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#she-hulk speaks for the people
merevide · 2 years
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this show is actually a blast.
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I haven't even watched She-Hulk, but I know Matt is back this week. But I swear to god if I have to see people say "oh my god they ruined him" just because he's quippy I swear to god I'm gonna start breaking kneecaps.
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daydreamerdrew · 2 years
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The Incredible Hulk (1968) #202
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helicarrier · 2 years
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This whole thing about the She-Hulk scene just makes me sigh. A character can make a pointed argument that makes people pump their fists and go “fuck yeah!”, sure, but that doesn’t make it good writing by default in the context of the scene, selling the characters, or selling the story. If the entirety of She-Hulk was filled with those kind of impersonal messages, you’d have a lot of “take that, sexists!” moments, but there’d be nothing to grab your attention regarding the characters’ own unique experiences.
It would just be an hour-long general PSA that feels a little too on-the-nose and preachy.
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nabtime · 3 months
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Sir Waylon of Gotham
Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.
And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.
Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.
Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.
And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.
All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.
Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.
And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.
He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.
"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"
And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.
"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."
Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.
"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."
And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?
"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."
"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."
Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.
The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"
"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."
"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."
"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."
Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.
"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."
"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"
"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."
She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.
"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."
"What say you?"
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BORIS JOHNSON RESIGNS AS MP. Thoughts? The people howl for a new update to the Big Dog the Clown saga.
Yes this was not on my personal bingo card; my most recent Big Dog event was that a friend of mine works for air traffic control and recently had to delay BoJo's holiday flight by four hours, and on being told that this particular plane had to be prioritised for a runway slot because it contained an Important Clown promptly pushed it to the bottom of the priority list. Lol. And then all this! What larks.
Okay not a lot of detail yet still but LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT THE EVENTS OF 9TH JUNE, 2023 and you know what? It's been a while. Let's do it properly.
7.15am
Another day dawns in the reign of evil Grand Vizier-turned-PM Rishi Sunak. He's a very boring flavour of evil, tbh. Say what you will about Johnson, but at least there was spectacle and showmanship to his clownshow. Something for the children to boo and hiss. An animate ham in a villain's wig, something to really enjoy as you sit back, relax, and savour a tall, cool glass of schadenfreude.
By contrast Rishi just gets sycophants - who are no less ridiculous, but far more grey and boring - who pretend he's a tech bro because "he understands AI" and they think that will make him a visionary and a man of the future and maybe some sort of Elon Musk figure, because that's obviously a smashing template to be copied in a leader of a country.
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This briefing was presumably drafted using ChatGPT.
Anyway, this is what we thought the day would be: another dreary overcast washout, livened up by Downing Street's latest attempt at making Sunak seem like a good idea to stave off the hulking spectre of Labour's inevitable GE win next year. How trite. How tedious. How mediocre.
What a shame it would be if... something were to liven it up.
8.39 am
Fun fact!
When a PM's term ends, as their last act in office, they get to present an Honours List. This means they write a list of all the people they reckon have been Jolly Good Sorts who have done Good Clowning and Supported The Community, and nominate those people for honours. Honours here can be anything from an MBE/OBE etc, to a Damehood/Knighthood, all the way up to entering the Peerage i.e. becoming a Lord. Traditionally, people have been fairly reasonable with these lists. Apart from anything else, the outgoing PM can only write the list - the new Prime Minister has to sign off on it, and it's usually the case, of course, that PMs are deposed by the opposition party.
Why am I mentioning this? Well: Boris, you see, has now presented his list to Sunak to validate. You may be unsurprised to learn that it contains quite a lot of clowns.
Another fun fact!
If a sitting MP is given a Peerage, they cannot continue to be an MP. MPs are elected. Lords are not. So an MP offered a lordship right now would have to stand down if they accepted, triggering a by-election in their seat that... well. That anyone could win, couldn't they? Ordinarily. Except Labour's shadow is growing, isn't it? I don't suppose Sunak would be all that happy about losing, for example, any Tory MPs nominated for a peerage right now.
What fun facts.
At 8.39am, Politics UK reveals an as-yet-unverified report that Nadine Dorries and Alok Sharma have been removed from Boris Johnson's honours list, and will go back to vetting.
(They also reveal that Big Dog's dad has been removed from the list, because nominating your dad for a Peerage is "inappropriate". Sorry, Bigger Dog. Apparently even corrupt ghoul Rishi Sunak has a limit to what open corruption he will allow, which is news to us all, most of all Rishi.)
10.41am
Nadine Dorries decides she will play to her strengths, and appear on TV to do some Public Speaking, which always goes well for her of course.
Nothing, let's remember, has been confirmed yet at all. But she's here to put people's minds at ease! No power-hungry status-chasing pink maniac, she! She is very clear in her aims.
“The last thing I would want to do would be to cause a by-election in my constituency.”
Quite right, Nadine. That would be disastrous.
11.20am
Oh, it’s Tory think tank NRG’s conference in Doncaster today.  Gideon George Osborne, pig-stupid former Grand Vizier and idiot fail-heir to David "pig-fucker" Cameron, gives a speech.  Let's see some quotes!
On the Tories’ choices of chancellors since he personally fell on his sword over Brexit left the role:
“You can see when the partnership doesn’t work. The government's paralysed and the politics is terrible.”
Fair, but also you are a government, George.
On Tories who attack the civil service:
“We’re in charge of our country’s destiny. We should stop blaming others if we don’t get things right." 
... right. But you just... Uh.
On Tory culture warriors:
“It’s really important that the Conservative Party is excited about the country we aspire to lead… and doesn’t get in to ‘we’re against all these groups of people’. We’re the inclusive people.”
Well, points for clearing that absurdly low bar, I guess. Christ, I cannot BELIEVE Suella Braverman is making George fucking Osborne look good-by-comparison.
1pm
Ooh. Nadine's attempts to put minds at ease have inexplicably not worked, can't think why not. She's such a reassuring and charismatic speaker normally.
But the rumour is now FLYING about that Nadine has indeed been dropped from the honours list, and specifically because Sunak wants to avoid a by-election that will lose him more seats at a time when he is desperate for even a mat on the floor as long as it's blue.
Sorry, Nads. Still; this morning you were very clear that the constituency comes first, so I suppose that's okay. The priority now is that she MUST stay in position, so the Tories can keep their numbers steady. It is VITAL she remains an MP. Let's remember her exact words!
“The last thing I would want to do would be to cause a by-election in my constituency.”
3.45pm
Nadine Dorries tweets her resignation.
The last thing she does as an MP is indeed to cause a by-election in her constituency.
3.50pm
Except this is Nadine Dorries we're talking about. She's found some flashy balls to juggle, look, and a boy to pour custard down her trousers.
Not five minutes after dropping the bombshell, she deletes the last tweet announcing her resignation, and tweets a new one.
The new tweet says, “it is now time for another to take the reins” as the MP for Mid-Bedfordshire.
The original tweet said, “it is now time for someone younger to take the reins.”
*
On Talk TV, Dorries says that "something significant did happen to change my mind", but doesn’t elaborate.
3.56pm
The whispers are whispering. The rumours are rumouring. The knives are sharpening.
Nadine's now-former seat is Mid-Bedfordshire, and has been Tory since 1929; a safe seat, which certainly explains how Nadine fucking Dorries managed to hold it for as long as she did.
An MP on the right of the Tory party says that if the Tories lose the Mid Bedfordshire by-election, it’ll open questions about Rishi Sunak's leadership CLOWNFALL 3: REVENGE OF BIG DOG LET'S GOOOOOO
3.57pm
Nadine Dorries is removed from the WhatsApp group.
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I would love to know who leaked that image. I really should not have that image. Ah well. Now you do too.
4.12pm
Good tweet alert!
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5.08pm
Phew! What a day. Let's see how Rishi's getting on.
He approves the rest of BoJo's honours list. Shall we take a look at our newly-honoured citizens? Shall we see what familiar names crop up?
Honours for staff at centre of Partygate Jack Doyle, Rosie Bate-Williams and Shelly Williams-Walker (and a lot of other terrible and disgraced people who were loyal to Johnson, and some of Carrie Antoinette’s friends).
Damehoods for Andrea Jenkyns and Priti Patel.
Knighthoods for Jacob Rees-Mogg, Conor Burns, and Michael Fabricant.
An OBE for Kelly Jo Dodge, Parliamentary hairdresser.
Also honours for Ben Houchen, currently at the heart of a media storm about dodgy property deals.  His huge regeneration project in Teesside is subject to a government investigation regarding the governance, finance and value for money.
*
(Interesting point – Tory MPs Allister Jack and Nigel Adams were offered peerages, but decided to wait, since accepting now would trigger by-elections.
Why were they offered at all, do you think?)
*
So … this means Michael Fabricant is now Sir Michael Fabricant.  Like, actually.  Genuinely.
Nice one, Rishi. Thank goodness you understand AIs.
5.44pm
The Guardian’s Pippa Crerar - journalist who brought down Big Dog one Partygate reveal at a time - tweets her guide to he honours list:
Martin Reynolds, former PPS, invited 200 officials to drinks in Downing St garden.  He told officials to "bring your own booze", later adding: "We seem to have got away with it".
Shelley Williams-Walker, getting a Damehood, was No 10 head of opps & now runs his office.  At No 10 party the night before Prince Philip's funeral she was dubbed "DJ SWW" for her banger playlist.
Jack Doyle & Rosie Bate-Williams, who get OBEs, were press spox who repeatedly denied the parties happened
Dan Rosenfield, who gets a peerage, quit in mass exodus of senior No 10 staff as anger over Partygate grew.  Former chief of staff faced reports he was among senior Downing Street officials who attended a Christmas quiz when restrictions were in place.
Shaun Bailey, who ran unsuccessfully for London mayor, gets a peerage, and Ben Mallett, a close friend of Carrie Antoinette's who ran Zac Goldsmith’s disastrous mayoral campaign, gets an OBE. Both are in this picture of a lockdown-flouting party at CCHQ:
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What a sea of punchable faces.
7.58pm
But we've been so focused on Nadine! She's fucked up her juggling, look, but she's sliding around on the rollerskates, ever so distracting. But here's the thing, Tumblrs, here's the thing:
Among all of this, what's the Chief Clown doing?
The Privilege Committee reveals in their draft report that Boris Johnson misled Parliament, and recommends a sanction of more than 10 days.
Does that sound too little? Are you wishing it were smething more meaningful? Let me help put it in context.
This sanction would be enough to trigger a by-election in Johnson’s seat.
8.02pm
Boris Johnson
QUITS
as an MP
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The committee said Johson had “impugned the integrity” of the House of Commons. Fascinating! I didn't know its honour had ever been pugned.
He accuses the inquiry of trying to “drive me out”!!!!
"It is very sad to be leaving parliament - at least for now - but above all I am bewildered and appalled that I can be forced out, anti-democratically, by a committee chaired and managed, by Harriet Harman, with such egregious bias".
Worth noting that the committee has a Conservative majority, mind. But you mustn't let things like facts get in the way of your feelings, BlowJo. You never have as a politician. Nor as a journalist, come to that.
(Also SIDE NOTE – “at least for now”??  What are you planning, Big Dog??  I suppose Nadine is leaving an empty seat...)
8.41pm
Christopher Hope of the Daily Telegraph reports he’s heard rumours of a THIRD Tory MP potentially resigning – and another Johnson loyalist at that. Lol. Trololol. Lmao, even. Perhaps rofl.
11.43pm
And finally, the day is wrapped up with the Guardian revealing their front cover for the following day:
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Big Dog is OUT, hot trans bloke is IN.
Not a bad finish.
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theblueflower05 · 1 year
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Crawling Back to You
(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)
A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.
Word Count: 8k+
Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.
Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)
Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader
Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)
Previous< First Love/Late Spring
Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea
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Secret's that I’ve held in my heart
Are harder to hide then I thought.
Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys
The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.
The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.
His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.
Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.
Warrior.
Brother of the people.
He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.
They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.
They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.
The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.
The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.
His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.
Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.
Still, the younger man gathers his courage.
“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”
Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.
Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.
Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”
Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”
“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”
Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.
“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.
He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.
It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.
Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-
“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.
Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.
Only one person.
The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.
You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.
Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.
He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.
He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.
He just has to find you first.
Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-
“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.
She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.
He’s greeted by his family-
And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.
It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.
“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”
Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.
“I don't have time for this-”
“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.
He doesn't like her tone.
Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.
Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.
“What happened?”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.
He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.
“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”
“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-
“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.
She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.
The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.
He doesn’t feel that way now.
He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-
And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-
He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.
You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-
“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.
Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-
“Kiri, what do I do?”
She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down
She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.
You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.
“We fix this”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.
Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.
The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.
This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.
The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.
Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.
And yet, Neteyam is on edge.
He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.
After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.
Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.
Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.
“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”
Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.
The last obstacle is the hardest.
You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.
At every turn you evade him.
Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.
You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.
He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.
Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-
“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.
“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.
Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.
“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”
“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.
His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.
“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”
Jake pulls his son close.
His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.
“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”
Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.
After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.
Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.
Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.
You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-
“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”
Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.
Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.
He wishes he could let you be,
But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.
“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.
“I don’t think-”
“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”
You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.
You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.
“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.
The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.
It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.
Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.
He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.
Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.
All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.
He’s not sure that is the case anymore.
After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.
You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.
At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.
“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.
It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”
You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.
So he presses on.
“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”
Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.
“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”
He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.
“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”
You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”
“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.
“You already said that”
“Please, look at me”
“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”
He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.
It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.
“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet
you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.
Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.
He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.
He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.
You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.
“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”
A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.
“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”
His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.
But you need this. And he thinks he might too.
“Neteyam-”
“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”
Have mercy on him.
“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”
Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-
But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.
You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.
He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.
“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”
He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.
He needs.
“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.
When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.
His control, he realizes as he crowds you.
As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.
You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.
You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.
When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.
You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?
“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.
“Are you ok-”
You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.
Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.
Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.
You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.
The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.
The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.
Nothing is close enough.
With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.
“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”
“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”
Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-
You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.
Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-
“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.
Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.
“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.
You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-
There’s only one way to ensure that.
“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”
He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”
“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.
“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”
It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.
Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.
He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.
“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”
You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.
“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”
He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-
“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.
You can't take it. All of his hesitating.
You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.
You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.
He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.
Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.
You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.
Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.
“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.
“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”
“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.
“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.
“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .
“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.
“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”
Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.
A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.
It’s not just how you sound its how you look.
Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.
It’s how you smell.
Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.
Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.
“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.
Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.
There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.
Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,
But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.
Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.
You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.
Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.
“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”
He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.
This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.
There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.
This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.
He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.
This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.
You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.
It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.
It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.
The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.
Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.
You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.
“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.
“I should be asking you that”
“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”
“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”
You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”
It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.
“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”
“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”
You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.
When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.
Tasting yourself on his spit.
Fuck.
He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.
Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.
It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.
“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”
The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”
Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.
“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.
You are a vision.
Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.
It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.
You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-
“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.
Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.
It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.
The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.
After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.
Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.
“Wait-”
The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.
The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.
The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.
Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.
Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.
Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;
But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.
That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.
Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.
Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.
It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.
“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.
Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.
She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.
The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-
Huh.
It looks like she had nothing to worry about.
The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.
You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.
Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.
As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.
“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.
You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.
So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.
1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.
2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.
3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol
4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)
5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!
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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months
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The other day I was reading about the “mail-order brides” during the Gold Fever/Gold Rush in USA. Men ordered/purchased a wife via mail, and one of the many reasons some of them did that was because of loneliness, and I couldn’t help but think “yep, that would be König”. Just imagine him living alone in his farm or ranch, he only goes to town once a month to buy essential supplies, hides his face, and barely socializes with folks. But deep inside he is just a lonely man who desires a family, and a woman to call his (and one who can help him with his… needs) But he is socially inept, so he takes the easy route and orders himself a wife, that way he doesn’t have to bother with interacting with other people and gets himself a pretty wife
Oh my god 💞
König wanting to wed and bed her the minute she arrives by train... She thought he would court her for a while before they marry, she thought they would do this decently, that they would get to know each other first, she’d rent an apartment from the small town and then decide if she wanted to live with him…
But he says everything’s settled, he already took care of everything, they’re getting married today and spend their wedding night in the saloon before leaving for his settlement tomorrow.
She’s too bewildered to even speak, so it's no wonder she gets herded to the altar right away, a pretty, meek little bride is just what König ordered! Gets wed to this giant hulking gold digger while still wearing her traveling clothes, the priest only looks drunk and bored as she peeps her vows. The man she's now wed to looks down at her with unbridled affection and curiosity, but soon enough, she catches him eyeing her waistline, her bust, the corset she wears feeling tighter still by his indecent stare.
He's far from a gentleman, and dresses like a weather-worn cowboy, and she suspected as much from the way he wrote and how unpolished his handwriting was. But at least he seems kind. If anything, he's smitten that she’s not some old hag who deceived him by claiming to be an unmarried young lady, that she is everything and more he wished for based on the few letters they exchanged.
The wedding is over in a few minutes, and there’s no coffee and cake, no party under some big tree, no relatives or friends to congratulate her on her wedding day. There’s only this huge, intimidating man who looks at her like she just dropped down from heavens, his eyes slowly sparking aflame with both softness and lust.
He takes her to the saloon to eat, and then she finds herself in a greasy little room upstairs, changing into her white nightgown, getting ready to sleep and only sleep, but her nightmare of a day is not over yet. Her hand flies over her mouth, she nearly screams as she turns around and finds this horrible man of lowly European descent thoroughly naked behind her.
She’s in so much trouble, that much was certain from the minute he saw this man, but seeing his… equipment in the dim candle light of the old saloon is too much after everything she's gone through. She's verily about to faint.
It’s just her luck to dream of adventures and a happy, exciting new life and then find herself thrown into the arms of some barbaric, foreign giant... He said he’s looking for a companion in life and hinted at being a little lonely, but men who wish to court a lady don’t do it like this: by dragging them to the altar and then presenting their cocks to them before even two hours have passed!
The rowdy noise of cancan downstairs is a filthy backdrop to seeing a naked man for the first time in her life, and she never knew male parts could be so... big. Or jumpy. Or leaky... This man is clearly serious about this commitment, and thinks there’s no need to get to know each other, she’s his wife now and they need to consummate the marriage right away.
He’s breathing heavily while grabbing that weeping weapon in his fist, telling her she’s more beautiful than he ever even imagined. He pleasures himself slowly while watching her try to cover herself in her thin, faintly translucent gown, and she still can't find any words – the man is behaving like a scoundrel or a highwayman, not at all like the sharp dressed, eloquent gentlemen she's grown used to in the city. The slick sounds of lewd fapping are accompanied by moans of how she’s the answer to all his prayers, and her hair stands on end, she feels like she’s walking on tar here in the distant frontier with nothing but greedy men and drunken brothel keepers around her, now face to face with a giant, throbbing cock out of all things...
She coldly orders him to sleep on the floor while she takes the bed – she’s not letting this nasty, hairy beast near her anytime soon, not when she still has her wits about her. Defeated when she won’t let him “consummate their love” tonight, the man withdraws to sleep on the floor with a sullen groan and a long sigh.
She never sleeps a wink that night in fear of finding him by her side, groping his way through her dress, but to her surprise this man only snores on the floor as if he's used to sleeping there.
Civilization is far away when he leads her to his shack the next day and shows her the first small specks of gold he has found, apologizing for the state of his abode so unkempt and unclean. She has to give it to him that he's indeed kind and doesn’t want to make her suffer unduly, because the table and the bench are wiped in a hurry before she sits down, as if she’s a queen visiting a humble subject. He makes her a bath next to the fire and washes in the water after her, giving her flirty, promising smiles throughout the whole splashy ordeal.
Before long, the giant cock is presented to her again as the man excitedly waits for permission to take her, telling her he has never seen anything like her, that she makes his heart run wild.
The only thing running wild in her sour opinion is his cock, bouncing up and down from the need to be inside her, nearly leaking seed on the floor she suspects she has to wash and scrub tomorrow anyhow as his wife. Evening after evening, she rejects his advances, but after a week or two, her will breaks.
She tells herself it’s only out of pity that she lets him finally crawl over her and lift her gown, that it’s only to stop the man from spiraling into madness that she allows him to test how nicely that thick, leaky cock glides through her folds.
“You’re wet, Sonnenschein,” he pants with happy excitement when she notices her swollen, sloppy state, then plunges his cock deep into his wet little prize with a filthy moan. He tells her she’s tight and hot, and takes her like she’s some kind of an angelic whore, falls panting all over her breasts when he’s sated and done, says that she’s his salvation and that he’ll do anything to make her feel at home here.
She feels exactly like a desperate mail order bride, lured here with the promise of a good life and gold, but when she starts to wait for him to come home instead of dreading the end of the day, that's when her hell truly begins.
It just won't do to start wanting him, to trick her heart to be content with whatever this is. To enjoy his "love" would be even more shameful than anything else so far. The truth of the matter is that she's tormented by a lustful, wild man who takes her on her knees or on her stomach like an animal while moaning about how tight she is, how soft she is, how he can’t concentrate at work because of her.
But when he groans that he loves her just before he cums, she feels a distant sting near her heart, a burst of a small bonfire somewhere in her gut from his words. Far from romantic, but so authentic and pure they’re ripped out of him with a pathetic, cry-like moan.
And just when her heart is about to turn and grow full with softness, he barges in and takes her standing, needy after work, deciding that she looks far too alluring while stirring the stew over the fire. His sunshine of a wife waiting for him with warm food and a soft little cunt, it's exactly like it was always meant to be in his dreams... He’s kind and attentive, but doesn’t know a thing about ladies and that they’re not supposed to be taken by the fire like this, but the dramatic pout on her lips turns into a helpless grimace before this animal has given her three full thrusts.
And it’s only by accident, she tells herself, that it happens. It’s only a coincidence that she finds herself short of breath and shivering, then crying with pleasure from the way his cock sails inside her, hasty and needy as if she’s nothing but a momentary relief for this man.
But she knows she’s far from that. He always stays after the hurried lovemaking – if you could call it that – swallows and tells her things that are supposed to be sweet, perhaps. He whispers loving nonsense in her ear with a stupid, quivering voice, tells her that she’s so tight he’s about to lose his mind. That she brightens up his life and makes this shack a home, a palace, even. That he wants to give her children and grow old together.
