felt nothing − I have experienced nothing − my mother placed the daughters of the lords under my nose, and all I could think of when I looked at them was that they were not similar enough to you − they couldn't or didn't want to understand my true nature − they didn't see me −"
He muttered, feeling that his words were not coming from his mind, but more from his subconscious, from what lurked in the depths of his heart.
It was everything he had wanted to write to her in response to her letters over the years, but couldn't − every time he wrote those words down on parchment he felt pathetic, weak, small and tore the result of his work to shreds, throwing them into the fire where they burned just like his heavy heart, filled with darkness and pain.
"− I am tired, Rhaenys − I am exhausted − since that night, when I tamed Vhagar, I have had no peace, no rest − only with you, then, in that chamber beneath the Red Keep, when I fell asleep by your side − I −" He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers, unable to properly explain what he wanted to say, what an agony the eight years he had spent separated from her had been for him.
Some part of him believed it would get better, while the other part screamed with rage, regret and disappointment.
He tried to reconcile these two halves with each other, but he couldn't, because they simply didn't fit together.
One of them wanted to kill her, the other wanted to abduct her and take her as his wife.
When she arrived years later in the Red Keep, he was on the verge of madness.
"− I'll speak with her − alone −" She whispered after a moment, and he froze, looking at her in disbelief as she stood up slowly with a splash of water and stepped out of the bath.
He felt the pain of humiliation and regret that now that he had really opened up to her, she seemed not to be listening to him.
An unpleasant shudder of rejection shook his body as he ran his hand over his face, bitter.
"− my words mean nothing to you? −"
"− it's not about you, uncle − I have to do it for myself −"
His words accomplished nothing − his niece demanded that his guards lead her to the chamber of the Witch of Harrenhal, and he agreed, leading her figure away with sad, empty gaze.
He waited for her in a gloomy mood, not even wanting to imagine what this whore might have put into her head.
He covered his face with his hand, swallowing hard at the thought that she could have told her anything − suggested that he had taken her into his bed when he conquered Harrenhal, that he had tried to take her by force, that he had courted her, anything her imagination could bring that would make his wife push him further away.
He thought with rage that he should have killed her when he had the chance.
He shuddered as his wife stepped into his chamber after a period of time that seemed to him to last for hours. He rose from his chair, horrified to see that she had not bestowed a single glance on him, her face expressing nothing.
He watched as she sat behind his desk without a word, feeling his heart pound like mad at the sight of her hands reaching for parchment and quill.
"− what did she tell you? −" He asked coldly.
His wife did not lift her gaze to him, bent over her letter, dipping the tip of her quill in ink.
"The truth. I am writing a letter to my cousin in the Eyrie to accept Alys into his fortress as a medic." She replied calmly, without a trace of regret or anger.
He swallowed loudly, concerned, not knowing what had happened there, what was meant by that enigmatic expression on her face that told him absolutely nothing.
He could not, however, hide his relief at the thought that his wife had regained her reason and wanted to send that treacherous whore away.
"Good." He replied dispassionately.
He paced around the room, looking at her, begging in his mind for her to look at him, to tell him that this woman had confirmed his words, and that she didn't resent him for anything.
His niece, however, as soon as she had placed her letter in the hands of the servant, lay down in his bed saying that she was very tired and wished to rest before supper.
He approached her uncertainly and sat down beside her on the bedding, his hand rising to her shoulder and stroking it in a gentle, affectionate gesture.
"− shouldn't you have a meal now? − surely you are hungry and thirsty after such a long journey −" He asked, feeling that now more than ever he had to look out for her and her well-being, wanting to make sure she was provided with everything she needed.
"− there is no need, uncle − I will wait until evening −" She whispered and closed her eyes, letting him know that she had ended the subject.
He sighed heavily and stood up, sitting down behind his desk, bending over the correspondence he had exchanged with his brother, together trying to find out where Lord Strong had hidden and whether their grandfather had put his hand to his disappearance.
His wife, true to her word, only got up when the servants began to prepare the table for supper; he watched her without saying a word, thinking she looked charming as she did now, sleepy, with her hair in a slight disarray, rubbing her tired eyelids with her hands before asking one of the women to help her get herself in order.
It was a sight meant only for him − her husband.
They waited with the main courses for Baela. When his cousin stepped into his chamber she emanated with joy, a smile of satisfaction on her face that made his stomach twist. He looked away at this sight, frustrated, and sighed heavily.
"Dear cousin. My congratulations. You are going to become a father." She said softly and he only nodded, wanting her to end this feigned courtesy as soon as possible, fill her stomach with food and wine and leave them alone.
Baela took a seat on his left and his wife sat opposite her, on his right. His niece nodded at the servant to begin serving the table − the door to his chamber opened and several young men and women entered with jugs of wine and trays full of food. One of them approached his wife and leaned over her − she nodded, wishing the man would pour her some wine.
The servant filled her cup halfway, as was good custom, she, however, shook her head.
"More." She demanded, leaving him and her cousin in consternation.
"Is that wise? In your condition…" He muttered, wondering if it would be good for their child, but her stern gaze made him close his mouth, recognising that he didn't want to add to both of their frustrations that evening.
As soon as the servant had done his duty his niece raised her cup as if she wanted to make a toast. He assumed she wanted to drink to the health of their yet-to-be-born child and reached for his goblet, however, she pointed her chalice towards the man standing next to her, who looked at her questioningly.
"Drink." She commanded.
The servant smiled shyly at her, as if he did not understand what she expected of him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Drink. To the bottom."
A long, awkward silence fell − he felt his heart stop in his throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver run along his spine.
What?
The boy laughed, shaking his head, clearly nervous and terrified.
"I am not worthy, Your Grace. I would not dare."
"I order you to drink it all to the last drop." She hissed in a voice that did not bear opposition.
The wine was poisoned.
"I can't, Your Grace, I…"
"FUCKING DRINK IT." He growled with rage as he stood up abruptly from the table, looking at him with wide-open eye thinking that if he didn't, he would pour the contents of that cup down his throat himself.
The man shook his head and he pressed his lips into a thin line, moving towards him like an enraged animal.
"Hold him." He threw to his guards, who immediately grabbed the boy by the shoulders, refusing to let him break free despite his terror and cries.
"N-no, Your Grace. I can't drink wine. It affects me badly. I might die." He whined, tears in his eyes, his face pale as if death itself stood before him.
He wanted to poison his wife.
How many other people here were acting on Lord Strong's orders?
He was sure he'd gotten rid of all the rats by recruiting new people to work in the fortress, but as he could see, new ones were appearing anyway.
He should have killed them all.
He smiled at his words in a way at which the boy wept aloud, clearly knowing what awaited him. He took the cup from his niece's hand, who looked at him with parted lips.
The dragon's blood now pulsed through his veins.
Dragons knew no forgiveness.
"I'd love to see this." He sneered, gripping his cheeks in his palm, squeezing his jaw as hard as if he wanted to break it.
The boy cried out loudly as he tilted his head back with a brutal jerk, digging his fingers into the skin of his face forcing him to open his mouth. He grinned as he pressed the cup to his lips, forcibly pouring its entire contents down his throat.
The man began to choke, trickles of wine running from the corners of his mouth down his cheeks. When he thought it was over, he reached for the jug and filled the cup again, repeating the same process. He pressed his lips together when he saw his eyes fill with blood, his skin begin to turn purple, his body shaken by convulsions.
The servant collapsed to the ground, blood and foam beginning to drip from his mouth as if he were some kind of butchered animal, and the only thing he could think of, looking at him wide-eyed, was that this was what his wife could look like, the woman who was carrying his child inside her.
The woman he loved could have died that evening in his arms.
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Darlin' pt 11
pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 6 / pt 7 (SMUT) / pt 9 / pt 10 (SMUT)
Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader
Description: Cooper exposes his jealous side as they find out Moldaver’s location.
TW: swearing, canon typical violence, slut shaming?
I woke up in the morning sprawled across Cooper with a wide smile on my face. He looked so content when he slept, like all the things that had hurt him over the years had never happened. I wonder what he looked like before he turned ghoul. I imagined how handsome he probably was because even after ghoulification, he was still stunning. He must have felt my stare as he slowly opened his eyes and turned his head towards me.
"Mornin', sugar." He mumbled out before yawning.
"Mornin', Coop," I responded, smiling at him before kissing him on the head. "Ready to head out?"
And so, another hike started. I hoped once we found Moldaver we could maybe take a couple of days' break. Honestly, I had no idea how I kept walking after weeks of nonstop hiking, it felt like my legs were going to fall off.
Eventually, we happened upon another town, bustling with life. I didn't try to hide the smile on my face as we squeezed our way through the crowds. I tightly fisted Cooper's tattered duster jacket to make sure we didn't get separated. As usual, he was quiet, he wasn't used to sharing his plans with anyone.
As we approached a small bar, he finally spoke with a stern look on his face. "Stay close, darlin'."
I gave him a small smile in response and happily nodded my head. We slowly entered the tavern, trying our best not to turn any heads. I had no idea if ghouls were welcome here, but considering our past experiences I highly doubted it. As he headed to the bar I let go of his jacket, mesmerized by all the different people I was seeing. Maybe someday I could convince Cooper to stay awhile in a town like this.
"Well, hello beautiful." I heard a voice from behind me. I turned around to see a tall, skinny man with shaggy brunette hair and dark brown eyes.
I hesitated. My first instinct was to tell him to fuck off, but maybe I could get some information out of him so I gave him an award-winning smile before responding. "Hello. Maybe you can help me? I am trying to find out where I can find someone named Moldaver." I batted my eyelashes at him, giving him my best doe-eyed expression.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise as her name rolled off my tongue. He briefly looked me up and down as if trying to ascertain if I was friend or foe. After a brief pause, he asked, "You lookin' da join er?"
I nodded quickly, trying to hide the fact that I had no idea what I was talking about.
"Well," He continued. "Today is ya lucky day. I could take ya to er. We are real close." He boasted. The lie about their relationship was clear on his tongue.
"That's amazing!" I faked amazement, trying to milk his attraction for more information. "Where is she?"
"In da hills." He continued to spill information like a fountain without a second thought. "My name is Roofus, by the way."
I hummed for a moment before responding, "Nice to meet ya." I mumbled while looking around for Cooper. Our eyes finally locked as I found him leaning back against the bar. His arms were crossed and his hat was tilted down, I could barely see his eyes peeking out from behind it. Anger radiated from his form, causing those around him to instinctively find somewhere else to stand. I gulped nervously as I took him in.
"Hey-" Roofus waved his hand in front of my face, catching my attention again. 'That guy scarin' ya?"
'No." I answered quickly. The last thing I needed was for this guy to confront Cooper, but he seemed to have a mind of his own.
Puffing up his chest as he started to make his way towards Cooper's imposing figure and ignored my pleas to stop. "Don't ya worry sweetheart, I'll get rid of im’."
I gave Cooper a nervous glance as I saw him straighten his back and move his hand to rest on his gun belt, suspiciously close to the gun itself.
"Hey. Ya scaring my lady." Roofus accused Cooper confidently.
"Your lady?" Cooper laughed loudly at the thought. "She ain't yours."
"This is Roofus," I said quickly, interrupting their conversation. "And Roofus, this man is my friend." I made sure not to say Cooper's name, knowing how protective he was of it. However, this just seemed to piss Cooper off more.
"Your friend?" Roofus asked, surprise clear on his face.
"Roofus, huh? Stupid name." Cooper sneered.
Roofus prickled with anger, but before he could start yelling at the ghoul in front of him, Cooper interrupted him. “See, I heard somethin’ about a Roofus while at the bar here. Said your movin’ some cargo.” Roofus’ anger switched to confusion at Cooper’s words. “Movin’ cargo for Moldaver.” Cooper finished as he stepped closer.
At the mention of Moldaver, Roofus looked back at my nervous form. “Who da hell are ya people?”
“People you should be afraid of.” Cooper growled. “Now, you are gonna tell me how to find Moldaver, or I’ll rip your guts out.”
Roofus’ hand move instinctively over his coat pocket and the noise of crumpling paper was heard underneath, “I ain’t telling ya shit, ghoul.”
Cooper hummed, his venom turning to amusement as Roofus unknowingly gave him the information he needed. Her location was on that paper in his jacket. “Have it your way.” Cooper said before a gunshot rang out in the busy tavern. I squealed in surprise as Roofus’ body hit the ground. The room went quiet as Cooper belt down to pull out the letter from the dead man’s pocket. I looked around nervously as all eyes were on us.
“Cooper,” I whispered.
Ignoring me, Cooper stood back up eyeing the paper. “Damn.” He mumbled as he studied the hole in it before folding it and sticking it into his jacket pocket.
“Cooper.” I hissed loudly as I saw some people start to get up from there seats, anger clear on their faces.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, boys.” Cooper said looking up at the angry men. “Just a bit o’ business, and I got none with you.”
“You better get the hell out of here, ghoul.” One of the man growled before spitting on the ground in front of us.
I knew this would piss Cooper off, so I quickly grabbed his hand and started dragging him to the door. He ripped his hand from my grasp but continued following close behind me. When we finally made it out of the village, I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. However, before I could register what was happening, Cooper roughly grabbed at my shirt collar pulling me close to him.
“What the hell was that?” Cooper growled, staring down at me angrily. “Flirting with other men in front of me? Acting like a slut?”
I squeaked in surprise. Never in a million years did I think he would ever speak to me this way. “Coop, I was just tryin’ to help.” I pleaded, but he wasn’t listening.
“You are MY slut. You understand me? No one else can touch you. No one else can even fuckin’ look at you.” He ranted as one of his fists flew to the hair on the back of my head, tugging harshly.
I gasped loudly at his actions. I never took him for the jealous type, but here he was completely overtaken by it, and much to my surprise I liked it. I pressed my thighs together while I complied, “Yes Coop, I am your slut. Only yours.”
This seemed to appease him as his grip loosened on the back of my head as he pressed his body against mine. “Good,” He hummed. “Never do that again.”
“I wont. I wont ever.” I responded as my hands trailed up his chest and cupped his face softly. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
He studied my face for a moment before pulling away with a grunt. It was clear he was still angry with me. I watched intently as he pulled out the letter from Roofus and read it. I didn’t know it was possible, but his face soured even more.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Cooper mumbled. “I shot right through the damn location.” He said sighing.
“Roofus was the son of an old friend of mine.” He said before looking up at me. “Let’s pay him a visit.”
-
It didn’t take us long to find the man’s house. As we entered, however, only a little girl was home.
“Well, hello darlin’. Your daddy home?” Cooper asked nicely.
The girl just shook her head in response. Much to our surprise she didn’t seem scared of us. She just stared up at us with a blank expression.
“What is your name, sweetie?” I asked as I bent down to her level.
“Sandra.” The small girl replied.
“I’m an old friend of your daddy,” Cooper said while looking around the small home. “When will he be home?”
“Soon, it’s almost dinner time.” Sandra responded.
At the mention of dinner, my stomach gurled. My face reddened with embarrassment as I looked down at my feet. “Well, my girl and I have travelled a long way so why don’t you get us some dinner too?” Cooper said while putting a hand on my shoulder.
The girl just nodded in response before heading to the kitchen. I slowly stood up from the ground, giving Cooper a sheepish expression before looking around the home. It was a nice little place. The walls were covered with wood panels and metal sheets, but it was homey, much nicer than the one I grew up in.
As if he could sense my thoughts, Cooper asked, “Remind you of home?”
“This ain’t nothin’ like my home.” I responded quickly as I studied the shelf on the wall. “Much nicer.”
He hummed quietly before sitting down at the table and placing his hat down next to him. I waited there in silence for a bit, the only noises to be heard was from Sandra puttering in the kitchen. “What are you gonna do?” I asked as I sat down at the table next to him.
He studied my face for a moment before responding, “Depends on them, darlin’.” I just nodded while I picked at my fingers. I understood what he meant. Whether he would kill them or not depended on if they complied or not. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach as I thought of Sandra.
Before I could say anything, Sandra returned with two plates of dinner. I looked up at her in surprise at the contents. Wonderful smelling meats graced the plate in from of me, brahman maybe? And definitely some chicken. “Thank you, Sandra!” I said excitedly as I grabbed the silverware from her hands. I can’t even remember the last time I had a meal that looked this good.
Sandra didn’t respond, instead disappearing back into the kitchen quietly. I quickly started cutting up the meat, a grin plastered over my face. I heard Cooper chuckle next to me, no doubt amused at my excitement, but I paid him no mind. He slowly followed suit, cutting up his meat slowly as he watched me. As the brahman hit my tongue I moaned with happiness. After weeks of iguana and jerky, this felt like a meal fit for a king.
The door swung open as a man and a young boy entered the building, a look of confusion on their faces. I ignored them as I continued to eat happily. I trusted Cooper to handle it, but he stayed quiet as well, just staring at the man and slowly bringing the meat to his mouth.
“Sandra?” The man called out only to be greeted with silence. I looked up at him and then over to Cooper who was maintaining eye contact with him. Before he could call out again, Sandra’s footsteps could be heard as she entered the room with two glasses of water in her hands. She quietly put them on the table. Her father visible deflated with relief at the sight of her.
“Thank you, darlin’.” Cooper said to her before looking back up at the father, “Oh, wait. You thought?...” Cooper said smirking as he held up a piece of meat on his fork. “Come on now.” He said laughing.
“Sandra, wait outside.” The man said, his voice wavering with fear. The girl quickly did as she was told.
“Lead farmin’, huh?” Cooper said, continuing the conversation. “Why, hell, I probably still got some of your lead in me somewhere. But today, I am just lookin’ for information.”
“I’ll tell you anything, as long as you leave us in peace.” The man said. I could tell he was trying to act confident, but his voice continued to waver.
“Say, am I out of date, or did I hear you had three kids?” Cooper asked as he pulled out the letter from his jacket.
“I had an older son, but he’s gone. He took up with that madwoman in the hills two years ago. We haven’t heard from him since.” The man explained.
Cooper smirked as he looked down at the letter, “There’s always some new little faction, ain’t there? Brand new team of believers with their own dumbass ideas about how they gonna save the world. What did you say the name of your eldest was? Was it Roofus?” At the mention of Roofus’s name I instinctively winced, remember how mad Cooper was at me for talking to him. This didn’t go unnoticed as Cooper’s eyes flickered towards me for a second before returning to the man.
“I didn’t say-“ The man started to respond.
“That must make you Tommy.” Cooper interrupted.
The man looked over at his son before angrily asking, “What did you do? What is that envelope?”
“Well, you see, daddy-o, from what I can tell…” Cooper says clearing his throat. “… Old Roofus got Tommy here mixed up with that madwoman, too. Now according to this. Roofus sent Tommy a stash of caps to pay a courier for the safe transport of an Enclave defector, to that very same madwoman in the hills. Moldaver.” Cooper explained with a smirk plastered across his face.
“Now the problem is, by the time I got this letter off your brother,” Cooper said addressing Tommy, “It was a little bit hard to read.” Cooper held up the letter, peaking his eye through the bullet hole. “For some reason I can’t make out her location.” He looked back over at the father before saying “You really should’ve taught your boy to not play with toy’s that aren’t his. Maybe you’d still have two sons. Now you give me that location, and I’ll be on my way.”
The man and his son looked at each other before Tommy said, “I’m sorry.”
“Tell him, son. Just tell him.” The father pleaded.
“I didn’t want to spend my life digging through dirt.” Tommy explained. “I want to build something, and we have the chance-“
“Tell him what he wants to know or else he’s gonna kill us all!” He father yelled, interrupting him. “Including your little sister.”
Tommy stared Cooper down. “Huh.” Cooper hummed, surprised by this turn of events. I had stopped eating at this point, my attention turned fully to the men in front of us.
“You should tell him.” I said softly, giving the boy a reassuring look. “Listen to your father.”
Tommy looked between me and Cooper before surrendering. “She’s… she’s at the Observatory.”
“Now please, leave us.” The father pleaded.
Cooper sighed deeply before saying, “So, what you think, Tommy? Am I really walking out of here today, or are you gonna draw on me for what I did to your big brother?”
Tommy’s eyes darkened at Cooper’s words as rage filled his expression.
“He won’t.” The father responded.
“Maybe not today, but someday.” Cooper said, eyes never leaving Tommy. Understanding the threat Tommy reached for the shotgun next to him, but he was too slow. Before I even realized what was happening, Tommy was on the ground, a gunshot through his chest.
“Tommy!” His father yelled as he crouched down over his son’s body.
Cooper stood up and slowly started to collect his things, signaling me to follow. As we passed by the father, I gave him a sad expression but said nothing.
This was just how the Wasteland worked. Kill or be killed.
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#cooper howard#the ghoul fallout#fallout tv series#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#fallout
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Omg the way Eloise is written as a feminist character BOTHERS me. I can’t always put my finger on why, but a thing that sticks out to me the most is how she just says the most blatantly basic (for us 21st century viewers) things and idk it’s supposed to seem revolutionary… but it’s never clever. And it is never deep.
Anyways I saw your tag on the Eloise/Cressida post and I was curious to hear any elaboration of your thoughts on her feminist portrayal? (But no pressure!)
YEEAAAH EXACTLY! I have the same issue, Eloise just says 21st century equality stuff without ever having read a single feminist pamphlet (this is canon, she doesn't start reading them or attending discussions until she's 18). Somehow she developed a perfectly uniform idea of modern womanhood when she was isolated and raised to be a traditional lady. Her opinions should be WAY more half baked and full of holes because this life is the only one she'd ever known. That's not even mentioning the inability to discuss feminism without discussing class, something Eloise has No Idea About.
Then comes the issue of writing. This is a stupid show. No one looks smart on this show. So when Eloise drops a "smart comment", it is cringe and dumb. She is supposed to be eloquent and witty, but most of the time she looks like a mean snob belittling everyone around her.
Another issue is that everyone else around her is a horrible sexist caricature. Yes, she is snobby, but my god every other woman only cares about men and marriage and gossip so I can't even blame her all that much for it. Her friends don't really care about what she has to say and will always leave her to go chase a man. And even SHE starts fitting the description the moment she falls for a guy - she lies to her friend and puts everyone in danger, and 90% of the reason is a man with only 10% being her self actualization. You can't write a proper feminist if everyone in your story has the same goal, which is to find a husband. It doesn't help that we know Eloise is headed for marriage and babies because every time a character expresses they don't want one or both of those things, they are proven wrong by the narrative.
And finally, my last thing making Eloise a bad feminist character, is that she is SO PASSIVE. Sure, it might be the point of the show as Pen calls her out for it, but we still don't know if they are gonna fix it so I am putting it here anyway. She only talks and complains about her lot in life, but never acts against society. I was happy when she started sneaking out and hang out with The Working Class Feminists TM, but that turned out to be a short failed romance subplot instead of a character moment and she gave up on it almost right away, so it doesn't count. And now in s3 she decided to embrace society and its expectations, so I am not sure we will ever get to see that kind of rebellion again - I sure hope so! But idk.
As a "well written Eloise" character, I'd like to suggest Felicity Montague. She is a character from a 18th century romcom, a noble lady, aroace and trying to go to med school when her gender prevents her from getting an education. She doesn't use her screentime for long-winded monologues about the unfairness of the world, she ACTS on her thoughts and opinions so we know what they are. She switches covers of romance books and textbooks so she can study without being bothered, she runs away from home to try make her dreams come true, she finds alternative solutions. Her thoughts are never lauded as One Truth, in fact she is often called out for the blind spots in her opinions since she too grew up a sheltered noble and can't account for all experiences. She is surrounded by women who challenge her ideas and make her into a better friend and person. AND she is funny and reading her is just plain fun. You CAN do a feminist who doesn't belong in her era, you just have to be careful to also make her a good character.
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can i ask for your rant on Genshin regional specialities? your meta on the bosses was very entertaining, and i largely agree–although i do have to argue that the ruin serpent is worse than the wenut in the spiral abyss
(Meta on boss drop bloat in Genshin)
Ok, well don't say I didn't warn you, anon.
Regional specialties suffer from the same problem as the boss drops as we always need to have at least one or two per expansion, and that as the expansions have gone on, the drops have become more and more mismatched. I mean, I have problems with some of the Liyue characters' regional specialty assignments too, but I'll deal with them too.
I'm gonna address them region by region.
(Highlights: Chongyun why do you use Cor Lapis, Dendrobium Chiori but she doesn't seem to be killing people?!, Thoma you poor soul on Fluorescent Fungus, Navia using Primordial Water, the thing she nearly died to—)
Liyue
Here is the current canonical list of who ascends with what in Liyue. Besides the obvious paradigm of why Gaming, a Pyro Vision user, is ascending with the Starconch (which has, for literal years, been a Childe and then Childe + Yelan exclusive, making it pretty much "Hydro Liyue ascender" for everyone released after 1.0, plus it's also literally a conch from the ocean, the theming—), I actually have more issues.
