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isagrimorie · 2 months

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Rewatching a few scenes from Star Trek Voyager's 2 part episode: Workforce. These episodes really did a number on Janeway; this is one of the times I did wish emotional arcs carried over from one episode to the next.

In the seven years in the Delta Quadrant, nothing has stopped Janeway's quest to bring home her crew back to the Alpha Quadrant.

And in the Delta Quadrant, for Captain Kathryn Janeway, the Voyager is home.

Janeway has faced off against the Borg Queen, the Hirogen, the Vidiians, and Species 8472 but no one has done as much damage to Janeway the way Dr Kadan did a number on Kathryn Janeway.

Because Kadan took away Janeway's certainty.

Kathryn Janeway can traverse any gulf, and jump to any fire as long as she has her iron-clad certainty and belief in her mission intact and that was what Kadan took from Kathryn Janeway.

He accidentally pinpointed the one thing she's been able to repress for so long, and that's her loneliness and how bone tired she is of being in Command.

More than any other Captain, Kathryn Janeway needed a sabbatical. She needed to reconnect with herself, and just be Kathryn.

This is the gift and curse Kadan gave to Kathryn Janeway. Because as plain ol' Kathryn Janeway, a factory worker she was happy, free of responsibility and burdens of Command.

She found friends, love, and comfort in Jaffen (a well-casted romantic lead. The actor had charisma and acting chops to make us believe Janeway Captain or just Kathryn would fall for him).

I don't think Janeway even knew how lonely she's become -- no one needed a long vacation from work than Janeway. I hope that she got that vacation Starfleet put her on the Flag Officer track.

Through the whole two-part episode we see them build up this vivacious and happy version of Kathryn, and then by part 2, the story slowly pulls that away from her.

Just as an example, the look on Kathryn's face when Harry addresed her as "Captain".

You can see how Harry addressing Kathryn as "Captain" struck a chord in her but it's also like someone threw cold water at her.

Kathryn immediately tells Harry to call her "Kathryn" instead:

Kathryn tries to still be in denial and tentatively brings up what Chakotay told her: "He said you had proof of who some of us really are."

She's trying to put distance between herself and this reality. She's conflicted-- she doesn't want to be Captain Janeway. There's even a hint of temptation there that she doesn't want to continue on helping her missing friends.

And yet, the moment Voyager and her crew were in trouble some part of herself reacted. And despite what she felt, she proceeded to bring down the shield knowing that doing so would tear her away from the life she's come to love.

This happens fast, once the shield grid is down, Kathryn disappears from Jaffen's side.

And the next time they see each other again, Kathryn Janeway is Captain Kathryn Janeway again with her uniform and Command back. And they might as well be a million miles away despite being in the same room:

Janeway allows herself to embrace Jaffen for one last time, and there's tears in her eyes, her grief is palpable. It's the way she's held herself apart from Jaffen, the way her hand twitches like she wants to reach out and touch him but can't.

Not in the uniform she's wearing, not in the position she's in.

You can see how much her experience in Quarren affected Janeway by the way she enters the Bridge:

In the turbo lift, she's faced away from the Bridge as if she can't bear being there. She has to steel herself.

Normally Janeway occupies the turbo lift like she owns that space. Because she DOES.

It’s so strange seeing Janeway occupy so little space in her own bridge, even when Voyager was hijacked she never looked out of place or so small.

The moment she steps out Harry, eager Ensign Harry, who missed the events in Quarren and how it might have affected her notices Captain Janeway immediately and announces her arrival.

She looks around at the bridge, still uncertain. Still picking up the pieces of the Captain.

Even when she sat on her Command chair,Janeway looked uncomfortable and for the first time, Captain Janeway doesn't look like she's larger than life.

She can't help but confide to Chakotay:

And. There. It. Is.

The biggest moment. Janeway admitted that Quarren felt like home. Even in The 37s, on a planet that's closest to Earth and home Janeway never even considered that home.

In the Delta Quadrant, Voyager is home.

The moment Janeway said this on the rewatch, I was bowled over because this is such a big moment for Janeway. A big thing for her to admit.

Chakotay asks her if Janeway is sorry he showed up and upended her comfortable life in Quarren?

There is a second's beat, but the beat tells all the story that needs to be said. Janeway rallies and lies: "Not for a second."

She's saying the right words but, at that moment, so near Quarren, after just losing Jaffen. Janeway says something she doesn't feel.

Janeway orders Tom to resume the course for home; but after she gives the order, Janeway's face falls.

And it's so damned sad and this, as I said above, is one of the moments I wish they continued this emotional throughline with Janeway.

Kadan did a number on her and I wish we get to see throughout a few episodes Janeway slowly get over the lie and find a measure of happiness.

Instead, season 7 loses its focus on Janeway and bizarrely have an episode with Q Jr and then a lot of focus on the EMH Doctor. It takes several episodes before Janeway gets the focus again, and that's the series finale.