She prays the heavens to save her from such a future, but when she accidentally comes with his cock inside her, the man breaks down entirely. Repeats the awful, pathetic “I love you” until he comes, too, and sounds like a man who's getting his sould ripped apart from his bones. It’s sinful lunacy what he’s doing to her in that shack, and dares to sprinkle it with love out of all things, and she doesn’t know if she hates him, or if she loves him too.
Annulling this marriage is nearly impossible, and the sooner he gets her pregnant, the sooner she’s even more trapped, just like the poor rabbits this man lures into the snares placed around the shack. He spends every little speck of gold to buy her silks, satins and gowns, proper woolen scarves and soft little leather shoes, gives her a gentle kiss every morning before he leaves to wash gold. Every evening after meal, he praises her cooking skills and then takes her on the creaking old bed like she's a common whore. The silly, girlish dreams of being whisked away by a mysterious, romantic gentleman are somewhere far away when this giant spills his seed inside her with a thick, arduous groan, then proceeds to cover her in kisses too sweaty and hot.
“I know you don’t love me,” he whispers between the one-sided sucking and nibbling that’s about to make her cry. “But I will make you happy... I swear it, on my life.”
She can only stare at the ceiling, filled with the dancing flames of the fire as he falls asleep with his cock still inside her, the soft snore on her breasts both happy and sad.
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I’ve read a variation of soft and rough König and I’ve enjoyed both but I’d love to see your take on his character.
I can’t deny I have a preference for soft König. I think his size is a major concern, especially if his partner is on the smaller side, which leads me to believe he’d prolong the inevitable and the pining and anticipation would be off the charts on his end. But maybe his SO thinks he’s not as interested as she initially thought.
Add in the fact that he’s gone for long periods of time in which there is little or no communication and perhaps she considers moving on. The ol’ miscommunication trope if you will, with a happy ending. Thanks!
Overflow the Stars
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Pairing: König x F!Reader
Synopsis: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.
Word Count: 5.8k
Warnings: Angst, feelings of insecurity, body issues, allusions to König's past w. bullying & his anxiety, size difference, fluff, soft!König, happy ending
A/N: This is my apology to the German-speaking people out there - I think I butchered your language (feel free to correct me). I'm so sorry lmfao. But, Anon, this request was adorable to write, hope you enjoy it!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You wanted to say you were surprised when he didn't show up – really, you did – but in the back of your mind, you already knew he wouldn’t. It was hard not to feel disappointed when you swirled your tiny cup of Franziskaner tensely, watching the whipped cream sink away into the concoction of dark espresso and milk; calling attention to the same feeling in your chest.
König had a strange habit as of late, and with a delicate furrow in your brow and perhaps even a smidge of sadness in your eyes, you wondered what you had done wrong. Why had he been avoiding you so…violently? While you wouldn’t have called yourself perfect by any means, nothing you had done over the course of your meetings was strange or downright embarrassing. 
You admitted that the man had never been the type to run away from something, and sighed as you brought the cup to your lips and sipped. Caffeine sits on your tongue along with a bitter revelation as the rain begins to pick up in velocity outside. The small and quiet café where you’re spending your afternoon is warm and unburdened by the weather. 
Do you think…he’s even interested in me anymore? The sharp thought brings a pang to your chest, fingers over the warm cup flinching back as if struck with lightning. O-or he doesn’t like being around me?
Your relationship was still new, very new, and if you were asked you would say it wasn’t even dating yet. König hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend. 
But it had still been going well.
“Or so I thought,” you take a breath, watching the fog on the window as the streets of Vienna are rapidly being emptied of tourists and locals alike. Your shoulders are painfully tight.
Aggressive rainfall like this into the cold seasons was unusual, but it wasn’t like mother nature cared about the whims of anyone but herself. It’ll freeze overnight, leaving a bitter chill that puffs from breaths and a shaky few steps out the door across hardened ice. You’d probably go out – alone – for a walk in the morning to clear your head, or try, at any rate.
Lately, all you could think about was the bear of a man that was supposed to be sitting in the empty seat ahead of you. The cursed wooden chair burns your eyes; its dark wood and red cushion stab your vision over and over until you’re sure you’ll bleed tears instead of water. 
He was supposed to be here.
Taking another shaky sip of your drink, one that König had recommended to you himself a few dates ago, the brief moments of warmth it brings to your bones does little to satisfy you. You doubted anything short of a hulking figure trying to stick their knees under the small table could do just that.
The giant man you called your possible future boyfriend was avoiding you, and your subconscious was breaking itself to try and understand why. As if that gracious plea had been heard above the glossiness of your eyes and the gentle hum of the café workers who shuffle about, the phone in your pocket jumps. 
You don’t want to admit how fast your hand snapped to your thigh, sneaking under the layers to draw out black metal. A single link to König when he was overseas or out of sight that you were told was unwise to use. He was rarely able to answer you, but for what it was worth, he always tried to call back later. 
Even if recently, it had been a brief state of events. 
“I-I can’t talk right now–”
“Forgive me–”
Your lips thin.
Pulling the phone out, you immediately look at the contact, though you already know the message before you read it. The sunken whipped cream finally falls under deep chocolate-colored waves.
“Sorry, Bӓrchen, I’m stuck in the building for the day! I swear I’ll make it up to you for missing–” You don’t bother reading the rest, thumb already scrolling upward to see the numerous times other excuses have been made. 
His parents were needing some help moving furniture, he was drowning in post-operation reports, or simply just too tired. You weren't stupid. But every time you had stuffed down your pride and responded cheerfully, dressed to the nines and standing in your living room while your fingers shook over the keys.
Holding back tears. 
It would hurt less if he’d just tell you to your face what you were thinking. Maybe all of this was just… 
Your thoughts trail off. 
But that didn’t make sense – König was never malicious!
Placing down the phone, you leave him on read, feeling the pitying eyes of the baristas burning into your skin like a brand. They knew as well as you did that he wasn’t showing up.
When he calls sometime later, you shut the device off completely. Staring out the window at the dimming light, you lean your head into the glass and try not to cry as you watch couples rushing for cover from the rain; laughing and holding the other close. 
The empty chair stays motionless in the corner of your eye.
The first time you met König, you were left gaping at the sheer size of him. 
Towering over ninety percent of the other patrons in the art shop, he had looked down at the package of charcoal pencils in his large, scarred, hands. Turning them over to read the description on the back like an expert with delicate eyelashes that you’d kill for. 
You yourself had been cast in his shadow quite by accident, looking along expansive shelves for a sketchbook – your friend had gotten into a watercolor phase lately, and what better to give her than a birthday present she could actually use? The only problem was that you had no idea what was considered good quality or not, but had a strange suspicion the man beside you did. But what a happy accident it all turned out to be.
König had a black surgical mask on, but the milky-white scar that ran up his right eyebrow and disappeared into his auburn hairline was still starkly visible. Expressive dark eyes blink down at his object from a surprising height. Between picking up multiple books, running your fingers over the paper and whatnot, you can’t help but stare at the pure strength the man emanates. Compared to you, he was utterly gargantuan in both mass and height. A bear and a bee, you thought with a stifled giggle.
He blatantly appeared to know more about this stuff than you did as he placed the charcoal pack down and picked up another.  
“Erm,” you begin, and his head snaps down to yours immediately, head of hair falling into gentle curls near the ears. He had looked partially surprised to hear you speak to him, and his eyes had flickered around instinctually. But it was only the two of you in the aisle. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but you seem to know a helluva lot more than me about art supplies.” Your voice was cautious, and you were afraid you’d seem rude for disturbing him, but all he did was stare and wait for you to finish speaking. Feet every so often shifting, or his hands twitching as if he never was able to stay still; he blinks a few times like a rabbit. “Any suggestions for watercolor?” A small laugh meets the air as you move your hand to show off the wall of possible options for paper. “I’m not much of an artist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up – thought I’d get her something she’d actually use this year. She wasn't too enthralled with the plant I got her for her twenty-third. Killed the thing in a week.” 
A nervous chuckle is softly met and your face heated as his own did. There’s a moment of a clearing throat before the man nods carefully, and the sparse freckles over his forehead shift. His biceps flex.
“O-of course, Ma’am,” his accent is quite strong, and you like the guttural raspiness of his tone. “I prefer Saunders Waterford, though I don’t manage to use it often. Better, eh, was ist das Wort?” He stumbles for a moment over the proper descriptor. “Beständig. Durable.”
A tilt of his head later, and you’re beaming, picking up the large pad with careful fingers, testing the weight in your palms as one would an apple. 
“Wonderful! It looks like I owe you one, eh?” Looking back up, you watch his eyes widen as you notice him blatantly staring. Face crinkling into a shy display of heat and curiosity, he slightly moves back, a large hand going to scratch at the base of his neck as his sweatshirt bunches. 
Chest tight, you stick out a hand and offer your name with a smile. It was only customary, but the action was pure instinct more than thought-out. All the while restraining a shiver, his limb encompasses yours so completely and radiates a large amount of heat.
“A pleasure,” your voice wavers, but it’s not so much nervousness as it is genuine intrigue. For a man so blessed with the tall gene, he really had a considerate hold – barely squeezing your skin in fear it would break. 
The action makes your chest squeeze.
“Ah, guten tag,” he utters, nodding with a firm shake, though his eyelashes caress his cheeks as his eyes rove away, “König.” 
A bit awkward, isn’t he? You have to ask yourself. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you found the nervous tensing of his thighs to be cute, along with that red tinge that was over his pale ears. So very opposite of how you expected him to act.
That was when you noticed the dog tags, as well, though you found no purpose to say anything. But everything about this man had caught your attention as a large billboard would, and the comparison has you practically bending in laughter. He probably could be a billboard with a build like that. No doubt he’d catch a lot of attention.
You tilt your head and release his hand, nodding to König’s charcoal pencils. 
“I bet you can make some killer drawings with those things, huh?” The beast twists them in his hand and turns down to stare at the supplies as if he’d forgotten they’d been there at all. “You draw often?”
“Ja,” his eyes brighten, and the crinkling of his eyes tells you that a small smile pulls at his lips. “Whenever I’m able. I,” König pauses before his shoulders move in a soft movement akin to a shrug. “I…find it calming.” 
Your ribs move in reaction to an interested sound. 
A bear that likes to draw.
“You’re better than me, I’d just get frustrated if something doesn’t look right.” A deep laugh echoes off the shelves before a lapsing silence settles like a bird’s wings. Overcome by a sudden urge to speak, yet having no other words to say, König’s voice meets your ears before you can find something to say.
It’s slow, the tone, bathed in hesitation and even a smidgen of armor; like the outcome of your response was already measured and taken as null compared to the giant’s own thoughts.
“I…don’t suppose I could show you some if you’d be interested.” At your widening lids, his twitching hands come up to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly as a vermilion hue blossoms like a flower over his visible skin. Dark eyes like broken obsidian pay more attention to your shoes than your face.
“N-not, eh, scheiße, I only meant I–” Watching him stutter was similar to what a high schooler would do when he was called out during an assembly. Though, your giggle makes him clear his throat and pause with a stiffening spreading to his legs. His body seems to deflate, taking your reverence for his soft inward nature as making fun or at worse, a blatant rejection. The delicate makeup of his psyche was on display, though you didn’t know. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ma’am–”
“I’d love to see your artwork, König,” you begin, pulling the watercolor pad closer to your body instinctually, cheeks hot. The man perks up, and you can see his heart hammering through his clothes when his eyes blaze with light. “How about I give you my number and I’ll text you a day I’m free and we can work something out? A local café or library sound good?”
“I…yes, that sounds wonderful.”
You throw your soaked coat on the hook as you shut the door, hating how the frigid rainwater had wetted your hair, though still holding it as a blessing. At least no one could see the tear tracks as you walked back to your apartment. 
Kicking off heavy boots and peeling the slick layers of fabric from your chest with a sloping sound, you flick on the lights with a shaking finger and a sniffle. Wet footprints are left over the rugs and hardwood as the phantom shuffles over them, beelining to the bathroom to strip. 
Your mind was preoccupied as you slipped out of heavy fabric, the pile already on the floor creating a large puddle that you threw a towel on and left as it was. 
“He…he’d tell me if he didn’t like me anymore, right?” Whispering, the broken words meet air as you toss on a large shirt – the hem meeting your knees as a pair of thick sweatpants follow. 
Quite the look for someone who was having an internal battle. Your friends would say you looked like you were minutes away from grabbing a tub of ice cream and sobbing over a rom-com. The quick-witted part of you confessed that the idea wasn’t even that bad if you threw in a glass of beer. Preferably the shitty kind so you could complain about it and distract yourself.
“Get it together…” You would not cry over a guy that hadn’t even asked you out officially, but with that familiar sting in the back of your eyes, you hissed that König wasn’t just any guy.
You’d really liked him, and for what it was worth, your heart would have exploded if he had asked you out. 
He was kind – respectful. Utterly adorable when he was speaking so passionately about his artwork and his parents who he held on a larger-than-life pedestal. König’s heart was just as big as his body, that gorgeous, bear-like body, and…oh, you’d wished he would like you just as much as you liked him. 
Before you could stop the wave of hopelessness, the tears were already dribbling down your face, and the dark apartment was echoing with the barely-there sobs that hit the walls.
When you hadn’t answered him in the next two hours and his calls were going to voicemail, König was hit with a train’s worth of worry. Feet tapping faster than unusual and eyes were finicky as they passed over documents.
Although his contract with KorTac wasn’t exactly like his own had been in the military, the hyper-vigilance was still ingrained bones-deep. The Austrian man held his personal relationships tightly – and if someone wasn’t answering him, the anxiety reserved for large, uncontrollable, crowds reared its ugly head. König wasn’t sure when it had happened, but you had entered that loyal group consisting of his parents and a few work friends in an incredibly small amount of time. 
He really should have bit the bullet and gone out with you today, the man acknowledged as he slipped out of his office and tried once more to get in contact with you. König watched the icon of your smiling face go straight to the familiar voice that in any other circumstance, he would have wanted to listen another moment too.
“...Thanks for calling! I’m not able to speak with you right now, but go ahead and leave a message–”
“Come on, Bӓrchen.” König lightly growls, hanging up and stuffing the infernal device into his cargo pant’s side pocket. 
His usually hidden face was twisted up with worry, so commonly lit with bloodlust on Ops now left in a state of unknown. It was stupid to think like this, but how could he not? In such a small amount of time, you’d made him fall for you like a bird does the sky; that thin line between falling and flying caught underwing. 
That was why he’d been making excuses, you see. 
You were so…good…that he’d been worried about the way he carried himself; second-guessed small actions like a hand on the small of your back in public, or a comment about how nice you looked. 
Did she take that the wrong way?
Why did I tell her that?
I hope she doesn’t think that I’m rude…
You were messing with his mind with every turn, but it wasn’t even all that, either. His size also played a part. Your form was so small as it trailed beside him on walks through the city – it fit in the clutch of his arm easily. 
König was just scared he might break you, he’s never had to be…gentle so often before. It was against everything he’d been taught in the last decade or so.
Pushing open the front door of the KorTac: Private Military Contractor building, the man pushes on with a frown over his scarred lips and a drawn-in expression. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten his surgical mask in his office, along with a jacket, and braved the volatile winds and slapping rain in a slight jog, an athletic shirt tight across his chest. 
By the time he’d reached your apartment building, his hair was dark and stuck to his skin, slight puffs of breath escaping his lips and wracking shivers along his spine. König ascended the stairs in double steps, agile as his heart pounded. 
Being ex-military left him with an undeniable state of readiness.
With heavy knuckles and panting breath, his hand quickly rasps against the door, and after a second of no sound, he does it again. 
“Bӓrchen, it’s me. Are you there?” König’s shoulders are set, ready to batter the door down at the barest hint of something wrong. He calls your name but like a voice on the wind, there’s no answer. Not even a shadow under the barrier, a whiff of your shampoo.
Grunting, strained eyes going grim, the man’s hand encompasses the handle, arm and body going parallel to the wood. His hips tense, feet grinding over the floor as they set. But the nearly missed footsteps that his ears twitched at gives him pause. 
After a few moments of intense listening, his body stone-stiff and eyes spaced out, there’s a clicking of a lock. 
König moves back swiftly, hands going to rest at his sides, and when your face graces his vision, a large weight is lifted. Until he realizes that your eyes are red-rimmed. His lids go startlingly wide, fingers coming up to curl into themselves near his middle, but you speak before he does.
With a hatred for interrupting others, König keeps his lips sealed and watches with a concerned once-over and nervous lungs.
Your hand is clenched over the door frame, the muscle of your tongue licking at your lips as beads of water fall from your locks. 
“What are you doing here, König?” With a voice more hoarse and dry than a desert. The man itches at the side of his hawk nose, hesitant about what he sees. 
You’d never been like this before – always so happy. 
“I…” He trails off quietly, seeing your eyes unwilling to meet his own. “Are you…alright?” 
The Austrian’s fingers jerk when you laugh, and a surprised blink later he’s coming closer to check on you, hand almost outstretched before he sees the size difference and thinks better of it. He just taps on your cheek instead, delicately, like a hit from a flower. 
“Sweet one? Please tell me what is wrong. You weren’t answering your phone.” He wants to beg for you to look at him, plead. “It made me worry for you. Why did you not respond?” 
“So you want me to respond when you’re obviously bailing on me for what,” you pull back, disappearing partially behind the door. König watches with a still body as your arms go to wrap around your waist, dread creeping up his throat. “The third time? Fourth? I guess I’ve lost count.” 
The man’s lips go thin, eyes crinkling as an expression of pure self-hatred takes hold. He had stupidly hoped you wouldn’t notice that. When times got tough for him in the past – whether with the schoolyard bullies or an operation on wrong, avoidance was usually his best tactic; it was one he had fallen back into time and time again without fail. But he’d never told you that. 
And now he looked like a proper Arschloch. 
But you’re not done yet. When you leave the door open and disappear inside the dark apartment, König follows after like a lost puppy, water still dripping from his strong chin and stuck in his stubble. Cursing himself out in his head. 
“Ach, du Depp, jetzt hast du‘s getan. Die eine gute Sache ruiniert, die du hattest, oder...?" He mutters, slipping out of his boots and frantically looking after you as your form goes to the couch. König closes the front door and stays in the foyer, fingers twiddling and mouth opening and closing. 
You hadn’t even looked at him yet, and you’d barely seen him without a mask on. 
The Tv was on, playing some show that he’d never seen and he doubted you were watching. Your body plops to the couch with a shrieking of springs and bouncing of pillows. A small huff escapes your lips, though you speak no more. 
König clears his throat again, a nasty nervous habit along with the fidgeting, as he takes a few steps forward. The finger of his right hand goes to spread through his hair, pushing the strands back like a red wave and unintentionally slicking them to his skull. The clicking of his jaw reverberates in his ears as he resets it, picking at the palate scar under his left nostril. 
He opens his mouth to speak but closes it fitfully and already his face is reddening. König looks away from you for a moment, breathing before shuffling over like a guilty child would on drowned socks. He places one leg on the floor and kneels down in front of you so he can better look into your creased face. 
“Bӓrchen,” he liked calling you that – little bear – because the comparison was enough to make him smile every time it passed his lips. It was such an endearing term that it became difficult to look past the blatant harm he could inflict on you if he wasn’t careful. While his size made him perfect for the field, home life was, well, let's just say he could easily force his way through a crowd. Not that he would, of course. But at any rate, that was what you were to him – a little bear. “I…I have to confess to you that I have been avoiding you, yes? That much has been,” a stiff breath is taken in. “Obvious.” 
Your head turns to the side, knees brushing his own as you hold your hands in your lap. Behind König the show continues to play, spreading a silver light over the living room and the continuous droning of voices.  
Not knowing whether it would be frowned upon or not, and with a steadying breath for confidence, the man loops a cold finger under your chin; bringing you back to him and finally setting your glossy eyes ahead. 
He sees you blink in surprise when you find him maskless, and a faint smile flicks over his lips when your expression goes shy. Cautious like a bird.
“It was of no fault of your own, Sweetling, I ask that you believe me. I’ll try to explain the best I can, Ja? If you’ll let me, though, I know that I don’t deserve it.”
“If you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it…Stop dragging me on, please.” His heart stops, mouth still partially open before a sharp breath is sucked in. “I don’t know if I can take that anymore.” The pang in his chest hurts immensely, like taking an arrow and peeling back skin. You look at him so hopelessly, broken beyond belief as though a piece of you was being ripped out.
“W-why do you say that?” König tries to desperately stop the wetness of your tears from falling, shaking his head and cupping both of your cheeks, rubbing at the flesh in agony. “No, no, no, Dear One. That’s not what it is at all, I beg of you to listen.” In the fever, he switches between his native tongue and English, fingers shaking though not from the drenched clothes. “Meine Schöne, oh, meine Schöne. Bitte hör auf zu weinen.“
He takes quick breaths and finds in himself that he would do anything to stop you from crying – take a bullet, run a marathon, or learn to fly. Name it, any of it. Anything to wipe away the sadness that lives in your expression as if it even belonged there in the first place
“Do not cry over me, please, I-I,” König’s tongue trips over itself, but he persists, a similar burn in the back of his nose. “I…You scare me, Bӓrchen,” that gets your attention, creased eyes and a loose jaw going to give him full observation. 
What?! Your expression screams.
Face on fire, the Austrian continues with intense eyes, dark obsidian awash with pure light that reflects stars. Overflowing with anxious tears that he refuses to let fall. 
He can’t lose you. No, no, not you. You were the best thing to happen to him in a long time. Damn him – damn his own consciousness that’s more of a betrayer than Brutus. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go… 
“...What?” Your voice wavers, nose twitching so adorably that the man is momentarily stunned. 
“I am afraid of you, my Dear. Utterly and wholly.” König sucks down a breath, now the one unable to continue the stare-off. His foot shifts. “I am afraid of what you do to me. Your smile, Gott, your smile. A-and the way you speak, how you react so honestly to my paintings like you care with all of your heart.” He laughs wetly when you smile dimly, continuing as he caresses your skin. “Everything down to your very bones is like…like…” König’s words fumble, because comparing you to something earthly was impossible to him. 
“Ever since I met you in that art store, I cannot string together words with any semblance of meaning when I am around you. Bӓrchen, you have entrapped my mind, and I am afraid.”
He watches you breathe in slowly, tears no longer falling, though the evidence still haunts him. The man’s chest lets go of a tightly wound knot, the anvil on the other side just narrowly missing his heart as the sweat on his brow evaporates.