Chongyun using Cor Lapis, for instance. Like, let's look at the other two characters that use Cor Lapis: ah right, Zhongli aka Rex Lapis the (former) Geo Archon, whom this ore is named after, and Keqing, relentless driver of an ideal of change for Liyue Harbour, who is so dedicated to the idea of Liyue she is willing to blaspheme its Archon to do so. Both of these people, in very different ways, hold a great love for Liyue and wish to see it prosper.
Chongyun doesn't have this. It's not like he's disloyal or hates Liyue Harbour, but it's not a focal point of his character. He's more along the lines of Xiangling and Xinqiu as passively treating and treasuring Liyue as his home, but he doesn't carry the strong convictions that the Cor Lapis (lit. "Stone Heart") implies, at least not in the direction of Liyue Harbour. His character is all about his yang spirit and exorcism,
Honestly, I know it's not a regional specialty, but Chongyun would theoretically make the most sense ascending on Mist Flowers. Beyond that, my opinion is that he suits Qingxin more— like, come on, Qingxin (清心) means "pure heart" (or "mind cleansing"), and what's Chongyun's most famous motto? That's right, "Heart be pure, evil be erased. Mind be purged..." (and, via Shenhe, "world be saved").
Note: Ok, now the Chinese version of the motto is obviously very different, which might affect my argument. Combining what Shenhe completes for us, the motto is:
驅邪縛魅，內外澄清，回向正道，保身護命。
To expel evil and restrain demons, inside and outside pure and clear, turn back towards the upright Way, protect life-destiny and guard the body.
Translation courtesy of this site, since these mottos are based on the Eight Great Incantations in Daoism, specifically the "purifying the heart incantation" and "pacifying the earth incantation".
But I'd argue this makes the Qingxin argument even stronger. First of all, it straight up uses 澄清 chengqing "pure and clear", the same as the 清 qing in Qingxin. Second of all, the Daoist chant this comes from is the 淨心 jingxin "purifying the heart" mantra, like come on, I don't have the energy to explain even further how this suits him. Plus, the Qingxin description says "It eschews the warmth and moisture of the plains to gaze out afar from the solitary mountaintops." Apart from applying to the three (pseudo-) Adepti very well, doesn't this perfectly describe Chongyun's character struggle? Having to deny the warmth of life and keep himself cold (physically, mostly) and under control so that his yang spirit doesn't lose control??
Like, I know Qingxin is somehow the 'adepti' ascension material (excluding Xianyun and Yanfei, because Qingxin only applies to adepti/adjacent who don't really fit into the mortal world), but Chongyun fits this too well, and he can join his aunt Shenhe in using it too.
Other sins of Liyue ascension materials: ok, this one is less egregious, but I feel like Xinyan deserves Jueyun Chilli and not Violetgrass. Like, I get that the description of Violetgrass says it has a "strong vitality" and that its "downward-blooming flower keeps its fragrance from dissipating", both traits that reflect Xinyan's rock'n'roll persistence and her character, but Violetgrass is also a medicinal herb both factually and given that Baizhu and Qiqi both use it, so it's sending out mixed messages here. If anything, Xinyan suits Jueyun Chilli as well for being the "kick up the ass" for Liyue traditionalists (paraphrased but the sentiment is there). I'm not as sure on this one, since Jueyun Chilli also doubles as "Madam Ping's disciples' ascension material" with Yaoyao and Xiangling, but it doesn't even make sense for Yaoyao, swap her with Xinyan since Yaoyao is a healer and takes care of people and would make more sense ascending on a medicinal herb.
There's also, glaringly, the issue with Clearwater Jade and Xianyun being its only user. This has an easy hotfix: remember my problem with Gaming? Let him use Clearwater Jade instead for Chenyu connections, therefore fixing the 'there's literally only one user of this ascension material' problem. I know it's Clearwater Jade and Gaming is Pyro, but at least he has a lore connection to Chenyu Vale.
Speaking of the 'only one user of this ascension material' problem...
Inazuma
Q: Thoma, why the fuck are you the only one to use Fluorescent Fungus??
A: Because Thoma released in 2.2, just like Tsurumi Island.
There are two ways we can go about hits. First, we scrap the Fluorescent Fungus entirely and move Thoma to a different ascension material. The question is, which one? None of the others really have an MO that fits Thoma...
at least, in Inazuma.
Remember, Thoma is half-Mondstadtian. And if we wanna bend the rules a bit (or, in fact, actually give this half of his heritage some weight rather than just ignore it), why don't we give him a Mondstadt regional specialty?
Let's take Fluorescent Fungus' description. "A mushroom that glows like a night-light... [and] can help to light the way." Great, so we're dealing with only one theme here: bioluminescence and 'lighting the way in the dark'. Thoma has a Pyro Vision and works as a retainer for the Kamisato Clan, this isn't too strange. Hey, wait, isn't there also a bioluminescent plant from Mondstadt?
Small Lamp Grass: "A wild grass that emits light at night. Used in cooking to enhance other flavors. Just as the subtle fragrance of wild flowers will not distract a focused person, Small Lamp Grass' delicate glow will not attract their attention either, even at night."
Thoma could use Small Lamp Grass as a substitute, which three other characters already use, therefore reducing the amount of regional specialty bloat and making farming him not contingent on completing the Tsurumi Island questline, (which can be a good or a bad thing depending on what type of player you are), but as his """intended""" playstyle was a Hu Tao shielder at his release, the Lamp Grass choice also makes strategic sense since a Hu Tao owner will have likely already gotten a lot of Lamp grass by being in Mondstadt already, versus having to explore all of Inazuma. Plus, the Lamp Grass has an even better theming boon: "used in cooking to enhance other flavors" (like as a retainer, Thoma enhances the Kamisato Clan by his dedicated service).
If you wanted to play up Thoma's nostalgia for his homeland, you could make him use Windwheel Asters, which cannot grow in places with no wind or plagued by strong storms, only where the wind is gentle and nourishing. Inazuma, literally surrounded by a strong storm due to the Sakoku Decree and ravaged by the storms of war (metaphorically), would not be able to grow the Windwheel Aster until after the events of the Inazuma AQ and Raiden SQ II (assuming, for the sake of it, that Windwheel Asters can theoretically grow outside Mondstadt), reflecting how Thoma is stuck in a 'windless land' antithetical to his very nature. Big sad. I wish this was touched on more often, but that's an Inazuma critique, not just regional specialty reorganisation. And believe me, if I got into the Inazuma problems (as I have done in the past) we would be here all week.
The other option is not to scrap the Fluorescent Fungus, which in that case, someone else should use it. The only obvious candidate are our two new Inazuma releases: Kirara and Chiori. Out of the two of them, I think Chiori doesn't deserve Dendrobium, because it's such a reference to the red spider lily and death that even Chiori, who has her 'dark side' (being a blunt communicator??) doesn't exactly fit its MO. I mean, Sara is a war general. Of course she gets Dendrobium the flower that grows where blood was spilled. If Kokomi were a more competent character she would get Dendrobium too— *gets shot*
but it's hard to make a case for Chiori using Fluorescent Fungus unless you lean really hard into it being the "Inazuma outcast ascender", i.e. Thoma, a non-(full)-Inazuman living in Inazuma (everyone treats him considers him a 'naturalised' foreigner despite being half-Inazuman because that's the inevitable consequence of not being the picture of conformity in a society like this, trust me, I know the feeling), and Chiori, an Inazuman not living in Inazuma. The bioluminescence angle could also reflect Chiori's aspirations to become a fashion industry leader, like "the light shining in the dark", something like that. Alternatively, Chiori could use Amakumo Fruit, which fits her MO far better: "as if showing its defiance, it will bear fruit while facing the peals of thunder from the sky." Chiori is determined and defiant of the odds to achieve her dream, a "bold spirit" (quote from the desc.) for someone who emigrated and is struggling to make her life out there.
Kirara doesn't suit Amakumo Fruit either, given what I've described of it. She's neither 'defiant' (in the way that the description implies) nor strongly Electro-tied, she's just an international cat courier. That's why Fluorescent Fungus could suit her more— like, the luminescent angle lighting the way (through the fog of Tsurumi Island), just like her traveling self. It's not a deeply strong connection, but it tracks better than Amakumo Fruit does.
(Moving Chiori and Kirara away from Dendrobium and Amakumo Fruit respectively means that we're only moving the 'one character one material' problem, but given how well those two suit Sara and Raiden respectively, I'm loath to move or delete one of them. The ideal balancing factor would be moving Kirara to Fluorescent Fungus and Chiori to Amakumo Fruit, leaving Dendrobium with a single but extremely fitting user, which is more than Thoma + Fungus can be.)
Also, Yae Miko not ascending on Sakura Blooms is a sin. Swap Miko and Ayato (like, Ganoderma lore is literally the souls of dead children, what better way to imply further darkness in Ayato raising child soldiers in the Shuumatsuban especially given this is a criminally overlooked aspect in his character). Hell, if this aspect was further emphasised in Sayu's character, we could move Sayu to Dendrobium too, move Aloy literally anywhere else don't you think the Subdetection Unit, Trishiraite, or any other ore/mechanical thing would suit her more, time of release be damned??, and scrap Crystal Marrow. But that's getting dangerously close to talking about an Inazuma rewrite again, so I'll leave it there.
Hey, wouldn't it be really fucked up if Kokomi used Crystal Marrow to ascend? HYV, you cowards—
Sumeru
(Warning! I am going to be factoring the ascension material of Sethos, who was recently drip-marketed for 4.7 and hails from Sumeru. This is minor leak territory, but if you don't wish to see it, skip the section double-labeled Sethos at start and end.)
Sumeru is an interesting case because a lot of the regional specialties do clearly fit well, but at the same time are organised weirdly. I won't get into Collei and Wanderer using Rukkhashava Mushrooms because those, while weird on the surface, there is an interesting explanation behind it (ft. Ashikai's video on Eucharist lore) that coheres well. Nor will I take issue with Kaveh and Mourning Flower, since it's so clearly themed around the Iranian cultural significance of the Kaiser's Crown and dovetails with Kaveh so well, so we can let his single usage of it slide.
My first issue is with Sand Grease Pupa on Alhaitham and Dehya. Alhaitham does not really fit Sand Grease Pupa. Like, I will hear the argument that the description "the hardened shell is meant to protect the Quicksand Eels' larval bodies until they finally acclimate to the conditions of the dry desert" is a subtle reference to Alhaitham's character and temperament, where his """"callousness""" and blunt personality are a method to enforce boundaries and keep the personal peace he strives for in life amidst the sea of uncertainty. But the thing is that doesn't hold for Dehya, who also uses Sand Grease Pupa and doesn't have this kind of thing unless you count her being a hardened mercenary? Which is incredibly strange.
But things are complicated by the fact that there is no satisfactory place to move Alhaitham, unlike previous occasions where we found better places for Chiori and Kirara, etc. Like, I've tried my best, but against all odds the quote I mentioned from Sand Grease Pupa is the only one that remotely seems to work for him, and that's even if I ignore release order and consider Trishiraite or Mourning Flower.
So I feel compelled to keep Sand Grease Pupa. In that case, let's eject Dehya from using it, because it clearly doesn't fit her apart from the desert origin, which isn't even consistent because of Alhaitham. I'll talk about where Dehya should go in a moment, but now we have the problem that Alhaitham is the only user of the Pupa, which is something we try to avoid unless the theming is strong enough (like Kujou Sara - Dendrobium). So, taking into account "a hardened shell" theming, who else fits this?
"I must make a lot of Mora."
"With enough Mora, my family will never have to smile at me while swallowing their pain, and I will never have to lose anything due to lacking Mora..."
Ding ding ding! It's Dori. In fact, I want to make the case that she fits Sand Grease Pupa better than Kalpalata Lotus, which she currently uses. The motif of Kalpalata Lotus is about "it looks like a lotus, but it isn't", which... works with Dori, I suppose, but isn't particularly compelling. Meanwhile, the Pupa is a 'hardened shell'— like Alhaitham's own boundary-setting unique personality, Dori's shell is her love of Mora, something she uses to face the outer world after the pain of losing her sister to a disease that could have been cured had they had enough money to purchase the herbs needed. Dori's obsessive love of Mora is real, of course, but it's the "hardened shell" that protects her from disappointment after the trauma of losing her sister. It's almost too perfect! (And, Alhaitham and Dori are some of the only rainforest-origin characters to have a slightly strong enough connection to the desert to justify this, not that we really need to.)
This, obviously, ignores release order. My previous comments on reordering regional specialties in Liyue and Inazuma just so happened to be compliant with the order in which they released the items. However, from Sumeru onward, I no longer care.
Ok, but that leaves Nahida high and dry on Kalpalata Lotus, another single case user. Again, the theming works for her, but it isn't really perfect— of course Nahida represents the "looks weak, is a lot more" archetype pretty well, but it isn't exactly congruent with "looks like a lotus, but isn't", because that's more of a question of identity than of power. I mean, I guess our meeting her in the AQ is kind of like that, but that's also a weak argument.
I think, therefore, we should move Nahida to use the Padisarah, which has hitherto only been used by Nilou, fixing another one of our single-character-material problems and allowing us to delete Kalpalata Lotus (or make it a quest exclusive item to Caribert, that would be cool). Like, I hope I don't need to elaborate why the Padisarah is suitable for Nahida, being a "holy and noble" plant descended from GoF and the era of the Three God-Kings of Sumeru, plus it being a calque (more explicitly in CN) of Padishah, the sovereign title used in Persia and beyond, which of course suits Nahida as she is, like it or not, sovereign ruler of Sumeru (would be a nice fuck you to the Sages too).
Sethos
At this juncture, we need to talk about the elephant in the room. Before Sethos was drip-marketed for version 4.7, I would've completely discounted Trishiraite as useless and said to dump it. However, I now have to reconsider, since Sethos has been leaked to use Trishiraite (wow, were they setting this up more than 9 patches ago?).
We don't know much about Sethos, admittedly, but we know he's a desert native and seems to be affiliated with the Temple of Silence and has connections to Cyno (I have not fully played through Cyno SQ II at the time of writing. If you have a more compelling case based on its events, please give spoiler warnings). Given this, Trishiraite seems perfectly reasonable for him, although there is the question of if he's a Temple of Silence member (albeit seemingly opposed to Cyno, given implications in the trailer), why he isn't just using the Scarab, because just read the Scarab lore:
Legend has it that when the desert king ruled this land, the souls of those vanquished by him would be sealed within these insects by the magically-skilled priests at great triumphs held in the City of the Pillars. The scarabs would then be charged with defending the sacred temples and palaces for all eternity in the name of Al-Ahmar. In the end, the temples would collapse and the palaces would fall, and only these golden insects would remain, fulfilling their ancient, forgotten oaths.
Like, even if we don't know Sethos' true role, his Temple of Silence affiliations (?) would make this far more fitting.
But, as you may have noticed, I've been delaying assigning Dehya anywhere. That's because I think if Sethos does use Trishiraite, Dehya should too. Read the description:
During the sun-swallowing battles of that bygone age, even the hardest of stones were set aflame. As the flames of war died out, all that remained from the calamity were these deep-red ores.
Trishiraite is ore born (allegedly) from the flames of the Cataclysm setting fire to stone. Like, it's a very warlike thing, and it's something that might be ok with Sethos but definitely suits Dehya more than Sand Grease Pupa. The thing is, nobody wins here because if I think Sethos suits Scarab more, that leaves Dehya alone on Trishiraite; if I don't, then Sethos + Dehya use Trishiraite while Cyno stays alone on Scarab, which is fine but ugh....
...unless, of course, we put Dehya on Henna Berry, which is very definitely the "female desert ascension material" and annoying stereotypical (fits with Dehya's love of makeup, though). Then we could make Sethos use Scarab alongside Cyno and just delete Trishiraite anyway, but this is a problem I don't want to propose a definitive solution for. I just think that Dehya shouldn't use Sand Grease Pupa, and Sethos seems weirdly better with Scarab, at least for now.
Sethos
Fontaine
(Warning! I am going to be factoring the ascension material of Clorinde and Sigewinne, who were recently drip-marketed for Version 4.7. This is minor leak territory, but if you don't wish to see it, skip the sections labeled Clorinde and Sigewinne.)
Fontaine is obviously still a nation-in-progress, so I'll cut it some slack, however:
Why does Navia use Spring of the First Dewdrop. Please. For the love of god.
Spring of the First Dewdrop is heavily implied to be somewhat related to Primordial Water, which is just—? Can I say how cruel this is for being Navia's ascension material? Like? Navia, who almost dissolved in the Primordial Water??
Although, the description calls it Ichor, which according to Wine Goblet of the Pristine Sea is the 'essence' extracted from Primordial Water, but then we have the question of why Dewdrop's description calls it "a final gift from Egeria" even though it was Remus who isolated and created Ichor, like we know Egeria was the substitute Heart of the Primordial Sea created by the Shade of Life to replace the Hydro Dragon, so technically the creation of Primordial Water is her domain, but this shouldn't even be her "final gift" anyway because logically that would've been literally anything else she did, because she abandoned that Heart role when she ascended to become the Hydro Archon and then died in sacrifice at Tunigi Hollow to repel the Cataclysm—
But this isn't a rant about Genshin lore, this is about the regional specialty. So.
Navia should not be using this. So, what should she be using? I'd suggest Lumidouce (French: soft-light) Bell, given the variety of people with whom Navia has parted and wishes to be reunited with ("Lumidouce Bell is said to represent parting and the wish for reunion"), but given that this is already being used by Chevreuse and Lynette and is absolutely slated for Emilie, the perfumer, whenever she releases ("...is often used for making rare perfumes"), that would be a bit of a crowd when Fontaine still doesn't have many characters.
Chevreuse doesn't really seem to fit Lumidouce Bell, though. Like, every attribute and theming doesn't seem to relate to her, unless you count the events of Roses and Muskets, which is about her personal feelings on justice, not the actual events that happened which could, possibly, fit the parting and reunion theme. So maybe we can boot Chevreuse off to Subdetection Unit, which actually suits her better— it's a detection unit, which gathers data, and it being used by Wriothesley seems like a not-so-subtle indicator that it's used to gather intelligence and for lack of a better word, spy. Which is something that Chevreuse's job involves, as once again demonstrated by Roses and Muskets.
So, with the Chevreuse tangent out of the way, Navia and Lynette can use the Lumidouce Bell. But what about Dewdrop? Should anyone use that?
Well, the obvious argument for Dewdrop as a Primordial Water thing is that Neuvillette should use it. Like, he's the reborn Hydro Dragon— thematically it makes more sense than Lumitoile (French: light-star). Let's again set aside the problem of time (Neuvillette released Version 4.1, Dewdrop came with the Tower of Ipsissimus in Version 4.2) because it makes things boring...
that being said, it's not entirely unreasonable to have Neuvillette use the Lumitoile, and simply delete the Dewdrop instead. Let's examine that below.
Clorinde and Sigewinne
So, what should we do about Lumitoile? If we move Neuvillette to the Dewdrop, that leaves Clorinde the sole user of the Lumitoile, and it's pretty justified in her case given the unsubtle implication of the Lumitoile as an environmental cleaner/digester and Clorinde's job as a Champion Duellist but with the Marechaussee Hunt techniques she inherits. After all, remember it's Clorinde who starts the plan to 'hunt' Furina in the AQ, to entrap her. She's good at hunting and cleaning up, so that makes the Lumitoile quite suited for her...
...Although, there is a scheme I'm cooking up. See, Sigewinne uses the Romaritime Flower, which fits fine with the Hydro stuff just fine, but I was reading the description of the Romaritime Flower, and it said: "Romaritime Flower is said to represent loyalty and unswerving oaths." And what, apart from being a strong hunter, is Clorinde known for?
Clorinde: Mr. Callas' last wish was for me to ensure your safety, and I will not betray his trust.
Like the Faint Moonlight of Yesteryear, in As Light Rain Falls Without Reason, after Clorinde saves Navia and Traveler from the Gardemek attack
It highly depends on what you think her character hinges more heavily on: hunting, or her loyalty/oath-swearing.
As for Sigewinne, using the Lumitoile would also work, because apart from the obvious Hydro theming, the Lumitoile is also about 'underestimation'— "though the weak light they give off is often ignored by divers, these small soft-bodied animals have the remarkable ability to consume and degrade industrial waste." Sigewinne's surprise gun attack in the AQ earns her this, in my opinion.
This is quite a complicated web to unravel. If Neuvillette no longer uses Lumitoile, then either both Clorinde and Sigewinne should use Lumitoile, or neither. Therefore, let's examine two cases.
1: Neuvillette uses Dewdrop. Therefore, nobody else uses Lumitoile, ergo, Clorinde should use Romaritime Flower alongside Sigewinne to avoid the 'single-user' issue.
2: Neuvillette does not use Dewdrop, and that material is deleted from existence. Therefore, Clorinde and Sigewinne can stay with their current specialty materials: Lumitoile and Romaritime Flower respectively.
I like case 2, personally.
But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself by analysing the ascension materials of characters that haven't released yet. Let's get back to normal.
Clorinde and Sigewinne
Quick recap: Neuvillette uses Dewdrop instead of Navia, and Navia uses Lumidouce Bell in place of Chevreuse, whom we boot off to use the Subdetection Unit. Therefore, we have solved the problem of Navia and Wriothesley being the only user of one ascension material, and realistically we have to leave Neuvillette alone with the Dewdrop because no one else actually makes sense ascending via Primordial Water, what the fuck.
Ahem.
We also leave Furina alone, being the Lakelight Lily dovetails with Erinnyes and the lore of her weapon, Splendour of Tranquil Waters.
So that leaves Charlotte with the Beryl Conch. Hey, Charlotte, what the fuck? Like, the Beryl Conch doesn't have anything visibly in common with her. It glows, and it's not actually a shell but something condensed from elemental energy. It's theorised to have connections to "ancient civilisations". What else? If you take this from Charlotte's 'investigative journalism' angle, perhaps the Conch can symbolise Charlotte digging for the truth, but the "oh perhaps the Conch has marks left by the Hydro Lord or is related to ancient civilisations" is such a weak connection to that kind of "what is the truth" ethos that Charlotte represents.
So, get rid of the Beryl Conch. Then what should Charlotte use? There's an obvious option here: what ascension material have we just talked about that applies to information-gathering, spying, and mechanical parts? What boss did I assign Charlotte to in this post about boss material bloat that also fits her mechanical companion, Monsieur Verite?
That's right.
The former two, as justified above, also share the Subdetection Unit. So why not Charlotte? It's the 'mechanical' ascension material of Fontaine, just like Prototype Cal. Breguet is the corresponding 'mechanical' boss material. Last time, I justified this with the mechanical focus of the three characters: Wriothesley's gauntlets and his rule of the steampunk-themed Fortress of Meropide, Chevreuse's gun and rifle focus, and Charlotte's entire kit and lore revolving around Monsieur Verite in her pursuit of journalism. This applies here, but it gets better because they also share the theming of the Subdetection Unit's 'spying/detection/information-gathering'.
It's so perfect that it feels a bit too perfect, actually, but who am I to complain? This would cut down on another ill-fitting regional specialty and make farming easier for all of us.
***
Thanks for reading! And letting me rant about this. I have problems with how Genshin treats boss and ascension materials with some degree of lore relevancy, only to also throw some of that relevancy out the window when it suits them. It's inconsistent and bothers me, lol.
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Okay soo might’ve drawn a little Clarissa Franklin while listening to Die Spur der Toten soo
Here ya go
#die drei ???#die drei fragezeichen#clarissa franklin#nr. 1 enemy of this fandom#drei ???#no idea if there's a canon description of what she looks like
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love the chaotic-ness of platonic alastor and reader of your posts!! the way you write him is more canon compliant but that makes it even more GREAT. can i req platonic alastor (+maybe rosie as a trio?) with overlord!reader. they just talk shit about the Vees and stuff lmao and do it openly on his radio show. hang out at rosie’s. maybe alastor gets reader to support the hotel too and everyone’s to alastor is like THEM?? You know THEM??? alastor’s like yeah lol we blow stuff up every tuesday and broadcast it where you at
OVERLORD PODCAST OVERLORD PODCAST OVERLORD PODCAST-
Alastor X Reader X Rosie Headcanons
❌️Romantic
✅️Platonic
TW: Alastor and Rosie cannibalism
Description: 👆⬆️
The three of you are very busy demons who have demanding jobs so getting together doesn't happen as often as you'd like
But when you get together??? It's almost like you're all a bunch of gossiping old women instead of powerful deadly overlords
Rosie brings the snacks(bring your own if you don't want people meat), Alastor provides the venue, and you pick the topic of discussion
The first podcast was entirely an accident, Alastor forgetting he was on air when you and Rosie suddenly burst in
ALASTOR YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED
He gets so sucked into what you're saying that he forgets about his radio show and everything the three of you are saying is being broadcast live
But a lot of people are tuning into it??? Like everyone is so entertained by the three of you and your conversation
Once you three realize what happened then you all agree that this must become a weekly occurrence
Even the other overlords listen in on it every once in a while, finding it hilarious
Vox is absolutely livid because he's being IGNORED, why is nobody watching tv anymore???