If Voyager were written today, and the writers were allowed, this moment would be the emotional turning point for Janeway. It's the point where Janeway has to find a way home fast otherwise she's heading for a breakdown.

The center will not hold.

It's probably a good thing her future, alternate self decided to save Captain Janeway the heartbreak of a decade more of this life, and losing the people she loves the most.

And it kind of hurts that canonically, we don't know if Janeway was able to take that vacation. And if Janeway was able to get a measure of happiness and love, as I've mentioned after this episode and after Firewall I really don't care who Janeway ends up with anymore as long as Janeway is happy.

/Edited, March 13 2024, 10AM

#star trek voyager #long post #kathryn janeway #workforce 1 & 2 (voyager)#voyager s7

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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Short Days, Long Nights: 8

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, grief

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you endlessly to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @write-and-buried for their advice and reassurance on this one. ❤

The first time it happened, it was by accident.

Loath to leave your warmth; one hand fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other one curled around your hip to guide your movements in your straddle on his lap. The afternoon sun spilled in through the windows, dust motes floating through the shafts of light as you rode him and when you came, you tipped your head back with a strained, breathless moan.

His eyes fixated on the image of your angelically erotic pose, he emptied himself inside you, filling you up until there was nothing left to give.

The next time was an accident too.

Finally ready to harvest some of the vegetables you’d been nurturing for months, you grasped the first stalk and pulled, brushing off the dirt delicately when it came free from the ground. You handed it to him, unadulterated pride shown clear on his face and his smile beamed so big you caught a glimpse of his rarely seen dimple.

Tears had already begun to water your vision, slipping free when you saw his smile and he stood to pull you up so he could wrap his arms around you in a tight, unrelenting hug. His thumbs and his mouth brushed away the hot trails on your cheeks and you feasted that night, both on your new found riches and each other.

Bellies full of fresh produce and celebrating your hard earned success, he fucked you on the living room floor, with your mouth open and pleading for him as your tailbone rubbed against the carpet with every thrust. His need more intense than usual, his groan was hoarse when he came faster than he could pull out; his eyesight fading black around the edges with a spill as endless as the praise he panted into your ear.

When he was done he stayed put, a comforting, solid weight on top of you and his lips peppered kisses along your hairline, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth - everywhere he could reach.

The third time however, wasn’t.

The days too hot to do anything but swim, you hung onto his shoulders and pressed your soft lips against his own until he all but dragged you up to the bank of the river, covering you with his chilled, damp body. You begged him for it then, begged him to fill you up as you sobbed with fullness, your knees hitched high along his ribs. Your hands grasped the swell of his ass to push him in deeper, his own knees streaked in dirt after he gave you what you wanted and his spend was slick and hot where it leaked out, smearing on his stomach when you wound your legs around him to pull him down for a kiss.

You each knew the consequences of what you were doing. Neither of you acknowledged it though - you kept going because it felt good and right and with so little in the world that felt like that, you took what you could.

Summer months slipped by as you slowly explored the woods around you, checking the other cabins one by one. Untouched for years, they held caches of canned food and clothes, outdated sunscreen and furniture thick with dust. Moth bitten beach towels, an indoor herb garden turned greenhouse that had consumed half a kitchen. Rotted curtains, limp baseball hats, forgotten gardening gloves. A deflated inner tube that you brought back and filled up manually just to spend the day floating on the water.

One held a stash of wine that was so vast it took three trips to haul all of the bottles back to your own cabin, and though you knew absolutely nothing about wine, you couldn’t stop the excited yelp that escaped from your mouth when you found it.

Scavengers, you ignored the pictures on the walls as you raided room by room, taking whatever you liked. Making it through seven cabins in total, you covered miles of woods; your book collection doubled, every shed picked apart for useful tools and supplies.

Careful not to uncover the cabins more than you needed lest the structures be seen by anyone else, so far, you hadn’t had to worry about that. Joel still kept the traps up and running, still checked them every single day and locked up every night, but the immediate threat of another human being was starting to feel like a distant memory. As if time had paused when you found this cabin, the outside world disappearing when you first stepped off the path.

The weeks went by quickly in a hot, humid daze and every night ended the same: with you curled up next to him, your bodies sweating on top of the sheets.

–

You’d kill for a fan.

Not even asking for air conditioning because to be honest, you were never really a fan of artificially cooled air (too cold), you want a fan desperately. Just something to move the stagnant air around, to relieve the thick, damp press of humidity that coats your skin. It envelopes you, your shirt stuck to the small of your back and you pick at it, giving it a quick shake in an attempt to dry it out.

Joel is just as sweaty – his cotton shirt clinging to his back, dark with sweat along his spine and under his arms and you watch as the fabric molds and shifts over his muscles as he strong-arms the cabin door open. Stepping through into the shadows, his hand is bathed in light as it reaches back for you and pulls you into the dark depths, your flashlight ready.