“A-and,” König sighs, shaking his head and moving his hands to tightly hold your own in your lap. How could he explain the last part of this dilemma? He bluntly states, “you’re small.”
A brief moment of silence bleeds like a wound, long and slow, until a tiny snort echoes. Full-blown laughter emanates not even a second later, and he watches your body heave forward and slot itself with your nose in his shoulder. König’s blush stains all the way down his neck, but minuscule giggles also fall from him in retaliation to yours. His great arms wrap themselves around your waist, dragging you slightly closer as he breathes deeply. 
Your scent pulls him under like a ship at the water, riding great waves with sea beasts under the waves guiding the vessel along its course. 
“Everyone’s small compared to you.” Your mumbling in his shoulder makes his grip tighten, side-eyeing your visage as his head tilts down. “Not my fault you got every gene that made you sprout like a damn tree.”
With your lips caressing his neck, he blinks softly down at you, amused, as his breath mingles with your hair. He lets you speak, getting it all off your chest and feeling stupid for how he had been avoiding this.
“You’re afraid because you’re so big, then? That you might hurt me?” 
“Ja.” Your hands circle around his shoulders, and with a sigh that leaves the man short of breath, you shimmy back and face him, fingers playing with the base of his neck; pulling at tiny hairs. 
“Don’t you think being worried about that means something? And, c’mon,” you smile lightly to him, and he watches closely, fingers moving along your spine. “With how conscious you are of your body, it’s hard to imagine anything ever happening.”
Hands grasp his neck, and with a bobbing Adam’s apple, König yields to your pull, angling his head to you as your back straightens. Watching with awe; your silhouette bathed in silver light and eyes fatigued, though never more beautiful. You’re beaming.
“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you, okay? So stop worrying about it, you big dope – and stop ditching me!” The Austrian’s dark eyes are fastly moved from one spot on your face to another, cataloging every bump and pore to memory. 
He’d never been this close to you before, though he’d fantasized about it. And what you were telling him…it’s like his body deflates with relief, and a genuine, boyish, smile blossoms. 
“Safe? W-with me, Bӓrchen? Oh-oh, my…” A kiss suddenly hits his forehead, and if you continued doing things like this, he was sure he’d explode. His body was vibrating with pure bashfulness; it was so odd to be complimented and doted on by someone that wasn’t his close family. For someone to reassure him of his flawed concerns. 
She feels safe with me. 
How could he tell you how happy that made him to hear aloud?
“Hey,” hands cup his jaw, and his spaced-out eyes snap back to you instantly, blinking away the rose-colored fog. You shake his head back and forth until he’s chuckling, like a kid again, and his grip catches your wrists to make you stop. Your breath fans over his blazing cheeks like a wind sent from Zephyrus himself, and the sticking clothes to his body matter little. “No more leaving me hanging, okay? I miss you, König. I want to be around you.” 
The eyes that travel down his scarred and freckled face leave him slightly self-conscious, but as if sensing this, your lips curve. Before he could utter a grunt of surprise, your kiss had connected with the scar on his forehead, as well as the palate. Just brushing the top of his lips as his large nose poked your cheek. 
“Mein Gott.” König gasps, eyes fluttering shut when you pull back and a grin slashes your face. A whisper meets the room.
“Thank you for showing me your handsome face, mein Schöner, I’ve been wondering what you looked like.” Shyly scanning his features, the redhead lets your fingers trace his flesh, shivers left in their wake, and a soft sigh. 
If he opens his eyes, he’s afraid he’d start crying. So he lets you touch his scarlet flesh, nearly the same shade as his hair, though the auburn is more deep-set. Shivering every time you lay another press of your lips to a blemish; more addictive than drugs. 
“You’re going to kill me,” König pleads, “but if this is punishment for causing you pain, I will gladly bear it.”
“Sly.” You smirk, pressing one more peck to his nose, and pulling back. He grumbles in his throat before his eyes peel open slowly; pupils blown wide and mouth parted. “Are you alive down there?”
“Barely. Perhaps I’ll need another kiss to tell, yes?” 
“You’re horrible.” Looking at his clothes, your eyes suddenly go grim. Like you’d just noticed the state of him now that he was kneeling in front of you and struck by your beauty. “And shivering.” You huff. “Why didn’t you start by saying you were soaked to the bone, König?” 
He looks to the ground, and you try to shuffle past and grab him a towel, but his arms trap you. You find yourself in a chest faster than you can blink, hands splayed over a pec that jerks as you’re lifted up. 
König hears you squeak and laughs, throwing you up into a bridal-style hold easily. Laughing chest-deep, you curl under his chin and quickly comment, “what are you doing?!” 
“Hush, Bӓrchen,” the man squishes you closer, “I’ll find a towel, don’t strain yourself.” 
You direct him to the bathroom after he sets you on your bed, hearing the pounding of rain outside as he sneaks off. 
The room smells of your shampoo, and König takes a pastel towel from the wrack after half-closing the door, slapping it to his head and violently rubbing it back and forth. Lost in his elevated thoughts and happy demeanor, the knock on the wood is almost missed. He’s just about to take off his shirt and wring it out when he blinks at the sound. 
“König – I’ve got some spare clothes, but I doubt they’ll fit you well enough.” An amused twitch of his lips later, he’s opening the door to your soft face, staring down at it. Standing shyly, your eyes crease; head tilting. “Sleepover?”
The man looks at the pile of fabric and nods kindly, a lofty feeling in his bones.
“Yes, please. They’re perfect, vielen Dank.” It isn’t long before he’s coming back out, a shirt that barely fits over his wide chest and a pair of sweats clinging to his hips. But he didn’t mind. 
They smelled like you, and thus, he smelled like you. König quickly found out that drawing wasn’t the only thing that could calm him. 
An embarrassed smile and a sheen of giddiness never leave his face.
He slides into bed with you, and you quickly latch under his arm, limbs tangling with his own as his fingers twitch over the width of the base of your shoulder blades. An easy expulsion of air leaves him as your weight settles, back curving to the make of the mattress. 
The words leave him in the delicate silence; water hitting the window and during the exploration of souls. Cheeks hot and heart hammering. 
“Sei mein?” Be mine? 
He feels your grin, nose nuzzling his flesh like it was the perfect pillow, and his heart speeds like a shooting star.
“Mein Herz war immer deins. Ja.” My heart was always yours. Yes. 
He stays awake for a long while, listening to your breathing and staring at the ceiling, running knuckles over your spine and staying silent. 
Smiling.  
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joelscruff · 1 year
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for what it's worth (joel miller x reader) 18+
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part 3 of the soft!dom joel collection has arrived! this one tackles some backstory; it's time to see how they met and how exactly their little "arrangement" came to be. i hope you guys like it, your feedback means the world to me. i also have a kofi if you'd like to give me a tip (but of course this is completely optional). previous parts: you know i don't mean it & don't think we could help it summary: your relationship with joel has always been complicated, but it's about to change drastically, for better or for worse. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), mentions of porn (specifically magazines) word count: 10k (it's a doozy) | ao3 spoilers: this contains vague spoilers for part two of the video game (and most likely for season two of the show). nothing too major but i figured i should warn for it anyway.
To say that your first day in Jackson is alienating would be an understatement.
You feel like everyone is staring at you (they are) and no one will let you out of their sight (they won't). You understand immediately that there's a lack of trust which will need to be formed as soon as possible, otherwise you'll never be able to create a home here.
"They're wary of you," Maria explains in your brand new living room - you still can't believe you just went from having barely any possessions to having your own house - and gives you a weak smile, "It'll pass, they just need to make sure you don't have any ulterior motives."
You get it, but it still hurts. Especially that night when you join your new community for dinner and find yourself sitting alone in the corner of the room, poking at your food and trying not to let your emotions betray you. You're determined not to show weakness, even though you've never felt more isolated. You can feel their eyes on you constantly, like they're waiting for you to pull out a rifle and start picking them off like a shooting gallery.
There's only one person who seems to be consistently minding his own business, a middle aged man who sits in the opposite corner of the room. He's hulking and broad, kind of intimidating, but there's a softness to his jaw and the grey scruff covering it that makes you see something else, something kind. He takes large bites and seems lost in his own thoughts, eyes fixed on the wall to his left but unfocused, like he's looking through it. He's by himself too, mirroring you, but you can tell by the way people move around him that he's been here for a long time. He must just enjoy his solitude.
"That's Joel," Maria tells you, sitting next to you and following your gaze, "He's my husband's brother, came down here a few years ago."
"He doesn't stare at me like everyone else does," you say, still looking over at him, "Does he just not care or...?"
To your surprise, she laughs, and everyone who's giving you dirty looks suddenly seems to soften. You're grateful for Maria then for bothering to talk to you, to try and trust you.
"Don't ask me to explain the things Joel does, I wouldn't be able to tell you," you notice that she has a full plate of food with her and that she's decided to sit next to you for dinner, an attempt to alleviate the mistrust for you in the room. You can't help but smile, thankful.
"He's a closed book," she continues, "Even Tommy finds him hard to read and he's his own brother."
She changes the subject then, wanting to know more about you and what you've been through, a not so subtle way of trying to get some information for the council. You humor her; you have nothing to lose.
Your eyes still stray to the man named Joel every so often as you speak, but you're not sure why. After about ten minutes he gets up to leave, and you watch him place his empty bowl in the dishwashing area and give the woman working there a small smile. She smiles back, says something to him. He laughs, and you can almost hear it over the bustle of the dining area. You watch as he says something else to her in parting, gives her one more smile, and turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look at you, not even once.
-
Over the next few weeks, things get better. Less people are looking at you and more people are actually trying to talk to you, get to know you. You have some nice conversations and answer questions about yourself - mostly appropriate, save for the one teenager who kept asking how you got the different scars along your bicep, the long one on your neck, the one on your cheek, stories you really didn't want to recount. After hounding you for a few minutes, her friend had pulled her away with an apology, "She likes scars," she'd said sheepishly, tugging the girl's arm, "Come on, Ellie, leave her alone."
You meet everybody, shake hands and even hug a few people. You start getting invited to things, asked to suggest films for movie night, help set up some games for the kids, Tommy even asks you one evening to help him herd a few sheep that had gotten loose. They trust you, and it feels good.
You still see that man, Joel, every night in the dining hall. But that's the only place you see him. You're not sure where he goes during the day or after dinner; he must just be a bit of a recluse, which you can't blame him for. The people here are nice but a lot are overbearing and a bit too friendly sometimes, plus it's hard to find time for yourself when everyone has tasks to complete and always likes to help each other out. You begin to wonder if he'll ever notice you, which leads you to wonder why it even matters to you that he does.
-
Your patrols start around the three month mark. Tommy takes you out with a small group beyond the borders of the community and shows you the ropes, points out where most of the patrol spots are with a pair of binoculars and goes over the routine. Your first assignment is simple: manning the watchtower with Maria. You spend most of the patrol getting to know her, hearing about her past and telling her more about yours. You like her a lot, she's easy to talk to and has a strong spirit akin to your own. The conversation gets pretty personal around the seventh hour, and you end up telling her how exactly you got the scar along your cheekbone. She listens deeply, thoughtfully, nodding along as you detail the more difficult things you've had to deal with in the past, the things that have made you stronger.
"You're tough," she says near the end of your shift, nudging your shoulder, "You don't really belong on watchtower, do you?"
You shrug, "I mean, if there's somewhere else I'd be more useful..."
"How'd you like to head out to the ski lodge with Joel next week?"
Your ears prick up at the name and you nod quickly, unsure exactly why, "Yeah, that'd be great!"
"He knows the area well," she adds, then grimaces, "I have to warn you though, he might not talk very much. He keeps to himself, I'm sure you've noticed."
You wonder why she's so quick to put you on patrol with someone who might not even speak to you, but it starts to make sense as you're walking back from the watchtower in the early hours of the morning. Tommy exits the dining hall and walks over to the both of you with a smile, pressing a tender kiss to Maria's cheek.
"How's my girl?" he asks flirtatiously, and she bats him away playfully.
"Was just telling the new recruit that she's gonna go on patrol with Joel next week," she replies, and Tommy stops in his tracks, raising an eyebrow.
"Her? With Joel?" he appraises you and bites his lip, "I don't know, honey, wouldn't she be better off with someone who'll actually talk to her? I thought she was on watchtower with you."
"Tommy, I never see you anymore," she gives him an exasperated look, "The weekends used to be for us and ever since the Kingstons left-"
"I know, I know," he looks at you again, twisting his mouth in thought, "I've been, uh, a lot busier than usual lately. We had this family here for a while, big family, they helped out with the patrols. But they decided to go south a few months back, so-"
"So Tommy's been filling in for every shift he can," Maria finishes for him with a sigh, "And I never see the damn idiot anymore."
You smile, "I'm totally fine with taking over for you, really."
Tommy raises an eyebrow, "Seriously? You sure?" Maria slaps his arm lightly and he gives her a look, but then shrugs, "I mean, okay, if you wanna give it a try. It won't be all the time or anything, maybe just every other weekend, but it would actually be a big help."
"It really would," Maria adds, "You have no idea."
"But... you gotta understand, my big brother, he's.... he's complicated," Tommy's expression is serious now as he looks at you, "He's not very talkative these days, not since..." he shakes his head and you don't push it any further, though you do wonder what's changed.
"So you'll do it?" Maria asks, eyes bright.
"Even if he doesn't talk to you?" Tommy adds with a grimace.
You nod, somehow believing it won't actually be that bad.
-
It is that bad.
The first time you're officially introduced to Joel he doesn't even bother to shake your hand, just nodding vaguely to you as you stand there like an idiot with your palm outstretched. Tommy makes a face at him and then looks back to you with a reassuring smile.
"There's not usually much trouble up at the ski lodge," he says kindly, ignoring Joel's ambivalence, "The trek back and forth is arguably the worst part. The lifts were already damaged beyond repair when we got here so it's a bit of a hike, 'bout an hour to get up there and the same back."
You begin to wonder if maybe this really isn't the best idea, eyeing Joel silently as Tommy explains what you should expect. You've seen this man smile, know he's capable of making some kind of small talk, but it's clear that you're not an ideal candidate as he stands there stiffly and lets Tommy do the talking. Tommy had told you earlier that if the patrol didn't go well he wouldn't make you do it again, and you're already thinking this might be your first and last shift with Joel.
Tommy walks with both of you to about the halfway point, still going over the routine as Joel trudges silently ahead of you. He hasn't said a word, not one word. It's honestly starting to piss you off.
"Well, I gotta head back," Tommy says, giving you another smile of reassurance, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, see how it went, see if we might make this more permanent." He seems doubtful but you can't blame him.
A few moments later it's just you and Joel, hiking in complete silence save for the sounds of nature. The cogs in your head frantically turn, trying to land on something you can say to make things less awkward.
"So, when's the last time you saw infected up here?" you settle on, hoping it'll be enough to start some kind of conversation.
"'Bout a month ago," he replies immediately, voice gruff but quiet, "Weren't too many."
He's got an accent like his brother but it's fainter, less obnoxious, like he's spent more time with non-southern people in the later years of his life. Tommy had said they'd grown up in Texas and lived there 'til he was in his late 20s and Joel his mid 30s, then somewhere along the way they'd separated. You don't know much else about him other than that.
"It's the people you mainly worry about though, right?" you ask, quoting something Tommy had said a few weeks back, "Tommy said you've had more run-ins with raiders than infected."
"Tommy's tellin' you too much," he replies with a grunt, "Don't know what he's even thinking sendin' some kid up here."
You feel anger rise in your chest immediately, "I'm not a kid, asshole."
He stops then, turns around and appraises you with his eyebrows furrowed. It's the first time he's actually gotten a good look at you, his gaze catching on your face for a lasting moment before his eyes fall to your gun. You feel slightly vulnerable, intimidated by his heavy stare.
"How old are you?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"Twenty seven."
His brow furrows even more, "Coulda sworn he said you were seventeen."
"Well, I'm not," you reply awkwardly.
"No, you're not," he acknowledges, "I'm sorry," He seems to mean it, giving you the smallest of apologetic nods and then turning around again to keep walking.
"You thought Tommy sent a seventeen year old up here with you? I thought you had to be eighteen to patrol outside the border."
"You do, I just wouldn't put it past Tommy to send a kid up here with me," he grumbles, "Wouldn't be the first time."
"...Why?"
"None of your business."
"Okay, but now I'm just thinking you're some kind of pervert," you say it in a joking manner but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he stops again and spins around, looking at you with what you can only explain as pure rage. You flinch backward, eyes widening.
"Do I look like a fucking pervert to you?" he asks, voice hard and angry.
"I was joking," you say immediately, shaking your head frantically, "It didn't land."
"No, it fucking didn't," he starts walking again at a faster pace, leaving you standing there completely floored.
Yeah, it's bad.
-
"Ellie's not speaking to him," Tommy explains to you the next morning in the dining hall, hands gripping his coffee mug. You've just told him about your patrol with Joel and the horrible impression you've already managed to make. "I really shouldn't be telling you this but with an outburst like that...I need you to understand why he reacted the way he did."
You look at him, bewildered, "Ellie? That teenager who plays guitar down by the stream?" And the one who'd relentlessly bothered you with questions about your scars, but you keep that part to yourself.
"Yeah, she's...well for all intents and purposes, she's Joel's kid. And she stopped talking to him a while ago, maybe six or seven months back now," he takes a sip of coffee, "Don't ask me why 'cause I have no idea. I've asked both of them and neither'll give me any kind of explanation. All I know is they ain't speakin' and he's heartbroken over it."
"Must've been a bad argument," you say, scrunching your nose in thought, "I mean...seven months? That's a long time to not speak to someone, especially your dad."
"Eh, you haven't met Ellie. She's one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. They both are," he shakes his head, "Anyway, you calling him a perv probably pissed him off 'cause Ellie's real special to him, a surrogate daughter. He wouldn't like someone misunderstanding that, seein' somethin' dirty or wrong there."
"I wasn't-"
He puts a hand up, nodding, "I know you weren't, I get it, no worries. It's partly my fault anyway 'cause he's right, I have tried to send a teen or two up with him, thought it'd do him good to mentor somebody again. But he doesn't want it, I know that now. He doesn't want it if it's not Ellie."
"Well, he doesn't seem to like me anyway, no matter how old I am," you sigh, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, "I mean, he didn't talk to me once after that, not for the whole shift. It was bad. I don't know if it's gonna work, Tommy. I'm sorry."
He nods and gives you a small smile, thumbing the handle of his mug, "It's okay, I didn't think it'd work out anyways." He tries to hide the disappointment in his expression but fails miserably, and you leave the dining hall feeling bad about your failure.
-
A few days later you're back in the dining hall finishing up dinner, chatting with a few of the community members who you've warmed up most to. There's not many, but you are starting to find yourself feeling more and more comfortable around people as the days go on, more like yourself. You're caught up in a story about an infected you'd encountered in a gas station when their gazes suddenly divert from you and instead fix above your head. Confused, you slow your words and turn around.
"Oh, hi," you say, voice a bit breathless when you see Joel standing there, hands in his pockets, "Did you need something?"
"I, uh, wanted to talk to you," he says it softly, kindly, completely the opposite of how he'd talked to you before, "When you're finished, of course."
"Oh, yeah, sure," your words are broken and awkward, "Uh, I'll meet you...?"
"I'll be outside the main doors," he says quickly, "Take your time."
"Okay, I'll be out in a few."
He nods to you and then to your friends, then turns on his heel and walks out through the big double doors at the end of the dining area. You watch him go, bewildered.
"I thought he hated you," one of your friends says, voicing exactly what you're currently thinking.
"Yeah," you reply, furrowing your brow, "So did I."
You finish your story much quicker than intended and shove away from the table, waving goodbye to your friends and bringing your empty dish to the cleaning station. You push past the double doors and scan the outside area for Joel, eyeing the picnic tables where a few people are enjoying their meals in the fresh air.
"Hey," you hear behind you, and you turn to see him leaning against the left side of the building, arms crossed, "Over here."
You walk over, trying to plan out exactly what you're going to say so you don't end up making some stupid joke again that'll push him further away from you. It turns out you don't need to, because he speaks first.
"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he says it seriously, a soft and genuine look in his brown eyes, "I treated you horribly the other day, you didn't deserve that."
You raise an eyebrow, "Did Tommy put you up to this?"
He frowns, "No."
"Are you sure? 'Cause if he did...I mean, I get it. It's nice of him to look out for me like that but you really don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything, I'm the one who said the tactless joke."
"Tommy didn't say anything to me," he seems to mean it, kicking the toe of his boot against the building, "And I know you were joking, I knew it then too but I'd just..." he takes a breath, avoiding eye contact, "I was havin' a bad day. Doesn't excuse my behavior by any means but it...you just..." he finally looks at you again, expression pained, "I wasn't expectin' you to be there. Tommy only told me you were takin' over for him about ten minutes before you showed up. And then I thought you were a kid and-"
You put your hand up, silencing him, "Joel, it's okay. You don't have to explain."
"I didn't even shake your damn hand," he says gruffly, sounding genuinely ashamed.
You extend your hand to him immediately, splaying your fingers out into the cold air, "Here, shake it now." He stares at it, unsure, and you wiggle it a bit in response, "Seriously, it's okay. Let's start over, clean slate."
He slowly reaches up to take it, his much bigger hand enveloping yours completely. His grip is strong and firm and you can feel calluses along his fingers, showing you exactly who taught Ellie how to play that guitar.
"Clean slate," he repeats, and it begins.
-
He's annoying, but you kinda love it.
He's grumpy most of the time, hates when you don't obey his orders, isn't afraid to give you shit, and gets irritated with you very easily. But it goes both ways. You're stubborn and set in your ways, you hate being told what to do, you dish it just as much as you take it, and it doesn't take much to get you riled up. And somehow, as much as you'd both probably hate to admit it, you work well together.
After your little conversation with Joel outside the dining hall, you'd flagged down Tommy and told him you were willing to try again with Joel on another patrol. He'd looked at you like you were crazy but hadn't shot the idea down, telling you that if it's what you really wanted, he'd keep the schedule the same.