He tries to get you and Rosie on his show instead but the two of you don't even take the offer seriously
The chemistry would be all off without Alastor's sparkling humor anyways
Which makes him throw a huge tantrum that becomes the next topic between the three of you
Y'all are just trashing this man at this point
It's his own fault for providing you three with so much ammo
But nobody is safe
It's just a fun little gossip podcast that somehow blows up and turns into this gigantic thing
But it gives you three an excuse to hang out
Whenever the conversation starts to drift towards the hotel you try to stay out of it for your own reasons
And it does always go back to the hotel, Alastor is running a business afterall
Alastor slowly starts to warm you up to the idea of his hotel, whatever your motivations are or if you believe in it
Rosie also encourages you to at least humor him and go see it
Easy for you say, he's not pressuring YOU
So you give in one day, accompanying Alastor to the hotel
Huh, Alastor wasn't joking when he said that Lucifer's daughter was his partner 🤔
You're not entirely surprised when you see the shocked looks everyone gives Alastor when they see you
WTF ALASTOR WHEN YOU SAID Y/N WAS COMING I DIDN'T THINK YOU MEANT Y/N THE OVERLORD
Who else would it have been, Vaggie???
Everyone nervously watches you and Alastor interact, it's two extremely powerful beings in one hotel
Except for Niffty, she greats you like an old friend, climbing all over you and making maniacal noises
Husk and Niffty are the only ones not surprised by your friendship, knowing that you and Alastor are good friends
They fill the others in on your relationship when they think you two aren't listening
It's almost funny hearing it come from someone else, you had nearly forgotten how you two met
"That's right..! I DID try to kill you! That's so funny!"
"Isn't it? And I do believe I nearly bit your hand clean off!"
You two are fucking deranged
You have a better understanding of why Alastor wants so much support for this hotel now
And you're a little surprised that Charlie seems to believe so genuinely in the idea of redeeming a soul
Regardless of if you're sold in the idea or not, you agree to support the hotel for Alastor
But now you're going to rope Rosie in with you too, if you're gonna go down then the three of you are going down together
But that's unlikely to happen, Alastor wouldn't lead you guys into a death trap
He's never steered you wrong before
This was so fun to write!!
#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#rosie hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#alastor hazbin x reader#rosie x reader#rosie hazbin x reader
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How would the Vs react if their pet died in hell, forever?
The Vs reaction if pet died in hell
(This is not canon to the au!)
This is disturbing and gross so please be mindful of the media you’re choosing to consume!
Warnings: description of dead body, disturbing keeping’s of dead body, Vs sick version of mourning, grief, mentions of previous abuse, drug use mentioned
You probably would have died during an extermination
Maybe the Vs got too busy to remember to reinforce the safety precautions for the tower
Or you were accidentally downstairs when they sealed their upper level off
In any case, you are killed by an angel in cold blood
But the Vs didn’t know that yet, they were too busy at their viewing party that spies on the hazbin hotel to watch in case alastor dies
They assumed you were just in your room and decided to leave you be since they were so interested in their little spy drones
So when Vox goes to your room to check up on you and doesn’t see you in your bed, he panics
He searches all his cameras while he sends the other two to search for you
Eventually they find your body thrown across the rubble and cut open
It all happens in a very saltburn fashion
Vox doesn’t know how to react as he just drops to his knees and holds your head up while muttering about how you must be feeling cold without a jacket
Velvette just stares before mentioning how it’s almost time for breakfast and that they should all head inside, choosing to live in denial and push her feelings down for the meantime
Valentino stifles a few cries as he just stares at your dead body
They wait for someone else to get rid of your body but as soon as another demon touches your body, vox snaps and shoves them away and picks you up himself
They had to decide what to do with your body
Velvette suggested stuffing you like a doll and keeping you in her office so she could choose a new outfit for you everyday, but Vox and Valentino refused
Not because it’s disturbing and disrespectful for your dead body, but because she’d have more time with you then they would
Valentino suggested having your body burnt and fashioning accessories out of your ashes, but the other two said it would be a waste of your body
Eventually Vox had an idea, and he searched for a demon he met many many years ago
This demon had the ability to restore an item to the original condition it was in 24 hours before
It wouldn’t be able to bring you back to life since they had just missed the 24 hour window when finding your body, but they could keep your body in its first stage of the effects of death
That means your body would remain warm and soft, as if you were just sleeping
Vox had your wounds stitched up to make you look like you were just asleep and he placed you in your bed and commanded the demon to come every day and restore your body so you wouldn’t rot away
He chose to deal with your death by throwing himself into denial
He’d pretend you were just sick in bed and would still visit your corpse every night to ‘check up on you’
He’d watch you through the cameras in your bedroom in case you needed him
He started finishing work earlier to spend time with your corpse and calming ‘his daughter was sick so he had to get going’
If someone tried to point out you were dead they would receive a threatening glare and even more if they weren’t Valentino or velvette
Velvette refused to go along with that plan for the first few months, and chose to deal with your death by pushing her feelings down and finding a replacement
She assumed it was like buying a new dog after her old one had died, and refused to believe she had any emotional attachment to you
So she tried finding your replacement
She’d hire assistant after assistant who either shared your physical looks, your personality, your ability or your mannerisms
But none of them could match you in the way she needed, so she’d end up killing them or firing them
So she gave in to voxs fantasy, and began to talk to your corpse like you’d respond and began to dress your body in a new outfit every day
This worked for her, she could pretend you were here and she could still deny ever having an attachment to you
Valentino was surprisingly the one to not live into the fantasy that you were only asleep
He was the one to care about you the least in life, but he was also the one to mourn you the most on death and feel the most guilt
He drowned his sorrows in his drugs, his alcohol and his employees
He thought about how he treated you in your life, and while he didn’t feel guilt for how he abused you he did feel like a part of his missed having someone around who he could pour his frustrations into
But now you were a dead, and that somehow humanised you to him
He sometimes would get so drunk that he’d wander into your room and sit beside your corpse just to vent about how angry he felt that you’d died
How dare you? Who gave you permission to leave?
He’d just stare at your corpse and scoff, not buying into the delusions that the other two were about your dead body just being asleep
He held a funeral for you which just had him and angel dust in attendance since the other two Vs refused to believe you were dead
Angel dust was only invited because val wanted something warm to hold as he felt the complicated feelings your death brought out in him
And even so, angel dust was sure that however sad your death was and how tragic it was
You were better off dead then living with these people
@corvid007 @buttercupfangirl @lilyalone @ivebeenthearchersstuff @repostingmyfavs @the-faceless-bride @fandomaddict505 @hazbinhotelxreader @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @idontreallyexistyet
#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin charlie#hazbin vaggie#hazbin angel dust#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel#yandere hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin lucifer#hazbin vox#hazbin adam#vox#yandere vox x reader#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox#yandere velvette x reader#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette#yandere valentino#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel valentino#valentino x reader#alastor x you#yandere alastor x reader#alastor x reader#alastor#charlie morningstar#vs pet
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I was curious how you manage to keep features consistent when you draw them? Do you use models? Is there a model for Crowley? He is very handsome.
I don't use models per se, but I sometimes keep files of photos or art that resembles the subject.
Crowley is based a bit on the French actor Alain Delon who was once considered the handsomest man in the world. He doesn't look exactly like Delon, but that is in my head when I draw him. I recall reading Neil and Mr. Pratchett once considered Peter Sellers for Crowley.
There is no reference for Aziraphale because he is entirely in my head and I can't really find anyone who looks exactly the way he does. I recall reading that Neil and Mr. Pratchett thought of Brian Dennehy at one point, but my head canon Aziraphale won. I think a Brian Dennehy Aziraphale would have been amazing, though. Anyway, he is actually kind of hard for me to draw because his facial structure is a bit outside my usual style. His face is a bit long and his eyes closer together than I normally do, and if I'm not careful, he slips away. He appears younger and more classically handsome as an angel than he does in his corporeal form, but I think he's quite fetching as a bookseller.
Michael Sheen is so perfect in this role it is really hard not to leak bits of his performance into the graphic novel edition, but I have to resist the impulse. I am not allowed to use any of the show actors as models.
I adore Michael Sheen. Who doesn't?
Adam is also a head canon character. He is a perfect young Greek God, so that's kind of drawing on a day with a Y in it for me.
The inspiration for Newt I'm keeping a secret. I submitted a number of sketches for Newt. The show Newt dug in deep and I had a hard time shaking him off.
The Them are based on kids I knew. They're in my head, I don't need any photos. They don't really look like the kinds in the show. The book version of Pepper, for example, is a freckled red-head.
Anathema is an amalgam of features that don't come from one person, which I think fits the description of the character. She's also unusual for me to draw but she's easier to draw than Aziraphale. I nail her every time.
Hastur is a caricature of the stereotypical English upper class you'd see in broadsheets 200 years ago. I have a file of pictures of Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury for Hastur. I considered making Hastur more handsome in a Duke of Hell sort of way, but I think Hastur likes to be scary. I keep thinking of Peter O'Toole when I draw Hastur, too.
I feel kind of bad basing Hastur on Lord Ashley because he was a wonderful person and I'm sure he didn't go to Hell.
Ligur is a broad caricature of Danny Devito. I obviously can't use a DeVito portrait. That would be wrong. But I can tweak from there and come up with a general idea of the face I want to use.
Beelzebub and Metatron are head canon, and don't look a thing like they do in the show. I postulate some demons prefer to look like their angelic selves, and at other times prefer to be fearsome. Crowley can look fearsome when he wants, for example. In the book, Beelzebub appears as a young man in red flames.
Shadwell was drawn from reference at the direct suggestion of Neil.
Madame Tracy is based on a certain person, but no one you would have heard of. The original source might not be flattered, but I love Madam Tracy. She's really easy to draw because she's a bit over the top. I'm sketching around her scenes right now because I don't have final approval on some things yet. So she might need some changes later.
War is head canon, very easy to draw. She's a knockout. No reference required.
Famine looks a lot like Famine in the show, actually, but that's what Famine always looked like, pretty much. Except he has the grey eyes he has in the book.
Pollution is initially described as being a forgettable white guy, but later described as looking like a romantic poet, which strikes me as being memorable. Because he's only on one page in his forgettable white guy phase, I chose not to make major changes in his appearance between those panels and later when he appears as his true self, because that's a bit more confusing than it needs to be in the graphic novel edition. He's rather glamorous as the essence of Pollution, though. No reference needed.
Dog is a dog.
While I do give every detail a lot of thought, I am sure other people have other opinions. I understand that, and hope you enjoy what I do anyway.
Thanks for your question.
I'm still a bit under the weather, so may be stepping away from the net for awhile so I can concentrate on work. I have a lot of sick time to make up.
But don't think I don't appreciate your interest in the Good Omens graphic novel adaptation. Your wonderful support is acting on me like a tonic, let me tell you.
kickstarter
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how to disappear | luke castellan
warnings: betrayal, fluff, mean!luke for like five lines, extremely long, not canon, drug use and language, probably got some things wrong but it's for the plot; i sobbed writing this. (this might be my favorite piece i've ever written)
part 2: shades of cool
pairing: aphrodite!reader x luke
description: based on how to disappear by lana del rey
i. all of the guys tell me lies, but you don't. just crack another beer and pretend that you're still here.
"hey, angel," a voice startled you out of your thoughts. your feet were dangling over the pier as you stared out into the lake. you twisted your head to see luke approaching. a soft smile was on his face. "been looking for you everywhere."
"needed a breather," you said, scooting over so he could join you. "sometimes i forget how overwhelming being back here is."
he rolled his cargo pants up to his knees, letting the cool water touch his bare skin. "i get it. sometimes i wish i could take a break."
"you can, you know," you nudged his shoulder, "you're old enough to leave camp during the year. nobody would fault you for wanting to go away for a while."
he dug into his front pocket, pulling out a messily rolled joint and the pink lighter you gave him last summer. the heart you drew on the plastic with sharpie was starting to fade. he placed the joint between your eager lips and lit the end. he tried to ignore the sparks that shot up his arm when your fingertips brushed against his.
luke shrugged, "i know, but then who would take care of the kids? mr. d isn't really the model citizen."
you quirked an eyebrow, passing him the joint, "and you are?"
"better than mr. d," he let out a chuckle before taking a drag. luke closed his eyes as the smoke escaped his lips. he could taste your lipgloss. "maybe when you get your own place, i'll take some time off and visit you."
"i'm off to college soon," you said. "going to california. i got a scholarship."
"of course you did," he grinned. the weed didn't take effect yet. usually, when you smoked with luke, his brown eyes are hazed over by the effects, but while he was speaking, his eyes twinkled in pride. "didn't doubt it for a second."
"you'd leave camp and visit california for me?"
luke had a knowing smile on his face now, as if you were ridiculous for even asking that question. "'course. only problem would be that i'm broke as shit right now. being camp counselor doesn't really pay the big bucks, y'know."
you hummed. it was weird really, how camp was just a fraction of your life. your dad made sure that you could have a semi-normal life, or at least as normal as a half-blood's life could be, but not all demi-gods had the luxury, luke included. his dad made sure of it.
at first, luke despised you for it. why was it fair that you were your mom's favorite child while his dad barely cared enough to make sure he survived his failed quest? if aphrodite was his godly parent, he was sure that he wouldn't have this ugly scar on his face to remind him that he was nothing but a failure. she would stitch him up and make sure that he was okay.
this is not to say that luke liked any of the gods; he just preferred aphrodite above all of them. she gave you to the world, after all.
"what else is new?" he prodded, passing you the joint again after his third drag. "anything else exciting happen in your life since last summer?"
"nothing much," you coughed slightly. you didn't smoke unless you were at camp with luke. "just the usual senior year things, i guess. graduation, prom, you know."
"no, i don't know, actually," he laughed, "well, i know the idea of it. did you decorate your graduation cap? did your senior year live up to your expectations? did you have a date to prom?"
"yes, yes, and no." you pretended not to notice how luke's shoulders relaxed at your answer. "i did decorate my grad cap. my dad has it framed with my diploma. the design was my college's logo. i didn't have a date to prom because i didn't really like anyone at school. i would rather take a date i actually enjoyed the company of."
"that's fair," luke said. he took another hit from the joint. you watched the smoke evaporate into the air, the smell of weed surely sticking to your clothes. "tell me about your senior year."
"it was fun," you said, longing on your face. "it's weird to think that i'm kind of on my own now. after camp, i'll be shipped off across the country to take classes for some bullshit degree that i probably won't need because i won't make it long enough to see the workforce."
luke chuckled at that. it was morbid, sure, but he would be lying if he said that that reality wouldn't be a possibility. he didn't like to think about it much, the idea of you dying, but the life of a demi-god was unpredictable. he's surprised he even made it to eighteen.
you continued, "but i got to be a kid and i'm thankful for that. i just can't stop thinking about how this is my last summer here. i'm eighteen now. i've aged out."
"you can come back, you know," luke said. these summers with you were the only thing he looked forward to each year ever since you first arrived. "i'm still here."
"that's because if you step a toe out of this camp, they'll find you," you said, although you knew luke knew this already. he was powerful. he would attract monsters left and right and he'd be putting himself in jeopardy if he left. your suggestions for him to visit you were more wishful thinking than anything. in those moments, you let yourself pretend that you and luke were normal, that nobody would be trying to kill you if you tried to watch a movie at a theater or something.
"fair," he offered you the last hit, but you shook your head. you already felt your head spinning. "beth wants to go to college, too."
"does she?"
"yeah," he put out the joint on the wooden pier. neither of you spoke as the flame was extinguished with a sizzling sound. "told her to talk to you. you know more about it than i do."
"i'd love to talk to her. i think she'd do great in college."
"she would," he smiled, sadly. his eyebrows furrowed in thought. his mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to find the right way to frame his words. you sat in silence patiently. he gulped, "i feel like everyone is moving on without me."
luke propped his elbows on his knees. he looked across the lake, watching the sunset turn into a pink horizon. he couldn't look at you while he spoke. "don't get me wrong, i'm so proud of you for leaving this place. and i'll be proud of annabeth when her time comes, but i think i just hate the fact that at the end of it all, i'll be alone. everyone in my life has a life outside of this, but i don't. this is it for me. i don't know what it is about this place, about this life, that keeps me stuck here, but i am."
you weren't stupid enough to correct him. you both knew the gods had a plan for luke. it was something bigger than the both of you, though neither of you truly knew what it was; but it was always this looming dark cloud above him, a second shoe waiting to drop. luke tried to ignore the feeling most days, but sometimes, he couldn't help but feel himself get pulled into the darkness; like in these moments, when reality hits him a little harder. you probably won't be back after this summer.
"well," you placed a hand over his own. he flipped his hand over to hold yours properly. he still wasn't looking at you. "let's just make the most out of this summer, yeah? think about everything else when we get there."
he squeezed your hand, "yeah."
ii. met me down at the training yard, cuts on his face cause he fought too hard.
"castellan."
luke winced, not because of the pain of the open cuts on his face, but because of the tone of your voice. that voice meant that he was in trouble.
he mustered up the courage to smile weakly at you, trying to ignore the droplets of blood that spilled from his open wound. "hey, angel."
"don't angel me," you hissed, marching to him. you grabbed his face gently, inspecting the damage. "what were you thinking?"
"i was thinking the kid was a bitch."
"castellan."
he cringed, "sorry."
"what happened?"
"i haven't been getting much sleep," luke whispered, "nightmares are back."
you sighed, picking up a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. the apollo kid who was tending to luke earlier was smart enough to leave the room when you walked in. you muttered half-hearted apologies as he hissed in pain. "i'm sorry to hear that, but that's not the answer i was looking for."
"he was just talking shit," luke said through gritted teeth. whatever the ares kid was saying must've been really bad because you could feel luke's anger rising again. you rubbed his back slowly until he calmed down. "don't wanna talk about it."
"okay," you resigned, finally wiping away the final remnants of blood off his face. you stared at him; even with an open lip, red bruises, and flecks of blood on his face, luke was still beautiful. he plopped his forehead against your stomach, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer.
this was common with luke. he acted all big and bad around all the other campers, but in your presence, he turned into this; always looking for comfort, always touching you somehow, like he was finally allowed to breathe. you cradled the back of his neck as he let out shallow breaths, leaving feather-light kisses on his crown when you thought he wouldn't notice them. he always felt them, but he never let you know that he did. he was afraid you'd stop doing it if you found out.
"how bad are they?"
"bad," he sighed, eyes closing. he tugged on you to bring you even closer, though you didn't know how that was possible at this point. "haven't slept in days."
"why didn't you come find me?"
"your sisters don't like it when i interrupt their beauty sleep."
"why didn't you tell me sooner? i could've stayed in the hermes cabin."
"it's gross in there," he laughed. "you deserve to sleep on your soft bed in a cabin that smells like fucking roses, not on my cardboard thin cot in a room that smells like sweaty socks."
you lifted his head up to look at you, "yeah, it's pretty bad in there."
luke snorted, finally letting you go, but a hand stayed connected to your hip. he played with the loose thread on the hem of your shirt. "i still won, by the way."
you cocked your head, "huh?"
"the fight," luke's cocky smirk was back on his face. "you should see the other kid. if i'd been well-rested, he wouldn't have been able to land a blow."
you smacked his shoulder, laughing as you fell onto the bed beside him, "shut up, castellan."
"there it is," he mumbled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he was so close to you.
"what?"
"castellan," he mimicked your voice, but there was no mockery there. he said it like he treasured it, like he was trying to memorize the way you spoke. "you're not mad at me anymore."
it was hard to stay mad at luke. the longest you'd gotten mad at him was when he didn't choose you for his quest. he stood outside the aphrodite cabin the entire day before he was set to leave, begging for you to let him explain. you were too stubborn, too hard-headed, to listen to him. when you were sure that he was gone, you finally left the aphrodite cabin to find a letter from him tucked away under the welcome mat.
you kept the letter, but you never opened it. it wasn't until he returned from his quest, on the brink of death, that you opened it. you were sitting beside his bed, eyebags darker than ever that even your mother couldn't salvage you. your eyes were stained red from crying so much.
in his letter, he explained how he didn't want to put you in danger, how he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to you because of him. your insecurities just got the better of you. you always feared that people saw you as shallow, like you didn't actually have the skills to fend for yourself. many people had misconceptions about the aphrodite kids, but not luke. luke knew that you were incredible. you just didn't resort to violence as quickly as he did.
you felt stupid then, even now, you regret how you treated him before his quest. you hated yourself for how you acted. he never gave you a reason to doubt him, to not trust him; you should've known that he had his reasons. you hated yourself for even questioning him for a second.
luke pulled you into his chest, allowing you to cuddle into his neck. the beads of his camp necklace rested beside your temple. you reached over to play with them, letting the beads thump against his collarbone when you let go. you felt luke twirling strands of your hair around his finger, gently undoing the knots that formed at the ends of your hair because of his antics. you lay there in silence, just enjoying the presence of one another. you felt luke's breathing even out, a sign that he was drifting off.
luke's words from the pier bounced in your head then. did he think that you'd forget about him after you left camp? as if you'd forget about this, about him. a life without luke castellan became unimaginable when you met him when you were fifteen. there was no version of your life that didn't have luke in it.
it was foolish to think that way, you knew that. it was stupid to let someone have a hold on you like this, demi-god or not. even your friends from home warned you about being so attached to luke, though in the version of events you told them, the stakes were much lower. to them, he was just a boy you see at summer camp a few months out of the year; he was just another hometown boy that they urged you to forget when you moved away to college so you could live your life unrestricted.
but luke wasn't just that to you and you knew you weren't just that to him either. there was something between the two of you that was hard to explain, but didn't need an explanation at the same time. even your mom noticed it. she let you know once to tell luke to stop praying to her to give you a sign whenever he missed you.
"i can't keep making flowers bloom whenever he misses you," she wrote, "it wouldn't make much sense for flowers to bloom in the winter, my child, or for flowers to bloom every second of the day."
sometimes, though, on particularly hard days when you'd miss luke, your mom made exceptions. you'd find bunches of hibiscus growing within the cracks of the sidewalk of new york city on your way home from school.
you knew luke was thinking about you then. just the thought of it made your day better.
iii. i know he's in over his head, but i love that man, like nobody can. he moves mountains and pounds them to ground again.
luke didn't know what you'd say if you found out. well, he did know, but he deluded himself into thinking that you'd listen to his reasons, that you'd actually understand why he did what he had to do. maybe you'd even join him.
percy had left camp with annabeth and grover for his quest yesterday. the air at camp felt different since percy was revealed to be a forbidden child. luke, as much as he tried to keep his resentment for the gods at bay because percy was hard to dislike, the poor kid just wanted to save his mom, felt his blood boil when poseidon claimed percy.
he hated the gods, this wasn't new, but luke struggled to understand how he was supposed to feel. he saw so much of himself in percy. he thought of his mother; her hugs that he hadn't felt since he was nine, the taste of her burnt cookies that he hated at the time, but now he just wished he could taste the burnt crisps on his tongue one last time. he even missed her frantic mumbling in the middle of the night.
luke saw a version of himself in percy, the version that had a chance at happiness. luke hated it.
it was too late, anyway. the plan was already in motion. his allegiance to kronos was set. kronos visited him in his dreams often. luke stopped calling them nightmares because nightmares are only nightmares if they happen once in a while. what made them bad dreams was when they were compared to good ones. he didn't have those anymore.
luke hadn't slept much since he stole the bolt. it was easier to think about you, about the happy times, when he was awake. he smoked more now. it helped sometimes. he would pretend your lipgloss was still on the tip of the joint and that you were beside him on the pier, trying to get away from all the noise of camp.
as he walked toward the hermes cabin, smiling cordially at the younger campers who beamed at him, he saw the corner of a pink bag against his bed. his face dropped. luke stopped in his tracks, clutching the beads of his necklace.
you weren't facing the door. your back was turned while you folded the sheets on his bed. he saw you spray perfume on his blankets. he could almost smell the sweet fragrance from where he stood. it took all his might not to run to you and hold you in his arms. it's been months since he last saw you, since last summer. luke's hands fell to his sides before he twisted his body to turn the other way.
he went to the one place that gave him comfort. with his cargo pants rolled up to his knees, he watched the sun fade into the dark sky. there was no pretty sunset tonight. luke didn't think too much of omens, but he figured that was a bad sign. and when your soft footsteps thumped against the boards of the pier, he was certain that it was.
"you damn near running away from me when you saw me was not the reaction i was hoping for."
luke closed his eyes and took a deep breath. out of habit, he moved a bit to let you take your usual spot beside him. when he opened his eyes, he was met with the face he'd thought about for months. a kind smile adorned your lips. you looked different. your skin was a deeper shade, no doubt due to the california sun; your lips were pink and torn apart, like you'd been chewing on them; but your smile was the same.