“At least it’s a little less hot in here, I guess.” You kick a stack of faded, dust coated magazines on the floor and he sighs, setting his pack down.

“Yea,” he agrees, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. “I’m gonna live in the water when we get back. Sleep outside, half submerged.”

“Ooh, can I join you?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows and he huffs a quiet laugh behind you as you make your way into the kitchen.

The first place you check in every cabin, you pick apart the cabinets looking for food while he combs through the bathroom looking for first aid supplies and medicine. All finds to be stacked on the floor in the living room, the two of you make quick work of it, too hot to linger.

Rummaging through the dresser in the main bedroom, you check the sizes of socks and underwear – something you’re always in short supply of – and when you find a silky scrap of fabric buried beneath them, you pause. A more delicate piece of clothing than you’ve seen in a long time, your roughened hands caress the slippery negligee when you lift it from the drawer. The fabric catches on the pads of your fingers, the sensation making you frown and hesitating just for a moment while looking in the direction of the door, you fold it gently and put it directly in your bag, tucking it away.

He calls out to you when he’s done, and after dividing up the pile, your packs are substantially heavier when you start your walk back.

Leaning forward slightly under the weight, you feel sweat glide down the line of your neck and you wipe it away, grimacing.

“Do you ever think about what people would find if they raided your house?” you ask.

Every single time you enter a cabin, you think about it. You can’t remember what state you even left your place in: not your original one, nor your apartment in the QZ. You assume they have given the latter away to another person who needs it; the thought not bothering you at all.

He huffs, shaking his head. “A messy house, I guess.”

“Same,” you reply.

The moss below your feet muffling your steps, you each sit in your own head for a moment before you continue.

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to like, get stuff? Or to just…see it?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, it would be nice to have some pictures I guess, but other than that…I don’t think I would want to.”

“So you’ve never tried it?” you ask, looking over at him.

“No,” he replies, his eyebrows raising. “Have you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t really have anything there.” Your thumbs hook in the straps of your backpack, your eyes staying down. “I feel like it would be too sad, you know? Like, in my mind, I feel like I would want to stay, thinking of it as my home and a place I would be safe, but I know that’s not true anymore. It would be…depressing.”

He nods, understanding.

“Besides, I used to want to go back a lot more, but now I kinda…think of this as my new home. Everything I want is here.”

The confession slips out, the heat of the late afternoon muddling your thoughts and making you too tired to stop the words before you say them and as soon as you realize, you try to hide the vulnerability showing clear on your face by gesturing to the woods.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you sneak a look over at him to find him looking back at you. Sunlight plays across his features, catching on the ends of his dark curls lifted in the humidity and the corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Yea,” he agrees. “Me too.”

Reaching for your hand to squeeze it, your palm sticks to his, tacky with sweat, but he still holds tight when you lace your fingers together.

–

“Do you ever think about what people would find if they raided your house?”

His answer sounded indifferent at the time, but the thought bothered him more than he let on. It’s not so much the idea of his stuff being taken or rifled through because to be honest, he can’t even really remember what all was there.

It’s the space being invaded by a stranger. Sarah’s room, in particular.

Someone rifling through her drawers, or sitting down on her bed. Someone taking the things he gave her - the idea of it constricts his chest, and he frowns, methodically checking the traps one at a time, wanting to get it over with before going for a swim.

His dark curls stick to his forehead, his fingers pushing wearily through them with a scratch as he walks the perimeter of the cabin and her bedroom floats into his mind: the purple bedspread, the butterflies on the walls. The faded image is hazy around the edges and he’s not even sure he has it right, but the ache he feels is reminiscent of the one he felt briefly when you walked into the cabin the other day excited to show him something you pulled from the garden.

Your smile and enthusiasm reminds him so much of her sometimes it hurts.

The longer he stays here with you, the more it eats at him that he hasn’t told you about her yet. Never anything he wanted to share with anyone, he finds there is little that he doesn’t want to share with you now – save for this.

Of this, he hasn’t spoken about in ten years.

Of this, he still feels the weight of failure etched into his very bones.

Of this, it still threatens to drown him some days in grief, if not for the way he’s buried it all down deep.

Allowing himself to feel with you and slowly uncovering the pieces of himself that he had long since given up on, the burden of her memory weighs heavier on him every day that he’s here. It feels wrong that he hasn’t told you about her, as both a betrayal of her memory, but also of your trust.

He tugs on a trap, making sure the ropes are snug in place and still thinking about you, his long buried grief and anger at someone rifling through Sarah’s room transfers to you and your things. The bookshelf next to your bed crammed with dog eared books, the plants along the windowsill in the kitchen, the stack of ten year old gossip magazines that you keep next to the couch for when you want to laugh at the trivial matters people used to care so much about.