You've been up on the mountain with Joel three times now, and while there's certainly been challenges and a few arguments, it's starting to become a routine. He doesn't talk about himself - it's a bit of an unspoken rule that you dare not break - but in return you don't tell him much about you either. Your main conversation points are usually tied to your interests, not your pasts, and you find yourself discussing movies with him, as well as music and books. He's surprisingly well-read for someone in an apocalypse, but you suppose he could say the same thing about you.
-
The fourth trip is what sets things in motion.
"Did you catch the movie last night?" you ask nonchalantly as you hike beside him, almost to the ski lodge. It's early morning, around five, and the sun is just beginning to crest the tree line, "I don't think Maria knew about the sex scene."
He groans, reaching up to rub the space between his eyes - you've noticed that he does this a lot, a quirk you've become rather fond of.
"Yes," he replies, wincing, "I heard her givin' Tommy a piece of her mind afterwards."
"The way she was yelling for him to turn off the projector was so fucking funny," you grin at the memory, still fresh in your mind, "And listen, I get it, sex is taboo, yada yada yada, but it's not like there were any little kids there last night, it was just the teens. And it's not like it was a porno or something, it was one little sex scene."
"Oh, I know, but I think Maria's trying to keep 'em as innocent as possible for as long as she can."
"Good luck with that," you snort, "I think we all lost our innocence a long time ago, for better or for worse."
"For worse," he replies instantly, "Definitely for worse."
"You're probably right," you grimace, "Although, you know what? I've actually never seen a porno."
He raises an eyebrow at you, "Seriously? Never?"
You bristle slightly, suddenly a little self conscious, "Well, it's not like there's an adult video store in this town, is there?" You can remember them existing when you were a kid, before everything happened, but it's not like you'd had any use for them at that time.
"No, you're right," he turns away from you, lost in thought for a moment, "They do still exist though. Pornos, I mean. Just in other forms. There's a stack of magazines up at the ski lodge, actually."
Your eyes go wide, "Wait, really?"
"Yup."
"Could I maybe..." you trail off and stop speaking, realizing that you should definitely not be asking what you're thinking.
"Look at 'em?" he finishes for you, not looking behind him as he keeps walking, "And you call me a pervert."
The conversation ends there, and you don't dare try to continue it.
-
The day is spent keeping watch along the ski lodge balcony, binoculars passed back and forth as you trade shifts and chat here and there about irrelevant things. Your main objective in this patrol spot is to keep watch of the main watchtower's blind spots, keeping an aerial view of the border perimeter in case people - mainly raiders - decide to make themselves known. You'd thought early on in your admittance to Jackson that infected were their main concern, but you've come to learn that's not the case at all. When Joel had said they'd come across infected up here he'd been lying to you; they'd actually come across a group of raiders who'd tried - and failed - to murder Joel and Tommy during their watch. Not the most reassuring thing to hear now that you've taken over, but you needed to know.
"It's why we got the trip wires down near the entrance now," Joel had explained to you during your second patrol with him, "We won't get snuck up on again," he'd made a face, "Not unless someone decides to disobey my orders."
You'd given him a weak smile, remembering how you'd decided not to heed his warning about going outside the ski lodge after light's out and ended up almost getting your leg shot off by a booby trap, "My bad." He'd rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself.
Now that it's your fourth watch you've gotten the hang of things and have learned to enjoy the semi-solitude of being on the mountain with Joel. He's got a battery operated radio and a box of cassette tapes that keep you from being bored out of your mind, plus a few containers of books that he and Tommy had carried up over the course of a few patrols. Now that you really think about it, you don't remember seeing any of the aforementioned porn Joel had spoken of in any of those crates.
It's midday when you decide to glance through them again out of curiosity, handing the binoculars over to Joel and slipping past him as he traipses out onto the balcony. You head for the boxes immediately and start to dig through them, not sure exactly what you're even looking for. Someone naked, you guess.
"They're not in there," Joel calls to you after a few minutes and you stiffen, turning to look at him through the glass where he can very clearly see what you're doing. He's got a shit-eating grin on his face and you feel your skin flush red.
"I don't know what you're even talking about," you call back, walking away from the books and plopping yourself in the chair by the unlit fireplace, which has somehow become your chair via another unspoken rule, "I was looking for a tape."
"Okay, well the 'tape' you're looking for is in the back of the supply closet," he sounds like he's fighting back laughter and your skin burns even more, "Underneath a box of cleaning supplies."
"I'm ignoring you," you yell out, "Get back to work."
You swear you hear a muffled laugh through the glass.
-
When he comes in from his shift he barely looks at you, just pushes past you lightly and heads for the supply closet. You follow behind him, heart pounding a bit harder in your chest the closer you get to the stash. He opens the closet door and you watch as he yanks out the cleaning supplies, then digs a bit deeper and reappears with six or seven magazines in his arms.
"Here," he leans them toward you and you hesitantly reach forward to take them from him, "They're mostly from the 90s."
"And you know this because....?" you raise an eyebrow and you swear his cheeks go pink.
"I'm a man," he shrugs, trying to be nonchalant as he passes you again to head back to the living room.
"Perv," you call after him, but he doesn't turn around this time.
"You got ten minutes."
-
You've never seen so much nudity in your life, which is saying something considering you'd seen your fair share of it back in your QZ when life had been a bit easier. But seeing it on paper, in photographs that have somehow lasted through years of this shitty reality, it's something else entirely. You stare with wide eyes at the onslaught of naked bodies, most of which are posed in extremely graphic sexual positions, and feel your heart continue to pound in your chest.
Without much thought you'd opened the first magazine right there where Joel left you standing outside the supply closet, and you now find yourself sitting in said closet with your flashlight aimed at the pages, breathing heavily and trying to comprehend exactly how you feel about what you're looking at. A lot of it feels kind of fake, especially the looks on the faces of the models, but there's enough sexual energy there that makes you start to feel a bit wet in your underwear, a feeling you haven't experienced for quite some time; not since a few a years ago in the QZ when you'd been in your last relationship.
"I gave you ten minutes," you suddenly hear Joel say from the other room, and you quickly scramble to your feet and frantically shut the magazine, "In case you forgot, it's your turn."
"Fuck," you trip out of the closet and dash to the living room, clutching your brand new collection of media to your chest, "Sorry, I got distracted."
He stands by the balcony door and looks you over quickly, eyes scanning from the magazines to your face and back again, "Enjoy yourself?" his expression is unreadable and it makes you self conscious.
"Oh please," you reply, making a face, "Do not start."
-
"So which was your favorite?" he asks you casually once darkness has fallen and you're both safely settled in the lodge for the night.
"Which what?"
He looks at you from over his book and gives you a look, like he's questioning your sanity. You stare for a moment and then slap your hand over your eyes when you realize.
"Oh for fuck's sake," you groan, "I'm never gonna hear the end of this now, am I?"
He laughs and you look over at him again, laying there on the couch with a smug look on his face. You retaliate by grabbing the pillow behind you and tossing it at him, making him drop the book he's reading.
"Hey!" he reaches down to pick it up again, "I showed them to you, I'm allowed to ask."
"False," you say, flipping your hair, "And for your information, I only managed to look at one of them."
He chuckles to himself and returns to his book, "Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. I was just kiddin'."
"Joel Miller? Kidding?" you make a faux-shocked face, "I fear we've entered the Twilight Zone."
"Don't even pretend you know what that is," he says it seriously but his smile betrays him, "You didn't know about the Twilight Zone 'til I told you about it last week."
"That's just what I wanted you to think."
He rolls his eyes and keeps reading, letting the silence take over again. You watch his eyes scan the page back and forth, taking in the story - whatever it is - and transporting himself to another world, away from the ski lodge. He does this every patrol once it's too dark to see outside, sets the battery powered lantern to its highest setting and reads until he falls asleep. You wish you had his concentration and focus; instead, you curl up in the red armchair and force your eyes shut until your thoughts quiet down enough to let you sleep. Which is difficult tonight especially, seeing as all you can think about are those damn magazines.
After about five more minutes of silence you take a deep breath, then quietly say, "The one with the blonde girl in the bunny ears."
You don't dare look at him, waiting for his response and focusing instead on the empty fireplace beside you. You hear the crinkling of paper as he dogears the page of his book and then the gentle thud as he places it on the floor.
"That's a good one," he says just as quietly.
Another moment of silence passes, and your skin feels like it's on fire as you whisper, "I like the page where she's like...bent over."
"I can't remember the pages, if I'm being honest," he replies, "I haven't looked at them in a while."
You nod to yourself, "Well, there's this page where the guy has her bent over a table. And he's like...pounding into her from behind." You wait for him to say something else but he doesn't so you continue, "It's one of the only pages where she actually looks like she's enjoying herself."
"Hey, uh, I really was just kiddin'," he says awkwardly, "You don't have to tell me, it's okay."
"Oh," you can't help but sound dejected and embarrassed, your fingers trembling a little bit as you push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "Sorry."
"I mean, if you want to, you can," he corrects, sounding slightly embarrassed himself, "I know you probably....you probably want to talk about it."
You bite down on your lip and sigh exasperatedly, placing your hands over your face, "Kinda," you mumble against your fingers, "It's all I can think about right now."
"Did it make you uncomfortable?" he asks, voice still gentle, "A lot of people are offended by that kinda stuff, you wouldn't be the first person to find it weird."
"It's definitely weird," you take a shaky breath and drop your hands, "But no, I'm not uncomfortable. It was....I mean, it was hot," you bite your lip, "I haven't even thought about sex for a long time so it made me...uh..."
The silence is deafening and apparently neither of you wants to break it as you sit there without speaking, letting your words hang in the dead air. You suddenly feel like you want to crawl out of your skin for saying anything to begin with, for even asking about the magazines in the first place.
"Wet?" he suddenly says, voice breaking a bit, "It made you wet?"
"Very," you reply, relieved that he's not freaked out and trying to change the subject.
"Well, that's normal," he says, voice stiff.
You can't help but laugh, finally peering over at him and seeing that he's just laying there, staring at the ceiling, "I know it's normal, Joel. It's not my first time being turned on, trust me."
"Well, what am I supposed to say?" he grumbles, looking at you in exasperation, "You can't just say that and expect me to give you a casual response. It made you wet, you got turned on, congratulations."
You stare at him, watching as he reaches for his book again, "Wait," you clamor out of the chair and reach beneath it to grab the magazine you'd looked at earlier. You shuffle over to him, thumbing through the pages until you find the right one, "Here," you open to the correct page and show it to him, "This is the one I'm talking about."
His eyes assess the page, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily in his throat as he takes in what you were referring to. He nods slowly, "Okay yeah, I see what you mean. She's about to come, that's why she looks like that."
Your brow furrows, "You can tell that from a picture?"
He shrugs, eyes still on the magazine, "Well, see, he's rubbin' her clit," he points to it and your face goes hot again, "And he's fuckin' her pretty hard. So yeah, I'd say she's either already comin' or about to." his gaze shifts back to you, noticing that you're staring, and he awkwardly pushes the magazine back toward you, "What?"
"I just..." you swallow, shaking your head apologetically, "Sorry, it just sounded really dirty hearing you say that."
He suddenly looks uncomfortable, shifting on the couch and leaning away from you as he crosses his arms, "Well, you asked."
"I know, I don't mean it in a bad way," you step back and realize you're suddenly throbbing in your jeans, feeling that familiar wetness again, "It just... hearing you say it out loud like that, it makes the picture hotter, somehow."
He looks at you, gaze trailing from your eyes to your lips. You suddenly feel like you've said too much, exposed even though you're fully dressed, and you walk back over to the chair and quickly plop back down in it. You give him another look and see his lips parting like he's going to say something else. Instead he takes a breath and drops his eyes from your face, twisting around on the couch to face the opposite way, "It's late, we should sleep."
"Y-yeah," you breathe, crossing your legs, heart stuttering as your clothed core presses wetly against the denim of your jeans. "You're right."
You curl back up in the chair and try to calm your breath, slow your heart, try not to focus too much on the fact that hearing Joel of all people say the phrases he's rubbin' her clit and fuckin' her pretty hard has made you start falling to pieces. Do you even see Joel that way? Has there ever been a moment where you found yourself thinking about him like that? You want to tell yourself the answer is no, that your body is simply experiencing some pent-up sexual frustration and he has nothing to do with it, but you know you'd be lying to yourself.
He's hot. It's not some shocking revelation or something you've realized over time. There's a reason you'd felt so drawn to him that first day in the dining hall, a reason you'd watched out for him every day and hoped he'd notice you. Hell, there's a reason you're still doing patrols with him despite him being a pain in the ass. You're not an idiot, you know yourself well enough by now to know what these things mean.
You're attracted to him. You've been attracted to him this whole damn time.
You shut your eyes tight and curl up into a ball, holding your knees to your chest. He's rubbin' her clit, his voice echoes in your mind, and your cunt begins to ache.
Stop thinking about it, you shake his words away and try to focus on falling asleep. There's no way you're gonna touch yourself right now, not with him in the room, and you're not gonna excuse yourself either like some horny teenager. You can do this, you can get through it, it'll go away soon.
-
It doesn't go away.
About twenty minutes later you're still sitting there with your eyes shut, trying your hardest not to touch yourself. But it's so fucking difficult. His words are playing on a loop in your head, over and over, soft yet rough, kind yet sexy, his southern drawl making it all the more hotter:
She's about to come, that's why she looks like that.
He's rubbin' her clit.
He's fuckin' her pretty hard.
I'd say she's either already comin' or about to.
You squirm in the chair, imagining what he'd sound like whispering that in your ear with his fingers pumping in and out of you as you came undone beneath him. Rubbin' her clit, his voice breathes in your mind, fuckin' her pretty hard, she's about to come.
You're ten seconds from breaking your own rule and heading back to the supply closet to find some release when you hear an unfamiliar sound coming from a few feet away. Your eyes flutter open, thoughts stopping momentarily as you try to figure out what it is. You turn slightly in your chair to see if Joel hears it too, and you feel your breath stop completely.
He's turned off the lantern so you can't see him properly, but you can make out the shadow of him in the moonlight, see the long shape of him directly mirrored against the floorboards and his hand stroking himself up and down, quick and rough. Your lips part in disbelief, realizing the noise you're hearing is the sound of his palm slapping against the base of his cock as he jacks himself off.
You've gotta be fucking kidding me.
Here you've been, desperately trying to push away any and all sense of desire so you wouldn't make a fool out of yourself, wouldn't make him uncomfortable, and here he is doing that exact thing. Angrily, almost out of spite, you sit up in the chair and stuff your hand down your jeans.
Two can play at that game, asshole.
Your finger goes straight to your clit and you begin to rub it furiously, eyes trained on the dark outline of his hand moving up and down. You can only vaguely make out the shape of him but it's enough to make you start dripping, the base of your palm getting slick as you stimulate yourself continuously. He's well endowed, that much is obvious, and you watch his silhouette as he releases his large cock for a moment to bring his hand to his mouth and lick a stripe along his palm. You have to bite down on your lip to suppress the moan that threatens to bubble from your throat at the action, watching through lidded eyes as he brings his wet hand back down and fists himself once more.
Without much thought you slip your middle finger inside yourself, eyes trained on him as you pretend it's his cock pushing past your entrance. It's pretty difficult to imagine though, considering his cock is probably five times as girthy as your one finger, but you make do. You can kind of make out the shape of the tip, wide and shiny, disappearing and reappearing over and over. You slip a second finger inside and bite back a whimper.
The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin and the sudden wet squelch of your fingers; you don't even bother to try and make it softer, you're getting off now whether he knows or not, the fullness overwhelming you as you lick your lips and furrow your brow. You haven't masturbated in a long time; you know it won't take you long to get what you need.
"Are you-" he suddenly gasps into the darkness, and your head snaps up to look at him again, heart pounding when you see that his hand has stilled on his cock and he's looking over at you with an expression of pure disbelief.
You should probably be embarrassed, apologetic, but instead you can't help but feel a rush of pride, of spite, as he realizes what you're doing.
"Like you're not," you hiss back, practically spitting as you continue to fuck yourself, "I'm not deaf."
"Thought you were sleepin'," he says back, and you can see his fingers clench around his length, like he's doing everything in his power not to stroke himself.
"And that makes it less weird?"
He groans and lets go of himself completely, sitting up slightly on the couch and shaking his head like he's trying to wake himself up from a dream he isn't having. When he looks at you again his eyes fall to where you're still getting off, not bothering to be sneaky about the way he practically bores a hole in your jeans with his gaze.
"So what are you gonna do about it?" he challenges gruffly, eyes coming back up to meet yours, the hint of a cocky smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Oh, he's proud of himself, isn't he?
You glare at him, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going," you mean it too, fingers not even slowing down as you pant breathlessly in his direction, "And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."
It does matter, actually, it really does. If he was to get up and walk out... it would basically be a rejection, something you're not sure you'll be able to deal with. You don't break eye contact with him, staring him down as you give him your own challenge.
He swallows, gives you one last look, and then flops back down into a horizontal position as he reaches for himself again. He returns to his quick strokes, almost purposely more heavy this time as he mutters, "No talking. Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"
"Deal," you reply immediately, and add a third finger.
It doesn't take long for you to find your release, a particularly hard slap of skin from Joel on the couch pushing you over the edge. You don't try to stifle your moan this time, focusing completely on enjoying your orgasm as your hand stills in your pants and you begin to shake in the chair. Your hips buck pathetically, eyes shutting tight as you whimper and cry out in pleasure.
"Jesus Christ," you hear Joel pant a few seconds afterward, followed by a long groan as he starts to come too, "Fuck."
You manage to catch a glimpse of the way he twists his wrist, aims his cock against his button-down and stains it with his release. You wish you had a better view, that it wasn't so dark, but just hearing him come apart is enough. It's exactly what you hoped it would be.
You lay there in silence for a few moments, both of you panting breathlessly from your orgasms as the weight of what you've just done starts to creep in. You're suddenly slightly afraid of what he'll say, what he'll do. Will he get mad? Will he say he doesn't want to patrol with you anymore? You decide immediately that you don't want him to have the first word.
"What were you thinking about?" you ask, barely a whisper.
It takes a few moments for him to reply, and you start to worry that you've already ruined everything, but then he answers.
"Bunny ears," he says quietly.
"What?"
"I was thinkin' about the bunny ear girl," he's still breathless, "From the magazine. Weren't you?"
You figure you can't dig the hole any deeper.
"I was just watching you, Joel," you breathe, feeling butterflies tingle in your belly at the words, "Didn't have to think about anything else."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, then mumbles something to himself that you don't understand. You can't fully make out his expression but you swear you see him frown in the moonlight, not exactly the response you were aiming for. He suddenly turns on the couch again to face away from you, exhaling loudly, "Go to sleep."
The words strike you hard, lips parting in surprise. You obviously hadn't expected him to completely reciprocate, to jump into your arms and kiss you, but that? "Go to sleep"? What the fuck kind of a response is that? You stare at him, hoping against reason that he'll turn around again and apologize, say something different, but he doesn't.
"Yeah, sure," you mutter, curling back up into a ball in the chair and hoping sleep finds you as soon as possible so you don't have to think anymore, "Asshole."
You hope he hears you.
-
You wake the next morning to the sound of someone rummaging nearby, and you open your eyes blearily to see Joel crouched near the door, packing his bag. You stretch and yawn automatically, momentarily forgetting what had transpired between the two of you last night. His head tilts up to look at you and it all comes flooding back when you see that familiar frown on his face.
"Do you ever smile?" you say, voice rough with sleep.
He rolls his eyes and goes back to his pack, shaking his head, "Like you're so chipper."
"Well, at least I have a good reason to be annoyed," you snap, sitting up in the chair and stretching your legs, "Asshole."
"You love to call me that, don't you?"
"Just calling it like I see it," you mutter, pulling yourself up and heading past him to the door, "I'm taking a piss."
"Watch out for th-"
"The trip wires, I know," you interrupt coldly, "I'm not an idiot."
He doesn't say anything else but you feel his eyes on your back as you walk out onto the balcony and down the steps. You both have to pee in the woods when you're out here - the ski lifts aren't the only things that don't work properly anymore - so you've managed to each figure out your own designated area. You feel relieved once you're out of his eyesight and beneath the thick layer of tree branches that keep your makeshift bathroom secluded.
You really shouldn't be so pissed at him, it's not like he owes you anything. You know you're projecting your own feelings onto him and that it isn't fair, but god, him telling you to go to sleep after you'd essentially confessed your attraction to him makes your blood boil. He'd really had nothing else to say? Couldn't have come up with something a little softer, a little kinder? Let you down easy?
You grumble to yourself on the way back up the steps, questioning whether or not you should keep ignoring him or just get over it. Is it really worth an hours hike of hostility? You already know this is your last shift with him, there's no way you can come back from this in any way that will keep your dignity intact. It's over.
"You say you're not a kid but you sure do act like one," Joel says the second you re-enter the ski lodge, and you stop dead in your tracks. He's got his arms crossed, nose flaring in anger, "I'm sick and tired of the silent treatment, the cold shoulder, all that shit. What happened to people just talkin' to each other?"
You shut the door behind you and shake your head, "I'm not giving you the silent treatment Joel, calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down," his voice is firm but you can hear some emotion there, something deeper. He doesn't like being ignored and you know why, but it doesn't soften your resolve.
"I'm pissed at you, yeah," you admit, shrugging, "But I think I have a pretty valid reason."
"And what is it?"
You stare, scrunching up your face in confusion, "Are you serious? Jesus, Joel, I thought you were smart."
"Oh, fuck off," he grumbles, rolling his eyes again, "I ain't a mind reader."
You shake your head again, inhaling deeply, "I'm not asking you to read my mind, Joel," you exhale and try to calm yourself, feeling the angry tears begin to sting your eyes. God, you hate how emotional you get when you're angry. You hate showing weakness like this.
"Then tell me," he groans, "Is it about last night? 'Cause I thought we made a deal that we're not gonna talk about it."
You laugh at his words, cold and hard, "Right, yeah, sorry. Deal's a deal, right? My bad," you couldn't sound more sarcastic if you tried, stuffing your roll of toilet paper back in your pack and zipping it up, "Come on, let's just head back and forget about it." Your voice cracks on the last few words and you bite down hard on your lip, feeling the tears spill over.
"Are you crying?" his voice falters, and you hear a twinge of kindness in his tone, something you'd desperately wanted to hear last night.
He crosses the room before you even have a chance to reply, striding over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder firmly, making you turn around. His face softens immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your face, the tears you're already trying to wipe away.