"what are you doing here?"
"sorry i was late," you said, sheepishly. you played with the small braid in your hair, "i had to move out of my dorm so i had to take a later flight."
"i thought you weren't coming back," luke replied.
"heard there's a war coming," your voice sounded small. luke knew why. he'd listened to you talk about the dreams you had for yourself for hours over the past summers. the idea of an impending war meant that those dreams would take the backseat and you'd have to fight before any of them could come true. "is it true?"
"percy, a forbidden kid, poseidon's, is trying to make sure it doesn't happen."
"do you trust him?"
luke felt his heart crumble in his chest. how cruel is he to keep you in the dark like this? when the only thing you needed to feel okay was to hear that he trusted the kid meant to stop the war?
luke's voice was hoarse, "yeah, i do. beth does too."
"okay," you placed a hand on his thigh. luke stiffened at your touch. you pulled away, embarrassed. "sorry."
"don't apologize," he placed his hand next to yours. he could feel the warmth of your skin. "i've just been on edge."
"it's just me, luke."
he didn't know how to tell you that that's exactly why he was on edge. it was you. the girl he'd been in love with since he was fifteen. the girl he told everything to. the girl who knew him so well that if you were to touch him for longer than a second, you'd know everything.
this summer, for the first time since he met you, he was glad you didn't show up to camp. he knew that the minute you were in front of him, he'd tell you everything and there was a chance you'd want nothing to do with him after it. that was something luke couldn't handle. but now you're here, looking at him like this like his actions just hurt you.
"'m sorry, angel."
"you're acting different, luke."
"'m sorry."
"i don't need an apology," you said. "i want to know why."
luke rubbed his face with his hands, "i don't know, okay?"
"you're lying to me," you were frowning now. luke was angry. he wasn't angry at you, he was angry at the whole situation, but it didn't matter. he was taking it out on you.
"gods, angel, can you just-- not right now," he groaned. you got a good look at him. his eyes were tired, shoulders slumped like he'd been carrying a weight on his shoulders with no reprieve. "i don't really feel like talking."
"you don't have to be mean about it."
he didn't feel like himself anymore. he would never talk to you like this, but there was something in him that made him snap. luke scoffed, "i'm not being mean, you're just being so pushy right now."
you blinked, pulling your hand away from his. shivers ran down your spine, "luke, what the fuck?"
"what?" he stood up. you followed suit. under the moonlight, you saw how dull his brown eyes were. they no longer carried the same glow when he looked at you. luke's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes narrowed, "i just can't handle this right now, okay? can you just drop it?"
"i'm just trying to talk to you!" you raised your voice, disbelief on your features. you walked towards him. holding his face in your hands. he was crying. you wiped away his tears. "i just missed you, okay? i just wanna talk to you because i haven't gotten to in months and i'm miserable."
he let out a shaky breath, your touch grounding him. he felt himself coming back to him. he nuzzled his cheek in your palm, kissing the flesh there as he mumbled apologies into the night.
"i missed you so much," a sob escaped your lips. luke didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, continuing his train of apologies into your ear. you continued, "i-i thought that you'd be happy to see me because i've been counting down the days until i saw you again and i just thought that even though the world was falling apart, we'd be the same. it's always been us, you know?"
"i know."
"and then you avoid me and run away from me and i just needed to see you, luke. i needed to talk to you."
"i missed you, too," he confessed. "so much, you have no idea."
"you have a funny way of showing it," you joked through your tears.
luke laughed. it shocked him. it was like he had forgotten how to. he hiccuped, removing one hand from around you to rub the tears away from his eyes, "come on."
selfishly, he ignored the pit in his stomach. he allowed himself just one more day to have you like this. as he lay on his bed, he held you close to him. he was overwhelmed with how much you filled his senses; the smell of your perfume, the feeling of your lips ghosting on his chest as you told him nonsense stories from college, the sound of your quiet giggles when he made some stupid joke, the look on your face in the dark, staring at him.
an unfamiliar feeling took over his body, rest, he realized it was, a while into lying in the darkness with you.
"i love you, you know that, right?"
luke didn't trust his voice anymore. he pulled you closer, hoping that that was enough for now.
iv. think about those years as i whisper in your ear. i'm always going to be right here.
"i love you."
you turned your head at the sound of luke's voice. camp was in disarray. percy was badly hurt and annabeth was frantic, sobbing about how luke was behind it all. you ran away after hearing it.
you didn't want to believe it, but it was annabeth. she wouldn't say that about luke unless it was true. you knew it killed her just the same to accept it.
"what are you doing here, castellan?"
it felt like a dagger was plunged into luke's heart. he'd heard his name leave your lips in different ways over the years; jokingly, angrily, but never like this. disappointment.
"i couldn't leave without telling you," luke licked his lips, keeping his distance. he was pressing his shirt on the spot percy broke skin. he looked down at his feet, "couldn't leave without letting you know that i love you."
"why did you do it?"
"i don't know."
"okay," you walked towards him. "when did you get so comfortable with lying to me?"
"angel," he sounded broken. "please, don't do this."
"you were wrong, by the way," you said. "you're not stuck here anymore, but i don't think the place you'll end up in is any better than this."
luke was silent.
"go, luke," you whispered. "don't make it any worse than it already is."
he nodded. this was it. you watched as he disappeared into the dark.
you were too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice it then; your mind was plagued with worry, but in the gaps of the wooden pier, a single hibiscus flower bloomed under your feet.
#luke castellan#luke castellan one shot#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan fanfic#pjo tv show#pjo fanfic#pjo spoilers#pjo series#percy jackson#percy jackson fanfic#frances song fics#frances writes#luke castellan x yn#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x y/n
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She's My Siren
Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader
Summary: The boys are working a case where several men have brutally murdered their wives for no apparent reason. Turns out they were influenced by a siren. The siren sees Dean and appears to him as someone he knows.
Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), face sitting. Fluffy fluff fluff.
"So what do you think this is? Just a bunch of dudes ganking their wives?"
"I mean, that's what's happening," Sam replied with a shrug. "but I think something is making them do it."
"Well they're not possessed, so what's doing it?" Dean asked.
"I have no idea. Maybe we should call Bobby and (Y/N)."
Dean groaned. "She's gonna laugh at us for not figuring it out."
Sam smiled. "Probably, but we do need their help."
"Fine," Dean grumbled.
Sam pulled out his phone and dialed a very familiar number.
"Hey Sam. Having some trouble?" Bobby answered on the second ring.
"We can't figure out what's causing these guys to kill their wives."
"Tell me what you've got so far," (Y/N)'s voice said from the other end of the phone.
Sam put the phone on speaker so Dean could talk. "All we've got is four guys who murdered their wives for basically no reason. No possession, no shapeshifters, nada."
"All the husbands knew exactly what they were doing...and they all regret it," Sam added.
"Anything else?" Bobby asked.
"All of them met their 'perfect' woman not long before killing their wives," Dean answered.
"Define 'perfect'," (Y/N) said.
"They all said 'she was perfect in every way. Exactly what I wanted'," Sam responded.
The boys couldn't see the look Bobby and (Y/N) exchanged, but they did hear her soft chuckle. "And you boys couldn't think of anything that could fit that description?"
Dean gave Sam an 'I told you so' look. "I'm guessing you have something in mind?" he said aloud.
"I do indeed," she answered. "Ever hear of a Siren?"
"A Siren?" Dean asked. "Like Greek Mythology?"
Sam gave Dean a surprised look.
"I can read, you know," Dean mumbled.
"Yes, like Greek Mythology," (Y/N) said with a small smile. "What do you remember from the stories?"
"Uhh...they're super hot women who lured sailors to their deaths?" Dean said.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes and Bobby chuckled. "Sort of," Bobby replied. "They're actually quite hideous, but they can read minds. They appear to the guy as their ideal perfect woman, put some mojo on them, and make them kill."
"What kind of mojo?" Dean asked.
"Don't really know," Bobby answered. "Siren songs aren't really songs...more like a spell that falls on the person."
"Okay, so how do we find her?" Sam asked.
"Honestly, boys, my money is on her finding you," (Y/N) said.
"Great," Dean mumbled. "So...how do we kill a Siren?"
"We're...uh--gonna have to get back to you on that one," Bobby said.
"Just keep your eyes peeled and don't do anything stupid," (Y/N) said. "We'll get back to you as soon as we find something."
"Thanks guys," Sam said before hanging up.
"Sooo a Siren, huh?"
"Looks like it."
"Who do you think she's gonna look like?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably one of those chicks from 'Busty Asian Beauties' you're obsessed with."
Dean's eyes lit up. "Hell yes. Let's go find us a Siren."
**********
(Y/N) and Bobby had been digging through lore books for hours before they managed to find something potentially useful.
"I love a good 3,000 year old text," (Y/N) mumbled in annoyance.
"I'm not even sure what it means," Bobby responded.
"You're supposed to be the expert, Singer," she teased.
He chuckled. "Let me see it again."
He took the book from her and read the passage again...and again...and one more time for effect. "I think I've got it."
Bobby explained his reasoning to her and she agreed. She placed a call to Sam, but he didn't answer. When she called Dean, he picked up almost immediately.
"You got something for me, sweetheart?"
An almost imperceptible shudder ran through her body at the pet name. She was used to him calling her that and other similar names, but it never ceased to have an effect on her. She knew he called all the girls 'sweetheart', so she knew it didn't mean anything...not that she wanted it to...right?
"Bobby and I think we figured out how to kill her."
"Lay it on me."
She cleared her throat. "Uh, you'll need a stake, dipped in the blood of someone actively under her spell...then just stab her."
"Okay, sounds easy enough. We'll just get some blood from one of the poor saps sitting in a jail cell."
"Not quite, Dean," Bobby cut in. "The guy has to be actively under her spell...none of those guys are anymore."
"Damn. Okay, so how do we get it?"
"I have a terrible plan, but it should work," (Y/N) said.
"I'm always down for a terrible plan," Dean responded.
"Find the Siren, one of you gets dosed, the other uses his blood to gank her."
"You want us to get dosed?" Dean asked in surprise.
"Obviously not, but it's a surefire way to get the job done. As long as only one of you gets dosed."
"What happens if we both get it?"
"You'll probably try to kill each other," Bobby answered.
"Great. That's just great," Dean grumbled.
"If you've got a better plan, go for it," (Y/N) said with a shrug.
"We'll make it work. I'll call you when we're finished." Dean hung up without another word.
(Y/N) and Bobby exchanged another glance.
"Carvistly is what, three hours from here?" she asked.
Bobby nodded. "We should probably head that way."
"Agreed."
**********
"Any luck tracking down the Siren?" Dean asked when Sam walked into the motel room.
"Nope. Any word from Bobby or (Y/N)?"
"Got a way to kill her and a...rather terrible plan."
Dean explained (Y/N)'s plan, as well as how to kill the Siren.
"You're right, that's a terrible plan," Sam said when Dean finished.
"Yeah, but it's all we've got."
"Fine...but how do we find her? I mean, I've talked to all the vics and they all described a different chick. We have no idea what she's gonna look like."
"That's true. Guess we'll just have to hang out at the bar and hope she comes to us."
"We're lucky there's only one bar in town," Sam commented.
"Dude, for real."
The two hunters made their way to the bar and got themselves a high top table towards the back of the room, giving them a good vantage point of the rest of the bar.
"Do we even know how she's picking her targets?" Dean asked.
"Well, all of the guys have been married so far, but I'm sure she'll go for just about any guy desperate enough," Sam answered with a pointed look.
"What's the look for? You saying I'm desperate?"
Sam shrugged.
"I'm not desperate."
"Right...when was the last time you got laid?"
Dean scoffed. "All the time, man."
Sam raised his eyebrows and Dean groaned.
"Okay, fine, so it's been a while. That doesn't make me desperate."
"Whatever you say, Dean."
Dean grumbled as he took a swig of his beer. He was not desperate. Absolutely not. Dean Winchester was never desperate. Maybe he just hadn't been horny lately...a man doesn't need to get laid every day. It had absolutely nothing to do with a certain hunter he couldn't get off his mind. Definitely not.
Sam was scanning the bar, looking for anyone who seemed out of place...but no one was catching his eye. He felt a little bad for teasing his brother, but he just wanted Dean to admit the truth.
"I'm gonna hit the head," Dean mumbled.
He watched Dean walk to the bathroom, several pairs of eyes on him the entire time. Most were women, but none of them stood out as concerning. Just the typical hot bimbos Dean always seemed to take home.
Sam's mind began to wander a bit while he waited for his brother to return. He had a lot on his mind and working this job was, unfortunately, not his priority.
Dean made his way back from the bathroom, jarring Sam out of his trance. "I'm gonna get another beer. Want anything?"
"No thanks, I'm good," Sam replied.
Dean walked off towards the bar and Sam's eyes followed him out of habit. Dean was halfway to the bar when a woman approached him. Sam's jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw her. Had Dean not told him (Y/N) had called from Bobby's two hours ago, he would have been certain she was here in the bar.
He watched the woman walk up to Dean and touch his arm, and he was out of his seat and heading their direction in an instant.
"Hey there, handsome," a woman said from beside him, her hand touching his arm.
When Dean turned to face her, shock lit up his handsome face. He knew it wasn't her, but the resemblance was so uncanny, he almost believed it for a moment.
Realizing the woman before him was the Siren, he quickly regained his cool. "Well hello to you too," he said with a smirk.
"How 'bout you buy me a drink?" she said lightly.
Her voice is wrong, he thought to himself. "I'd love to," he said aloud.
He followed her towards the bar, turning to see Sammy following close behind. The expression on Sam's face told him that his little brother knew what was happening.
Dean held back a little, allowing Sam to catch up to him.
"Dude, she--" Sam began.
Dean glared at him. “Not of word of this to (Y/N), Sammy. Not a word.”
Feeling a little more comfortable knowing his backup was there, Dean continued to follow the Siren. When they reached the bar, he ordered a beer and she ordered some fruity cocktail.
"So what's your name, beautiful?" Dean asked.
"Kimberly."
"Hi, Kimberly. I'm Dean." I guess she doesn't know everything...
"It's nice to meet you, Dean."
The bartender handed them their drinks and Dean followed her to a solitary booth in the far corner of the bar. Dean noticed Sam taking a seat not too far away.
The Siren leaned in close and began chatting with Dean, laying on the flirtation very thick. Despite the fact she was literally wearing the face of the one woman Dean really loved, he found it very hard to reciprocate.
Thankfully, the Siren didn't seem to notice. In all honesty, Dean's bad flirting was better than most of the population's good flirting.
A half hour and another round of drinks later, Dean found himself mere inches from the Siren. Her scent was intoxicating, and he wondered for a moment if that was the 'mojo'...except he didn't feel any different. He knew it had to be something else.
"Your lips look so soft," the Siren muttered as she reached up a hand to touch them.
"They are," Dean murmured as he leaned in closer. "Wanna find out?"
She smiled and for a moment--just a moment--Dean forgot that it wasn't her. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. He was instantly intoxicated by her...he wanted her so badly he could hardly breathe.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice screamed at him, reminding him she was a Siren, but the feeling of desire--of mindless devotion--quickly overcame the voice.
After what felt like an eternity, she broke the kiss. Dean was breathless, but he knew he would have happily suffocated to death kissing her.
"Why don't you take me back to your place?" she asked, voice suddenly sultrier than he remembered it being before.
He wanted nothing more than to take her to his bed, so he agreed without hesitation. Dean took her by the hand and guided her outside, helping her into the Impala, and taking off without a second thought.
Sam came running out of the bar, just in time to see Dean speeding away with the Siren in his passenger seat. "Shit..."
When Dean arrived back at the motel, he escorted "Kimberly" into his room. "Sorry for the mess," he said quickly as he knocked a few books off his bed.
"Don't worry," she said as she came up to him and ran her hands up his chest. "I don't mind a little mess."
Dean looked down at her and let out a soft groan. "God, you are so beautiful," he whispered.
She smiled knowingly. She had been more than a little surprised when she read his mind at the bar...it was rare to meet a man who's ideal girl wasn't a tall, thin, bombshell, especially a man who looked like him. But she knew what he wanted and she was more than happy to give it to him...until she got what she wanted.
Dean kissed her passionately and pulled her down onto the bed with him. He began to slowly peel off her clothes and she tugged at his shirt. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull his shirt off over his head.
Suddenly, someone knocked on their door.
Dean groaned. "Ignore it."
She was happy to do so and continued to kiss him.
"Dean!" Sam yelled from the other side of the door.
Dean pulled away for a moment. "Kinda busy here Sammy," he called.
"Open the damn door, Dean! She's not who you think!"
"Don't listen to him," the Siren said. "He wants me all to himself."
Dean's eyes darkened. "But you're mine."
"That's right, sweetie. All yours," she purred. "And I can be yours forever if you just get rid of him."
"Get rid of him?"
"You have to kill him, Dean, or he'll take me away from you."
"That's never gonna happen, baby." Dean stood up and crossed the room.
The moment he opened the door, Sam punched him in the face, sending him spiraling back into the room. The Siren watched with a smile as the two men fought each other.
"Dean, you gotta snap out of it!" Sam yelled.
"You can't have her. I won't let you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Kimberly's mine, Sammy," Dean insisted as he swung at his brother.
Sam ducked out of the way and slipped behind him. Dean swung his foot around and managed to knock Sam to the floor.
The Siren stood off to the side, egging Dean on. "Kill him for me, Dean. We can be together if you just kill him."
Dean was on top of Sam, punching him repeatedly. Sam reached into his jacket and managed to grab ahold of the stake. He jabbed Dean in the arm and kneed him in the groin with a mumbled apology.
Dean groaned loudly and Sam pushed him off and onto the floor. When he stood up, the Siren noticed the stake in his hand, but it was too late. Sam was blocking her exit. She turned to run towards the window, but Sam was faster. He stabbed the stake into her back and she fell to the ground with a scream and a thud.
Sam turned back to his brother, who was now kneeling on the floor. "You okay, Dean?"
Dean looked up at him with a glare. "Did you really have to go for the goods, man?"
Sam chuckled lightly. "Sorry about that, but you were being a dick."
"I was hopped up on Siren juice, dude!"
"Well lookie here, guess they don't need our help after all," Bobby said from the open doorway.
(Y/N) came up beside him with a smirk. "Nice work you two. We thought you might need some backup, but looks like we were wrong."
"We can help with the body dump at least," Bobby said.
Bobby and (Y/N) stepped into the room and Dean yelled "no!" in an oddly high pitched voice. (Y/N) did her best not to look in Dean's direction, despite his outburst...his shirtless form made her stomach do somersaults.
"Jesus, Sam, how hard did you hit him?" Bobby asked.
Dean scrambled to get to his feet, but he wasn't fast enough to stop (Y/N) from seeing the Siren. Sam had reached for her, but he saw the look on her face and knew it was too late.
"I don't think that's his problem..." (Y/N) said softly, pointing to the body of the Siren.
Bobby came up beside her and cursed under his breath. He and Sam made eye contact and slowly started to back out of the room.
"Does anyone want to tell me why the Siren looks like my twin?" (Y/N) asked, stopping everyone in their tracks. She turned to fix all three men with a hard stare.
"We're just gonna...umm--go, uh anywhere else," Bobby said. He grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him from the room, closing the door behind them.
(Y/N) fixed her intense gaze on Dean. "Well?"
"I--um, well--you see, I...um." He couldn't quite meet her eyes.
(Y/N)'s expression softened. She could see his discomfort matched her own. "Sit," she said gently, gesturing to the bed nearest the door. "And maybe put on a shirt."
Dean sat down, tugging his shirt back over his head. She sat across from him, finally able to look at him without feeling incredibly awkward.
"It just sorta...happened," Dean mumbled.
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah--you musta been on my mind when she read it, ya know? So she made herself look like you." He didn't want to tell her the truth...all this time he'd spent pretending he didn't feel this way was going to be thrown out the window in an instant.
"That's not how it works, Dean," she said softly. "Sirens can see your innermost desire...the woman of your dreams."
Dean let out a little groan and bit his lip. He exhaled heavily and finally lifted his head to meet her eyes. "Guess there's no point in lying then."
She shook her head. "Not really."
Dean's heart was hammering in his chest. It was so loud that he was surprised (Y/N) couldn't hear it. She looked beautiful, sitting there with a confused and concerned expression on her face. For the first time in the years he'd known her, he was struggling to push his feelings back down. Now that the box had been opened, he couldn't put them back.
"She didn't get your voice right," he said softly.
"What?"
"Your voice...it wasn't right. It was missing the softness...the--" he struggled to find the right word, "--the melody."
"You think my voice is melodious?" she asked in surprise.
"I think it's the most beautiful sound in the world."
She laughed, thinking he had to be joking. When his expression didn't change, her laughter came to an abrupt stop. "Oh, you're serious..."
"I changed my mind. Your voice is the second most beautiful sound in the world."
She swallowed thickly. "What's the first?"
Dean smirked as he crossed the short space between them and sat on the bed directly beside her. "Your laugh," he whispered.
Her breath caught in her chest as she looked at him. His expression was something she'd never seen on his face before, but it sure looked a hell of a lot like lust.
"Dean..."
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"What are you doing?"
"I'm clumsily telling you how I feel about you," he answered honestly.
"That you like my laugh and my voice?"
He sighed. "I like them because they're yours."
She wanted to believe it, but she couldn't wrap her brain around the idea that Dean Winchester liked her. It wasn't even remotely possible, so he clearly had to still be under the Siren's spell. There had to be some alternate explanation for why the Siren took on her appearance.
"I guess the Siren's mojo really screwed with your head."
Dean shook his head. "It didn't mess with my head, (Y/N/N). It just made me face something I've felt for a long time."
Her breathing sped up as she stared into his eyes. "And what is it you feel?"
"Affection," he answered. "Adoration...devotion, desire, longing." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering on her cheek. "Love," he finished softly.
She inhaled sharply, disbelief evident on her face. "You love me?"
"With everything I have."
"Why?"
Surprise lit up his face and he dropped his hand. "Why? What do you mean, why?"
"I mean, why would you love me of all people?"
"I don't really know how to answer that...I just--I just do."
She shook her head and stood up. She began to pace and the words tumbled from her mouth before she could think about what she was saying. "There is absolutely no way that you, Dean Winchester, love me. I mean, look at you! You're literally perfection in human form. Every woman on planet earth with a set of working eyeballs wants you. You could have your pick of any fish in the sea! I've seen the women you go home with, Dean, and they sure as hell don't look like me. I'm not what any man would use to define the 'ideal woman'...I'm short, I'm certainly not thin--I've got hips and thighs and a big ass, not to mention large boobs and a soft stomach. There is nothing special about me. Someone like you isn't meant to be with someone like me."
Dean stood up and grabbed her, pulling her to a stop directly in front of him. "Are you done now?"
She was slightly breathless as she nodded.
"Okay, good. Now listen--I'm not perfect. Not even close. I'm aware that I'm attractive, but inside? Shit, (Y/N), I'm damaged goods. Beyond damaged. Why do you think I only bring home chicks that look like that? Baby, they're easy to entice home and there's zero strings attached. I've kept my feelings buried for so long, it just became easier to pretend they didn't exist. It kept you safe...I didn't want to expose you to the darkness that lives inside me. You deserve so much better than me, (Y/N)."
She stood there in stunned silence--unable to grasp a single word to say.
"And another thing--you're my ideal woman. I don't give a damn what society's beauty standards are. For the record, I love your thick thighs and that gorgeous ass of yours. I love your boobs, and your hips, and your stomach--baby, I love all of you. You're perfect. So don't you dare tell me you're not meant to be with someone like me...because in reality, I'm the one who doesn't deserve you."
"Dean," she whispered.
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he tried to stamp out the terror that she was about to rip his heart out. He opened his eyes again and saw the whirlwind of emotions in her eyes. "Yes?" he asked tentatively.
"Please kiss me," she murmured.
He didn't need to be told twice. His lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss. He moaned softly, licking against her lips, silently begging to be let in.
She parted her lips, allowing his tongue entry. She sighed as he tightened his grip on her, pulling her flush against his chest.
Dean deepened the kiss, large hands roaming her soft body until they landed on her round ass. He gave it a light squeeze and she responded with a little moan.
Dean broke the kiss to begin trailing down her jaw to her neck. His lips felt like heaven against her skin and she clung to him, head tossed back in pleasure.
He nipped at her pulse point and she moaned softly, eliciting a growl from deep in his chest. He pulled away from her, slightly breathless, and leaned his forehead against hers. "I take it back," he whispered.
"What?"
"I've got a new favorite sound."
She cocked her head to the side in confusion.
He grinned devilishly. "Those pretty little moans you make? Those are my new favorite."
Her eyes widened slightly, but a small smile played at her lips. "I bet if you try hard enough, you can hear a few more."
He chuckled. "Oh, baby, you ain't seen nothing yet."
"Uhhh guys?" Sam suddenly said from the doorway.