Your worn, cotton bedsheets decorated with delicate rosebuds.

He wonders if your home looked anything like the spaces you’ve set up in the cabin. A cozy warmth radiating from your scattered belongings, some people might be bothered by them but he likes it. Similar to his own house once upon a time, it makes the space feel lived in; warm, inviting.

The idea of someone finding this place and entering it, going through your things to take what they want – he knows it’s hypocritical to be upset about it, but a wave of rage pierces through his thoughts and he kneels, ignoring the call of the water to double check the trap in front of him.

He clenches his jaw; Sarah’s bedspread and your plants lingering in his mind.

–

“You okay?” you ask later that night, after glancing at his far away expression for the hundredth time. He’s been quiet since he got back, near silent during dinner and you can see the churning waters of his mind under the surface of his eyes.

“Yea, I’m fine.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and leaves it at that.

He still seems distracted when he comes to bed, grabbing his book from the nightstand to sit propped against the headboard to read, and when you put your own book down and roll onto your side to close your eyes, he reaches to turn out the light and follows suit. He’s still for a while and then scoots closer, the warmth of his body felt from behind you as the bed dips slightly. His touch trails along the curve of your shoulder, following the length of your arm. There is no intention to it, nothing he’s initiating. A soothing, yet restless drag of his fingers along your skin and he’s wide awake, you can tell from the thrum of energy between your bodies in the dark.

You open your eyes, rolling to face him and reaching to touch the curve of his cheek.

“You okay?”

He takes in your face for a moment, his dark eyes drifting over your features. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me earlier. About going back to see my old place.”

You shift, bending your arm to tuck it under your pillow. “You change your mind? You want to?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to go back because…” he stalls, letting out a breath. His jaw shifts subtly, and you wait, watching his face.

“I had a daughter.”

The statement hangs suspended between the two of you, and not wanting to speak until you know for sure that he’s done, you stay silent.

“Her name was Sarah.” He frowns slightly when he says it out loud, like he’s in pain and his hand slips off your arm and down to rest in front of him on the bed. You follow it, placing your hand over his. “That’s who I would want a picture of.”

“You don’t have any?”

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze unfocused. He smiles ruefully in the dark. “There was this one she kept in her room - I can still see it. The two of us, my hand over her eyes just jokin’ around and the smile on her face is –' His voice falters for a moment, and he stops, clearing his throat. The sheen of his wet eyes glimmers in the darkness. “She had a killer smile. You would’ve loved it.”

“I bet I would have,” you reply softly.

His expression darkens, and your thumb sweeps across his skin. “I don’t think I could handle seeing her room, ya know?”

His eyes meet yours, open and honest. “That thing you were saying earlier, about people going through your house? I know they’ve probably done it to mine and I don’t – I don’t think I could take seeing her stuff like that. Scattered, or destroyed. Rotted.”

A tear slips free, sliding through the creases lining the outside of his eye. “I wanna preserve the memory of her in that room. Sitting on her bed, listening to music or doing her homework…I don’t wanna see it empty.”

The sight of him crying makes your own vision blur, and you squeeze your hand in reassurance.

“Of course,” you whisper. “God, of course you wouldn’t want to see that. I am so sorry I brought that up, Joel. I had no idea.”

“I don’t talk about her, so you wouldn’t know.”

His words are quiet, yet definitive and ridden with guilt and he clears his throat, letting out a deep, shaky breath. You stroke his temple with your thumb, and he lets his eyes close, focusing on your touch.

“How old was she, when she…” you don’t say the word, and he takes another breath, answering you.

“Fourteen.”

“How —,” you start, and then you stop yourself, giving him time to answer if he wants. He seems like he wants to, seems still agitated like there is something held inside that needs to come out and you wait, giving him time.

“She died…the day of the outbreak. I tried to get her from the house when everything went to shit and she — she got hurt. I was carryin’ her, because she couldn’t walk and then…the soldiers that were going around in all the cities? I begged ‘em not to do it, but they shot anyway and I couldn’t –”

Another tear slips free, darkening his pillow case and he closes his eyes for a moment with a frown before opening them again. “I couldn’t do anything. Nothin’ but hold her and beg my brother to help me.”

Realization hits you, your chest flooding with sorrow. “That’s the dream, isn’t it? When you call for Tommy.”

He nods, and you immediately reach for him, gathering him in your arms.

He comes willingly, seeking out your embrace and the collar of your sleep shirt dampens against your skin as you stroke the crown of his hair. He’s a near silent crier, deep breaths taken in the crook of your neck as his wet eyelashes brush over your skin and he lets everything run out; his hands clutching you tightly. His arms tightening around you, you lay there and soothe him, saying nothing while your mind processes what he told you.

You can’t imagine that type of pain.

Not only to not only lose a child, but in that way. No wonder he was so closed off.