"Fuck," he says, brow furrowing in concern, "I'm sorry."
You snort involuntarily, shaking your head, "I'm just stupid."
"You're not stupid," it's almost a whisper, "I'm the stupid one, believe me," he brings his hand up like he's going to touch your face but seems to think better of it, bringing it back to your shoulder again, "I shouldn't have... I don't know what I was thinkin' last night, I'm sorry. You showed me that magazine and-"
You put your hand up to silence him, "I don't care about why, Joel. I don't even care that you did it, it's not like I told you to stop."
His brow furrows deeper, "Then what...?"
You close your eyes, breathing deeply before putting on your best impression of him and mumbling, "Go to sleep," like he had the night before, opening your eyes again to see if he understands.
He stares at you for a few seconds, confused, but you watch as it suddenly dawns on him, realization spreading across his features. He suddenly lets go of your shoulder and takes a few steps back, eyes falling to the floor.
"You can't... you can't think of me that way," he says it gruffly, swallowing and shaking his head.
You stand there without saying anything, waiting until he finally looks back up at you to speak. When he does, you make sure to look directly in his eyes.
"Why not?"
His hand comes up to touch the back of his neck and you swear you see patches of red begin to bloom along his collarbone, like he's embarrassed...or flattered? You take a step forward and he quickly takes another step backward.
"If it's because of the age thing... I really don't care, Joel," you say earnestly, heart beginning to beat heavily in your chest, "I think you're..." You can't believe the words are even coming out of your mouth, the tears on your face already beginning to dry as you try to process this new situation you've found yourself in, "I think you're sexy."
His brow furrows again, not in anger but in confusion. He doesn't take another step backward when you move toward him this time, staying rooted in place as you peer up at him, waiting for him to speak. He remains silent, his eyes trained directly on your face, lips set in a firm line.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
He shakes his head slowly, "I don't."
"Why?"
He doesn't reply, just keeps staring at you like he has absolutely no idea what to say. You suddenly feel the need to reassure him, comfort him. Your hand moves upward, aching to cup his face in your hand, feel that grey scruff beneath your palm.
He pulls back before you get the chance, shaking his head again, "Don't," it's barely a whisper, voice breaking as he says it, "Just...gimme a minute."
"Okay," you nod, dropping your hand, "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizin'," he breathes, still not breaking eye contact, "Just let me think, please."
You swallow, teeth tugging on your lip as he continues to stand there motionless. He's still looking at you but his thoughts are miles away; you can practically see the wheels turning in his head, calculating exactly what he's supposed to do in a situation like this. Part of you wants him to kiss you, part of you wants to kiss him, part of you wants to wait until he makes a decision. You settle firmly on the third option.
"I lied," he finally breaks the silence, jaw tense and firm, "I wasn't thinkin' about that fuckin' bunny ear model."
Your lips part; you hadn't been expecting him to say that.
"Then...what were you thinking about?" You already know the answer before he replies.
"You," his voice is strained, broken, like he's holding himself back, "I was thinkin' about you and the stupid magazines in the supply closet."
You feel your skin flush, a tingle trailing up the back of your neck as you try not to show him how pleased you are, "W-what?"
"I couldn't stop thinkin' about you in that closet, lookin' at those pictures, getting...." he trails off and swallows, then whispers, "Wet. Gettin' all wet in your panties from that girl getting fucked."
His words send an immediate throb to your core and you can feel your heart in your throat, pounding relentlessly as he continues to speak, continues to say exactly what's been on his mind as you stand in front of him, so much smaller than him, letting his words get lost in the sudden warmth of your body and the buzz of your thoughts.
"I couldn't stop thinkin' about it," he repeats, voice rough, eyes dark, "Your wet panties, your big eyes, your..." he practically chokes then, "Your pussy, all wet and aching."
"Oh my god," you whimper, crossing your legs involuntarily as you feel an immediate surge of wetness in your underwear, "Please, keep talking, please."
"Wanted to see it and touch it," he murmurs, his breath ghosting across your face as he peers down at you with desire in his eyes, "Wanted to fuck it and make you come."
Without hesitation your arms shoot up to wrap around his neck, burying your face in his warm chest and tugging at the collar of his coat, "I want you to," you practically moan, clawing at the material, "Joel, I need you to fuck me right now."
To your absolute dismay he reaches up and removes your arms from him, taking a step back so neither of you are touching. His eyes are so dark, pupils blown wide and that red blush of heat now spread all over his neck and cheekbones.
"I can't," he says, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I can't."
You're about to protest, whine and beg if you have to, but his eyes fall to your groin. You watch with wide eyes as he goes for his belt, begins to unloop it and remove it.
"Take your pants off," he groans, and you don't need telling twice.
-
You end up masturbating together again, this time in the light of day. You find yourselves laying on the couch where he'd slept last night, the memory of what he'd done there fresh in your mind as you pump two fingers in and out of yourself steadily and watch him stroke his cock to match your pace. He watches you behind hooded eyes, his lips parted as he pants and gets himself off to your pleasure, watches you do the same thing to him.
"That's it," he murmurs, eyes scrunching in arousal as he scans your face, watches you come undone, "Rub your clit, nice and fast."
You whimper, unable to hold on for much longer as you eye his cock and see the way the fat head of it drips for you, slicking his hand and allowing him to stroke faster and faster. You want to say something to help get him off too but your words are completely lost in the sensation; you couldn't speak even if you wanted to.
He knows you're about to come, can see it in your face the way he saw it in the face of the model in the picture. He swallows heavily and fucks himself impossibly faster, harder, silently asking you to match his pace. You do it, thumbing your clit and feeling the tense coil in your belly snap as your jaw drops and you let out a long and ridiculously loud moan. Your eyes shut tight and you throw your head back, feeling your body begin to shake from the stimulation.
"There you go," he grunts, and you hear the slapping of skin stop as he rides out his own release, coming into his fist, "Fuck." Your eyes open at just the right time to see his jaw go slack, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head from the pleasure. It somehow makes you ache for more, even though you can't possibly imagine being any more overstimulated than you already are.
You both lay there, chests heaving, hearts pounding, completely undone. It goes without saying that you've both just managed to each have one of the best orgasms of your lives.
"New patrol rule," you whisper to him, legs still wide and cunt dripping with your release, "We do this. Every time. Please."
"Yes," he replies immediately, still catching his breath, "I can do that."
-
"It can't be any more than this," Joel says to you quietly as you hike down the mountain a little while later, the sunrise cresting the trees again the way it had yesterday when you'd hiked up; it's like nothing has changed, but you both know that everything has.
"Okay," you say just as softly, though part of you aches to reach for his hand, loop your pinky through his and have some degree of touch between you. But you can tell he means business, that there won't be any more discussion on the matter today.
"Just this," he whispers, glancing at you with a meaningful look, eyes soft and tender as he peers at you, knowing what he's done, what he's started.
"Just this," you agree, but you don't really believe it.
You hope, deep down, neither does he.
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thank you so much for reading! there will be more in this collection coming very soon. i'd like to do some short fics of certain nights they've had, especially the first time he calls her a good girl. that was originally going to be in this part but it was just getting wayyy too long and i have so many ideas i need to flesh out more lol. i'm also going to continue where they left off in "don't think we could help it", and yes, eventually they will do the deed, i promise. among other things....
if you liked it, please let me know! and again, if you'd like to give me a tip you can do so on my kofi 💖
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on-my-vigilante-sht · 2 months
Text
Moving on to You
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
Summary: Aaron finally tells his longtime crush about his feelings when he almost loses her (Sequel to Move On)
Warning: jealousy, pining, awkward dates, canon level violence, non-accurate medical stuff
Word Count: 4.5K
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A/N I've had this in my drafts for months and I finally decided to finish and publish it per request
Aaron Hotchner is the definition of levelheaded. He’s renowned in the FBI not only for his success rate at catching criminals but also for his professionalism. And snapping a pencil with his fist whilst staring at his subordinate through his office window as she smiled up at an unknown agent was incredibly unprofessional. He knew this wasn’t the first man she had gotten to know over the past year but this was the first time he was forced to actually witness her flirting with another man.
He knew he had no right to be jealous, their relationship had never progressed beyond friendly in the year that Y/N had been on the team. Still he couldn’t help but feel the slight clench of pain in his chest every time he saw her smile at her phone or overheard one of her conversations with another team member about a new guy.
Nonetheless his professionalism prevailed as he began to review potential cases. He noted one regarding a serial killer just outside of DC, setting it aside to pass onto Garcia.
~
The next morning the team was assembled in the conference room as Penelope relayed the information about a killer who had been targeting strippers. Although Aaron’s attention was on Y/N as he observed her clearly exhausted body language. Probably a date night with that agent, he thought cynically.
Soon enough Penelope was done speaking. “We’ll head out in 30. Meet in the garage then,” he ordered as the rest of the team. He was headed out towards his office when he stopped as he heard Morgan’s voice.
“Up late with the new boy toy?” Derek teased.
“I guess you could say that,” Y/N answered casually. “I’m not seeing him anymore.”
“Wait why?” JJ asked suddenly. Similar to what Aaron wanted to ask.
He was still turned away from the group but Aaron could practically hear Y/N’s shrug. “Just weren’t clicking anymore.”
“What was he into something weird? Like a foot fetish?” Derek asked with full seriousness.
Y/N laughed. “I’m not answering that.”
“So he was!” Derek shouted as she passed Aaron down to the bullpen.
The rest filed out of the conference room as Aaron continued to pretend to be busy with the file. “She’s single again,” Rossi sung quietly.
“I am aware and I don’t see how that affects me,” Aaron tried to deflect.
“Oh come on, I see the way you watch her. I also noticed a broken pencil in your trash can. Did you Hulk-out when you saw her with that agent yesterday?”
“Wait why were you in my office?”
“Doesn’t matter. The point is she’s single, you’re single, and you’ve been in love with her for the past year-”
“No I haven’t,” Aaron suddenly cut in, sounding like a teenage girl. He cleared his throat. “I’m not in love with her. Besides she’s my subordinate-”
“And you don’t want anyone to think she’s on the team for the wrong reason blah, blah, blah,” Rossi finished. “You said that a year ago. Besides, at this point, no one would think that. You deserve to be happy, Aaron. Get out there and get the girl!”
With those words Dave left, leaving Aaron in his thoughts. Could they actually be together? Would she even want him?
He pushed those thoughts aside, getting ready to head out with the rest of his team. Including the girl who consumed his every thought.
~
“I’m SSA Hotchner, these are SSAs Jareau, Morgan, Rossi, L/N, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid,” Aaron introduced his team to the town’s sheriff.
“We appreciate you guys coming so fast. The people here aren’t used to this type of crime,” Sheriff Osborne explained, leading the feds through the police station.
Aaron tried to listen to the sheriff’s information but rather he was keenly aware of all the police officers stares. Pushing through it, the agents followed the sheriff into a conference room that would serve as their setup.
“Alright, JJ and Reid, head to the medical examiner. We need to figure out what exactly he’s doing to these girls. Morgan and I will go to the clubs these girls were working, see if there was anyone who stuck out to the other dancers. Rossi and Prentiss, head to the most recent crime scene. L/N, I want you to work on the geographical profile,” Aaron ordered.
That last order raised an eyebrow for everyone on the team. “But… Reid usually does the geographical profile,” Y/N suggested gently, a confused twinge in her voice.
“Yes, well since it seems you can’t stop talking about your personal life I figured it’d be best if you work alone for a little while.” The second those words left Aaron’s mouth he instantly regretted them. Y/N looked taken aback by his rude words but having never questioned his authority she just lowered her gaze to the ground. Looking around the other members of his team looked aghast at his words too. Aaron’s soft spot for the newest agent had been noticed by everyone on the team (except of course the agent in question) so seeing him be so outrightly rude was jarring. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, especially not humiliate her in front of the team, but he was so frustrated having to hear the others question Y/N on her love life around the office and in the car.
Seeing that he shouldn’t continue barking orders, Aaron turned to exit the room, the rest following. Unseen by him was every member of the team giving Y/N sympathetic looks.
Once buckled inside their SUV, Morgan began to question his boss. “What was that with L/N back there? We all talk about our personal lives all the time and it’s never affected our work, Y/N included.”
Aaron sighed, really not having a good reason for his outburst. “She brought that agent into our office unauthorized. He shouldn’t have even had access to our floor.”
“So you yell at her a day later in front of an entire precinct?”
“Morgan, drop it,” Aaron said sternly, not wanting to continue this. Seeing as there was no point in continuing, Derek kept his mouth shut but the ride to the club was tense the rest of the way.
~
“Hey, sorry about your boss,” a voice interrupted Y/N’s intense concentration on the map in front of her. She whipped her head around to look at him, a little startled. Seeing her alarm the young officer took a step back. “Didn’t mean to scare you, just thought you might like some coffee.”
“Hmm? Oh! Thanks,” she said, her brain catching up to his words. She took the coffee gratefully, taking a sip. It was made wrong but not wanting to seem ungrateful she gave the officer a smile.
“Thought you could use it after your boss treated you so badly,” the officer empathized.
Y/N sucked in a breath. “You saw that, huh?”
“I think everyone saw it,” the officer chuckled awkwardly. “I’m Officer Olson, but you can call me Cole.” Y/N took a second to observe the man. He wasn’t necessarily her type, her having a thing for the dark, brooding types, but he was certainly attractive.
“Agent Y/N L/N,” she introduced.
“So what are you working on, Agent Y/N L/N?” he asked, saying her name flirtatiously.
She let out a small laugh at his tone. “Um it’s called a geographical profile. We take every significant location like homes, workplaces, abduction sights, crime scene, disposal sights, etc. to get an idea of these killers comfort zones. Which often leads us to where they will either strike next, where they live or work, or what their holding place might be in cases where victims are abducted.”
“Wow, this profiling stuff is crazy. I’ve heard you guys can tell someone’s entire life story from just one look,” he teased.
“I don’t know about that but yeah, you can learn a lot about a person from just a conversation if you pay close attention.”
“What can you tell about me?”
Y/N looked him up and down. His body language screamed that he was interested in her but she didn’t want to embarrass him too much. “You have the confidence of a youngest son and let me guess, you were in a frat in college?” The officer blushed, surprised she sussed that out so quickly. “You’re here as an officer for glory and you got it, the people here already admire you. You actually got the chance to move onto something bigger, probably DC, but it’s easier to stand out in your small hometown.” Cole just stared at the pretty FBI agent, slightly mortified that she saw through him so clearly. His first instinct was deny it but something about her made him think twice. She just smirked at his silence. “Gotcha.”
Before Officer Olson could say anything, two other FBI agents walked into the room. “Careful L/N,” Rossi interrupted the pair, “Hotch was pulling up as we walked in.”
“Guess I better go,” Cole said sheepishly. “Nice to meet you Agent Y/N.” She couldn’t help the smile that found it’s way onto her face at the use of her title and first name.
“Damn, already moving onto a different guy?” Emily asked with a chuckle.
“No, he just came in and introduced himself,” Y/N brushed off. Emily and Rossi both just hummed in disagreement.
As the BAU chief walked in he didn’t notice the burning gaze of Officer Olson. What he did notice was the way Y/N seemed to shy away from his very presence. As he stepped into the conference room his heart clenched when she met his gaze but just turned away, busying herself with the board that showed the geographical profile.
~
After a fitful night of regret, Aaron decided to apologize to his young agent in the morning. But as he opened his door to his crappy motel room into the crappy hallway he could hear two voices.
“Thought I’d bring you some coffee that didn’t come from an old police station coffee pot,” a masculine voice flirted.
“Thank you,” came the giggle from Y/N. Aaron practically groaned to himself. This couldn’t be happening again.
“I was wondering… if you’re not too busy,” the voice changed, gaining a nervous lilt, “if you’d like to get dinner with me on a slower night before you and your team leave? I know you’re actively chasing a serial killer so it doesn’t have to be fancy.” The voice seemed to have caught themselves, changing their pitch. “O-or it can be really fancy! Whatever you want! I’m not picky I-”
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” Y/N’s calming voice interrupted, putting the boy out of his misery. “We can do tonight. Just grab something easy and nearby.”
“Ye- yeah, I’d like that.” Aaron internally rolled his eyes at being able to hear the bright smile in this guy’s voice. “I’ll uh see you then.”
“See you later.” Aaron sighed internally, hearing the door to Y/N’s room close softly. She had been single for what? 24hours? And he had still lost his opportunity? Deciding that his emotions were running too high to talk to Y/N right now, he just let his door fall back closed, deciding to just get ready for the day.
~
“When I graduated from the FBI academy I was placed in the Human Resources branch because of my psych degree. Obviously, that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do so when I heard about an opening in the Behavioral Analysis Unit I jumped at it and fortunately my boss, Hotch, was willing to take a chance on me. Agent Rossi and the rest of the team pretty much taught me everything I know,” Y/N explained as her date stared at her in awe.
“Wow, that’s quite the resume you have,” he chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ll admit it’s been a long time since I went on a date where the girl’s career was more impressive.” Y/N quirked her eyebrow at that but didn’t say anything. “Not that it’s an issue, just not a lot going on around here.”
She just hummed looking down at her food. She tried to covertly push away the peas in her food, not wanting to insult Cole’s food choice.
There was an awkward beat of silence between the two that was fortunately broken up by Y/N’s phone ringing. She felt a sense of relief reading her boss’ name flash across the screen. “Hey Hotch,” she answered.
“L/N, where are you?” his stern voice cut to the chase.
“Um, this place called Vincent's with Officer Olson. It’s like 15 minutes from the station. Why?”
Aaron pushed through the reoccurring pang in his chest. “Some other officers cornered our unsub, James Stevens, in a strip club. He’s holding five girls hostage inside.”
“Where is it?”
“125 North St. 5 minutes east of you.”
“I’ll be right over,” Y/N quickly cut in.
“L/N, do not engage before the rest of us get there. Got it?”
“Yeah, I understand,” she agreed begrudgingly. She hung up the phone, already collecting her things. “I have to go, the unsub is holding a group of girls hostage inside a club 5 minutes from here.”
“Oh shit,” Cole exclaimed, grabbing his things and leaving some cash on the table. The pair quickly jumped into their respective cars, lights and sirens blaring as they headed to the club.
As soon as Y/N jumped out of the SUV several officers flocked towards her. “Scene is yours agent, what do you want to do?” Sheriff Osborne asked.
“Any shots fired? Do we have confirmation the girls are alive?”
“Snipers have eyes on three of the girls and we have no reason to believe the other two are dead. Upon entering he fired randomly, killing a few patrons per witnesses. Thing is, when he took control he let every man leave but held all the girls.”
“Okay,” she acknowledged, trying to figure out what her next move would be. Based on the profile she knew he was negotiable but if he felt any sort of threat he’d go down guns blazing, taking down anyone he could. “I’m going in to talk to him.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Cole’s voice suddenly interrupted. He had grabbed Y/N’s arm, looking at her with pleading eyes. She just stared at him, confused before sliding her arm out of his grip.
“Agent, shouldn’t you wait for your team?” The sheriff’s voice interrupted the awkward encounter.
“This guy’s going to get more agitated and unstable the longer we wait. I’m going in now,” she said, pulling the gun out of her waistband and handing it to the sheriff. “And don’t let anyone in there until I call for it. We could lose a lot of lives if we spook this guy.”
The sheriff nodded as she approached the door.
~
“Agent L/N is entering the building,” crackled over the radio as Hotch and the rest of the team raced through the streets.
“What?” Aaron’s mind was going a mile a minute. “Repeat that,” he called over the radio.
“Agent L/N has entered the building to begin negotiations,” the police reporter called over the radio again.
Derek stared at the radio in shock from the passenger seat. “Hotch-” he began, wanting to slam his foot on the gas.
“I know,” he said, already pressing the car to go faster than they had been going previously.
They arrived on scene in record time, Hotch barely taking the time to throw the car in park. He was immediately heading for the door, not bothering to get all the information he would normally wait for, too set on getting the woman he was in love with out. “Stop him!” he heard a sudden shout. Several officers flocked to him in an effort to block his path. Whirling around furiously he found a desperate looking sheriff. “Agent L/N said that if anyone goes in there a lot of lives will be lost. And I’m guessing your agent would be one of them.”
Aaron wanted to pull rank and argue but he knew the sheriff was right but he was desperate to get his agent out of there safely.
“I tried to stop her,” an officer interrupted. Aaron recognized the voice from the hallway. All he could muster was an annoyed look before turning his attention back to the sheriff.
“Do we have a line of communication?”
“Yeah, we have Stevens on the phone. No one’s talked in a while though, we’ve just been listening to your agent try to calm him down.”
Soon enough the BAU chief had the phone. “Agent L/N, exit the building, that’s an order.”
It took a second but he got a shaky, “Not gonna happen, Hotch.”
“L/N-”
“You heard the lady,” a new voice cut him off. James Stevens. “She doesn’t want to leave yet. C’mon, let me keep her for a little while longer?” he pleaded sarcastically. “The pretty girls rarely keep their clothes on nowadays. Agent L/N is a breath of fresh air.”
Aaron clenched his jaw at his words. “We can work something out James.” Covering the microphone he leaned over to one of the officers. “Tell the snipers to take the shot of they get it,” he whispered.
“Come on you know there’s no walking out of this a free man, just let us walk out and we’ll talk this out,” he heard Y/N’s voice. There was a minute of silence and Aaron could only imagine what the psychopath inside was doing. “At least let the girls go. I’ll stay, I’ll be your collateral.”
“Agen-” Aaron immediately began to reprimand.
“Shut up!” James shrieked through the phone so loud Aaron had to pull it away. “Fine,” he heard more quietly. “You five, go! You stay.”
Once again Aaron covered the microphone. “As they’re coming out, go.”
~
All the girls started immediately scrambling up, heading for the door. It happened so fast there was hardly time to register it.
The first girl reached the door, wrenching it open. She was immediately met with a wall of SWAT officers. They pressed inside, guns up as the girls shrieked and scrambled away. “No!” Y/N heard herself shout, going towards them. Mistaking her attempt to salvage the situation as an effort to escape, Stevens was on her in a second.
She felt a sharp pain pierce her abdomen as he tackled her to the ground. She then felt him slump against her before being quickly pushed off, a SWAT officer kneeling over her, calling for a medic.