They both turned their heads to face him, embarrassment reddening her cheeks.
"Little busy here, Sammy," Dean grumbled.
"I can see that, but umm...dead monster body," he said as he pointed at the Siren's body.
"Gross," Dean mumbled. "I forgot about that."
(Y/N) chuckled lightly. "We should probably take care of that."
He nodded. "We'll pick up where we left off later." He shot her a wink and gave her another kiss before peeling himself off of her.
**********
An hour later, the body had been properly disposed of and everyone was ready to head home.
"You boys wanna come back to my place and rest for a few days?" Bobby asked.
Dean looked over at (Y/N) before turning his attention back to the older man. "Yeah, Bobby, I think we could use the rest." He glanced back over at (Y/N) just in time to see the soft smile on her lips.
Bobby nodded. "Sam, why don't you ride with me?"
Sam looked confused for a moment, but realization quickly lit up his face. "Oh, yeah--right. Sure. I'll uh, see you guys later, then."
"Mhm," Dean hummed, clearly not really listening anymore.
Bobby and Sam got into Bobby's car and drove off, leaving Dean and (Y/N) alone.
"So, uh...whatcha say we stop at the nearest motel on the way?" Dean asked with a sheepish grin.
She smiled. "I think I could be persuaded."
He grinned fully, reaching out to grab ahold of her and pull her into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he leaned down to kiss her.
Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to take her right then and there, but he wanted better for her. Her kiss lit a fire inside of him that burned more brightly than he had ever felt before. He wanted her with a kind of desperation he had never known was possible.
"Why don't we skip the motel," she whispered against his lips.
"Huh?"
She glanced at the Impala. "The backseat is pretty spacious."
He chuckled. "It's plenty big enough, but I don't want our first time together to be in the back of a car. I wanna make love to you properly--on a bed."
She smiled, practically melting against him. "Then you better drive fast, because I don't know how long I can wait."
His eyes widened. "Yes ma'am."
She laughed lightly as he opened up the car door for her and she slid into the passenger seat. Dean ran to the other side of the car and jammed the key into the ignition. The car roared to life and he sped off toward the highway.
**********
"Oh thank God," Dean mumbled about 20 minutes into the drive. "There's a motel 10 miles up."
(Y/N) laughed warmly. "Step on it, handsome."
He grinned and laid his foot down a little harder on the accelerator. Less than 5 minutes later, Dean was pulling into the motel parking lot.
"I'll go get us a room. Should be quick," he said as he hopped out of the car.
A few minutes later, Dean returned with a room key in hand. He opened the car door and held out his hand for her to take.
"Come on, gorgeous. We've got important things to do," he said with a smile.
"Lead the way."
Dean had to consciously force himself to walk at a reasonable pace to the room. (Y/N)'s legs were a lot shorter than his and if he'd walked as fast as he wanted to, he would've been dragging her along.
As soon as they were in the room, Dean shut and locked the door.
(Y/N) glanced around. "Looks clean enou--"
Dean silenced the rest of her sentence with a well-timed heated kiss. He'd whipped her around and pressed her up against the door, hands gripping her hips as he kissed her passionately.
She gripped the edges of his shirt and tugged upwards, silently asking him to remove it. He pulled back, yanking the shirt off his head, before attaching his lips back to hers.
He slid his hands under her shirt and her body tensed up on instinct. She'd always hated people touching her stomach, but she did her best to push away her discomfort.
Despite her best efforts, Dean could feel her unease. "Baby, look at me," he whispered.
Her eyes met his and she visibly relaxed.
"I've got you, okay? I love you, I love your body, and I wanna touch and see every inch of it...but if you're not ready, I can wait."
Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his sweet words. Normally, she would have taken him up on his offer, but not now. She wanted this...wanted him...and that meant giving in completely.
She pushed him back ever so slightly, giving her enough space to unbutton her shirt and slip it off. It fell to the ground, leaving her upper half in just a bra.
She was self-conscious for no more than a moment. Dean's hungry eyes traced their way down her torso and back up, desire evident in his gaze.
He pressed his body up against hers again, a soft moan escaping his lips. "So fucking perfect," he whispered.
He slid his hands up her back and deftly unhooked her bra. She let him pull it off and toss it somewhere behind him. He groaned as he palmed each of her breasts in his large hands. He began to kneed them gently, pinching her nipples as she gasped.
Suddenly, his hands left her breasts and traveled to her thighs. "Jump," he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
He gripped her thighs tightly. "Jump, baby. I've got you."
She looked at him like he was crazy, but she trusted him completely. She jumped up and Dean caught her with ease, tugging her legs around his waist. She locked her heels behind him and he pressed her back against the door.
Her breasts were now at the perfect height for his mouth to feast on...and feast on them he did. He sucked and nipped, his light stubble scratching against her skin deliciously.
His arms wrapped around her back and he lifted his head to look at her. "Keep those legs tight, okay?"
As soon as she nodded, he pulled away from the door and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, but instead of crawling on top of her, he stood at the end of the bed.
She sat up slightly. "Dean?"
He licked his lips and looked back up at her face. "Hmm?"
She crooked her finger, gesturing him to come to her.
Instead of climbing onto the bed, he leaned down and placed a kiss to her belly, just above her pants. "These should go," he murmured.
He made quick work of removing her jeans, his calloused hands gliding back up her legs to the hem of her underwear.
"I don't think you need these either." He tugged them off and threw them onto the ground.
She laid before him, completely bare, and she didn't feel self-conscious at all. She couldn't--not with the way he was looking at her.
His breathing was slightly labored as he stared at her. He palmed his painfully hard cock through his jeans, a strangled moan escaping his lips.
She sat up and licked her lips. "I can help you with that."
His eyes widened, pupils dilated to the point of obscuring his green irises. "Oh yeah?"
She nodded and slid off the end of the bed, dropping to her knees before him. She looked up at him and slowly began to undo his belt.
"Holy fuck..." he murmured. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she undid the button on his jeans and slowly began to pull them down.
He helped her take them off completely before she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs. "These are in my way," she said huskily.
He yanked his underwear off with such speed, if she'd blinked she would have missed it. What she couldn't miss, however, was his surprisingly large member mere inches from her face.
Dean noticed her wide eyes and he grinned. "Like what you see, baby?"
Her lust-filled eyes flicked up to his. "I like every inch of you."
He wasn't sure if she was talking about his body or his cock, but he didn't have time to think about it. She gripped him tightly and slid her mouth onto his cock, eliciting a loud moan from him.
She kept her eyes fixed on his face as she began to move her head and her hands in an expert rhythm. He could barely breathe as he stared down at her...pretty mouth stuffed full of his cock and her big (y/e/c) eyes looking up at him.
He slid his fingers into her hair, pulling it back from her face so he could see it better. The blunt tips of his nails raked against her scalp as he tightened his grip, a moan of ecstasy escaping his lips.
"Fuck, baby...feels so good."
She moaned around his cock, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure through him. His hips jilted forward slightly, causing her to gag a little. He instantly pulled back, not wanting to hurt her.
In response, she grabbed onto his upper thighs with both hands and tugged his hips forward, relaxing her throat as she did to take him even farther into her.
Her watery eyes met his in a silent plea. Dean was pretty sure he knew what she wanted, so he tentatively pulled back and thrust his hips forward gently.
Her eyes seemed to light up and she moaned loudly, giving him the confirmation he needed. He gripped her head with both of his hands and he began to fuck her pretty face.
(Y/N) tightened her grip on his thighs and desperately tried to keep her eyes open and on his face. She wanted to see him come undone more than anything. At this moment, she was just along for the ride.
Dean's grip on her hair tightened to an almost painful level, but she didn't complain. The moans and whispered pleas coming from his mouth were reward enough.
"Baby, I'm so close..." he groaned.
She released a deep moan and his eyes flicked down to meet hers. The moment his gaze found hers, he came with a moan of her name. (Y/N) didn't let go of his cock until she'd swallowed every last drop of his spend before finally releasing him.
He nearly collapsed on the bed, but through the fog in his brain, he remembered (Y/N) would have needs of her own.
"Come here, baby," he said softly as he reached for her. "Lie on the bed."
She stood up with his help and laid down on the bed, feet hanging over the edge. When Dean didn't move to join her, she began to shift uncomfortably.
"You're too far away," he insisted.
She immediately started to move closer to him, but he shook his head, grabbed her hips, and tugged her to the edge of the bed where he wanted her.
She gasped in surprise. "Dean!"
He grinned as he dropped to his knees. "What? I wanna taste you."
She looked a little shy. "You don't have to."
He looked at her in confusion. "I know I don't have to...I want to."
"Oh..."
"Baby, if you taste half as delicious as you look, then I'm going to be the happiest man in the world."
"Oh," she whispered in a slightly more surprised tone.
Dean grabbed her legs and threw one over each shoulder before diving into her pussy like a starving man at a feast.
"Oh!" What started out as a pleasantly surprised sound quickly turned to moans of enjoyment.
She'd known he would be good...after all, he had a lot of practice, but she hadn't expected to feel like this. Dean's mouth had been on her pussy for less than 30 seconds and she was already a gasping mess.
Her hand fisted his hair, tugging on it slightly, legs desperately searching for something to hold onto.
Dean was an incredibly fast learner. He paid attention to what made her moan, what made her grip his hair harder, what made her squirm...he was determined to be the absolute best she'd ever had.
"Dean," she gasped. "You--it--shit...feels so good."
He grinned against her pussy before wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking intently. His tongue began to swirl around her clit, spelling out her name in fast-moving cursive.
"Oh god!"
Her legs began to tighten around his head and he had a vague thought about wanting to be smothered by her thighs...but the thought was pushed aside when she cried out, cumming all over his mouth and chin.
He hungrily lapped up as much as he could before she yanked on his hair and desperately tried to squirm away. "Sensitive, Dean!"
He finally allowed her to pull his head up and he stared at her pretty face as he licked his lips. "Infinitely better than I'd imagined," he murmured.
"Huh?" she asked, clearly still dazed from her orgasm.
He smiled as he crawled on top of her, placing a kiss to her lips. "You taste like heaven," he whispered.
She blushed, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her for another kiss.
He'd found himself growing hard again while he was eating her out, and as he deepened the kiss, his cock brushed against her pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.
He smiled against her lips. "(Y/N)?"
"Hmm?"
"If I told you I wanted to do something really really badly, would you be willing to do it for me?"
She cocked her head to the side as she regarded him. "That would depend on what it is."
"Fair enough."
Suddenly, he flipped onto his back, taking her with him. She gasped as she found herself looking down at him from above. "You could have just asked," she said with a chuckle.
"Oh that?" He smirked darkly. "That's not what I want..."
Her breathing began to pick up pace again. "Then what do you want?"
He grinned wolfishly. "I wanna taste that sweet pussy again."
Her eyes widened. No one had ever eaten her out twice during sex. "But you just did..."
He nodded. His eyes softened as he looked at her, his fingers gently rubbing circles into her thighs. "Please baby? I would do anything."
She bit her lip. She couldn't deny, the idea of him wanting to eat her out again was an incredible turn-on...but she was still sensitive from a few minutes prior.
"Please," he begged again, green eyes widening.
She sighed, realizing there was no way she could say no to him when he was looking at her like that. "Alright."
He grinned. "That's my good girl. Now come up here."
Her pussy clenched around nothing at the praise, but then confusion settled on her face. "Come up...where?"
"Here," he said, patting his mouth. "I want you to sit on my face."
Her eyes widened in shock. "What? No! Absolutely not. No way." She tried to scramble off of him, but his strong arms held her in place.
"Why not?" he pouted.
"Umm because I could seriously hurt you! Or I don't know, smother you to death!"
He laughed lightly. "I would die a very happy man."
"I'm serious, Dean! I'm not light!"
The smile disappeared from his face as he took in the shock and disbelief on hers. He sat up and ran his hand along her cheek. "Hey, baby, look at me."
Her eyes slowly shifted to meet his.
"(Y/N), I want this. Badly. Now, I would never force you to do something you didn't want to do, but I don't want you to say no out of some misguided desire to protect me. I'm more than capable of picking you up and tossing you around, so I promise you're not going to smother me or hurt me. I wanna feel those sexy thighs of yours wrapped around my head as I devour that sweet pussy."
His eyes darkened as he spoke and it lit something inside of her. She was scared of hurting him, but she could see how much he wanted this. "I'll--I'll try," she whispered.
He smiled. "That's my girl." He laid back down on the bed. "Now come here and have a seat, gorgeous."
She blushed, but did as he told her--mostly.
"Babe, I said sit."
"I am sitting," she protested.
"No, you're not." He grabbed her hips and tugged her down so she was directly against his lips. "Fuck yes," he mumbled into her before getting to work.
(Y/N) gasped loudly. This new position changed the angle of his tongue inside of her and his nose bumped against her clit every time he moved.
Within seconds, she was a moaning mess above him, hands grasping onto the headboard for stability. Her hips started to move of their own volition and Dean gripped her hips to help facilitate the movement.
She didn't know she could feel this incredible...her body was shaking with a pleasure she'd never felt before--every nerve ending alive with need.
"Dean, I can't--I need--please."
He tightened his hold on her hips and focused his tongue on her clit as she rode his face. Seconds later, she yelled his name as she orgasmed, drenching his face in her slick.
God help him, but he didn't want to stop. He'd never been happier. The sounds she made, her taste, the need to pleasure her...all of it made him want to never stop.
Unfortunately for him, (Y/N) managed to scramble away with cries of sensitivity. She collapsed on the bed beside him, trying to catch her breath. Her legs shook with the aftershocks of her orgasm as she came down from her high.
Dean wiped his mouth and turned to look at her, a wide grin gracing his handsome face. "Thoughts?"
"You can...do that...again...anytime you want," she said between breaths.
He chuckled. "Oh, baby, don't tempt me." He rolled on top of her and gave her a soft kiss to her lips. He slowly kissed along her jaw and down to her neck, sucking on her pulse point.
She had no idea how he knew that would drive her crazy, but she was glad he did. Despite her exhaustion, she wanted him...wanted to feel him so badly she could hardly breathe. "Dean..." she whispered.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"I want you."
He raised his eyebrows. "Where?"
She fidgeted a little before murmuring, "Inside me."
He pressed his index finger against her lips. "Here?"
She shook her head.
"Then where, baby?"
She took his hand and guided it between her legs, placing it against her dripping pussy. "Here."
His eyes seem to sparkle as he looked down at her. He wanted to hear her demand what she wanted, but this was close enough for now.
"Anything for you, baby."
He sat up and gripped his cock, giving it a few strokes before lining himself up with her core. His eyes flicked up to hers and he asked softly, "You ready?"
She nodded.
"Words, baby."
"I'm ready, Dean, please."
He pushed into her slowly, eliciting a sharp moan from her lips. The stretch was deliciously painful, but she was desperate for him to keep going. She whined softly when he stopped to let her adjust, so he continued to push until he was fully seated inside of her.
He dropped his head down to her forehead, breathing heavily. He'd never been gripped this tightly in his life and it felt amazing.
(Y/N) had similar thoughts. He fit her perfectly...a feeling she'd never before experienced. Like the last two pieces of a puzzle locking into place.
Dean shifted his hips, starting a slow pace to keep from hurting her. Much to his surprise, she couldn't care less about the pain, she wanted more.
"Dean, faster," she whimpered.
He couldn't tell her no even if he'd wanted to, and he certainly didn't want to. He began to thrust into her with more force and speed, earning moans of pleasure from her lips.
"You feel so good, baby. Never felt this good before," he whispered softly.
The room filled with the sounds of their shared moans, the salacious slapping of skin, and the whispered words meant only for each other.
Dean was about as far from a virgin as a person could be, and (Y/N) wasn't new to this either, but he had never ever had a sexual experience even remotely close to what he was feeling with her.
Most of his experience came from one-night-stands, which meant there hadn't been feelings of any kind involved, but with (Y/N)? He could hardly breathe, it felt so right. Three words crept into his mind, but he pushed them away quickly. He didn't want to ruin this.
He focused back on the beautiful woman beneath him and his heart nearly exploded at the sight. He'd never seen anything so incredible, so beautiful, so perfect. He was dying to watch her come apart for him--he just knew it would be a sight to behold.
"Do you think you can give me another one, baby?"
Her eyes widened. "I don't know, Dean...I've never cum more than once before and I've already done it twice."
He smiled. He liked knowing he'd done something no one else ever had. "Come on, pretty girl. I know you can do it for me," he murmured.
Before she could say another word, he shifted her hips to give him better access. The new angle left her speechless as his cock slammed into that delicious soft spot deep inside of her--a spot she hadn't been certain existed until this moment.
She dug her nails into his back, clinging to him for dear life. It felt so good she could hardly think. Her brain was filled with nothing but the pleasure she was feeling.
Dean knew she was getting close and he was desperately holding back his own impending orgasm. He would be damned if he came before her. "I need you to cum for me baby. Can you do that?"
She nodded and held onto him even tighter.
Dean's motions never slowed, his aim never faltered. He was determined to push her over the edge. He wanted it more than anything.
Her legs began to shake and strangled cries left her throat as she neared orgasm. With one final thrust, (Y/N) shattered--a broken scream of his name leaving her lips.
Dean continued to thrust, chasing his own high as he helped her ride out hers. "Where do you want it?" he whispered.
In her haze, it took her a moment to figure out what he was asking her. "Inside of me," she begged. "Wanna feel you fill me up."
"Fuck," he groaned as he moved impossibly faster. Moments later, he came harder than he could ever remember, emptying inside of her for what felt like an eternity.
Eventually, his hips slowed to a stop and he nearly collapsed on top of her, completely spent and out of breath.
After a few moments, Dean pulled out and rolled over to collapse beside her on the bed. "That was...fucking amazing."
She laughed lightly. "I would have to agree."
He turned to look at her. "Best sex of my life."
She rolled her eyes. "Okay, riiiiight..." She chalked up his statement to a post-nut haze.
"I'm serious, babe. There's something different about having sex with someone you love."
(Y/N)'s entire body froze, but her mind beginning to race. He'd said earlier that he'd loved her, but she honestly hadn't believed it. Hearing him say it now reminded her that she hadn't responded to him the first time.
Dean noticed the tension immediately and suddenly realized what he'd said. He started to panic...Shit, shit shit. "(Y/N/N), I--"
She waved him off. "Dean, you don't have to explain--" she started.
He pulled away from her so he could see her face better. "That wasn't some post-orgasm utterance. I meant it--I mean it."
She laid there, desperately trying to wrap her brain around what he was saying. "What?" she said again, softer this time.
He rolled onto his side so he could see her better. He reached out and gently caressed her face, eyes watching her reaction with trepidation. "I'm in love with you, (Y/N). I've known it for a while, but it didn't seem like something you would want to hear. I said it earlier in that motel room, but we didn't really have a chance to talk about it--and I don't want you to think for even one second that I didn't mean it. I love you with everything I have, baby. I would burn this whole world to the ground for you."
Hearing Dean Winchester say those words was enough to shock her into silence, but hearing them directed at her? It was a feeling she couldn't even begin to describe. "I don't know what to say," she whispered.
Pain flashed across his face, but he hid it before she could really notice. "You don't have to say anything."
"Of course I do," she insisted. "I never expected to hear you say anything like that to anyone, let alone me. I'm struggling to find the words to say...I guess I'm just unprepared. I never thought Dean Winchester would be the one making me speechless with his beautiful words, but here we are. All I can think to say is, I love you too."
A warm smile graced his features. "I couldn't have asked for a more perfect response." He leaned down and kissed her gently. "I love you," he said again.
She smiled back. "I love you too."
Dean pulled her against his chest and held on tightly. He didn't want to let her go for fear of losing her. He knew their lives were risky--he knew either one of them could die at any time--and he didn't want to waste a single moment. He'd already wasted so much time pretending not to love her. He would never make that mistake again.
Apparently (Y/N) was having similar thoughts because she whispered, "I never thought I'd be thankful for a Siren."
Dean chuckled lightly and kissed the top of her head. "Me neither, baby. Me neither."
#supernatural#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader smut#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x plus!size reader smut#plus sized reader
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Picture Perfect
(Perv)Sub!Mike Schmidt x Dom!Fem!Reader
Summary:
You and Mike have been dating for a few months now, and you have a great thing going. You're both very horny people who are more than happy to indulge in your desires with each other. So why is it that you find him hiding a dirty picture from you when you catch him masturbating one morning?
(Perv)Sub!Mike Schmidt x Dom!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. Takes place outside the movie's canon.
Word Count: 5,100
Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: This is primarily a smut fic; this can be read with or without considering the events of the film, and has no spoilers for the plot of the movie. There are dom/sub dynamics here - Mike is more submissive and the reader is more dominant; because this is a pre-established relationship, the characters have been settled into these dynamics for a while and even though it's not discussed during the fic, we can assume they have established safewords and fully talked about each other's boundaries so everyone is safe and well cared for; she reader has female anatomy, and uses she/her pronouns (but with all my fics, most of the pronouns used are you/yours); this fic does use Y/N.
For the main smutty parts: some dubious consent - Mike took a picture of the reader’s underwear/up the reader’s skirt before they were dating (when she was sleeping and could not consent) she was physically attracted to him at the time and would have consented to the photo being taken if he could have asked and finds the idea of this happening to be hot but he never asked permission and hid this from her well into their relationship; the reader finds this photo and ‘punishes’ Mike for it even though she likes the photo and enjoys his perverted thoughts about her; descriptions of masturbation - Mike jacks-off when the reader is not looking/not in the room and she walks in on him; mentions of Mike being gagged; mentions of Mike being tied up and overstimulated (multiple orgasms); mentions of Mike eating the reader’s pussy; Mike is called ‘good boy’, ‘Mikey’, ‘baby’; mentions of the reader riding Mike, mentions of creampie kink; mentions of orgasm restriction (toward Mike); marking kink - mentions of the reader biting/marking Mike during a previous sexual encounter; Perv!Mike; mentions of sexual photos being taken with consent (of the reader and of Mike); hair-pulling (towards Mike); thigh riding - Mike rides the reader's thigh as his punishment; mentions of a cock cage (not actually used in the fic); mild pain kink; some descriptions of subspace (even though it’s not called that in the fic); degradation kink (the reader verbally degrades Mike); mentions of spanking; undertones of humiliation kink; mentions of underwear stealing (Mike stole a pair of the reader’s panties in the past); (mild) Mommy kink - Mike calls the reader Mommy (once or twice, it’s not all that prevalent in the fic); finger sucking.
A/N: Here, I did go far beyond what was in the original request, but I saw the mention of Polaroid pictures in the request and my mind immediately went to perv!Mike?? I’m not even sure why. But I had fun with this lmao. And I keep thinking of writing a kind of ‘prequel’ fic of the situation where he originally took the photo, but idk. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! If you want to see more Mike Schmidt fics from me, definitely let me know by reblogging this or commenting on it.
...
When you got out of the shower, the last thing you were expecting to hear was the distinct sound of moans coming from the bedroom.
Not that you were at all disappointed by the needy, choked off sounds that your boyfriend Mike made. You were just… surprised.
After the night the two of you had before, the fact that Mike had the desire to masturbate was surprising to say the least.
You thought that you would have tired him out and left his cock sore and worn out for at least a good day to follow. It had been a rare night when the two of you had the house all to yourselves - Abby was sleeping over at a friend’s place (Mike often credited you with Abby being more open and sociable and feeling up to doing things like this where she wouldn’t have before) - and so, you had certainly taken advantage of that. You enjoyed a night where you could get him in bed without having to gag him or shove his face into a pillow in order to assure his silence.
You had indulged in his sounds, in fact.
You had spent the night with him tied to the bed, curious about how many times you could make him cum before his body outright gave up. The answer to that burning question was four, which was a record for him. After the forth orgasm spurted up over his belly, covering him in even more mess, you continued to milk him through it and his softening dick gave you nothing but pathetic clear drips of non-cum - he wept and begged you to stop, threatening that he might pass out from the efforts.
With the satisfaction of the answer under your belt, and taking in the sight of him so debauched one last time, you finally untied him. And then he spent some time between your thighs, enjoying a reward for being such a good boy, shoving his tongue deep inside of you while the morning sun warmed the curtains, signifying that the two of you had truly been at it all night.
The two of you eventually slept for a few hours in the morning. After waking up from the haze, you had peeled yourself out from under his heavy grip on your waist when you read the numbers on the digital clock sitting on his nightstand, seeing that it was almost noon - Abby would need to be picked up from her friend’s house soon, and you wanted a shower while Mike was still asleep.
The last thing you were expecting was to emerge from the shower to the sounds of him getting off yet again. One thing you knew for certain since you had started fucking him - he was insatiable. He was seemingly always horny the moment that he got you behind closed doors. (And often, he couldn’t even wait to get you behind closed doors - something you loved, even if it was inconvenient.) But you thought that a night like last night would tire out the libido of someone even as horny as him.
But you liked a challenge.