The thing he loved the most - a kind of love you can’t even comprehend - violently taken from him the day the world ended and the path of the Joel Miller that came after sharpens, growing clearer in your mind. A brutal shell of a person, hardened by everything that’s happened.

You’re still thinking about it when he lifts his head, apologizing for getting your shirt wet.

“Hey,” you softly reprimand him, “don’t. You don’t — “ you start, and then his own words come to you. “You don’t gotta be tough here with me. I got you.”

He lifts the corner of his mouth at your impersonation of him, and you give him your own matching, small smile.

“I mean it.” Your face slips into something more solemn, and you cup his whiskered cheek in your hand. He chases the warmth of it, leaning into your touch. “Listen to me. You didn’t do nothing, okay?”

He meets your gaze with an intensity of his own, and you keep going.

“You said you didn’t do anything, and that’s not true, Joel. It’s not true.” He waits, and you continue in a hush. “You held her.”

His face softens, and another tear glides down his cheek.

“You carried her and held her and even though you were scared — I can’t imagine how scared you were — you tried to protect her and then you held her. You couldn’t stop what happened and it’s not your fault, Joel. You did the best you could do.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

Your own tears well up and slide free, your hand making sure his attention is on you.

“It was, baby. It was.”

The endearment slips from your lips and he doesn’t question it, instead just looking at you for a moment before pushing forward to seek out your mouth with his own. You help him, pulling him in for a kiss as his plush, soft lips fit with yours, his mouth damp from his tears yet hungry for your taste and comfort.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tilting your mouth to deepen the kiss. “Tell me how to help.” Another kiss, another. “You want this? Want me?”

He nods, his nose brushing against yours and kisses you again, shifting to lay the weight of his body on top of yours. You make room for him between your thighs, your hands running down his back and the smooth, strong lines of it flex under your touch, a groan rumbling through his chest when you drag your nails lightly over his skin.

“You’re so sweet. You taste so good,” he breathes into you between kisses, his hand reaching down to tug at the waist of your sleep shorts and you help him, pushing them down and off. Reaching between your bodies and slipping your hand under the band of his briefs, you find the hardening, warm heft of him and give him a firm couple of strokes. His hips chase your fist as he thickens in your palm and he rocks himself against you a couple times before lifting his own hips to shove them down.

Unburdened, he gets hungrier, his hands helping yours as you tug at his shirt and then your own, the threadbare material of both tossed onto the floor. You want to feel every inch of him, pulling him down to you until he’s fit himself to your body, his skin feverishly flush against yours. His stiff cock fits along your slick seam, sliding through your folds when he rolls his hips against yours again, and again.

“I want you,” you tell him, guiding his mouth to your own. “Let me make you feel good. I want to make you feel better.”

“You do, honey. You do.” Moving his lips to the edge of your mouth and then over the curve of your jaw, he licks along the hollow just under your ear before pressing a kiss there. “You always make me feel good. You make everything feel good.”

Your touch becomes almost frantic at his admission, the need to carve out a space for him inside your chest or merge your bodies into one or take his face into your hands and tell him until he understands just how much you would do anything for him. How much he means to you, how much you owe him. How much you want to protect him just as much as he protects you.

He meets your urgency, his hands bracing themselves on the bed around your shoulders before he reaches down to line himself up, and you whine into his mouth when he notches himself against the dip of your entrance and slides in, filling you full.

He breaks the kiss, his hips already starting a weighted rock. “Fuck, honey. Fuck.”

“Oh my God.” He usually gives you more time than this to get ready for him, usually uses his fingers and his tongue, and a tight fit, your jaw clenches as he makes room for himself, burying deep. “Joel.”

His mouth covers yours with a groan, drinking down the whimpers you let out with every push of his hips forward and you swallow every one of his, every grunt, every push of hot, humid air onto your tongue. His bicep strains under your knee when he hooks his arm under your leg to pull it up, first one and then the other, and he’s got you spread so wide underneath him between his deep thrusts and his solid body that you cry out for him, digging your nails into his hips for purchase.

“You’re gonna make me come quick, honey. So quick –” he pants, his hips pounding into the cradle of your thighs. “And I don’t even care because you feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

“Do it,” you encourage him, the words sliding into a moan. “I want it. I want you to come inside.”

“Yea?” he asks, his hand wrapping around your calve to tug your leg higher, resting it over his thick shoulder. Turning his head to the side, he presses a lingering kiss there, his breath washing over your skin and your mouth drops open at how deep he is. “You want it inside?”

“Please. Please,” you chant, helping him guide your other leg to rest on his shoulder and when he lets the weight of his body push you deeper into the mattress, you’re near bent in half, taking everything he needs to give. It’s a lot – too much, you’re going to feel it tomorrow – but you don’t care.