~
“Agent down, agent down,” Aaron heard the report come over the radio. He was immediately tearing away from the phone, running towards the entrance of the club. But Rossi intercepted him before he could go inside.
“I know, I know, I heard,” Dave tried to calm down his friend. “But EMTs just went in and you don’t need to be in the way.” Aaron began to protest but was cut off again. “I know it’s hard to watch the woman you love be hurt again but Y/N will be fine.”
Before Aaron could continue arguing he caught sight of Y/N being rolled out on a gurney. Dave let him go as he followed the EMTs to the ambulance. But before he could climb in the same officer from earlier ran up. “I-I’m her boyfriend,” he explained as he tried to climb up into the ambulance.
With those words Aaron nearly snapped. Despite his insecurity in his place in Y/N’s life, he knew that was a complete fallacy. She would never move that fast with a complete stranger. “Officer,” he caught the young man’s attention.
Cole visibly paled seeing Y/N’s boss. “A-agent Hotchner.”
Satisfied with the boy’s scared shitless expression, Aaron turned back to the EMT’s. “SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he introduced, pulling out his badge. “This is my agent and I will be accompanying her to the hospital.” And with that, he sent Officer Olson one last glare before climbing in.
Upon entering the ambulance the EMT stepped out, shutting the doors. As he took a seat, he realized his agent was still awake, albeit in agony. “Y/N? I’m right here,” he said, taking her blood soaked hand. Her shirt had been removed, allowing him to see the stab wound that had been tightly wrapped with blood soaked bandages. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault, Aaron,” she said through gritted teeth, her face twisted in pain as they hit a bump in the road. “I’m so cold an-and tired.”
He couldn’t help but notice the way she said his first name. It was refreshing, almost a relief, to hear his name come from her lips. “Hey, no just stay awake for a little while longer. We’re almost to the hospital.” Y/N just nodded, tears of pain and fear running down her cheeks.
“Why’d you come?” she suddenly asked. “I thought you hated me.”
It physically pained Aaron to hear that. “I’m so sorry I’ve been treating you the way I have on this case. I just couldn’t help but…” Aaron hesitated with the next words. He didn’t want to be vulnerable but she deserved the truth. “…be jealous.”
That took Y/N’s mind off of the pain. “Jealous?”
Aaron hung his head. “Yes, I-I’ve had feelings for you ever since you joined. I understand if you want to take some time away after this or even transfer to another team of your choice. I just thought you were owed an explanation for my behavior.”
“Y-you’ve had feelings for me for that long?”
Aaron squeezed her hand again. “Please don’t make me say it,” he asked but inside, he’d humiliate himself a million times to make up for what he did and earn her affection.
“Just this once,” she requested, tears pricking her eyes, whether from pain or emotion. “I need to be sure it’s not the blood loss.”
Aaron sighed softly, admiring her face. “I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for the last year.”
“I’ve felt the same about you,” she confessed.
“Say it,” Aaron pressed, his other hand now clutching onto their already joined hands.
“I love you, Aaron.”
A smile tugged at Aaron’s lips. He hadn’t realized how much tension had gathered and with Y/N’s confession it all dispersed. Reaching a hand up to her face he cupped her cheek, tangling his fingertips into her hair. “You’re gonna be okay,” Aaron promised. “You have to be okay.” But he could see her eyes slipping closed and he could feel how clammy her skin was. “You gotta stay awake, sweetheart. C’mon.”
“It hurts,” she groaned through half closed lids.
“I know, you’re almost there.”
~
It took a few hours of surgery and another couple days of rest in the hospital but Agent L/N was finally discharged to go home. Unfortunately, she had to have a caretaker for that period of time. Fortunately, her boss/the man who was in love with her, was more than happy to take responsibility for his agent.
“Almost there,” Aaron tried to soothe a very tired and pained Y/N. Taking a few deep breaths, she found the strength to hobble over to her bed with a lot of support from Aaron.
She let out a groan as Aaron helped settle her on the bed. As he gripped her hand, he couldn’t help but see flashes of blood, remembering that night in the ambulance. “I’m gonna grab your bag from the car. Be right back,” Aaron promised with a peck to her lips.
While grabbing her bag was a legitimate excuse, he really just needed a minute to calm himself down. He needed to remember that Y/N was safe, not lying on a surgical table or in the back of an ambulance bleeding out.
He quickly hurried back into her apartment after grabbing her bag, re-entering the bedroom. “Here you are,” Aaron said, leaning the go-bag up against her dresser which was placed next to the bed. “I guess I’ll um let you rest,” he murmured out awkwardly. As much as he’d rather stay over she probably wanted some time to relax. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Aaron,” her voice interrupted him as he turned towards the door. Pivoting on his heel, he looked back at her. “Can you… um… just stick around for a little while? Every time I closed my eyes when I was alone in the hospital all I could see was him.”
That surprised Aaron a bit but it felt as if his entire being melted. She wanted him to protect her?
“Yeah, of course,” he agreed. There was no place in her bedroom to sit so he settled on the end of the bed. “‘M glad you feel safe with me,” he murmured.
“I do,” she confirmed. “You’re like my personal bodyguard,” she said, recalling memories of him barking orders at doctors when she was in pain or when annoying officers came to visit.
“I’m glad,” he smiled. He helped her settle into a lying position before resuming his place at the foot of the bed, regretfully letting out a yawn. After all, being a personal bodyguard was exhausting.
She noticed his yawn and immediately began demanding he lie down too. “You’ve been up helping me for days. Help me by sleeping now, please.”
“I really don’t want to intrude,” Aaron excused. “You don’t need me accidentally hurting you.”
“You won’t,” she swore. “Please. I’ll feel better knowing you’re resting too.”
Sleeping with her did sound nice. An irrational part of him thinking he could keep her nightmares away by doing so. So he complied, sliding under the covers she had pulled back for him. As he settled, she scooted closer to him as much as her surgical wounds would allow. Until she ended up tucked under his arm, head resting on his shoulder.
“Sleep,” he murmured the order, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
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hello!! i loved your cregan x martell!reader work sm 😭😭 could you plz bless us with another one? i'm so curious about this pairing, was their marriage arranged or a love match? does little rickon exist in this au? what abt the war?
i'd be delighted to read more about them, if you're willing to write, of course :) thank you in advance!! i adore your writing <3
Heat
You take your husband to Dorne for your sister's wedding. He fairs horribly in the heat.
Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader | 600< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, dramatic!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.
A/N: HI NONNIE! this was my firs req since i closed em so YAY US (and it took me so long to write it lmao). it's just a lil blurb but i hope you like it! also this is the fic in question.
Tagging: @sloanexx
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The Lord of Winterfell was leading the travelling party. We were deep in Dorne; Sunspear was already within view. And although the fearsome wolf of the North was not one you could easily defeat, he was steadily losing to the dessert sun.
"Cregan," I call out from my horse beside him, "you will get sun burnt if you keep your back bare."
The Warden of the North had one by one removed the clothes off his back. His face, chest, and back was flush and irritated in more ways than one as he looked at me, "and if I put a shirt on," his brows furrow, "I will faint because of the heat."
With a groan, I remove the silk shawl off my shoulders and I steer my horse closer to his. I place the the fabric on his burning flesh, immediately making him whimper. He shrug it off, "I'm sweaty."
"Cregan," I glare and grab my shawl before it drops, "you're overheating."
He rides faster.
"Cregan," I follow, "come here."
He gallops off as quickly as possible, running straight towards the gates of Sunspear. I am taken aback by his sudden fleeing. I look over to the rest of the party, all of which were Northerners equally melting in the heat, and decide to gallop into Sunspear as well for their sake.
Upon my arrival, I was greeted by many people, all of which expressed their delight to see me again. I greet them with glee as I dismount. I instruct the servants to attend to the men and give them something to cool off with.
"Sister!"
"Sister," I call back with a smile.
My younger sister, Calliope, embraces me and kisses my cheeks. I return her affection and brush her hair behind her ear, "you have grown more radiant since last I saw you, my love. Your groom is blessed to have you."
She giggles, "as is yours" she looks me up and down, "is this a glow of an expecting mother?"
"If it be the will of the gods," I smile and link arms with her, "Lord Stark has been most ardent in his duties."
We share a laugh.
Calliope leans in and raises a brow, "you should have brought a bit of snow with you, sister. I think your wolf has jumped into garden fountain."
"He what?"
My sister and I run off to the gardens, and sure enough, there laid the hulking man, body barely even submerged into the water.
"Cregan!" I snap, releasing my sister to fish out my husband, "you giant oaf!"
The man slowly sits up. He wipes water away from his face and smiles, "hello, beautiful wife."
"Get out of the fountain."
He spits out water.
"There are many pools in Sunspear where you actually fit," I reach a hand out.
He crawls over and takes my hand, only to pull me closer and kiss me. His dripping hand comes to my cheek. I whimper. He pulls away and smiles, "will you be joining me?"
I press my lips into a line, "get out of the pool, Stark."
The water sloshes as he gets on his knees and climbs out, "yes, Stark."
Water spills and drips onto the floor as Cregan stands next to me. My sister, Calliope, giggles from behind me. The man looks at her as she speaks, "it might do you well to know the nights at Dorne are cooler, my lord."
I make a face and pull my skirt away when it begins to absorb the pooling fountain water. Cregan notices this and grabs me by the waist, pulling me tightly against him.
"Cregan!"
He smirks and kisses my neck. I glare at him and he smirks at my sister, "I should hope so. My lady keeps me warm at night."
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romanoffsbish · 9 months
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In Your Corner
Natasha Romanoff x F!R
Request | WC: 3,885
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It had been supposed to be another great year that had come to a close for you. Every year, without fail Tony would throw you a party, but this year he was preoccupied with his family. He hadn't even had the time to send you a text.
That hurt, but you new infants were a lot of work so you gave him and Pepper that pass, but as you entered the communal kitchen you found yourself disappointed again. You'd been used to waking up to the smell of a homemade breakfast made by your best friend, but this year Wanda was off to Cannes with Vis for an impromptu trip, she too had forgotten to text.
The remainder of the team had seemingly also forgotten, each one just hanging around the compound and your lover was off on a mission so you couldn't fault her for the lack of text.
——
So, there you sat, on your shared floor with a pint of whatever frostbitten ice cream was left in your freezer as you watched Friends reruns and cried into your couch cushions as Rachel and Ross fought over the terms of a "break".
The show continued on, laugh tracks sounding off, even when it wasn't really that funny but your focus had since shifted to your dry phone. When you realized no one would remember now as it'd already reached noon you settled into the loneliness and slipped off into a nap.
Natasha was stressed to the max on a quinjet, pacing back and forth as Clint flew them home. She'd been gone for two weeks now, and she told Fury that there was no way she'd miss your birthday. It was too important to her that the two of you at least have time to celebrate.
Your life was the most important thing to her, so of course the day of your birth was as well.
So he sent in some agents to replace them as the bulk of the work had been completed and all that was really left was the clean up. There was no reason to extend what had already been extended from a weekend away to two weeks.
When they landed she rushed off the jet and went straight to the common area. She was softly panting from the exertion, but her breathing slowed to nothing as she surveyed the room. Steve and Bucky sat on opposite ends of the couches reading, while Sam and Peter were on the ground, the former one cursing as they played a round of Mario Kart.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Clint's eyes widened as he walked in as Natasha growled. The men in the room looked to her confused, the youngest of them all was the first to speak. "We're having a chill day Mrs. Romanoff."
"Wrong answer," Clint tossed out before rushing out of the room to debrief with Hill as he promised Natasha he'd do for her sake.
"Now why would you be doing that Parker?"
"Natasha, we don't have the energy for your riddles, so speak your peace," Bruce boldly piped up from the corner he'd been sat in.
"Banner, I suggest you leave now," she gritted, her fists bunched up, and the scientist lost all of his bite when he remembered the Hulk wasn't going to be on his side. He soon left with his head down and metaphorical tail tucked.
Which was the best gift your wife could honestly offer: his disappearance. He'd been nothing but bitter since you two got together.
"What's wrong Nat?" Bucky asked, much softer and genuine. Of all people here he'd be granted a pass as he'd not been here in the years prior.
"I'm just wondering where the decorations are, and why my wife isn't here surrounded by the people who she celebrates joyously every year."
Expressions of guilt, and trepidation overtook the entirety of the limited team members faces.
"Friday, where's Y/N?" Natasha asked, only adding salt to the wounded men as she replied: "Asleep upstairs on your couch, it appears she had cried herself to sleep about a half hour ago. Shall I wake her for you Agent Romanoff?"
"No, please do let me know if she wakes up." Friday agreed, and she shifted her attention back to the men who'd all stood to their feet.
Natasha's heart had sank at the notion of you feeling the way you did, as if you were easily overlooked, and not valued, so she knew she needed to fix the mess everyone had made.
"Peter, swing to the bakery at once and return with a tray of those cupcakes." The young boy looked defeated, your wife didn’t hold this against him, on account that he was a kid, but she didn’t waver with her glare and that got him to scramble to activate his suit and leave.
“Wilson, Rogers, and Barnes, go decorate the garden, leave behind your generous gifts, then stay out of sight for the rest of the day."
The redhead then shot off texts to everyone else to scold them just in case they too forgot. Then she took off to the gym lockers so she could freshen up without having to enter your shared floor and risk waking you up just yet.
After she changed from her suit into a pair of shorts and a muscle tee she set off to collect you for a day of last minute, but proper plans. The guys had just finished their part, and left to Wilson's apartment so she could fix the day.
As she entered your shared space she was greeted by an obnoxious laugh track, your melted ice cream and your sleeping form.
Natasha took a minute to survey the scene, and after a moment of admiring you her heart effectively broke as she eventually saw the dampened fabric of your couch. If not for her desire to celebrate your birth she'd be stealthily bringing an end to all that made you this sad.
With a quiet, determined step she moved about your shared floor, cleaning up the mess you'd been accumulating ever since she left. Then she settled a kiss to your cheek as she shut off the TV before venturing off down the hallway to run you a warm tub full of water. After she set the place up with a sprinkling of gifts, and a whole lot of love she’d set off to collect you.
To her luck you'd just groggily sat up, she found it funny that the silence is what woke you up as you'd just been snoring through Friends only a half an hour prior. "Natty?"
"Good morning sleepy head," she teased as she moved out of the hallway and into your sight. There was a dullness to your gaze as you tiredly surveyed her, not subtle at all as you looked her over for wounds, then again to check her out.
Natasha smirked, and began to approach you, she settled down beside you and cupped your cheek. There was a glimmer of hope in your gaze, and she spoke fast, making sure not to crush it. "Happy Birthday moya lyubov'."
"You remembered?" You sobbed, a bit dramatic you'd realize later, because of course she did, but in the moment you felt relieved. "Oh detka, how could I ever forget such an important day, hm? It's my most treasured."
Her lips pressed to your cheeks, catching the tears that slipped through your lashes, then they traversed the expanse of your face until they finally landed on your own as she pulled your body into her lap in one swift motion.
"Why's my pretty girl up here alone on her most special of days, hm?" Natasha knew, but she wanted to try and get your perspective and see the best possible way to change it. "Because everybody forgot Natty," you hiccuped as you burrowed into her neck. "Except for Friday."
Natasha hummed, her body slowly rocked yours in an attempt to hopefully soothe you as her own blood boiled with pure contempt.
"My sources say there was a cosmic fluke on Wanda's behalf, because she adores you so."
Natasha prayed for her sake this was true, because though she'd lose in a fight with the unfair advantage of powers, she wouldn't refrain from smacking her around anyways.
"The rest were simply forgetful idiots, but they felt terrible and have started the apology train," she decided to be honest, forgoing her initial plan to lie to protect your feelings. The men didn't deserve such shielding, they instead deserved to stew in their guilt for eternity.
"I-I don't mean to be dramatic Natty," you sniffled, "But I never forget anyone, why would they forget me? I just want the same in return."
"I understand detka, it's fair to expect," she agreed with a soft tone, "I just want you to know I would never forget, I only didn't text because I was racing home to surprise you."
"I know you would never forget honey, some years it's you who has to remind me," you giggled, and it instantly brought a smile to your lovers face to see you already perking up.
"Well, in the spirit of such a monumental occasion I have ran a tub for you, and set out a new outfit for you to slip into for our plans."
Your head whipped back from its place on her shoulder, face instantly lighting up, "Plans?"
Natasha shook her head with a fond smile, her fingers then raised up to her lips to imitate a zipper and so you whined: "Natty please?"
"Detka, I want it to be exciting, so go get ready and meet me in the garden when you're done."
The two of you stood to your feet, reluctantly moving apart, but before you fully separated your wife pulled you in for a passionate kiss.
"Take your time, and relax your mind Y/N." She pecked your lips a final time, then left.
As you entered your room your heart swelled at the sight of the outfit she'd bought, you'd been eyeing the fit for awhile, and of course she had been watching you just the same. Nothing was ever going to get by your super spy of a wife.
Once you finished your soak, with a new set of body products, you slid out and into the new royal green cropped sweater vest, and skirt. Then after handling your skincare routine you skipped all the way to the garden where you found your wife stood there patiently waiting.
Natasha subtly gulped at the sight of you, and for a moment the both of you remained silent as you looked the other over. She had changed from her casual locker attire into a loose fit black button up polo, with a pair of grey slacks. It was a simple choice, but still deeply alluring as her arms managed to bulge out the stretchy fabric, and her pants were form fitting enough that you could admire her toned behind.
Once you reeled in your devious gaze you were reduced to a woman on the verge of another breakdown. There stood your wife with a bouquet of black roses, and honeysuckles. It had become her goal to pick you meaningful flowers, and the contrast in bright colors meant to symbolize eternal love, intermixed between the more dark, morbid version of the classic rose was for an that leads to a beginning.
In the moment your curiosity was peaked, but you settled on letting the day play out before you sought out clarity. Your wife was cunning, and never moved without a plan, and you were never one to doubt her so you'd easily wait.
Natasha's free hand hung in the air, beckoning you to approach her, and as you accepted she swiftly pulled you into her body. She lowered the bouquet, allowing you the chance to smell the unique combination before she set them in a vase on the center of the decorated table.
“You look gorgeous love.” Natasha blushed, and softly huffed, “That was my line detka.”
As you giggled mischievously into her chest she gave the nervous spider-teen who was lingering on the side of the compound a thumbs up from behind your back. Peter lowered the pink box, and white bags onto the table with his webs, then as previously instructed he vanished.
“He’s just a kid Natty,” you called your wife out as you tried to pull away from her, but she kept your bodies connected with a hand on your lower back, as her lips sought your warmth.
Once satisfied she let you go, eyes admiring the way that yours stayed shut an extra beat, you always took a moment to recover, even when it was just a peck on the lips. You swore you’d never get used to the feeling of hers against yours. It was electrifying, and no matter how brief there was never a lack of love to be found.
Once you shakily breathed out through your nose, and your eyes fluttered open you were met with your wife who was patiently waiting. Natasha pursed her lips, then doubled down. “That’s true Y/N, that’s why I still let him see you, but he also has a phone with a calendar.”
You knew not to push it, because in the end she wasn’t wrong. Instead you thanked the boy via text, and put your phone in dnd, no longer caring about the sudden influx of well wishes, as your greatest one to be was sat before you.
Natasha handed you a sandwich, and then after listening to you animatedly tell her stories of the guy’s stupidity, she reflected back and told you all about Clint’s on their mission. Then as if having the power to summon him, the man was beside you with a candle and a lighter.
“Happy Birthday Y/N/N,” he greeted with a grin and a stubbly kiss to your temple. “The kids made you this,” he passed you a paper with the whole Barton family on it, and right to the side of them was you in Nat’s arms with Liho on your shoulder. Then he passed you an envelope, “And Laura purchased you this.”
While Natasha pulled out a gorgeous cupcake decorated to look like a peony you tore it open.
“Oh my gosh, no way!” You shrieked, “We’re going with them to Disneyland Natty!” She met your enthusiasm with a nervous chuckle, then seamlessly blew passed her anxieties as she lit the solo candle and began to sing. Clint joined her in the celebratory tune, but fortunately for you your wife’s melodic voice carried the tune.
Clint slipped off a moment later, with a to go container of various flower inspired cupcakes, then Natasha guided you to her sports car. It never ceased to make your heart flutter when she naturally moved to buckle you in. There was never a time in your whole entire time knowing her that she didn’t do this. It was actually how you realized she liked you in the way you did her. Because once you actually saw how she unbuckled Tony’s for him in contrast.
“Where are we going?” Natasha shook her head and chuckled softly, “Stop asking baby girl, you know I’m a steel fortress with this stuff.”
You grumbled all the way, until you saw the arcade, with Yelena and Kate grinning outside. Natasha couldn’t contain her laughter as you raced from the car and into her sisters arms. The blonde spun you around, then after you were back on the ground Kate pulled you in.
“Come on Y/N,” Yelena shrieked, “We must play as many games as possible. The final winner gets the crown in Kate Bishop’s hand.
You raced off with a shout of: “Game on!”
“Thanks for coming so last minute, I know you just got home from an undercover mission,” Natasha genuinely said, and the archer turned to her with a tired smile. “It was the least we could do, plus, look at how happy they are.”
Natasha did look, her eyes hardly ever left you to begin with, but in moments like these, where you were in the middle of unbridled joy, she especially wanted to be a spectator. Seeing you and Yelena playing like little kids always made her heart soar, and her mind run with dreams.
Of a future similar to this moment, but with house parties and summer barbecues. It was all she wanted, and she reckoned it was time you two got started on the rest of your journey. So, after about an hour of free fun, where you beat Lena in the final game, reigning you champ she called out to you both to say it was time to go.
“You’re welcome for letting you win,” Yelena angrily said, making you giggle as you realized she most certainly did no such thing. Her eyes narrowed, but a grin soon overtook her face as you yanked her into a goodbye hug. “Thank you for coming out to celebrate my birthday.”
“I will never miss a chance to beat you at air hockey Y/N Romanoff.” Her arms tightened, and she softly whispered: “Happy Birthday.”
“Okay, let’s wife swap now.” Natasha’s tone was playful, but a spark of jealousy was easily detected. “Hold your panties Natalia. Y/N is all yours. Also Kate Bishop is my fiancé, not wife.”
“She’ll be your was with that attitude,” you teased as you shifted to say goodbye to the archer. Who, as was her job, coronated you the ‘Arcade Supreme’ just before slipping you a gift bag then taking off with her grumbling fiancé.