If he wanted his cock to be truly sore, if he wanted his balls so thoroughly drained - then you would pin him to the bed and ride him with harshness and haste before you had to go pick Abby up. It would be a waste of a shower, but you usually found the feeling of his cum sticking to the inside of your underwear to be a fond one.
“Mikey,” You called out the playful nickname as you walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
You had a towel wrapped around your chest - mostly to keep the chill of the air off you and to keep your wet body from dripping all over the carpet. Modesty wasn’t really a thing between you and Mike, not when you were so intensely familiar with each other’s naked bodies now.
At the sound of your voice, Mike let out a choked sound, and you saw his movements pause - which was entirely strange. It’s not like you hadn’t seen his naked cock before. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him masturbate before - several times, you had him do so just for your viewing pleasure.
If he wasn’t allowed to touch himself as a punishment, you always told him so very clearly. But last night, you made no such rule. You simply expected that he wouldn’t want to after the thorough fucking you had given him. So you had to wonder why he was trying to hide from you.
You walked to stand on his side of the bed, and he stared at you with wide, startled eyes, covering his hard cock with both hands. The sheet was draped around his thighs, revealing his nakedness, as well as showing off the many purpling bite marks that you had left on his chest, stomach, hips and thighs the night before. He was an absolutely perfect picture of sweet debauchery that you would hold fondly in your mind forever.
“Baby, what are you doing?” You inquired gently, entirely curious as to why he had stopped. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I - I thought you would be in the shower… longer.” He breathed out, pure guilt on his voice. It was almost adorable, seeing how he could go from fucked-out and begging to completely shy about his own desires.
“I would have invited you to join me in the shower if I knew you wanted more,” You chuckled, stepping forward and running your fingers through his hair, petting him like the sweet puppy that he was. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”
Mike leaned into the touch, closing his eyes - the surge of soft pleasure that your simple touch pushed through him caused his arms to go loose, dropping away from shielding his crotch. This made him inadvertently drop something onto the sheets that he had been hiding from you in his closed fist.
You noticed the ruffle of what sounded like paper and saw the object fall out of the corner of your eye. So you abandoned gently stroking your fingers across his scalp in favor of investigating what it was.
Mike’s eyes widened in horror and he froze up, completely stiff as you picked up the polaroid picture, and raised it up to get a better look at it.
Immediately, you knew it was a picture of yourself.
You knew that Mike had a collection of dirty shots of you. It had only been a few weeks into your sex life when he had pulled out the camera and shyly asked to take pictures of you. You had bargained that he could take as many as he wanted, if you could take some photos of him in return. He kept his pictures of you in a shoebox under his bed and you kept yours in a special jewelry box on your vanity.
But this picture wasn’t one that you recognized.
It was your ass - a shot of your dress pulled up from behind, revealing you wearing a simple pair of cotton panties (not something you would have worn for the other ‘photoshoots’, not some impressive lingerie). In the photo, your legs were lazily parted, revealing the way the underwear was slightly caught between the lips of your cunt, even showing your pubes sticking out slightly from the fabric. If you weren’t mistaken, based on the color, that was Mike’s couch you were laying on.
But when had the photo been taken?
“Look, Y/N, please, I’m so sorry-” Mike swallowed harshly, desperate to get some air into his lungs as he begged for your forgiveness. “You were just so pretty - and - and - I couldn’t help myself. I know it was awful, just - please, please, don’t be mad.”
That was when it clicked in your mind.
You recognized the pattern on the fabric of your dress. You had worn it on the first night you had babysat Abby for Mike - back when the two of you weren’t even dating yet. That night, you had fallen asleep on the couch after you put Abby to bed. And later in the night, you thought nothing of it when you saw Mike’s polaroid camera sitting on a random side table when it hadn’t been there before. It hadn’t even crossed your mind as suspicious after he had woken you up, thanked you for helping out, and let you out the front door for the night.
That dirty little pervert.
You resisted the urge to grin at this realization, putting on a stony face and faking anger. You couldn’t have him thinking that this action would pass without punishment. Even if you heavily enjoyed the idea of being a perverted little admirer of you before the two of you even got together.
You reached over and put your hand on the back of his head, this time digging sharp nails into his hair in a fierce, unforgiving grip instead of petting him so gently. He winced as this, and you noticed a distinct bit of precum weeping out of his still hard cock at the action. You yanked on his head harshly, forcing him to look up at you while you turned the photo around and shoved it in his face.
Instinctively, knowing that it would likely only make his punishment worse to oggle over his mistakes, he looked you dead in the eyes, resisting the temptation to stare at your ass in the photo.
“When did you take this?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting him to say it. To emphasize your words, you yanked on his hair again and jabbed the picture closer to his face.
He breathed out harshly, but didn’t fight against your grip, keeping his large, glossy, guilty eyes staring up at you.
“Look, I know I did a bad boy thing, I know it was bad, but please, please, I’ll make it up to you.” He begged so beautifully. “I’ll be a good boy, I’ll be a good boy for you, I promise.”
His words were pitched soft with need, and it was a unique tone that made your stomach clench. As tempting as the offer was, you couldn’t go soft on him now.
“Answer the question!” You pressed, tugging his neck back even harsher with your grip on his hair.
“It - it was a long time ago!” He rushed to answer. “I - I shouldn’t have done it, I know that! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“Why did you do it if you knew it was bad?” You asked.
This was the most interesting question to you. The thing you were most curious about.
You wondered why Mike felt the need to invade your privacy with something like this when you simply would have given in to his advances if he had asked.
You had been attracted to Mike since you met him. The entire reason you had taken on the job of babysitting his sister was because you found him to be so intensely attractive, and you wanted to get to know him better. At the time, he was someone who seemed shy and generally anti-social, you yearned to be closer to him. That night, if you had woken up and caught him staring at your panties, you probably would have taken them off and given them to him as a gift just to see his reaction.
You were too curious to know why he felt that he had to sneak such a dirty photo of you and to this day, even after all that the two of you had done together - still kept that photo a secret.
“I - I -”
Mike’s whining stutters were cut off by the sound of the phone ringing.
You heaved out a sigh and let go of him. On your way along to answer it, you shoved the photo into your purse, which was sitting open on his dresser. He was curious as to why you chose to keep it from him rather than destroying it. He heard your voice brightly from down the hall as you answered the phone and spoke to whoever it was on the other end, and he tattered with nerves as he heard you walking back down the hall.
“Get dressed.” You barked at him when you reentered the bedroom. “We have to go pick Abby up. We’ll finish talking about this later.”
Later. That certainly left a lovely slice of doom hanging over his head.
You had your back turned to him, picking clothes out of the drawer he had cleared for you in his dresser (one step closer to you moving in, he had thought wistfully while moving your stuff into that drawer) - but this left one thing on his mind.
“Okay.” Mike croaked quietly. “How should I-?”
He trailed off, and you turned back around with a tee shirt and panties in your hand to see him loosely gripping his still hard cock, slowly beginning to touch himself again.
You realized that he was asking you how he should finish off, and this caused a wave of spite to roll through you. He thought he still deserved to cum.
“I didn’t say anything about your dick.” You said, tone harsh and biting. “You don’t get to cum right now. I said get dressed, so get dressed.”
You dropped your towel casually, moving to get dressed for yourself. This caused a whine from him as your nakedness was once again revealed - something he had seen so many times now that still caused his cock to throb and weep precum, his eyes utterly fixated on the tantalizing sway of your breasts as you leaned down to hook your feet into the fresh panties you had picked out.
Mike let out a breathy whine, but took his hand off his cock. He looked at you with utterly pleading eyes, clearly wanting you to reconsider - but you wouldn’t budge from the subject. When he didn’t make a move to get up from the bed, you said something that you knew would put some urgency in him.
“Don’t make me get the cage.” You threatened quietly.
Mike was up in a moment, moving toward the bathroom to freshen up, eager to follow your instructions. His dick ached at the thought of the cock cage that you had gotten just for him - it was one of the most torturous punishments you had thought up yet. Sometimes he spent whole days with his dick trapped in the metal, unable to get hard, absolutely dizzying - making him silently resent the key worn around your neck that everyone else perceived as an innocent piece of jewelry.
The two of you got ready for the day and the conflict was soon forgotten when you had Abby in the car. You took her for lunch at some cute little diner that one of your friends had recommended - Sparky’s - and while you ate, you listened to Abby chatter on excitedly about everything she and her friend had done the night before, including ordering pizza, watching a PG13 rated movie (which Mike pretended to disapprove of), painting their nails, and staying up all night telling ‘scary stories’. You were proud of how far she had come, sharing her imagination and joy with others and having some true friends of her own age now.
After lunch, you and Mike had taken Abby to get some new shoes because she complained that hers were getting too small, and then after some browsing around the mall, it was time to go home and make dinner (if it wasn’t for you, those two would rarely eat anything that wasn’t pre-packaged). After dinner, you helped Abby work on a solar system project for school while Mike napped on the couch (and you couldn’t blame the guy, he had a tiring time the night before).
You had since put Abby to bed, and busied yourself with cleaning up, glad that Mike was still asleep while you did the dishes. It always pleased you when he slept well - one of the reasons you liked to wear him out with sex was because it was a more natural sleep aid than his medication, and caused him to have a deeper, dreamless sleep without the stupid nightmares. You were more focused on the tasks in front of you than thinking about any possible punishment you might give him over it.
The fact that Mike had taken a pervy photo of you was all but forgotten in your mind even as you were cleaning up the kitchen later that night.
The photo and the controversy, the burning questions you had about it only came back to mind as you were attempting to scrub a combination of dried glitter glue and pasta sauce off the table and you noticed Mike not-so-subtly creeping around behind you - attempting to reach into your purse.
He was trying to take the photo back.
You quickly tossed down the cloth you had been using to clean up and moved toward Mike instead. You were on him before he could blink, taking his wrist in a bruising grip before his hand could successfully come out of your purse with the photo.
“What are you doing?” You asked, even though you already knew exactly what he was up to.
With your thumb pushing harshly into the pulse point of his wrist, and your eyes glaring daggers into his - he was quickly becoming light-headed and soft, the way he always did whenever you were on top of him or when you called him baby boy in that fond, sweet way that you often did. He couldn’t conjure up any real explanation, not when he was feeling this way.
All he could manage was:
“But - it’s mine.” He breathed out softly, almost a whiny protest - as if you had taken one of his most precious toys and stashed it away because he had misbehaved.
In a sense, that was exactly what you had done.
You could only imagine how many times he had masturbated to the photo before you had caught him. How many times had he cum, looking at that picture of your barely covered ass and pussy before the two of you even got together? Before he even saw you naked for the first time? How many times did he make himself cum when that was his only source of sexual material for his fantasies around you?
It was these burning questions and the thumping ache between your thighs that spurred your next move.
You used your hold on his wrist to handle him how you pleased, knowing that a little bit of pain made him so easily pliant to your wills. You shoved him into the small kitchen and shoved him up against one of the counters, beside where your purse was sitting, and he huffed out a quiet whine as you trapped him there. You easily caged him in with one of your hands on either side of his waist, slotting your legs around his so that your thigh was right up against his denim clad crotch.
You pressed forward slightly with your knee, applying a slight bit of pressure that might be painful on his tender cock and balls (especially after last night). But the roughness of the hard seam of his jeans pressing against his tender flesh, even through his underwear, only lit sparks through him and added to that soft, mushy headspace that he was in.
He refused to look at you now, shifting his gaze off to the side as you pressed further into his personal space, pressing your nose against the side of his unshaven face.
“It’s yours?” You posed in response to what he had said, your tone utterly mocking. “It’s yours, is it?”
You reached off to the side and flawlessly grabbed the photo inside your bag without looking (the texture of a polaroid very unique to feel for) - and you held it up in his view, forcing him to look at it while you spoke again.
“Then surely, you can explain to me how a good boy like you came to own something like this,” You said, your voice dripping with satire toward the ‘good boy’ title he had given himself earlier that day.
“I’m sorry,” He whimpered, clearly apologetic about the subject. But-
“That doesn’t explain how you got this, baby.” You told him, clicking your tongue in a scolding manner. “Come on, tell me about it.”
You used a hand to grab him by both cheeks between your fingers, forcing him to look at you while he explained it.
“I - I took it.” He admitted quietly. “I took a picture of you. When you weren’t looking. When you were… sleeping.”
Again, something you already knew. But it was more satisfying to hear him say it, especially with the sharp bob of his throat as he gulped around his fear.
“You just looked so pretty, I - I couldn’t help myself.” He whispered, clearly timid to admit his lack of self control.
Though him lacking self control around you was an intense turn-on for you.
“After everything I’ve given you, you just had to go and take. You had to be a greedy, filthy, bad boy,” You scolded him sharply.
“It was different then.” He said quietly. “Then… I - I thought I couldn’t have you. I thought you wouldn’t give me anything at all. I - I didn’t think you’d ever want to fuck me.”
“Oh?” You huffed quietly, your breath puffing out across his cheek, surprised by this revelation. “So you took this picture because you wanted a filthy little piece of me? You didn’t think I’d ever touch your pathetic needy cock so you had to perv on me in secret, huh?”
He let out a sharp whine at this. It was rare that you degraded him so harshly, rather than praising him sweetly. Surely enough, even if it was unconsciously fueled by lust, his hips bucked toward you, dragging his cock along your thigh, still trapped inside of his jeans and rapidly hardening from the state of the conversation.
“Look, I’m sorry-”
“If you say ‘sorry’, one more time, I’m gonna spank you so fucking hard that you won’t be able to sit down for a week.” You threatened, your voice low and dark.
He let out a whimper at this, and you weren’t entirely sure if the idea appealed to him or sounded like a true threat. He didn’t tempt you by speaking up again, so you continued.
“Enough with the sorries.” You told him sharply. “How many times did you jack off to this picture without telling me? How often did you look at it, touching your hard, needy dick and thinking about what my cunt might feel like? Huh? Tell me, baby.”
Mike jutted his hips again, grinding his hard cock against your thigh.
“Please-” He croaked out.
Clearly, he was begging for you to release him from the conversation, and to attend to his aching dick. But you didn’t have plans to do either.
“If you want me to touch you again anytime soon, you’re going to get off against my thigh.” You demanded harshly. “Or you’re not going to get off at all.”
Mike let out a pathetic, warbling whine in protest, sounding a lot like a kicked puppy. But still, he began to move more consistently against your leg - you stiffened your muscles on purpose and raised your thigh tighter against him, pushing your leg further into his crotch. This movement forced a puff of air from his lungs as you put more pressure on his hard cock.
“And you’re going to answer my questions.” You added on, reaching behind him and grabbing his hair like you had earlier that day, knowing that a tight tug on his roots would certainly make him more pliant.
“Ah! O-okay!” He shouted in return, and you hushed him gently.
“When were you gonna tell me that you’re a dirty little pervert?” You asked, a mocking laughter dancing in your voice.
Mike started up a rhythm as he fucked himself on your thigh. He whined in the back of his throat, his brow creasing - partially from the heat stirring in his gut and partially from the embarrassment of your interrogation - before he managed an answer.
“I - I wasn’t.” He answered honestly.
“How many other secret pervy pictures do you have of me?” You asked.
“N-none!” He was quick to respond, eager to clear himself of this guilt.
He definitely wasn’t going to tell you about the pair of your panties that he had stolen the first time he was over at your place. He also wasn’t going to mention the fact that he had snooped in your bathroom to see what brand of shampoo you used and bought the same one just so he could have your scent on tap. He didn’t need you thinking that he was totally pathetic.
“Don’t lie to me!” You demanded, giving a sharp tug on his hair.
“‘m not! I’m not! That’s the only one!” He slurred out, becoming more hazy and pleasure drunk as he ground himself harder into your thigh and his cock leaked into his underwear. His brain was absolutely fuzzy from the streaks of pain coming off his scalp when you pulled on his hair like that.
“How many times have you jerked off to the picture?” You asked.
More than once a week since he had taken it. It was his favorite guilty pleasure.
Earlier that day, he hadn’t even meant to take out the photo and jerk off to it. He had been more than satisfied with everything that happened the night before. But when he had opened his nightstand looking for his watch to put it on for the day, and the photo fell from its place stuck underneath the drawer (a perfect hiding place, in his mind). And just like when he had taken the photo, as soon as he saw you so perfectly posed there, he just couldn’t help himself. The sight of your panties sticking out from under your dress just got to him.
His cock was hard in seconds and next thing he knew, he was sitting there pumping his cock in one hand and holding the picture in the other, listening for the sound of the shower running and hoping he would finish before you did.
Something about you was so absolutely intoxicating to him, sent his brain back to caveman levels of hormonal and caused him to make the stupidest dick-driven decisions ever.
“Mommy,” He begged quietly. “Mommy, please.”
Your stomach clenched - it was a name he used in an attempt to soften you up, trying to make you pliant to his big eyes and whimpering breaths.
He grabbed both of your hips and tried shoving his face into your neck to hide himself as his hips stuttered against your leg, humping hopelessly like a needy puppy. You yanked him back by the hair before he could fully hide himself and he exhaled in a needy, simpering tone, deflating like a balloon as his shoulders sagged. For a moment, he stopped the movement of his hips altogether - as if expecting you to take over in some way and make him cum.
“Mommy is only sweet to good boys.” You whispered in his ear. “Mommy punishes dirty little bad boys who can’t take their head out of their dick long enough to behave.”
He squeezed out a hot breath, seemingly deflating more. You used your free hand to grab his hip, and began guiding him to hump along your thigh once again.
“Come on, baby.” You encouraged him. “If you don’t cum like this, you don’t get to come for a week.” You gave a gentle warning. “Are you gonna be a good boy? Or are you a stupid little perv? Hmm?”
The harsh degradation behind your words, the motivation for him to be seen as a good boy in your eyes - that truly got him going again.
“I’m a good boy.” He said quietly, fucking himself against you, moaning quietly as the friction caused sharp tingles against his cock. “I’m - I’m a good boy.”
“Show me.” You told him firmly. “Show me what a good boy does.”
“Please,” He breathed out. “Fuck, Mommy. Please!”
You knew that he needed more, and you did pity him to an extent - so you gave another tug on his hair and slipped your other hand under the back of his shirt, raking your nails across his back, making claw marks that you knew he loved. The stinging feeling of your nails biting into his skin causing pure sparks that sent heat straight between his thighs. When you leaned in and sharply bit his neck, that truly sent him over the edge, causing him to lose all sense of rhythm and having him bucking wildly, mindlessly against your thigh as he flooded the inside of his underwear with cum.
“Fuck! Y/N!” He shouted.
“Shut up!” You bit back.
You stood back up to your full height, shoving your fingers between his lips to gag him. You knew that you had to be mindful of his volume when she was so deep in it, so absolutely lost in the pleasurable haze that he didn’t care how loud he was being.
He rode out his orgasm gagging slightly with your fingers pressed against his tongue, his eyes tightly screwed shut, a light sweat gathered on his brow as he continued to hump against your leg, carrying himself through it.
After a few moments, Mike’s rattling moans turned into harsh, open-mouthed pants around your fingers as he caught his breath, and you eased your fingers out of his mouth, enjoying the thread of spit that came off his lips far too much.
When he collapsed his head onto your shoulder this time, you let him.
“You’re - you’re not really mad about the picture, are you?” He asked, gently huffing the words into your shirt as he struggled to catch his breath. “Because if-”
“I’m not mad about it.” You clarified, moving your hand from under his shirt to pet through his hair calmly, wanting to reassure him of this. “In fact, I think it’s pretty hot.”
“Really?” He asked, his gaze shooting up to inspect your expression, almost not believing your words. Even though you were always very honest and transparent when communicating your feelings to him.
“Yes.” You answered honestly. “I think it’s hot that you found me so attractive from the moment we met.”
“‘Attractive’ is a bit of an understatement.” He mumbled quietly in response.
Interesting.
#sundrop writes#mike schmidt x y/n#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt#mike schmidt x reader#fnaf movie fanfiction#fnaf movie#five nights at freddy's#five nights at freddy's movie
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Packin’ (In More Ways Than One)
Din Djarin x GN!Reader
Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist
Author’s note: This is inspired by this HOT art by @cass-hues 🍑🔥 Unfortunately, I do not know who made this gif so if that’s you or someone you know, don’t hesitate to inform me and I’ll give credit where it’s due! Thank you to @freelancearsonist for beta reading! 🤍🤍
Summary: You see Din’s bare ass for the first time and get the urge to peg him.
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), reader is able-bodied and has no physical description/no genitalia mentioned, anal fingering, sex toys, lube, pegging, praising, pet names (cyar’ika), sonic = shower, refresher = bathroom, no use of y/n
“You’re really going to shower with that bucket on your head?”
Din’s leaning against the doorway of the refresher with a towel sitting low on his hips. He just captured a bounty on Coruscant where it’s currently raining, a downpour that chilled Din to his bones. You suggested that a hop in the sonic would warm him up. But you didn’t expect to see him stripped bare of everything besides his helmet.
“Yes,” he says plainly. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing! …You just look a little funny right now, that’s all.”
“Funny?” he asks, turning and walking to the mirror. But as he walks his towel drops to the floor and you’re met with the sight of his bare ass. And Maker, it is juicy. You had no idea he was hiding that underneath his cape and his flight suit.
“Oh my-”
“Sorry!” he says, hastily grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist.
“You’re sorry?”
“I didn’t mean to… expose myself like that.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“Really?”
“But I am a little mad at you right now.”
“Why??”
“You didn’t tell me you were packin’… in more ways than one,” you say, walking and standing beside him in the mirror.
“Oh… You mean my… behind?”
“Yes, silly,” you chuckle, running your hand over his ass with the towel in between you two. He tenses up at the motion and you’re just now realizing that he’s probably never had his ass appreciated like this before. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets you feel up his ass while the towel hangs dangerously low around his hips.
“Is it weird I want to peg you?”
“No,” he says quickly.
“No as in…?”
“No, it’s not weird.”
“Oh,” you say, your eyes widening. “Should I… go to the store?”
“Yes,” he says, without hesitation.
“Alright, I’ll be back,” you chuckle, grabbing your bag and lowering the exit ramp of the Crest.
You think of where the nearest sex shop might be and quickly decide that lower levels are your best bet. The rain has thankfully subsided, leaving puddles in the street for neon lights to reflect off of. You cruise the streets, searching for the perfect place until you happen upon a goldmine; Nova’s Novelties.
The door opens and you step inside, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of sex toys occupying the shelves and walls. There’s a counter in the back where the register is. A woman is there and you can only assume that’s Nova, a beautiful woman with an inviting aura. She makes buying sex toys seem less intimidating.
“Welcome!” she says, motioning for you to come over. “What brings you in tonight?”
“I’m looking for… a strap-on.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she smiles, stepping out from behind the counter. “Follow me.”
She brings you to a shelf where there’s a strap on of every size and color, all encased in clear packaging. A silver one catches your eye.
That’ll match his armor, you think to yourself, stifling a giggle.
“What do you recommend for a beginner?”
She reaches and grabs a modest looking one, bright pink in color.
“This one is great for beginners. Not too big, not too small. And it comes with an adjustable strap.”
“Thanks!” you say, taking the box from her. “Does it come in any other colors?”
“What were you thinking?”
“…Silver.”
“You have great taste. Let me check the back.”
She heads to the back room while you take time to explore the rest of the selection, opting for a bottle of lube, too. Once she emerges with the silver dildo in hand, you check out, handing her a fistful of credits and heading back to the Crest.
“Have fun!” she says with a suggestive smile just before you step out onto the street.
As you walk back to the docking yard, you think about Din, waiting for you like such a good boy. You think about the trust he places in you, letting you see him without his armor or his fight suit on and the trust he has to let you do something like this… It’s a testament of your love.
When you get back in the Crest you find Din, standing in the doorway of the refresher with droplets of water peppered on his skin with steam wafting into the hull from the sonic. His bulge pitches a tent in his towel. You can’t believe your eyes, gawking at how gorgeous he looks. It’s almost criminal he keeps all of this locked away under his armor and it blows your mind that this is the first time you’re seeing him like this.
“Did you find something?”
“You bet I did,” you smirk. You take off your bag and hang it on a hook, reaching for the strap-on and the lube. You hold it out in front of you and think about his face underneath the helmet, wondering if he clocked how the dildo matches his armor.
“You like?” you ask.
“I do.”
“Good…” you say, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his chest. His skin is warm, still slightly damp from the sonic. “Now be a good boy and get in the bunk for me.”
“Yes, cyar’ika,” he says, dropping his towel and walking across the hull to the bunk.
He gets on all fours on the bed while you shed your clothes and take the strap out of the packaging, setting it on the edge of the bunk because you’re not ready for it just yet.
“Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” you say, kneeling behind him and cupping his ass.
“Y-Yes, I promise.”
“Don’t worry,” you giggle, “I’ll go nice and slow at first.”
You squeeze lube onto your index finger, coating his hole with it and teasing it lightly. He lets out a small whimper in response, already aching for more.