“I’m gonna – I gotta do it harder, honey, because I’m –” he spits out the words, groaning midway through when he feels you start to clamp down around him. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. So tight for me.”

“I’m gonna come, Joel,” you whine, the heat building between your hips flooding through your limbs and up through your breasts, where they press against his chest. Sweat glides between your bodies, and he moans louder at your admission, almost a growl of victory. “Make me come, I’m so close.”

The two of you move with single minded intensity; one of his hands fitting between your tailbone and the mattress to hit the angle just right, and your hips pushing up to meet his every punishing, weighted stroke down.

He’s so thick, and filling, and heavy, your cunt so slick as he pushes in again, and again, and again, his mouth open in a pant above you with your knees almost at your shoulders and when you come with a sob, he buries himself deeper than he ever has with a weighted grind and does the same.

The soft give of his belly jumps against yours, his throat stretched taut as he works in every last drop and when he finally relaxes over you, he’s gentle in his movements. His hands help your legs down – first one, then the other - and his mouth finds yours, giving you a kiss. Your legs find a home in a wind around his waist, your hold guiding him to lay on your chest and even though you could have killed for a fan earlier and still could, you keep him there.

You nose along his sweat damp hairline, pressing a kiss on his slick temple and content, the two of you lay in silence; the only sound your shared, heavy breathing.

His body melts on top of you, all taut agitation in his limbs gone as he pushes his arms underneath your back to hold you tight and you know he’s slipping into sleep by the way his breathing evens and slows under your palms.

He’s still snug inside you, but you make no effort to move him.

“Thank you for telling me about her,” you whisper to him, your fingers carding through his dark, unruly curls shot through with gray but you’re met with silence.

Unburdened, he’s already fast asleep.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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wickedcriminal · 8 months

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Back when ELDER Hiccup was in the Pirate Training Program, they used to trek through 500 miles of snow, cross 5 perilous rope bridges through the great cliffs of Thor, kill five tigers, do the hokey pokey, AND swim the seven great seas all before the five o'clock bell.

Oh wait! They still do that!!

On another note, this would be around the time Younger was born-- and Snotlout would be sooo smug about how much better he was at this sibling stuff because Adelaide was born like a week earlier LMAO

It's not a RACE Snotlout.

#hbau #half brothers au #httyd #httyd books #how to train your dragon #httyd au #my art #snotlout had his skull tattoos as early as like ten 😂

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mandareeboo · 2 years

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Things I’ve noticed while re-watching Owl House:

Eda’s been living on borrowed time since season 1. She thought she was going to disappear on that bridge, and she certainly didn’t expect to have her time non-feathered to be doubled. That (and other things) has led her to be much more willing to die in season 2- she isn’t running anymore, but she’s not fighting much either. She plans to go out with Raine. She plans to hand herself over to the Emperor. She plans to die on the Day of Unity with Lilith as long as King and Luz are far, far away. Finally she plans to die in front of the entire city of Bonesborough to give Luz and King a better future

Eda put a LOT of work into being Luz’s mentor. It’s not really mentioned but in episode four she states that she “hasn’t figured out how old Witches performed magic”, but in Adventures in the Elements she has a whole training itinerary planned around elements and how connecting was/is important to old Witches. We also see she had a GIANT stack of overdue library books. I’m willing to bet she put a lot of time and reading into helping Luz with her glyphs.

Luz probably overheard Camila’s statement about Vee being “such a strong girl” and may have been somewhat hurt bc Camila implied she’d not had that before. It’s not intentional on Camila’s part but we all know Luz goes the extra mile to feel ashamed.

Even though Hunter tells Luz to stop messaging him he still apologizes when he sends her a photo of Flapjack. Idk I just think that’s polite and cute.

Of the covens we know the least about Construction magic. With Oracles we at least know about their mummy things they bring out. All we know about Construction is power glyphs and that they seem to almost earthbend

If Alador hasn’t had a day off in five years but has only recently stopped talking to the kids bc of the Abomatons that implies he was still socially active in their lives to some degree.

Belos saying Hunter looked the most like his brother while also having given him that big fuck off cheek scar makes me feel like at one point he really hated that and tried to “change” it

Luz and Hunter are the only characters in the show to have had any prolonged discussions with Belos. Even Kiki only got a few orders and jabs and that’s it. Just a subtle bit of his distaste for Witches even today.

Likewise Luz and Hunter both share the common denominator of being scarred by Belos

Even though Boscha keeps her word not to outright bully the gang after losing in Grudgby she still keeps surprisingly intertwined in their day-to-day lives, even stopping by Luz’s club to pester her AND seeming to be legitimately interested in Luz’s life goals. I feel like in Boscha’s mind she sees it as like. Rival pals.

Despite being a giant bigot Belos still called Kikimora “Kiki” once or twice. It literally doesn’t matter I just find it hilarious. “I hate Witches and witchcraft but I draw the line on not using nicknames.”