“We’ve got a few more stops detka.” Natasha escorted you back to the car, then the rest of the adventure unfolded as she took you to all of your favorite places. Including the cat cafe where she surprised you with an adoption.
You’d been begging for months to get Liho a girlfriend, but then you ended up getting a male orange tabby, with a missing eye. “He looks kinda like Fury, let’s take him to shield!”
“Detka, I want to live a long life with you,” she teased as you held the cat up. “Stop tempting your fate with the doppelgänger of our boss.”
“At least you agree with me,” you huffed, then set the cat back down before letting your wife take you out of the cafe with the promise of returning in the morning for the little fella.
“You think Liho will mind that his girlfriend is a boy?” You shrugged, smirking around the straw of your frappe. “Love is love Natty.”
It was encroaching evening now, so you’d figured that the night was coming to a close, but when your wife passed the exit for the compound you realized her plan was ongoing.
With the windows rolled down, and your hand interlocked with your wife’s as she drove you across city lined you began to realize the burden of your depressing start had dissipated. The tension in your body melted away, and in a show of direct appreciation you brought her knuckles up to your lips and kissed them.
“What was that for?” You were looking out the window at the vast greenery of New York, but you could hear her smirking and had to fight off the urge to roll your eyes. “Do I need a reason to show you, my dear wife, affection?”
Natasha hummed thoughtfully, “I suppose not, but if you were saying thanks, I’d also like the same gesture deposited upon my lips please.”
Just as much as you were left a total mess after each kiss, she was left with an insatiable need for more. If she had it her way you’d never part. Her lips would be against yours all day, and if not there, at least somewhere on you.
Before you could even consider her proposal the redhead had pulled over abruptly, the blur of greenery was now more clear to you, and a feeling of serenity washed over you at the view.
“Where are we love?”
Your wife was nervous, something she rarely ever felt, and never let anyone see. Today is going to change the trajectory of your life for good, and she just hopes you’re happy with it.
“Home.” You furrowed your brows as you whipped your head around to meet her gaze after processing the word she’d just blurted. Seeing her nervous smile upon doing so made you lose the frown of confusion. A much softer crease overtook your face as you matched her smile as best you could. “What do you mean?”
“Here.” Natasha unbuckled herself, then she hopped out and gently pulled you from the car. “I, well actually, Tony and I have been working together on this for awhile now.” You cut her off with a gasp of genuine surprise, “You and Stark have been working together and he gets to live to tell others about it?” Natasha rolled her eyes, but before she could clarify you gasped again, this time with a horrified look.
“Oh my gosh Natty, did you kill him?” Her face fell into one of pure mortification. “What? No!”
You cast her an unbelieving glance, but then you lost your edge, tone obviously teasing, “Maybe that’s why he didn’t text me today…”
Natasha glared at the notion, and vowed to trip the wires in his suit for such a slight. Then she remembered his hologram that was waiting for you with birthday wishes beyond the hedges.
“Detka, please focus,” she chided, then pulled on your hand until you were just beyond the greenery, and stood before a gorgeous home. The walls were painted a blue tinted grey, with black trimmings, and it was two stories tall.
“This is,” she began, but you cut her off with a squeal, “Our home? Are we finally…” Natasha cut you off next, “Yes, we only have one final mission detka. To settle down for good now.”
“I love you so much Natasha!” She gladly took you into her arms for a hug, then before you could protest she scooped you up like she did on your wedding day, and ran the both of you beyond the threshold of the home. Her lips slammed to yours in the heat of the moment, but the kiss was weak as neither of you could refrain from smiling like idiots. “I love you too Y/N, more than I ever dreamed possible.”
When the night came to a close a few hours later, you heard your phone ding just as your eyes had shut. You begrudgingly peeked an eye back open. "Happy Birthday Y/N/N, I had no service, but I promise you a stack of chocolate chip pancake's when I return on Monday. ❤️"
You smiled, grateful for Wanda's gesture, albeit late it was much better than never at all. All you ever wanted was to have a group of people to love you the same way you'd loved them.
With Natasha pressed into you from behind, an arm wrapped tightly around you as she snored softly you knew without a doubt that you were at the very least loved with reciprocity by her.
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drefear · 9 months
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Hail to the King (prologue)
Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.
The restaurant was on 5th Avenue, between Gucci and Balenciaga. Miguel stepped out of his SUV and buttoned the suit jacket he had on, glancing around at the glittering lights of the street, identifying certain faces he knew and familiarizing the ones he didn’t. Walking into the restaurant, he glanced at security at the front and they just nodded at him as he walked in towards the hostess stand. The girl looked up at the 6’9 man, intimidated as she kept her eyes down once she realized who he was, and led him to a table towards the back.
This was a normal night for him once a month, taking a specific meeting here to discuss imports and exports to the city and the competition of the other families.
Miguel O’Hara was a name that many feared in this city, The head of the O’Hara family, a facade for the mafia that ran Nueva York, he was in charge of most organized crime within the metropolitan area and some of the biggest drug trafficking rings within the state. Being a mafia boss aside, the man was huge. His hand could wrap around an average man’s throat and crush it without flexing more than his hand.
He walked to his table without really needing to be led, the girl placing the menus down and walking away without a word. He sat and spread his legs a bit, leaning one elbow on the table and thinking quietly. Another presence made him stand and reach forward, shaking the man’s hand.
“Nice to see you again.” He spoke and sat with the man, talking about some business.
You were new. Very new. Your second night. You’d just moved to the city to become a writer, loving the scenery and hustle of the lives here. Visiting when you were young was always the best feeling, your parents showing you around and bringing you around to see the staples of Nueva York.
You had just finished serving another table for a lovely couple visiting the city as you saw someone get seated in your section. Walking towards the table with a skip in your step, you smiled at the two men and waved. “Hello! I’ll be your server tonight, how about we get started with-”
“Where’s Gwen?” Miguel glared at you as he raised a brow, as if you’d disrespected him in some way.
“Oh, uh. She’s not working tonight.” You added, intimidated.
“I only order from Gwen.” He deadpanned as you scrunch your nose in confusion. “Go get Peter.” He demanded, to which you began to boil a bit. How dare he speak to you like this? Yes, this was a very high end restaurant, but no one was allowed to treat you so terribly, to speak down to you. Your mother taught you never to accept that type of behavior.
“I don’t think I will.” You answered, with the same insulting tone he did, the man sitting across him staring at you with wide eyes. “At least, until you learn to speak to me correctly.”
“Do you know who I am?” He hissed, eyes boring into you and standing in front of you with a towering stature, but you didn’t care. Big or small, no one got to demean you.
“No, and frankly, I don’t care. I don’t give a shit enough about a 15 dollar tip to tolerate your rudeness. Learn how to speak to people before you walk around like some bigshot.” You leaned up towards him, eyes narrowed with anger that mirrored his.
Someone rushed in between the two of you and placed a hand on both of your shoulders. “Hey! Miguel, hi, how are you? I forgot to tell you that Gwen wasn’t feeling well today and called out sick. Hopefully, our new little beauty will suffice.” Peter, your manager, spoke with a friendliness in his voice, a familiarity he must have had with Miguel.
The hulking man stood up straighter, still looking down at you with a snarl still evident on his face. “She won’t be working here anymore.” He spoke in a cool tone, as if just asking about the weather. Your jaw dropped and you glanced between him and Peter.
“You can’t- I don’t-” You stuttered in disbelief and watched him unbutton his suit jacket, taking it off. “How dare you?” You got louder now, calling attention from the few hidden tables beside you.
“You have a disregard for who someone is, and you have no patience for others who try to put you in your place.” He announced, ignoring your angry chatter. “You start to work for me right now.”
“What?” You and Peter gawked as he sat back down and handed you his coat.
“I do not work for you.” You growled with hatred dripping from your lips.
“Well, you don’t have another job anymore, isn't that right, Peter?” He flashed a look of Warning to Peter and he looked between you two before giving you an apologetic smile. “Glad that’s understood. Go wait in the car and I’ll be out in ten minutes to take you home and give you your new assignments for tomorrow.” he waved you off and everything in your being shook with rage. You removed your apron and threw it at the large man.
“Fuck you!” You shouted before exiting the building.
Chapter 1
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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months
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ain't no rest for the wicked — chapter one
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ain't no rest for the wicked series
one: ain't no rest for the wicked
series masterlist | next chapter
Tess Servopoulos x f!reader x Joel Miller
words: 6.2k
summary: after an unfortunate encounter, you catch the interest of two very dangerous, very beautiful strangers. 
warnings: dark-ish Joel and Tess, smuggler!Joel, smuggler!Tess, boston QZ, QZ life, poorly negotiated d/s dynamics, poor communication, enthusiastic consent, oral sex (m & f receiving), stalking, canon-typical violence, ik i usually use game joel but anna torv has me in a chokehold sry, bittersweet ending/no happily ever after
also on ao3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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You’re eager. Joel doesn’t need to push your face into Tess’s cunt; you’re already diving in when he does.
But he knows Tess likes it like that. He likes it like that. He thinks you like it, too, from the way you’re moaning while he smothers you in her wet folds.
He lets you struggle for air for a moment before yanking you up by the hair and licking the taste of her from your mouth. He lets you go after, lets you properly worship her.
Thing is, you’re not really sure how or why this is happening. Well, you know how you got here, factually. It just doesn’t make any sense.
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You had been cornered in a dead-end alley by two thugs. They had knives and no ration cards and were looking to make a trade of sorts. You were trying to argue that maybe they could keep their knives; no, really, you weren’t in the market, but you’d gift them the cards.
They seemed concerned you’d go to FEDRA since they hadn’t bothered to cover their faces. You were wearing them down a little, trying to negotiate, when one of them hit the ground and was dragged into the darkness. There was nothing to obscure the cries and wet sounds of knuckles meeting soft flesh.
“I thought I told you to stay out of this part of town,” a woman said from behind them. It was like a scene from one of your noir detective novels with the cracked spines and crinkled pages—a shadowy alley with one flickering light, a mysterious savior from the darkness.
The other would-be robber turned on his heel to face the voice.
“We-we didn’t realize this was part of yours,” he said. “It’s basically Robert’s.”
“But it ain’t,” she said. “And you fuckin’ know better.”
If the apocalypse had angels, they’d look like her. Tall, commanding, and piss-your-pants terrifying. Her mousy brown hair was as lackluster and dirty as everyone else, but you wanted to run your fingers through it. Wanted to tangle your hand in it, searching out her dusty rose lips.
Reality returned in the form of a hulking man tossing the beaten crook onto the ground by his partner, who stopped mid-plea with the woman to check on them.
You tore your eyes away from her to look at the battered but still-breathing man and followed the line of his attacker’s jeans to look at the monster who had emerged from the shadows. You were startled to find him looking back at you, eyes dark and intense. He was broad and rugged, with blood smeared on his cheek and fists.
Your eyes darted between him and the woman.
She was speaking to the last man standing again. “You need Joel to show you out?” She jerked her head at tall, dark, and haunted.
You locked eyes with Apparently Joel again before he looked at the simpering man and sneered. He didn’t even have to say anything. The thug was pulling his partner to his feet and trying to flee without looking like they were fleeing.
“They hurt you?” Joel said. When you didn’t respond, not really realizing he was addressing you, he rolled his eyes. “You, girl. Did they hurt you?”
“Oh, um, no. They just took my cards, but I’m okay.” Your tongue stumbled under their scrutiny. They were maybe two of the prettiest people you’d ever seen since the world ended, and you could feel your face heating up. “But, um, thank you.”
You wavered in place, wanting to get the hell out of there. They weren’t quite blocking your path, but the space they took up meant you’d have to get close to one or both of them to leave.
“Y’mean these?” Joel drawled, holding up your small stack of cards.
“Yeah,” you said. You bit the inside of your lip. He wasn’t holding them out for you to take, and you weren’t naive enough to think they’d just give them back. Their motive had definitely not been to save you; it was just a fortunate side effect.
Joel exchanged a look with the woman, thumbing through what was your only guarantee of food for the next couple of days.
“Not much here,” he told her.
She looked you over, which only made your heart beat faster, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “That all you got?”
You nodded.
“How bad do you want them back? I heard what you were offerin’ up earlier.” She smirked.
You really did not think you could get more mortified. “I-I—”
She strolled closer to you. “Y-you what?” she mimicked. “Pretty thing like you should be more careful out here. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
You don’t know why you told her. Okay, fine, it was because she was so close and she smelled so good, and her eyes—well, you’d probably have told her anything right then.
“I’m Tess, that’s Joel,” she said and jerked her head back to where Joel leaned against the brick of a towering complex. He jerked his head in acknowledgment, jaw twitching.
“You got anyone out here looking after you?” she asked.
You opened your mouth, but seeing Joel flipping absentmindedly through the stack formerly known as your meal tickets shook you out of your stupor. Fuck, you were too fucking bi for this. And also, you hadn’t gotten laid in like. God, had it really been three years?
Anyway, your brain kicked back into gear. “Y-yeah, I’m supposed to be getting home to my family. They’re probably getting worried.”
She smirked, and you knew you were cellophane. “Alright, get goin’ then.” She looked over her shoulder at Joel. “Give her the cards, Tex.”
She didn’t move to let you by, so you sidestepped and tried not to walk too fast, even though you knew they could probably smell your fear like the predators they clearly were.
Joel didn’t hand you the cards right away, but he grabbed your arm when you were close. “You see those guys again, you tell ‘em we’ll be watchin’.”
You looked at him with what you meant to be a questioning expression, but it felt like you probably just looked dumb. He put the stack of cards into your coat pocket and let go of your bicep.
“See you around,” Tess called as you made your escape.
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See you around? See you around?? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
When you get back to your apartment, you lock the door and slide to the ground, trembling as the adrenaline lets you realize just how fucking close you came to getting gutted.
And now there’s them.
“We’ll be watching,” Joel had said. Watching who? The leaden ball that used to be your stomach knows he meant you. They’ll be watching you. But fucking why?
Nobody’s home. Of course nobody’s home. You’re the sole resident of your tiny studio cube, save for the mice that you can’t keep out in the chillier seasons.
You probably could. But you don’t have the heart. They only come in the bathroom through the shitty insulation for the defunct vent. You keep the door shut with a towel jammed under it, and you leave crumbs on the peeling linoleum before bed.
It’s not something you’d ever have done before. But you know what it’s like now, to be cold and hungry in a world full of monsters.
Your brother used to say you were too soft for the world, and that was before the world went to shit. In fairness, you were a lot tougher now, for the most part.
Had to be, after you shot him in the head three weeks into the outbreak.
You jam your fists into your eyes and rub, clearing away the image with the ache.
Fuck, you almost died today. They had gotten the jump on you after you stopped to tie your sneaker. When you stood up, you weren’t alone anymore.
You’re upset about it for a few days, hustling through the crowds with your head on a swivel. After that, it joins the rest of your fears as an apparition, haunting your apartment’s groaning pipes and creaking floors.
All you can do is tell yourself the same lie of a mantra you do every night—I’m safe here.
As if such a thing were even possible.
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The pendulum of your daily routine keeps on swinging. You keep your head down at work, quick with “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir,” quick on your feet when asked to hop to, and quick in hurrying home as soon as your shift ends.
Which is why you’re dismayed when you come in one morning to find out your direct supervisor was killed. Nobody cares why or how, just that there’s a spot to fill. They stuff you in it.
You deliberately did not overperform to avoid this, but if you refused, you’d be out of a work placement. The only thing keeping you from screaming was that the position got you a bump in ration class.
It’s barely a supervisory position, but each new responsibility is a sandbag tied to your ankles—you’re supposed to be on the same schedule, but inevitably, you’re there later and later each week.
So you become one of the apparitions in your apartment, half awake, floating through the motions while everything slips through your grasp.
Despite the better payout, you often don’t make it to a distribution stand before curfew. You can’t risk walking home with several days of class Bs, or you’d be dead in the gutter long before you made it back. So you take your one day’s worth and accumulate a little stack of cards under a loose floorboard.
You’re in the back of the line one evening, hoping you’ll make it to the front before they shut down. It’s raining in that way where the sun is out, though low on the horizon, the city trapped between two forces of nature.
The universe has a fucked up sense of humor because suddenly, so are you.
“Hey, sunflower,” croons a voice like honeycomb, quiet and close on your left.
You twitch forward, nearly jostling the woman in front of you, head whipping around.
“Eyes forward. Just listen,” rumbles a much deeper voice from the right.
You knew people had gotten in line behind you. You hadn’t known you’d been cornered.
“Thought you’d be eating better by now,” Tess says. “Guess you’ll have to come by for dinner. Tomorrow, right after work.”
Joel grunts in agreement. “Don’t let ‘em keep you late again.”
Then there’s silence. You wait a minute and then peek over your shoulder, but they’re gone.
What the actual fuck.
By the time you reach the front, you’ve decided it was a hallucination caused by whatever is splitting the atmosphere into two conflicting weather conditions.
But when you reach into your jacket pocket and pull out your cards, there’s a single class A ticket atop your stack. When you lift it to look closer, a scrap of paper almost falls into a puddle. You snatch it and take in the small letters, all caps in smudged black ink.
It’s an address.
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It’s not until you get home that you replay the “conversation.” What had Tess meant by “thought you’d be eating better by now?”
It made sense, if they were watching you, that they’d know you’d been staying late. But what made them think you were getting better rations? Were they watching you so closely that they’d seen your tickets?
There’s a warning sounding in the back of your head, about as subtle as a tornado siren. You chuckle nervously to yourself as you stand in the middle of the kitchen-living-bed-room. It was an absurd thought. There’s no way they knew you got a promotion. And there’s definitely no way they… made it happen.
Denial brings your racing heart to a slow as you plug your ears to the danger. After all, you were a midwestern girl. You didn’t cower in the basement every time the siren went off, or you’d live life underground. So unless the sky swirled sickly green, or, say, they told you they killed your boss, you wouldn’t worry.
Nothing to it, really.
You were no one, after all. No one, who was being invited—as if you had a choice—to dinner with two violent strangers.
If only it didn’t make your panties damp, maybe you’d have the sense to skip out. You could politely excuse yourself the next time they popped up over your shoulder like a fucking slasher movie.
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You can’t focus all day at work. You sit at your desk, trying to fill out the inventory sheets, foot tapping, leg bouncing. Your dad always used to tease you, “you gearin’ up to take off?” when you got nervous. It was a bit like the cordyceps. The more anxious you got, the less control you had of your body, the energy spreading and blooming and fuzzing over your brain.
By the end of the day, you’re tapping fingers, twisting your seat side to side. When your boss comes over at two minutes before you’re set to leave, you know he’s about to ask you to stay for “just a bit.” But you’ve already got your jacket and backpack on, you’re sitting on the edge of the stupid squeaky rolly chair, and when he opens his mouth, you beat him to it with a laugh that’s not not hysterical.
“Have a great day!” you blurt, and you’re up and gone before he can respond.
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Once outside, though, you hesitate. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shoved in your pockets. It’s not raining today, but it’s overcast in the foretelling of the encroaching winter. The scrap of paper crinkles in your fist, dampening a little as your palm becomes slick with nerves.
“You comin’ or what?” Joel says from where he’s leaning against your office building, just to the left of the exit.
“Fuck!” It comes out in a truly embarrassing squeak.
He raises an eyebrow.
“What was the point of the little magic trick,” you waggle your fingers at him, “with the address if you were going to pick me up anyway?”
He pushes off the wall with his shoulder and starts walking, leaving you to jog after him. “Tess thought you seemed a bit squirrely.”
“If I didn’t want to get hit by a car, I’d get out of the fuckin’ road,” you say, a triggered muscle memory morphing another one of your father’s favorite phrases. Though, it was usually after he plowed over a fuzzy little guy, and you cried about it.
Joel shoots a glance at you over his shoulder. “Who’s the car?”
Your face heats. “What?”
He shakes his head but lets you off the hook. There’s something dangerous about the quirk of his lips, though.
You follow him as he weaves through the streets and crowds. People move out of his way, a few even scrambling off in another direction. He doesn’t miss them, eyeing and seeming to make a mental note each time.
You do not want to know why they were running.
His little jumpscare and the ensuing amount of focus it took not to get lost in the throng of others helped tone down your anxiety. Instead, you become very distracted by the way his denim button-down, stretched across his shoulder blades like it was clinging on out of the same fear of Joel as those runners.
God, he’s broad. Your mouth waters a little, thinking about running your hands across the breadth of his shoulders. Maybe digging your fingernails in a little.
He checks again to make sure you are still behind him and catches you moistening your lips with the tip of your tongue; the hungry look in your eyes matched by the way you were clenching the straps of your backpack with strained knuckles.
Luckily, he misreads it. He shakes his head again. “Calm down, we ain’t gonna hurt you.” But it’s invalidated a little when he turns back forward and shrugs a little to himself, head jerking to the side as if to say, “Well, probably not.”
You weren’t scared, but you are now.
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He doesn’t wait for you as he climbs the stairs of the apartment building, but he leaves the door ajar for you to follow through a minute later.
“She try to chicken out?” Tess asked Joel with a shit-eating grin.
“No!” you protest. “I was comin’.”
“Were you?” Tess steps into your space, leaning forward. “Good girl,” she murmurs and reaches over your shoulder to shove the door shut. You stumble back a little, colliding with the reminder that your escape route is gone.
Worse yet, you have to witness them share a look when her words send a shudder through you.
She laughs, a soft huff of amusement on an exhale, and turns and walks away.
You stay glued to the ground in front of the door.
Joel’s still standing in the living room, arms folded. “Get goin’,” he says when you don’t move.
You shuffle under the arch where Tess disappeared into a small dine-in kitchen, with Joel suddenly close enough behind you that you could feel the heat radiating from him. He reaches past you and pulls out a chair at the table.
You try to scoot out of his way so he can sit, and he sighs, shaking his head, and guides you into the seat by the shoulder. His palm covers the whole joint, splayed across with his fingers brushing your collarbone.
A shocked “um” slips past your lips as you sit.
“Um?” he says, eyebrow quirked.
You’re burning. You’re on the edge of a fucking volcano, apparently, with the way you’re boiling under your jacket. You shuck it off, shaking your head. “Um, nothing.”
Tess sits across from you, elbows on the table and hands folded. You squirm under her steady focus, only to startle again when Joel sets a plate in front of each of you.