“What was that?”
“I… want it… already.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” you say, sliding your finger in.
His breath hitches before he exhales with a moan while you slowly work his hole. You curl your finger while your other hand caresses his ass.
“More,” he softly begs.
“Be patient,” you coo.
He sighs, resting his helmet down on the pillow and sticking his ass up higher. Never in a million years did you think you’d have Din in a face-down ass-up position and yet here you are, enjoying every minute of it.
You pull your hand from his ass and add lube to your middle finger, pushing both back inside simultaneously. A deeper, guttural moan forces its way out of his throat as he melts into the cot faster than a block of ice on Tatooine.
“Good boy,” you praise, pushing your fingers against his prostate. “But I’m far from done with you.”
“I know,” he whimpers.
You feel his hole relax around your fingers and a slew of whispers and Mando’a curse words slip out from under the helmet.
“Cyar’ika, I’m gonna cum.”
“Oh yeah? Let me feel it.”
He cums around your fingers, a different kind of orgasm he’s never experienced before. His thighs shake beneath him as he rides out his high.
“Such a good boy for me,” you praise, slowing the movement of your fingers to a stop. You pull them from his ass and get off the bed, putting on the harness and attaching the strap. “But are you ready for more?”
“Yes,” he sputters, staying in the same face-down ass-up position for you.
You walk to the front end of the bed, crouching down by his helmet and telling him, “You’re doing so well, baby, coming for me like that.”
“I am?”
“Mhm,” you whisper, rubbing his back. He shudders at your touch, eliciting a giggle from you.
“You’re so sensitive right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he sighs.
“It’s almost over,” you remind him, taking your rightful position by his ass again.
You spread lube onto the strap and align it with his hole, one hand holding his hip as you thrust into him slowly. He lets out another string of curse words in Mando’a. It’s unintelligible but it’s a sign of how good he feels.
“You like that?” you chuckle.
“Yes. So much, cyar’ika,” he moans, just as you draw your hips back and thrust into him again. You put your other hand on his hip, holding onto him as you thrust in and out, working him up to his impending orgasm. His moans, grunts, and whimpers are melodic, like music to your ears. It fills you with a deep sense of pride that you can reduce your big strong Mandalorian to a whimpering mess with just your fingers and a strap.
“Cyar’ika?” he whines.
“Yes?” you smirk.
“I’m gonna-”
“Gonna cum again?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Do it,” you command, making sure your pace never falters.
Another moan escapes his throat, slipping out from under his helmet in his beautiful, modulated tone. His whole body shakes with pleasure, quivering as you fuck him through his high, being sure to slow down slightly to not overstimulate him.
Once he’s done you pull out of him, letting him collapse onto the bunk. Aftershocks of his orgasm make him quiver here and there, his ass shaking with each involuntary movement. You giggle watching him rest peacefully after you just fucked the living daylights out of him.
You crouch down and whisper, “Looks like you need to hop in the sonic again.”
“I know,” he groans.
“I’ll join you.”
“Let’s go,” he says, shooting up and heading to the refresher. He has that specific walk about him, the kind where you walk side to side after a good dicking down. It looks good on him, you decide.
Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics
Dividers: @saradika-graphics
#din djarin x reader#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin smut#din djarin imagine#din djarin x gn!reader#din djarin x you#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian x reader#star wars fanfiction#pedrostories#pedro pascal characters#ppcu fanfiction
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The Chase: Part One
Pretty Sweet
series masterlist
[description]: jax teller x female reader
[wordcount]: 2.7k+
[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.
[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!
[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!
It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun.
You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place.
Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it.
When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too.
Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand.
You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming.
You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms.
“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.
“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”
He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”
You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.”
—
Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs.
Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table.
“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”
“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef.
“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”
“So, how’s your mom?”
You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.”
He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.”
It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”
You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night.
“Sounds great, Dad.”
—
You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.
You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful.
You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.
Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.
Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building.
“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.”
You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.”
—
You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars.
It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.
Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.”
You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar.
“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.”
“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.”
“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.”
He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.”
Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke.
“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man.
“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.”
As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby.
“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you.
Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.”
You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar.
Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.”
You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.”
“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.
He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.”
—
You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family.
He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?”
“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-”
You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.”
Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”
You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”
A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.”
You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot.
Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.
He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”
“I usually just go by y/n.”
He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”
You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?”
He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.
Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.
“And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?”
Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.”
You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.”
Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?”
You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.
“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.”
“I can take you back.”
You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”
“So?” He shrugged.
“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.”
“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.”
You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.”
“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.”
You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed.
Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?”
Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.
Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”
Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”
“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?”
You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.”
His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.
back to masterlist
#jax teller#sons of anarchy#jax teller x reader#jax teller fiction#jax teller smut#sons of anarchy fic#reads writes#soa#jax teller morrow#smut#jax teller x you#jax teller imagine#jax teller one shot#jax teller love#charlie hunnam fiction#charlie hunnam fic#chibs telford#bobby munson#tig trager#tig x reader#opie winston#juice ortiz#angst#jax teller fic#samcro#sons
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As You Wish
knight!Price x fem!princess!Reader - part of @glitterypirateduck 's october writing challenge!
In order to save your people from a long lasting and brutal war, you are sent to the neighboring kingdom of Draewen to marry their prince. Sir John Price is tasked with ensuring you get there safely, but the forest of the mountain is wild and unpredictable. In a terrible twist of events, you learn the exact difference between the brutality of nature, and the brutality of men.
challenge story elements: Alternative Universe | forest/wooded area | bodyguard/protector | "Look at me."
masterlist
warnings: canon typical violence (brief descriptions of violence/blood), Price only calls reader Princess, attempted kidnapping, non-sexual nudity, a little too much world building, a little cuddling, a dash of hurt/comfort, a drizzle of very slight mutual pining
wc: 8.9k (sorry)
In two months, you would reach the kingdom of Draewen where you would spend the rest of your life as a trophy. It was a land said to be cloaked in vibrant green valleys and rich, winding rivers. When the Draewish messenger arrived in the great kingdom of Venaca to talk with your father, The King, about your marriage to their prince, he had arrived with pressed flowers that grew in the valley that laid right at the mouth of their kingdom. They were beautiful, and perfectly preserved, and it gave you a little hope for the scenery you knew you would be stuck staring at for the rest of your life.
As the Princess of Venaca, your father bestowed upon you one duty: marry the Draewish Prince so that they would lend their strongest soldiers in the fight against the Neshevian Army. You loved your kingdom. You loved the fresh fruits that grew in the orchards around the basin, and you loved the fresh spring water that ran off from the towering mountains that scared off most intruders. You didn’t want to leave. But if you wanted to save that scenery, save your people, then you would marry that prince.
You left at the end of spring when the white tips of the mountains that enveloped the basin melted away and the soil was rich with water and greenery. The crisp air of the mountains filled your lungs with a chill, even in the enclosure of your carriage. Golden rays of sun bled through the thick foliage overhead, and you had never heard the birds chirp so loudly in your entire life.
When night fell, and your caravan would stop to make camp for the night, the height of the mountains brought you so close to the stars you swore you could reach out to kiss them. Your lady-in-waiting, Eilra, would look at the stars with you, and point out vague ideas and shapes of what she could remember of the names of constellations.
“Zekral,” she said, moving her pointed finger in a circular motion. “God of War. His shield lies here.”
Though she pointed it out so clearly, you could hardly make out the shape, but you nodded anyway. “I wish I could look at the stars all night. I would name every single one of them,” you claimed.
“You would run out of stars,” Eilra laughed.
“I would sooner run out of names,” you retorted with a grin.
“Illasi,” someone interrupted.
Both you and Eilra turned to the new voice that spoke up beside you. The orange blaze of the campfire illuminated the features of a tall man with a sword strapped to his side. His arms were crossed lazily over his broad chest, and his eyes stared up at the sparkling sky just like yours had been. Faint scars littered his arms, but his bearded face remained completely intact despite the ruggedness that was evident throughout his body.
Sir John Price. He had been The King’s personal guard and military advisor ever since the previous man had been ousted as a traitor five years prior. Your conversations with him back in the kingdom had been short and quick, but you remembered him at the head of the table in the War Room. Stoic, leading, dangerous. Your father trusted him enough to put you in his care as you traveled to Draewen. Every single soldier and servant in the caravan answered to him.
“Is that a recommendation for a name?” you asked as your eyes carefully studied the man.
Looking away from the sky, John took a few slow and careful steps towards you. Though his height may have been intimidating to anyone else, you had only ever known the man as an ally. So when he crouched next to you, nearly joining both you and your lady-in-waiting on the log you found yourselves seated on, you weren’t scared.
“Illasi is the Goddess of Harvest and Blood,” he explained as his eyes looked back up to the stars. After a moment of searching, his hand raised into the air, fingers outstretched towards the vastness that swallowed the sky. “You can see her knife here.”
You did your best in attempting to follow his guiding hand, but the stars were too thick for you to really make out any solid shape. Really, you weren’t sure how anyone could look up at that void of stars and attempt to wrangle them into silly constellations. John seemed to notice your blank gaze, and he let out something that sounded like a breathy laugh as his hand fell away from the sky.
“Higher, Princess,” he said.
His fingers carefully brushed against the underside of your chin as he tilted your head up. Despite the chilly air that swaddled the mountain and her forest, his skin radiated heat.
“Do you see it? A single sided blade, one used for cutting meat?” he asked.
Suddenly, it all fell into place. You could see the stars lining perfectly to create a knife truly fit for a goddess. A strong point, a deep belly for the blade, and a strong and sturdy handle. This knife was one meant to draw flesh from bone.
“Looks like a hunting knife,” you noticed while John’s fingers withdrew from your chin. You hummed slightly as you broke your gaze from the sky and turned to him. “I didn’t take you for a stargazer, John.”
He looked down at you for a split moment before pushing himself back to his feet. For a man who was strong and dangerous enough to protect The King, he had such kind, almost soft, eyes.
“The earth, seas, and skies are the only thing that unites every human, Your Highness. Their stars included,” he responded simply. He then gave a curt and polite bow of his head while his hand lazily rested on the hilt of his sword. “Goodnight, Princess.”
You smiled. “Goodnight, John.”
The crackling of the fire only grew louder as he wandered off into the darkness of the woods, certainly to scout the perimeter or something military-like. You brought your gaze back up to the stars, and you found it odd how your eyes seemed drawn to Illasi’s Knife, like you couldn’t look anywhere else.
“Princess,” Eilra spoke up. She said the title softly, yet with an odd tone. It was the questioning tone she used with you whenever you confused her. “Why do you call Sir Price by his first name?”
A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you looked at your lady. “Because Sir Price sounds a bit too much like surprise. A fitting name for a knight, perhaps, but not for any man. I believe everyone is human first before their title.”
Eilra repeated his name and title slowly as if she was feeling the exact way her tongue moved, and she grinned. “Is it not rude to ignore his title?”
“Titles mean nothing,” you defended. “And neither do names, really. I would respect him all the same even if he were called by any other name.”
It was always difficult for Eilra to hide her disapproval of your ideologies. She was a proper lady through and through, bound to the rules of The Royal Family ever since she became your lady-in-waiting. But she also knew better than to speak too far out of turn; not in fear of your non-existent wrath but in fear of not upholding any lady-like values.
That night, you fell asleep under the stars next to Eilra, and awoke early the next morning to pack up camp and return along your journey. The days were long as you sat inside your carriage, and attempting to rest as you traversed the uneven trail was impossible. Conversation could only cure your boredom for so long, and you had already finished the two books you had allowed yourself to bring.
But things only got worse as a second winter hit.
Not even a full two weeks into traveling, a bitter wind tore through the caravan around midday, and snow followed shortly after. The soldiers and servants muttered amongst themselves when the first flakes hit the soil. Some said they ought to turn back for Venaca while they still could. Others claimed the snow would vanish as quickly as it appeared.
You tried not to concern yourself too much with the new events. Fighting against nature was a futile battle, and you knew that you would just have to take things in stride. But when the caravan stopped, you couldn’t deny that sinking feeling that settled deep within the darkness of your stomach.
“Perhaps we are making camp,” Eilra rationalized. “It would be unwise to push forward in these conditions. If we wait out the storm, we can continue when better weather comes.”
You moved the maroon curtains that obscured the small window on the door and peered outside as best as you could. The warmth of your bodies and breath had fogged the window, and you took the sleeve of your dress to wipe the moisture away. Only an expanse of trees was there to meet your vision, their fresh green branches turned pale with powdery snow.
It came as sudden as the flapping of a bird's wing and as violent and unstoppable as the water of a raging river. First was the sound of a dull thud, and then a shriek from one of the servants. You tried your best to peer out the window, to press your ear firmly against the wood of the door to make sense of the commotion as it grew louder. Metal clanking together, barking shouts and gurgling yelps, a cacophony of pain that you had never been subjected to previously.
It wasn’t until a streak of red as rich and dark as the very color of your curtains stained the thin window of your carriage that you fully understood the danger of the situation. Nature wasn’t the only threat in the wilds. Man could kill just as quick and as violent as the earth could, and with a hatred that even the God of Death himself would look away from.
You didn’t even have time to cower away from the gore or scream in fear before the door opened with such force it nearly broke off its hinges. A strange man in leather armor and a dark blue cloak peered into the carriage with wild eyes, glancing back and forth between you and Eilra. The three of you were frozen as if the mountains had sapped you of all your warmth already. This man - this wild animal of a man - was trying to make a decision.
Cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist with a grip so stern you couldn’t help but cry out as the man yanked you out of the carriage. Your knees hit the frozen ground with a harsh pop, and your shoulder screamed as the man attempted to force you to your feet by pulling on your arm.
Eilra’s voice was raw when she called your name. Your true name, the name your mother or father would mutter to you in private when they held you in their arms. The name they used before sending you to some distant land. She called you by your name and it was the last word that passed her lips before it was cut off with a sickening gurgle.
Even if you wanted to, you weren’t able to look back at the carriage before another pair of hands grabbed you. Both men worked together in securing you with harsh rope that dug into your skin and a ragged cloth that obscured your eyes. Your knees sunk further into the fresh snow as you struggled pitifully against those barbarians, but your cries and pleas were drowned out by the chaos that raged around you.
“Are you sure she’s the princess?” one of the men asked.
“Who cares. She’s a girl, isn’t she?” the other barked.
They spoke your tongue but their tone was wrong. There was a certain lilt to their speech, and their words sounded too detached from one another. Neshevian you thought. They were from the very kingdom your people had been warring against since before you were brought into that world. The whole reason you were traveling to Draewen was to unite armies to fight against them, and they had come along to slaughter your caravan in retaliation.
“So was that one!” one barked. “Yet you ran her through like a pig.”
“This one has a nicer dress,” another retorted.
“If she is not the princess, then we lose our advantage over the Venacians you bastard!”
They continued their bickering while they bound rope around your wrists and ankles. The harsh wind tore at the skirt of your dress, exposing your stockings which did little to ward off the cold. A violent hand shoved you down, and without the proper use of your hands, your shoulder broke the fall. Snow flung into the neck of your blouse, and your skin tensed as it soaked into the fabric of your dress.
The men had stopped their arguing and instead began to shout at someone. What they were saying was lost on you. Blood gushed through your body and it felt as cold as riverwater, and was just as deafening. You heard what sounded like more shouting, a single roaring yell, and then nothing but nature. The wind whispering in the woods, a bird calling to a lover, the huff of horses.
Then there was the sound of footsteps. Thick, heavy footsteps that were accompanied by a metallic clink. You willed your heart to still, your breath to slow, because you refused to show fear in the face of the enemy despite the fact that it coursed through your veins with the warmth and raging fire of the sun.
Large hands held onto your wrists, still bound behind your back, but they were more gentle than before. You felt the cold metal of a sword or knife brush against your skin, and you cursed yourself for the way you jumped. Not a single drop of blood left your skin as the blade sliced through the rope and the rope alone.
Though you had free use of your hands, you stayed there on the ground, lying on your side as the ropes around your ankles were cut free. The blindfold remained around your eyes for a painfully long time as someone got on their knees in front of you. Gloved hands gripped your shoulders, urging you to sit up, and you obeyed so quickly you felt your own head spinning.
“Princess?” It was John. His voice was hushed as if he were trying to hide, but you knew from the overwhelming crescendo of nature that there were no men left alive; friend nor foe.
With a trembling lip you brought your hands up to your face and slipped your thumbs underneath the blindfold. You pried the cloth away from your eyes only to be blinded by the brightness of the dazzling white snow around you. Those hands remained on your shoulders even as you blinked away the light around you.
“Look at me,” John spoke.
His face was the very first thing your eyes were able to focus on. With eyes as rich as the deepest waters of the ocean, and as soft as the grass you used to play on as a child, you almost didn’t notice the blood smeared on his cheekbone. You saw the splatter on his skin, and the way it soaked into the cotton of his shirt. In his travels, he hadn’t worn his armor and yet he was still unharmed. But your eyes began to wander further. Away from him and to the gore that laid behind him.
“Look at me,” John said again with a small shake of his head. His hands moved from your shoulders and came to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. It was a gesture you should have reprimanded him for, something a knight should have never done to someone of your status, yet you said nothing. “Look at me, and only me. Don’t look anywhere else.”
You swallowed hard, and it felt like there were riverstones stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to look anywhere other than him, but you felt that you needed to; you needed to see the violence. How vibrant blood looked upon freshly fallen snow, what eyes looked like when they lost their light, or what a body looked like slumped on the floor of a carriage. Nature demanded that you looked upon the mess that came with the burden of being a princess.
Instead, you nodded your head as you kept your eyes on John and nowhere else. His hands fell from your face and took your hands instead as he pulled you to your feet. He led you away from the main road and towards the forest. The path he took was odd and not at all straight, and you pushed the idea out of your mind that he walked so strangely to avoid tripping over bodies.
John brought you to a towering pine tree only a handful of paces from the road where he told you to stay. He left you briefly to scrounge up as much food and clothing as he could before returning back to you with a loaded horse. He swaddled you in a thick fur cloak like a mother would wrap her child in a blanket before aiding you in sitting on the horse. He settled in behind you, pulling your back snug against his chest before taking off deep into the forest.
You weren’t sure what he had planned, but you were too defeated to even ask. There was no turning back or pushing forward in weather like that. Perhaps he was trying to find a good place to put the two of you to rest.
While John’s eyes meticulously scanned the forest for any further sign of danger, yours welled with tears. You wanted to go back for them. For every single soldier and servant that laid slaughtered on the road. At least dig them a grave, no matter how shallow. You’d bury them all and then bury yourself with them.
“Neshevian,” you finally spoke. It felt like you had been traveling for days, though the sun remained as high in the sky as ever, despite how muted it was with the clouds. “Why were they in our lands?”
“You already know the answer,” John replied. He didn’t say his answer outright, as if he refused to even entertain the thought of your death or capture. But he was right. Those men had made it all too clear why they were there.
“They killed Eilra,” you said, voice on the verge between whisper and sob. You wanted to cry, or at least, you felt like you should have. It felt wrong to sit on that horse and wander off into the frosty woods while their bodies turned to frozen statues behind you. But you couldn’t. You drew breath, and they couldn’t, and you still couldn’t cry. “Are we really the only two left?”
For the first time since you had met the man, John hesitated. “I’m sorry, Princess.”
You didn’t need him to explain any further.
As night grew closer and the forest became more dense, the wind and snow picked up with a vengeful fury. It howled from between the tree branches above your head as if letting out the anguish your body refused to let you feel. Flakes of snow nipped at the skin of your nose and cheeks, and you pulled the fur lined cloak over your mouth in an attempt to protect yourself.
If John was cold, he didn’t show it, but the harsh breaths of the horse proved its exhaustion. There was no caravan, no carriage or bonfire to warm up next to. There was only you, John, a horse, and the wild woods of the mountain.
“Can we make camp?” you asked, unable to hide the slight chattering of your teeth.
“We’ll die if we rest here,” John retorted.
“We’ll die if we continue,” you whined.
He didn’t bother with an answer, and you didn’t bother with another complaint. A thin layer of snow covered the both of you, clinging to clothing and hair alike, and your legs felt frozen in place on either side of the horse. Perhaps you weren’t far off from sharing a grave with Eilra.
“There,” John suddenly pointed out.
You squinted in an attempt to peer through the relentless bombardment of snowflakes. Off in the distance not too far away was a small hut or cottage of sorts. It appeared to be built by the very same wood that covered the area and was hardly any larger than your bedroom back in Venaca. Snow sat in heaps on top of the thatched roof, and it nearly blocked the windows in full.
“We’ll rest there,” John said, kicking the horse into a gallop.
Dust and dirt settled heavily over every item inside of that cottage; the small, worn table, the mantle on the fireplace, even the blankets that covered the bed. Whoever the home belonged to had long since abandoned the building. It was warmer in there, but perhaps it only felt that way because you were no longer being ravaged by the stabbing wind. There were no rooms, only one large living area, and the only thing that offered even a slight bit of privacy was a large, wooden divider that stood near the foot of the bed.
Darkness swallowed the room when John shut the door, and you felt around the room blindly until you found the fireplace. You got on your knees and continued feeling around until you found a pile of old, dry wood that laid in a small heap next to the hearth.
“There’s wood here,” you breathed as you struggled to grab a log. “Perhaps we can start a fire, lest we freeze to death.”
“No. No fires tonight,” John said as he gently tossed a small pack onto the floor next to you. “The smoke might attract someone.”
You ceased your attempt at pulling the logs from their stack and slumped forward with a heavy sigh. Every muscle in your body was tense and numb with cold, and he was denying you a fire?
“Who would travel through a storm like this over a fire?” you asked, a bit more bite to your words than you intended for there to be.
The shuffling next to you paused, but only for a short moment before John continued with his blind pursuit of whatever items he attempted to retrieve. “Desperate men hunting down a very important woman.”
Of course.
John’s hand brushed against your shoulder, and you jumped at the touch. His hand didn’t retract from you, in fact, it began to trail down your arm until it reached your hand. Even in the stark cold that bound itself to your body you could feel your skin heat up.
“What are you-?”
Your question was cut off when you felt his other hand push something into your palm. Once he was sure you had a good grasp of the item, he let go of you as if he had never even touched you in the first place.
“Dinner,” he said simply along with something that sounded like a chuckle gone sour.
Huffing, you brought the item up to your nose to give it a quick sniff. It was rugged, and smelt of pepper and herbs. Jerky; your people had been packed with plenty of it for your journey. Delicious, yet the thought of eating after everything you endured that day made your stomach turn.
“I’m not hungry,” you said softly as you lowered the dried meat.
Even through the darkness you could feel John’s searing stare, and you had never felt so ungrateful in your entire life. This man had saved your life and dragged you through half the mountainside just to protect you. He tried to nurture you, and you denied him all because the guilt was eating too heavily at your stomach for you to fill it.
“I’ll feed you by my own hand, if I must,” he said, and it sounded dangerously close to a promise.
You didn’t respond, but the sound of your teeth ripping off a chunk of the meat seemed to satisfy him enough. He continued to dig through the pack before pulling out another item. It was a blanket, you found out, as he wrapped it around your shoulders. The fabric was cold, but between the cloak and the blanket, you would be warm enough for the night.
John rose to his feet and carefully slid along the wall of the cottage where you heard the faint sound of wood scratching on wood. A chair, you realized. He was dragging a chair from that small dining table you had caught a glimpse of earlier. He placed it not too far away from where you sat on the floor, and it slightly creaked underneath his weight as he sat and finally allowed his body to rest.
“Get some rest, Princess,” he said softly. “It’s been a long day.”
At that point, you knew better than to tell him that you couldn’t, so instead you pulled the blanket tighter around your body before laying on the stiff wooden floor. That night, there was no laughter beside a hearty campfire, or Eilra’s giggles. There were no stars to blanket you, or a moon to whisper a lullaby. There was just the steady sound of John’s quiet breathing and the whistling howl of the wind.
Morning dawned before you knew it, and it felt like you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body screamed at you as you pushed yourself off the floor, knees and arms still sore from being dragged around. You looked around the cottage. Small streams of cold light cut through the air, giving the dull and dusty room an ethereal glow.
John still sat in that chair next to you, his eyes lazily focused on you as you stirred awake. He wore his cloak and he had folded a blanket to rest over his lap. Even with the cold his hands rested on top of the blanket for what you assumed was to keep easy access to the sword that rested against his thigh.
“It’s still early if you’d like to sleep longer,” he said. There was a certain deepness to his voice, one that you remembered feeling in your own throat when you were tired.
“I’ve slept long enough,” you answered.
Keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you stood to your feet before walking to one of the windows. Snow had piled up on the windowsill, but if you stepped on the tips of your toes you could peer out over it. The wind had stopped, and the cottage felt warmer, but flurries of thick snowflakes continued to smother the once green forest around you.
“Have you slept?” you asked while turning back around to face him.