Considering King didn’t live in his hatching place OR have the engraving on his collar for like eight years of his life if the Collector hadn’t been busy with Belos he likely would’ve found him instantly with the wanted posters

Lilith saw Eda as “dangerous” and “misguided” and I think a lot of that drew back to when she witnessed the Owl Beast attack and permanently disable their father

Raine only knew Eda for like seven months before she became cursed. They’ve literally known her for most of her life but almost all of that time came from after that point. Idk I just think it’s interesting bc Eda always saw her curse as a burden but to Raine it’d been part of her life so long they probably feel like it’s just... her.

The Day of Unity had basically nothing to do with Phillip going home, it was just a “fuck you all and die” as he left.

I feel like no one really talks about this but Gwendolyn and Dell are Wild Witches. Yes they're both in covens but Dell is secretly regrowing damage done by Belos and Gwen seeks outside-coven help AND steals magic artifacts to try to heal Eda, like none of this is legal

Also I feel like no one talks about how the pain sharing spell and the fist raising Eda and Lily do as kids is probably Wild in origin. No one else uses verbal spells and we've seen organized witches duels today and they don't do that gesture.

Vee is a very quiet and easily panicked girl and while that's perfectly natural after all she's been through when 'Luz' came back from camp Camila probably assumed the worst

Unless we get a flashback to King’s dad or a flash-forward to grown-up King we will never see a grown living Titan.

#The Owl House #TOH Analysis #Eda Clawthorne #Luz Noceda #Camila Noceda #Vee Noceda #The Golden Guard #Alador Blight #Emperor Belos #Boscha #Kikimora #King Clawthorne #Lilith Clawthorne #Gwendolyn Clawthorne #Dell Clawthorne #Falc talks

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outdoormagic · 11 months

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Sinking

#florida keys #sunset #seven mile bridge #gulf of mexico

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random-brushstrokes · 8 months

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Philip de László - Miss Lisa Minghetti (1933)

Lisa was born Elise Pauline Pollak in Vienna on 17 October 1911, the daughter of Siegfried Pollak, an engineer and bridge builder, and his wife Adele, née Frankenstein. When Lisa was seven her father died of tuberculosis aged 51. She made her first appearance at the age of twelve at an orchestral concert of the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. She studied the violin at the Vienna Conservatory, going later to Berlin to complete her training with Carl Flesch, after which she moved to London, probably in 1933, in October of which year the present portrait was made. According to her son, in order to leave Germany she had been helped by an Italian diplomat who had befriended her in Berlin. Lisa recalled attending a reception with him at which Hitler was present: as they had passed into the reception area she had seen two members of the Gestapo commenting on the women and overheard one say to the other he could “smell a Jew a mile away.” After she had been presented to Hitler, who kissed her hand, the same man said that Lisa, who was indeed Jewish, was the most beautiful woman present. She never returned to her native Austria and changed her name officially to Lisa Minghetti in 1935, although earlier references to the present portrait indicate that she was using that name before. When the Germans arrived in Austria, her mother and elder sister emigrated to Buenos Aires but Lisa never saw her mother again. In England she frequently played at major orchestral concerts in London and the provinces. While there she met and married Anton Maaskoff, himself a violin prodigy and 18 years her senior. Before the outbreak of war they moved to Los Angeles where her only child Maurice was born in 1940. There she performed with the Alan Hancock Ensemble at the University of Southern California, in motion picture studio orchestras, and frequently gave chamber music recitals at home and for benefit concerts. She was considered to be in the first rank of modern women violinists, combining sound musicianship with brilliance of execution. Early on she worked and developed a close relationship with Paul Robeson. Having experienced American racial prejudice with him, later she herself became involved in the civil rights movement. After Anton Maaskoff died in 1951 she married Alfred Lustgarten, a Julliard trained violinist, who adopted her son. His brother was a renowned cellist and both played under Toscanini for a number of years. Lisa Minghetti died in Los Angeles of skin cancer on 7 October 1961, shortly before her fiftieth birthday. (source)

#philip de laszlo #hungarian art #portrait #Lisa Minghetti #1930s

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nameless-ken · 1 month

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Silent Confessions, Loud Masks - Billy Hargrove x Reader Series

(Please reblog!!!)

Happy reading! Comment below to be added to taglist.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: attempted SA (sexual assault, Please don't read if it makes you uncomfortable!!), cursing, angst (what's new lol) but also some fluff

Masterlist

(song for this chapter <3)

As you huddle in the warmth of your cozy home, the chill of Thanksgiving break seeping through the windows, you absentmindedly wrap yourself tighter in your favorite blanket. The silence around you is palpable, the absence of familial chatter of Robin and the broodiness of Billy, a stark reminder of your solitude. Amidst it, a gentle knock on the door stirs you from your warmth.