“You always so jumpy, sunflower?” she asks, taking a glass of water from Joel when he comes back over. He sets another next to you.
“No,” you say weakly.
Joel sits down between you with his own plate and glass, and your head snaps to look at him. He raises an eyebrow again. “You sure about that, sunflower?”
“Um, no,” you say. And then, stupidly, you tell them your name again, because it seems like maybe they forgot.
“I know,” is all Tess says.
Joel snorts.
“Be nice,” Tess says, still not taking her eyes off you.
Vaguely, you know she’s doing it on purpose. They both are. They want you off-guard and on-edge.
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“Eat,” she tells you, finally breaking away to dig into her plate. Joel’s already halfway through his, not bothering to wait.
You look down, blinking at the sight before you. There’s mashed potatoes with gravy. There’s corn. There’s mystery meat, but it looks like some kind of roast, and most shocking of all, there are spices.
It’s definitely all still canned rations, but they’ve taken the effort to do something with them. The meat’s been broiled, and the juices saved for the gravy. The corn is roasted. And the fucking spices.
You eat a lot faster than you mean to, eyes wide. You usually eat your rations cold out of the can before passing out for bed. This is… this is incredible.
“Slow down,” Joel says. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“Where’d you get herbs?” you blurt.
It’s Tess’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You sure you want to know?”
“Oh. No, thank you.” Definitely not. You definitely do not want to know anything even potentially incriminating. You’re starting to feel like just being here is enough to get you in trouble.
The table falls into a stilted silence, and you have a bizarre thought. A memory, useless information from the before dug up by the wet blob of anxiety you try to pass off as a brain.
They’re beautiful and terrifying. They don’t seem the type to do something without getting something out of it. They brought you into their lair, and you ate from their table.
Your grandmama’s tales don’t seem very far-fetched right now. What was it she always told you to do? Hang a horseshoe over your door?
Where the fuck were you going to get a horseshoe in post-apocalyptic Boston?
The thought is so absurd that you laugh out loud, drawing both sets of eyes to you at once.
“Sorry, sorry, I just—remembered something, it’s not—it’s nothing.” You bury your face in your hands.
“Stop glowering; you’re going to give her a nervous breakdown,” Tess says to Joel.
“She’s scared of you, too,” he says simply, sipping from his water.
“Is that true, pretty girl? Are you afraid of us?”
You lift your head up, and though your instincts to run like hell are flaring up, you figure there’s no point in lying. “Well, yeah.”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Tess says, and then, in a horrible moment of deja vu, she seems to rethink that and shrug with one shoulder and a tilt of her head.
You look between them. “That’s not comforting.”
“I mean, we won’t hurt you unless you want us to,” she says. Her smile reminds you of a fox.
“Why would I—oh.” You purse your lips and feel like you’re shrinking.
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Joel gets up and clears the dishes but doesn’t retake his seat. Instead, he looms behind you, both broad hands on the back of your chair. “We’re not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to,” he rumbles close to your ear. “But we think you might want to.”
“What do you say, sunflower?”
It slips out. You don’t mean to say it; it’s just a habit deeply engrained from work. But when your mouth opens to ask what exactly they mean, you say “yes, ma’am” instead.
Joel chuckles, a dark and dangerous thing that blows his hot breath over the exposed side of your neck. You shudder but don’t dare look away from Tess, whose grin has turned into smug pleasure.
“Told ya,” she says to Joel, standing and coming around the side of the table to where you are and taking your chin in one hand. She presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “I know a good girl when I see one.”
She tilts your head up so you watch. “And a good boy,” she says before kissing Joel.
He melts into it, and you moan. Like for real life, out loud, watching them kiss. She pulls away from him when she can’t hold back her smirk.
His eyes are soft when he watches her step back. She tightens her grip on your face.
“All yours, baby,” she says to him.
The softness is gone when he looks at you. His eyes are dark and hungry, and he takes your face in his own hands before kissing you. Unlike the sweet exchange with Tess, this kiss is bruising, and he licks into you without hesitation. One of his hands tangles in your hair and pulls your head to the side so he can bite his way down your neck.
You’ve got whiplash, and he grins when he lets you go and takes in your glazed eyes and swollen lips.
“C’mon,” Tess says, turning to go back to the living room. Joel tugs you up and pushes you in front of him to follow Tess. You yelp when he pinches your ass, though you probably should have expected it.
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Tess sits on the couch, and your mouth goes dry as Joel kneels at her feet. You drop to yours, and Tess quirks an eyebrow at Joel.
“That how you want her?”
He shakes his head and pushes you down so you’re bent over in supplication below him.
“Don’t move unless I tell ya,” Joel says. “You need or want to stop for any reason, just say so. Got it?”
You moan at his words, no longer having the wherewithal for embarrassment. You’re starting to become very aware of your place in this. And it’s fucking thrilling.
He lifts your head by a handful of hair. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, letting your head back down and running his hand over your cheek.
“You like havin’ a little toy for yourself, baby?” Tess asks him, running her fingers through his hair and tugging a little.
He moans. “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”
“See, sunflower, Joel here’s been a real good boy, but sometimes he needs to play a little rough. Ain’t that right?” She nods his head with her grip on his hair.
“Please,” he whimpers.
You’re soaked. You’re fucking soaked, and all they’ve really done is talk.
“You wanna be a good girl for us?” Tess asks.
It’s your turn to whimper. “Yes, ma’am. Uh. And sir.”
“We’ll go easy on you today,” she muses. “What do you need from her, baby?”
Joel doesn’t need to think it over. “Need to fuck that pretty little mouth,” he says.
It’s so crass that you flush, wet gathering rapidly between your thighs. You squirm a little.
“Ok,” Tess agrees. “You can have my sloppy seconds.”
And then she’s tugging her pants down, letting Joel lean forward to grab them as she lifts her hips. He yanks them off and folds them, setting them to the side.
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You keep your cheek pressed to the carpet where he put you, watching the motions with rapt awe. You’re betrayed, however, by your wriggling feet.
“S’matter?” Joel says.
“What? Um. Nothing.”
He raises an eyebrow, but it doesn’t spark anything. Your eyes dart back and forth between them.
“I’m gonna let that slide, since you’re getting used to it. But if you address me, you better do it proper.”
“Oh.” The realization leaves you on an exhale. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Atta girl,” he says with a little pinch to your chin.
Tess nudges him with her foot and shoots a laden look at where you’ve fallen very still, and the taut line of your spine has softened a little.
She smirks.
It doesn’t last, though. You’re biting your lip and looking at him while your right foot taps against the floor.
He turns back to Tess, rolling her panties down until he can tug them off her feet and tuck them neatly into the fold of her pants.
He reaches over and presses his thumb to your bottom lip until it pops free from your teeth. Your mouth falls open in its wake.
“Up,” he says.
You push up onto your knees and watch as he leans forward to press a soft kiss to her cunt. He nuzzles in a little, nose nudging her clit as he tastes.
She lets him for a few seconds before tugging him back by the hair. “Don’t be selfish.”
He looks at you and jerks his head.
You shuffle forward, and he puts both hands on your shoulders to shove you between her thighs, arranging you so he can kneel, chest flush to your back.
You shiver.
“Ever eaten pussy?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you say, a little breathless, while he leans around, boxing you in with his arms while he spreads her lips. You take in the way she glistens, and your mouth waters. “It’s been a while, though.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, deep and close to your ear. “S’like riding a bike.” He strokes a finger over her clit, and her cunt clenches around nothing.
“I don’t know how to ride a bike,” you say, and wonder why.
Joel, to his credit, just shakes his head and ignores you.
“She likes a little figure eight here,” he says, head still bowed conspiratorially as if she couldn’t hear every word. “And if you switch between fast n’ gentle here,” he presses his finger to the first knuckle inside her.
He pulls it out and pinches her labia between his index finger and thumb. “Suck here, and bite soft.”
It’s like they’ve dragged you in from a blizzard. Everything is so hot; your pulse throbs in your fingers, and you’re sweating as if bundled in front of a hearth.
“Please?” You whisper. You’re not sure who you’re asking.
Tess laughs, a soft and pleased thing you haven’t heard yet. You want more.
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And that’s how you ended up here, somehow still fully clothed, swirling your tongue against her clit.
Joel pushes your shoulders down so you’re bent over at a sharper angle. He solves the clothes problem by tugging your jeans and underwear down to your knees.
“Go on,” Tess tells him around a soft moan.
You’ve worked your tongue gently inside before diving in for more, lapping at her like they hadn’t just fed you the best meal you’ve had in years.
Your efforts stutter when Joel’s hot mouth latches on to your cunt. You cry out but get your act together quickly, nuzzling in like he had done earlier.
Her fingers grasp at your head, grinding your face down where she needs. At the same time, Joel has his hands around your thighs, fingers pressing tight enough to leave a mark while he feasts.
You can’t tell, as focused as you are on your own task, but he’s studying the way you twitch and gush with each motion. He’s a quick learner and soon has you struggling to keep up.
When you press two fingers into her cunt, Tess rewards you with her orgasm as you suck and lick her clit. You take everything she has to offer, which is when Joel yanks you away from her to share in the indulgence. He works a second orgasm from her very quickly. When he’s done, he pushes you to the ground and returns to work at you.
“Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he growls. “Come on, give it to me.”
And you do. He’s relentless, and your body responds to each touch from his broad fingers and broader tongue. You’re vaguely aware of the scrape of his teeth on your clit, the ferocious way he slams his fingers into your aching core as you shake apart around him.
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He’s hesitant to pull away when you come down from it, but you’re squirming a little from the intensity, and he’s got a dark look in his eyes anyway. “My turn?” he says.
“Go ahead, baby,” Tess says. She’s sprawled languidly on the couch, one hand between her legs, gently rubbing at her clit while she enjoys the show.
Joel pulls his cock out, and even though you’re exhausted to the point where you can’t hear your thoughts over the pounding of your heart, you lurch forward immediately.
It’s gorgeous and engorged, impatient after waiting so long. You reach for it first, one hand cupping his heavy balls and the other sliding down the velvety length of him. Your mouth follows close behind, licking at the slit.
“Think you can take it all?” he says. “You ever deepthroated someone my size?”
“No,” you admit, “but I’m a quick learner.”
His responding grin is wicked. “Good. I got a lot to teach ya.” And without further acclimation or dramatics, he grabs the back of your head and pulls until his cock hits the back of your throat.
You gag, of course, coughing and sputtering. He eases up to let you back, but you don’t pull all the way off. You take a minute to breathe around him and swallow him back down.
He lets you set the pace for a minute, groaning as you bob up and down, swirling your tongue around and moaning at the way his salty musk mixes with the sweet tang of Tess.
He lets you pull off, even, watching to see what you do when left to your own devices. You stroke his cock in one hand and cradle his balls in the other, nuzzling and licking them before taking them in your mouth one by one to roll on your tongue.
He moans but tugs you away after you properly worship both.
“Y’got a sweet little mouth, sunflower. But I need ya chokin’ on it now. Just stay nice and open for me.”
With no further preamble, he holds your head with both hands and fucks into your mouth.
You’re not too surprised to find yourself on the edge of an orgasm. Back in the day, when you were still trying to pretend normal life was possible and playing at being a girlfriend, sucking cock had been a favorite pastime.
Granted, Joel’s cock was another beast entirely. Maybe literally. Your brain pulls itself together long enough to reconsider the fae theory before he fucks the thought out.
It’s a fucking mess. You can barely close your lips around him, drool slick on your chin. The only mercy he grants is when a particularly rough thrust has you tapping his leg, afraid you might puke.
He pulls back, hand tipping your chin up to check you over, but you’ve recovered already and strain to get your mouth back around him.
He relinquishes, letting you slide him down as far as you can.
He chuckles. “Looks like we got a real cockslut here,” he says to Tess.
She grins. “I dunno; I think she might just be a slut in general. Pretty needy for my cunt, too.”
His hand strokes your cheek as he picks the pace back up. “That’s a good girl. Fuckin’ take it. Shit,” he groans as he works deeper yet.
“Ah, fuck,” he gasps, tearing his eyes from you to seek out Tess. “Please?”
“Please, what, baby?”
“Please, can I cum down her throat?”
“Not yet,” she says.
He whimpers but doesn’t dare disobey. His thrusts are frantic and harsh as he fights the urge.
“Sunflower, d’you think you can cum when he does?”
Your eyes roll back in your head. “Mhmmm,” you moan around him.
“Alright, baby. Give it to her.”
And fuck, does he ever. He buries himself deep, and for a moment, you think you’re not actually going to be able to handle it. But the feeling of him twitching and the sound of his pleasure are enough to push you over the edge, overriding your gag reflex.
“Oh fuck,” he repeats. “Oh shit. That’s it. Fucking take it all.”
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When he pulls his softening cock from you, you sway forward a little. He catches you with hands on your shoulders before sitting on the ground in front of the couch and pulling you roughly into his lap. From the couch above, Tess reaches to run her hands through his hair before rubbing a hand on your shoulder.
You wrap a hand around hers, hoping she won’t pull away. She doesn’t, instead tucking a thumb over your hand to hold you there. Your head tilts back against Joel’s shoulder as her other hand cups the back of his neck.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head and then leans his back to rest against her hand.
The sun has tucked down behind the rise of the city, and the post-orgasmic reality is settling on your shoulders. As much as they had made a place for you for that blissful fragment of time, you’re suddenly hyperaware of your intrusion.
“Where’s, um. Where’s your bathroom?” You ask.
Tess directs you, and you pry yourself from their warmth and tug your jeans back up. You wipe away the evidence of your adventure and stick your face under the cold faucet to clear the lingering haze from your brain.
They’re still sitting when you come back out. Joel’s on the floor with his knees bent and legs spread, leaning back to where Tess has his head in her lap. She’s running idle fingers through his hair.
You don’t want to linger and get kicked out. It’s not that you don’t know what this is; you just want it to end on your terms. When you shoulder your bag to broadcast your intentions, Joel gets to his feet.
“Let me walk ya home,” he says.
“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
He scowls. “It’s gettin’ dark.”
You give him a wan smile and rub the back of your neck. “I’ve been walking myself home in this city for years.”
It’s not like you’re stupid enough to think they don’t know where you live. But this way, you can still pretend.
“Yeah, and look where that got you the other night,” he says.
Tess stands and stretches and nudges Joel. “Down, boy,” she teases. “Let ‘er go.”
“But really,” she says while you tug on your boots. “We thought you’d be eating better. You need another promotion?”
You look between her and Joel. “No, I do not.”
“It’s an easy enough problem to solve,” he says with a shrug.
Oh god. “No, please don’t solve anything. Let’s, uhh, let’s just never talk about this again.”
“We can just—“ she starts, but you plug your ears.
It’s too late. Joel’s smirk could silence the birds. And you know, once you’ve heard the whistle, the twister’ll be deciding your fate soon.
“Suit yourself,” Joel says.
“Okay, well, um,” you say, backing into the hall. “This has been really great and so weird, but, um, it’s almost curfew and—“
“See you later, sunflower,” Tess says as you close the door behind you. It doesn’t sound like a casual, rote farewell. It sounds like a promise.
next chapter
*title from "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" by Cage the Elephant
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imtryingbuck · 5 months
Text
Birdie
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)
Word count: 1,532
Warnings: Angst. My terrible attempt at a fight scene. 
Masterlist   Series Masterlist
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Her hand slowly came up to her face, removing the bottom half of her mask then the glasses.
They couldn’t believe it.
They didn’t want to believe it.
“Y/n?”
~~~
Bucky’s heart was in his throat, his eyebrows raised and pulled together.
It can’t be he repeated in his head, he watched her die, he watched as the Hulk picked up the rubble and threw them like they weighed nothing. He held her in his arms the whole way home trying to attack the people who took her cold lifeless body away from his arms.
Frozen in place in the middle of the road he didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t have been her. Yes this woman standing in front of them all posture upright and ready to attack had their friends face, same colour eyes, the same scar on her lip from the time Y/n fell over whacking her face off the kitchen counter busting her lip wide open, the exact same scar that went across her eyebrow from where she was beaten many missions before her untimely demise - she had copied Steve’s words ‘I can do this all day’ which was accurately true, making everyone who heard her through her comms laugh.
The three things wrong with this woman who was standing in front of them was, one - her eyes were so dark, nothing like Y/n who’s eyes were always so bright and full of life, joy and wonder. Two - their friend, their crazy friend who always made everyone laugh, their friend who always had their best interests at heart would never ever let anyone hurt them, taking bullets and hits just for them, let alone try and attack them. And three, their friend was dead.
“Is…is that Y-Y/n?” Clint’s raspy voice sounded through their comms.
Bucky watched as her head tilted ever so slightly to the left, his whole body went rigid as he knew what that head tilt meant.
She was about to attack.
And sure enough six individual 10 inch claws came out of her knuckles.
“What do we do?” Nat questioned.
“We can’t hurt her!” Tony says.
“Wanda control her!” Orders Steve.
Bless the redheads heart, she was trying. And failing. “I-I’m trying!”
Little bird/Y/n’s eyes shifted from Bucky to Wanda and before any of them could do anything Wanda was thrown backwards.
Like idiots they took their eyes off of the woman all in black, when they turned around the panic they already felt amplified by a thousand.
She was no longer there.
“Clint you’ve got a visual?” Steve asks.
“No…”
They heard a high pitch screeching sound of metal against metal scraping together from behind them, they turn to face that way when they hear the sound again from their original position.
“She’s toying with us”
“I’ve got a visual” Clint speaks.
“Clear shot?” Steve asks.
“What? You can’t be serious!” Bucky all but shouts.
“We injure her and then we’ll grab-“
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you” The voice that they hadn’t heard in real time for 6 long painful years suddenly says just as she appears in front of them. 
“Y/n?” Whispered Bucky.
Her eyes flickered ever so slightly but they all catch it. “Buck say her name again” Steve says.
And he does, this time they all see a flash of recognition in her eyes “Metal man talk to her” Tony tells him.
Taking in a deep breath he slowly breaths out, “Y/n? I know you’re in there doll, I can see it. It’s okay I promise. Please come back to me-us, it’s oka-“
The look on her face of her remembering vanished, along with their hope. “You must take out the strongest first in order to succeed” Winking at them, she throws Steve into a car.
Thor was then thrown.
Then Nat.
Then Sam and Tony at the same time.
Then Bruce.
Keeping them all pinned along with Wanda she stared down Bucky then smirked. “You’re the strongest you know?”
“Why didn’t you throw me first then?”
“Because… you’re the one that makes me stronger. Always have. Always will.”
“Y/n you can come back from thi-“
“Like you once said Solider, it always ends in a fight. And that’s what we shall do”
Before he even had the chance to talk some sense into her or move position she launched herself at him, throwing punch after punch to his face and body causing him to grunt in pain.
“Fight. Back. Soldat” Each word ending with a hard blow to his face.
“No” Bucky rasped out. He doesn’t want to fight back, even when they use to train together he always went easy on her - not because he was scared to hurt her but because the thought of laying a hand on her in a violent way made him feel sick to his stomach.
“Fight or die”
For Bucky it was an easy choice. Didn’t even have to think about it. Didn’t even hesitate to go to his knees, he blanked out the shouting from behind him. “You’re going to have to kill me Y/n/n because I’m not going to fight you”
Her eyes squinted and one eyebrow raised up “Coward”. She spat out. 
“You’re the one hesitating now Y/n… what does that make you?” Bucky could tell that the woman he loves was still there and trying to break through, well he hoped he could see it and it wasn’t just his hopefulness playing tricks on him.
“If killing me brings you back to our friends then doll, do it. Please”
Her face hardened as she stared him down, her stance faltered. As she squared her shoulders she looked around at the people she had pinned down. “I-I don’t want to do this but you’re my mission. So fight back”
“Okay, okay I’ll do it” He gets up slowly, he hopes that what he’s about to do is all worth it.
He throws the first punch, then the next and the next. His stomach turns at his actions but he continues to fight the love of his life.
Spitting blood out of her mouth, with her left leg she kicks him in his stomach, making him fly backwards landing just a few inches away from Steve. She makes her way towards them as he jumps up onto his feet, they meet in the middle and continue to throw punches and kicks at each other.
The Avengers hearts were beating rapidly as they watch their friends try and kill one another.
Due to the super soldier serum coursing through their veins neither one backs down, neither one grows tired.
Her claws come out and he gulps, he tries to use his vibranium arm as protection against her adamantium claws knowing his arm is stronger.
Bucky had managed to dodge the umpteenth attack when her claws dug in and sliced him across his stomach causing him to scream out in agony, he dropped to his knee’s clutching his stomach with both hands. A lone tear drops from his bright blue eyes as he looked at her.
“It’s okay…”
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Y/n dropped to the floor and scrambled backwards, her eyes bounced from Bucky’s to her claws - that were covered in his blood, looking at them in horror and disgust.
“It’s okay” He kept repeating to her, he could see that it was her and not the puppet Hydra had created.
“Bucky? Bucky I’m so sorry, oh my God, what have I done, I’m sorry” His heart broke for the last time at the pain in her voice.
The team were finally able to move, their invisible chains letting them go, they all made their way to Bucky’s aide.
“I’m so sor-sorry”
Tony slowly put one foot in front of the other towards the girl who he had unofficially adopted, whose whole body shook with sobs “Sweetheart, can I ask you a question?” Their friends looked puzzled at him.
“W-w-what?”
“What’s your nickname for Bucky?”
“Buckaroo”
Tony released a strangled noise, between a laugh and a sob. “It’s okay sweetheart, look at me, he’ll be okay I promise and so will you”
“No no no I hurt hi-him”
“He’s okay Y/n/n I promise” He got closer to her and dropped to his knees “Ca-can I hold you?” He sees the hesitation in her eyes before she nodded, he didn’t waste any time in pulling her into his arms. Holding her closer and tighter as he humanly could, he couldn’t help himself from crying. For 6 years he’s not been able to touch her, to give her a hug. He cries with her, softly telling her ‘everything will be okay’.
Despite the pain that Bucky feels in his stomach he doesn’t stop the smile from forming on his split lips or the tears from falling.
They all stand there watching Tony cling on to their friend who they thought they had lost 6 years prior.
None of them had a dry face. None of them knew that when they woke up this morning they were going to be reunited with their friend.
Their friend, a huge part of their blended and mismatched family was alive and back.
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