John stayed silent for a moment too long before saying; “I’ve gone longer without sleep.”
“So, no,” you concluded. You took a few steps closer to him before gesturing to the spot on the floor you had spent the night on. “Sleep. You won’t be any good with that sword if you’re hallucinating shadows from exhaustion.”
Like a curious dog, John tilted his head at you as his hand slowly, almost absentmindedly, reached for the hilt of his sword. Not in a threatening manner, but almost as if it was his only comfort. Out there in the wilderness, with no one but you to watch his back, it probably was his only comfort.
“I appreciate your concern, Princess, but I’m fine. Truly,” he assured.
That wasn’t good enough for you, and you knew it was the furthest thing from the truth he had ever told you. Two weeks worth of travel was already bad enough, but fighting off those men, killing them, was no easy feat. Skipping sleep was unacceptable, and it would catch up to him before long.
So in one last attempt, you pointed towards the ground as you kept your eyes locked onto that stubborn knight. “Sleep. That’s an order.”
Despite your words, there was a heavy lack of authority in your tone, and it came off as another request rather than a demand. Being embraced by a thick blanket and fluffy cloak didn’t give you the aura of a leader, either. Nothing but Venaca’s darling little princess, too kind and soft-hearted for her own good.
You didn’t realize how close you stood to John until he rose from his seat. Despite the proximity, you refused to move, even when you swore you could feel his breath fan across your face. With sword in hand, and blanket tucked under his arm, he gave you a slow nod, the dark azure color of his eyes didn’t leave you for a moment. He gave you a small, tired, and perhaps half forced smile.
“As you wish.”
The snow didn’t stop falling until it covered your knees. Three days worth of winter left the vast forest feeling small as you and John were mostly confined to the tight space of the cottage. He still refused to make a fire, which meant the two of you spent most of your days sitting on the floor together huddling for warmth as best as you could.
After a week of being trapped in the cottage, John ventured out to hunt. Apparently he was just as good, if not better, with a bow as he was with a sword, and he returned back with a rabbit and a tail feather from a capercaillie. That was the first time John allowed a fire, but he built it small with nothing but bark shavings. You enjoyed the warmth while it lasted before he snuffed it out once the rabbit cooked, and though it wasn’t seasoned, you were just happy to have something other than chewy dried meat.
John still refused to sleep at night, and would sit in that old, creaking chair with his sword across his lap, and would sleep for a few hours during the day only after you woke. On the nights that you couldn’t sleep, either from the anxiety or the cold, he would tell you stories. Ones that he would make up, or tales from his childhood. The dark baritone of his voice was comforting, and you found yourself sleeping better on those nights.
In the daytime, he would take his hunting knife and carve gentle lines in the wood of the floor to mimic constellations he knew. Everything from fruit, to swords, he stuck those crude drawings into the cottage as a permanent reminder that despite Neshevia’s attempts, you were still alive and well.
“Onme’s Necklace,” he said softly after carving what appeared to be a simple circle with a bump at the bottom. “The Goddess of Love and Fertility.”
You reached out a hand and used the pads of your fingers to trace along the wood. It felt faint and hardly there, yet it made your heart race all the same.
“Do you think the Prince of Draewen will gift me a necklace for marriage like our people do?” you asked, eyes still trained on the floor.
John shuffled as he sheathed his knife and placed it on the floor next to him. Though your eyes were focused elsewhere, his were only on you.
“Difficult to say. I’m not familiar with Draewish courting customs. But you would deserve nothing less, Princess,” he said, voice still soft and low.
All you could do was hum as you pulled your knees to your chest. With the wind gone, the cottage grew warmer, though you were still ages away from being able to continue your journey through the mountains with the snow settling so heavily along the lands. Or maybe it felt warmer because John, against his better judgment, allowed himself to be closer to you physically.
“I hope he is kind,” you said suddenly.
“And if he’s not?” asked John.
“Then I will marry him anyway. It is what is required of me to join our armies, to end this blasted war,” you answered without much thought. But then, you did. You paused to think, and every single thought spewed from your mouth in an unstoppable wave. “I will marry him, even if he isn’t kind, and I will bear his children, and I will be his queen. I’ll spend my days looking out over the green valleys and rivers they say cover their lands, and I’ll think of the orchards that I used to roam as a child as I do. I think that might be my last thought before I either die an untimely death due to his boredom with me, or of old age after being overshadowed by his mistress for the second half of my life.”
Not even the gods themselves would have thought about breaking that suffocating silence that followed your words. There was still so much you wanted to say, rotting feelings that infected your chest, but they were ideas that you pushed aside because you could not afford to depress yourself with those thoughts.
“You are a princess,” John spoke, daring to break that quietness, “you deserve better.”
“I deserve nothing more than anyone else,” you quickly retorted, your eyes glued to the carving of the necklace on the floor. “Besides, no one gets married because of love. The oath is just to make the necessity seem sweeter, but it’s poison all the same.”
“Don’t speak of yourself in such a way,” John said. It was the closest thing to an order you had ever heard him speak, and you weren’t sure of what to think about the fluttering in your chest that followed his words. “You hold a power that makes nations tremble; one that has men scrounging the mountainside for you. Thimme would look upon you and weep until the oceans flooded the earth.”
Thimme. Had he dared to compare you to the Goddess of Beauty Herself? You tore your eyes away from Onme’s Necklace and planted them on John instead. It was then that you realized he himself wore no necklace. You didn’t like the way your heart hummed at that realization. Something started to grow inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to smother it.
Cabin fever. That’s all it was.
You should have said something, should have reprimanded him for saying such a thing. Instead, you found your heart reveling in his words as your throat grew tight with the thought of asking him for more. You laughed in disbelief as you looked away from him, unable to say anything that wouldn’t incriminate you.
Whatever words that were unsaid between the two of you were silenced by the sound of creaking hinges and a blast of cold air. Your eyes were drawn to the door where three shrouded figures slithered inside with snow covered boots and frosted cloaks. John rose to his feet with the quickness of a wolf, his sword already unsheathed and at the ready before you could even comprehend the danger.
“Our quarrel is not with you,” one of the men barked. His accent was strange. It wasn’t ugly like the Neshevian accent was. It was more flowing, and gentler in a way, but you couldn’t quite place where it was from. But he was a threat all the same. “Hand us the Venacian blight and we’ll be on our way.”
John strengthened the grip on his sword as he raised it higher. “I’ll have your head for that.”
The three men seemed more like monsters than human; more akin to bears than any other earthly creature. They had broadswords for claws and thick woolly cloaks for fur. The only thing human about them was the way they looked at you as you huddled on the floor behind John; not with hunger, not with a need to survive, but with a malice only humans could comprehend.
No other words were wasted from either side before swords started to clash together with sickening screeches. Flashes of silver iron moved in a blur as John kept up with each of the men. In a way, he had the advantage in that small cottage. The intruders couldn’t use their full range of motion without risking injuring their comrades, and John used that to his advantage as he slowly pushed them to the far side of the room.
You had never seen him in action before, and you had prayed to the gods that you never would have had to. The only thing you could think of was impressive. There was no flourish to his movements, and there was no showing off. Just simple, precise, and deadly strikes and slashes that left superficial cuts along their skin. But no amount of skill could save someone from fighting three monstrous men; even a man as talented as John Price.
If he wanted to even the playing field, he would have to incapacitate or slay one of the men. In order to do that, he would have to focus his blows on one man, or get lucky and hope one of his defensive moves would knock them away. But if he focused too much on one man, it left him open for the other two to attack.
You had to draw one of them away.
You grabbed the knife John had left on the floor and slid it out of its sheath. It was a well kept blade that glinted dangerously in the little light that bled through the cottage windows. With shaking knees, you pushed yourself to your feet and threw the leather sheath at the intruders, which caught one of them off guard, allowing John to land a fair slash against the man's ribs. He howled in pain as he backed up, body hitting the wall behind him. Hiding the knife underneath your cloak, you ensured your feet hit the floor as loudly as you could manage as you dashed out of the cottage.
John’s horse huffed at you, certainly out of hunger, as you scurried through the snow as fast as your legs could carry you. It neared dinner time, and the sun slowly fell towards the horizon, casting an orange blaze across the sky in its wake. Had you been in Venaca, you would have enjoyed the view. But not then. Not with the frigid air lining your lungs with frost. Not when you ran for your life.
“Zekral,” you prayed breathlessly. “Zekral, give him strength. Uvral, let him live.”
Like you had expected, one of the men managed to break away from the fight with John. It was not the man that had been wounded, but you could hear his snarling gasps behind you while you fled. You didn’t dare glance behind you because you knew you would freeze if you caught sight of the monster that chased you. Instead, you kept your eyes straight ahead as you weaved between trees and slick thickets.
A glittering stream snuck up on you so carefully you nearly tossed yourself into the water before you realized it was there. The orange hue in the sky reflected off of its crystal-like waters, almost making it seem warm and inviting. Despite it’s beauty, you realized it cut off your escape route.
It forced you to hesitate.
A hand grasped the hood of your cloak and the clasp caught your throat as you were yanked back into a chest so firm you could have sworn it was stone. Suffocating arms wrapped around your chest, and you found a scream escaping your throat as the air was squeezed from your lungs.
“Vodrir smiles on me this day!” the man claimed triumphantly over your cries.
You didn’t know why, but in that moment you thought of home. So far away, and yet you could feel the greenery on your feet, and taste the fresh apples from the orchards. You could smell the breeze as it drifted through your bedroom window, and feel Eilra’s hands as she braided your hair.
Was this death? Was this Uvral comforting you before silencing you forever?
With whatever strength you could muster and a shout that only a dying animal could make, you took the knife hidden underneath your cloak and blindly stabbed it over your shoulder. The man howled as the blade sunk into the flesh of his chest, but his arms only tightened around you as his muscles tensed from the pain.
Just as quickly as the man's arms tensed, you felt a little slack as his arms fell off of you. A gasp filled your chest as you were able to take a proper breath, only for that breath to get pushed out of your lungs as the man shoved you away from him.
You tried to catch yourself, tried to regain your balance as you stumbled forward, but it was too late. Every single muscle in your body seized as the icy water of the stream enveloped you in a soul snatching embrace. Any thought that had been in your mind before was erased as your body laid in the bed of the stream as if you were resting. It didn’t even feel cold anymore, it just hurt. Like every soldier in Neshevia had run their blade through you at once.
Maybe that was what you deserved. But you refused that fate.
Thrashing in the water, you came to your senses and pushed yourself to your knees as your head broke the surface of the stream. Your gasp for air rang throughout the forest like a lone bell in an abandoned city. Sharp rocks dug into the flesh of your palms as you coughed and sputtered while you dragged yourself to the bank of the stream.
A pair of hands landed on your shoulders, and it was like you had fallen into that stream all over again. You let out a pathetic excuse for a war cry as you attempted to push the man off of you. You would not be the enemy’s pawn. You refused to be the blood that fed and enriched the soil beneath your feet.
“Princess, look at me,” a desperate voice pleaded.
It was a voice you knew well. One that had comforted you with strange stories as you slept. One that taught you the constellations. It was a voice you wanted to drown yourself in.
“It’s me, Princess. I’ve got you,” he said softly.
John held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Fear flooded his eyes as he took in the sight of your chattering teeth and trembling body. Water soaked straight through your clothes and clung to your body with no intention of letting go. You tried to speak, tried to do anything, but your muscles shook and convulsed with such strength your body was rendered nearly useless.
He wasted no time in relieving you of your cloak, which had grown heavy as it was weighed down from the water. Not even grunting with effort, John lifted you into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he marched back towards the cottage as fast as his feet would carry him. You closed your eyes when you caught sight of the man that had caught you, who now laid in the snow with a piercing wound through his stomach. Your arms curled in towards your chest, and it was then that you realized your hands and feet felt too light. As if they had floated away from your body long ago.
In order to reach the entrance of the cottage, John had to step over two bodies. Their blood tainted the snow in a similar fashion to a child who had spilled paint over their bedroom floor. But even with the mess, it was like nothing was there, no gore or death or bodies, it was just you and him.
John shoved the door open where the splashing of water falling from your clothes became obvious on the wooden floor. Inside didn’t feel any warmer than outside, but at that point you couldn’t even register temperature. All there was, was pain. Nothing but a numbness of pins and needles skewering your skin.
He attempted to set you on your feet, but they felt so detached from your body you stumbled onto the floor instead. His hands caught your waist, preventing too much damage being done to your knees, but then you felt him roam. Your corset loosened, and you felt his fingers dip underneath your dress as he yanked the soggy fabric off your body. He didn’t stop there, either. Your slip, your stockings and undergarments, if there was a piece of fabric on you that was wet, he tore them off until you were completely exposed on the floor underneath him.
You didn’t even have the energy to ask him what he was doing or to protest. The only thought that consumed your mind was to live as you drew breath after shuddering breath. It almost sounded like you were crying, and maybe you were.
John left your side for only a moment before he returned with the blanket the two of you had huddled under before those men had attacked. He wrapped it around your body before lifting you once again in order to set you closer to the hearth. You laid on your side and watched him with stinging eyes as he piled logs into the mouth of the fireplace along with kindling and other scraps. It was only then that you noticed his shirt had gotten wet too, most likely from carrying your soaking body back to safety.
In minutes, John had built the largest fire you had seen since the night before the caravan had been slaughtered. Its flames reflected off of the stones of the hearth, slowly filling the cottage with a heat your body was almost too numb to feel. As you laid on your side, you watched as he slipped his own shirt off over his head, tossing that damp garment in the same heap your own clothes sat in. If you weren’t struggling with each breath you took, you might have gawked at the hair on his chest or the faint battle scars that decorated his skin. Instead, you stayed silent as he vanished somewhere behind you.
Moments later, he returned with another blanket in hand. He settled on the floor behind you as he threw the blanket over both your bodies. The warmth of him soaked into your back as he pressed himself against you, trapping in any heat that attempted to escape. His hand settled on your arm as he quickly rubbed up and down, attempting to create any friction on your skin that he could. It sent a painful sensation ripping through your skin as your body finally started to regain feeling again.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he spoke, his breath hot on your neck.
You attempted to speak, but it came out as nothing but a whimper. Every muscle in your body twitched painfully, and it only got worse when you tried to stop shivering.
“Fi-re,” you were eventually able to choke out. “Sm-o-ke…”
John continued to rub his hands along your body as he did everything within his power to warm you. No one had ever touched you in such a way, and no man had ever gazed upon your bare body before. But in that moment, you didn’t care.
“If it draws anyone in, they’ll fall before they lay another hand on you,” he swore.
It was stupid, and you would have told him as much if you could have gotten your teeth to stop chattering. He had said it himself that smoke would attract those with ill intent towards you, which is why you had spent countless nights huddled alone on an unforgiving floor. But he risked it to save you. John was a strong fighter, that much you knew, but he couldn’t hold off an entire army.
After a while, John’s hand stopped rubbing against your arm and instead settled around your stomach as he held you tightly against him. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he fit against you so perfectly. His knees settled against the back of yours, his chin rested softly on top of your head, and gods he was warm. The feeling in your body returned, and you felt your skin defrost as the fire melted the ice from your veins. It was like you were back in the basin, sitting on the soft grass and clovers as the spring sun warmed your skin.
It was like you were back home, and not nearly dead in a cottage in the wild forest of the mountains.
“John?” you spoke up. Your voice was more fluid, and less tense as the spamming of your muscles stopped.
“Yes, Princess?” he responded.
“Those men… they were not Neshevian,” you said, and though you hadn’t framed it in such a manner, it was certainly an unspoken question.
“They were not,” he confirmed.
You sniffed some as you felt the snot in your nose start to run. It felt like you had a head cold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you had gotten sick after your quick dip in the wintery stream.
“Where were they from?” you asked.
John’s arm tightened around your center as if he was afraid you’d slip out of his grasp. “They were Draewish.”
You swallowed the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Then they have betrayed us.”
For the first time since the night before you left for Draewen, you wept. Your tears soaked the carved up wood of the floor, and your shoulders shook not with cold, but with sorrow. You cried for the loss of your people, for the death of Eilra, for the war you weren’t any closer to winning. And most of all, you cried for yourself. You cried for the stupidly optimistic Venacian Princess.
Your tears ceased once the flames of the fire diminished to embers, and it was the first time John made even the slightest movement to leave you. He left his blanket covering your body as he knelt next to the fire, his bare back exposed to you. Two more logs were added to the fire, and he sat back on his haunches as he watched the flames devour the wood.
“When the snow melts, we’ll set off for Venaca,” he said, voice tired.
Nodding your head, you pulled your blanket tight under your chin as you curled forward. Night had fallen by that point, and you hadn’t even realized it since the fire had provided an unfamiliar light. It was the first night you had seen in weeks where you weren’t miserable.
“The city will fall within months without Draewen’s help,” you said. “Sooner if they choose to aid Neshevia.”
“Then let it fall,” John said gruffly. “They can burn it to the ground, but no one will lay a hand on you again, Honrul strike me.”
The determination in his voice almost made you believe him. You shifted slightly, your bones crying out from the harsh floor that offered no padding for your body.
“John?” you asked again.
At the sound of your voice, he turned so that he no longer faced the fire, but instead looked to you. Even in the dark shadows that casted on his face you could still make out the softness in his eyes.
You wondered if that softness was only there when his eyes were on you.
“Yes, Princess?” he answered.
“Lay with me.”
His eyes didn’t leave you for a moment, but you could feel the hesitation roll off his body. Maybe there was something unseemly about your request. Underneath your blanket, you were utterly naked and completely exposed. John had only laid with you before to warm you, and you were no longer in danger of freezing to death. It was improper, something both of you should have been reprimanded for.
“Is that an order?” he asked, shifting slightly.
“It’s a request.”
He froze for a moment, and you thought he was going to deny your request. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Maybe he should have. Instead, he crawled on his hands and knees along the floor as he shuffled behind you once more. With careful hands, he moved his blanket off of you, still letting yours stay wrapped securely around your naked body to keep your modesty.
His chest pressed against your back and his legs bent with the curve of yours while he laid the blanket over both of you. A different and new bloom of warmth blossomed in your chest as his arm settled around your center again, holding you close. Never before had someone held you like that. Never before did you feel wanted for anything other than your status.
“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. “Don’t… don’t go.”
At your words, he buried his face into the back of your neck. You could feel the slight tickle of his facial hair, and how cold the tip of his nose was. When he spoke, you swore you could feel his lips ghosting against your skin.
“As you wish, Princess.”
ah!!! i was so excited to write this once i got the idea i finished it in three days (cringe) but i'm so happy to finally share it with you all! price is unfamiliar territory for me, but i tried to get the vibes of a tired dad down lmao knight!price is going to be rotting my brain for awhile, though.
thanks again gpd for doing this challenge! and everyone, make sure to check out the other entries!
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Making Arrangements Part One
Masterlist | Part Two
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader
Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.
Length: 6.1K
Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.
No beta, we die like Billy Kimber
Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk
Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.
But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.
“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?”
On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family.
You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack.
“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening.
Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos.
“You’re still frowning.”
You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago.
“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising.
“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.”
“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded.
“And behind closed doors?” He asked.
“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.”
“I intend to.”
--
You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney.
You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all.
Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households.
When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.
But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man.
You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.
Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you.
“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat.
“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.”
You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes
“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer.
“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.”
“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.”
Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded.
“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself.
“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.”
“Yes.”
The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door.
“G’night, then.”
Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—
“Where will you sleep?”
Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.”
You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain.
He didn’t take.
You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters.
Relieved, you decided.
--
Insulted, you decided.
Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning.
It took everything in you not to shove him away.
Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie.
You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon.
Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,
“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”
“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.”
--
“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.
For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason.
So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight.
“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.”
“And you?”
The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed.
You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.”
You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot.
“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis.
“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.”
“Where was he last night?”
“How should I know?”
“He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.”
You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited.
“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning.
“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?”
You don’t want to answer, but—
“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth.
“I see.”
“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn.
“Do they know?” Pearl asked.
“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.”
“And?”
“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.”
Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.
“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss.
“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window.
“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.”
“And what end is that?”
“That of a doting wife.”
“And mother?”
Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to.
“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.”
“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.”
You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud.
--
“I need to talk to you.”
Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat.
“Thomas?” You pressed.
“I’m busy.”
“When can we speak, then?”
“Tonight.”
Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.
But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun.
--
“You can’t let them push you around.”
The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger.
“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.
Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle.
“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down.
“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?”
Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles.
--
“We need to talk.”
It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him.
“Later,” He offered.
Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut.
“Now,” You spat.
He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.
“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you.
“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?”
“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation.
“...What is it that you want to discuss.”
“You need to keep your whoring private.”
Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.
“Explain.”
“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.”
Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned.
“Pardon me?”
“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.”
“I did,” You nodded.
“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”
Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest.
“You’re missing my point.”
“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.”
“And will you?”
“You can trust me to be discreet.”
“I don’t trust you to do anything.”
Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves.
“And might I ask why.”
“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.”
Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod.
“I understand. I will make changes.”
“Thomas—”
“I will.”
You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession.
“Alright.”
“Anything else?”
“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.”
Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.
“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.”
You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach.
--
“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented.
“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount.
Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much.
“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.
“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.
“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head.
“Please pull it together,” You muttered.
“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.
“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.”
You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you.
“I will be myself.”
“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.”
A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled.
“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.”
“I’d rather not use them, if possible.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you.”
“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?”
“Lord above.”
--
“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.”
Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.
You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed.
You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment.
“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted.
“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?”
“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.”
“You were misinformed.”
“Clearly.”
You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders.
“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.
“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair.
“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.”
“Where were you?”
“Polly’s house.”
“Mm.”
You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.”
He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily.
“How was the meeting?” You asked.
“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?”
“If you’d like to tell me.”
You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.”
Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?”
“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.”
“I’m sure he appreciated it.”
He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat.
“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.
“Pardon me?”
“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.”
“...Are you drunk?”
His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so, thank you.”
“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”
My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey.
“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.
“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“How about with the things you like.”
“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.”
Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light.
“You have a deal.”
You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake.
--
The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?
You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse.
You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—
The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead.
“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?”
You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth.
“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”
His chuckle brushed your forehead.
“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.”
“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
“Rest up.”
“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.”
“Good girl.”
Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes.
You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice.
Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered.
You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight.
A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound.
“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through.
“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun.
“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you.
“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled.
“Did you go right to bed when you came home?”
“I meant to.”
“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in.
“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.”
Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago.
“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.”
“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.
“We both were.”
Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.
“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished.
“I certainly know that now.”
Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.
“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged.
“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.”
“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.”
“D’you mind if I smoke?”
“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”
“Better out than in.”
“Please, no.”
--
It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable.
You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all.
You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered.
--
“...What are you reading?”
You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room.
“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.”
“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.”
“Clearly.”
He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart.
“Would you like a drink?” You asked.
“Sure.”
You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed.
“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages.
“A book that was sent to us.”
“Topside?”
You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered.
“Yes,” You nodded.
“D’you like it?”
“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.”
“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.”
You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.”
“Will you work on it yourself?”
“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips.
“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment.
“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”
“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.
“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you.
“What’re we having?”
“Roast chicken.”
“Vegetables?”
“Potatoes and carrots.”
“Gravy?”
“Of course. I’m not an animal.”
Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:
“We’re going to London tomorrow.”
You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?”
“I’ve a meeting.”
“A meeting that involves me?”
“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.”
“I get out enough.”
“I think you could do with a bit more.”
You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly.
“I’ll go check on the bird.”
You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen.
Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven.
Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later.
Next Part
Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce
#Tommy Shelby x Reader#Tommy Shelby x You#Tommy Shelby/Reader#Tommy Shelby/You#Tommy Shelby fic#Tommy Shelby imagine#Making Arrangements
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Text
Starlett - Part 3
Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)
Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff
Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence
This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡
Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part
2296
Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.
"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.
"I know, I haven't changed a bit."
She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.
"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."
He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."
Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.
"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.
Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.
She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.
"Coop." Irene croaked.
He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.
"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."
She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.
"I should be. So should you."
"Fate had other plans I guess."
Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.
"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."
"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.
Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.
"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?
"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."
He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.
"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."
"I'm not the man you remember."
"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."
"And what's that?"
"Kindness."
2077
The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.
"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.
"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."
"It's the least I can do."
He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.
Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.
"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."
"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."
Irene and Cooper both laughed.
"Looks like you have a fan."
"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.
"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"
"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.
Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.
"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.
"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."
"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."
"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."
"I'm sure it will."
She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."
"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."
She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.
"Thank you Mr. Howard."
"Cooper." He replied.
2296
Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.
He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.
It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.
"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#fallout#fallout tv#fallout tv show#fallout tv series#fallout amazon#fallout prime#fallout amazon prime#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard x oc#cooper howard x fem oc#cooper howard x fem reader#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x fem reader#the ghoul fanfic#cooper howard fanfic#the ghoul fic#cooper howard fic#fanfic#fic#fan fiction
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