Surprised, you rise from your spot on the couch, padding softly to the door. Your curiosity piqued, you swing it open to reveal a delivery person, holding a box adorned with a ribbon and a note. Confusion clouds your features momentarily until you notice the handwriting on the note—Robin's unmistakable scrawl.

The realization that you forgot your own birthday feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, a fact that had momentarily slipped your mind in the whirlwind of the events that happened recently. A grin spreads across your face as you thank the delivery person, shutting your door and settling back onto the couch. You carefully untie the ribbon and open the box to reveal a dozen delectable cupcakes, each one a miniature work of art.

As you read Robin's note, you can’t help but miss her more. She may be miles away visiting family, but her thoughtful gesture bridges the distance, promising a girl's night upon her return. With newfound anticipation, you grab one of the cupcakes, placing the rest on the coffee table, the sweetness lifting your spirits.

As you sit there, surrounded by the aroma of freshly baked cupcakes, memories of birthdays past flood your mind like a cherished photo album. You recall the joyful chaos of childhood parties, the house brimming with laughter and the sound of wrapping paper being torn apart in excitement. Each year, your mom made sure your birthday was a day to remember, despite the holiday overlap every seven years. Her creativity knew no bounds, and she had a knack for making you feel like the most special little girl in the world.

A pang of longing tugs at your heartstrings as you wish, not for the first time, that she were here with you now. Perhaps your sister would surprise you with a visit, or your dad would remember and transform the house into a haven of celebration once more. You yearn for the warmth that used to permeate every corner of your home, for the simple joy of being surrounded by loved ones.

You long to reach out to Billy, to hear his comforting voice and feel the warmth of his presence, even if it's just over the phone. You know he's at home, probably looking after Max, just as he always does. But a barrier, of your own making, stands between you.

You've locked him out, shutting him off from your world, from the whirlwind of conflicting emotions that churn within you. Despite his efforts to reach out, his notes and attempts at communication remain unanswered, like prayers whispered into the void. Each morning that last three weeks, you found his messages waiting for you, tucked away in your locker, pleading for a response that you couldn’t bring yourself to give.

Even his calls to your home go unanswered, the phone ringing in the empty silence of your home as you sit in paralyzed stillness, unable to break free from the walls you've built around yourself. The thought of being vulnerable with him again, of exposing the raw truth of your feelings, fills you with a potent mixture of fear and longing.

As you stand in the kitchen, the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans providing a semblance of normalcy, the sound of the front door opening interrupts your thoughts. Your dad's arrival is accompanied by the heavy footsteps of his friend, John, a familiar presence that fills you with a sense of unease.

John's visits are a regular occurrence, and while you've grown accustomed to his company over time, there's always been an underlying discomfort that lingers there. His leering gaze and inappropriate comments never fail to send shivers down your spine, and you've learned to keep your distance whenever he's around.

With a resigned sigh, you continue preparing dinner, keeping your focus trained on the task at hand as your dad and John settle into the living room. The muffled sounds of their conversation drift through the walls, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of beer bottles.

You retreat to the safety of your room, barricading yourself behind closed doors to drown out the noise of their revelry and trying to remember the times when your dad didn’t forget your birthday.

The next morning arrives with a deceptive calmness, the remnants of yesterday’s solemn fading into the background as you tentatively step into the kitchen to make breakfast. The stale scent of alcohol lingers in the air. You assume both your dad and John have left, their presence no longer weighing heavily on the atmosphere.

As you begin to prepare breakfast, your fingers moving through the motions of routine, your heart skips a beat when John's voice cuts through the silence. Startled, you turn to find him lingering in the corner of the kitchen, his presence like a dark shadow cast over the room.

“Your dad went to pick up coffee. It’s out.” He points to the empty coffee pot in your hand.

“Thanks.” You say politely, even though your instincts are screaming at you to keep your guard up.

Your muscles tense as John inches closer, his predatory gaze roving over you in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“I’ve never seen a woman wake up looking so beautiful.” A knot forms in the pit of your stomach as he begins to shower you with compliments, his words dripping with insincerity.

“I have a boyfriend.” The false mention of a boyfriend falls from your lips like a feeble shield, but it's futile against his relentless advance.

Ignoring your attempt to establish boundaries, John leans in closer, invading your personal space. His breath, stale with the scent of cigarettes and alcohol, sends a shiver down your spine.

“Does he make you feel as desired as I could?” His voice is low, dripping with a mixture of arrogance and lust. He pins you against the counter. Panic rises within you as his hands close in, his touch sending waves of revulsion coursing through your body.

“Stop, please.” You recoil from his foul breath, his vulgar words twisting like knives in your ears.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he coaxes, his grip tightening slightly.

“I said no,” you say, your tone firm and resolute. There’s a flicker of something dark in John’s eyes, a flash of anger that sends a chill down your spine.

Your attempts to push him away are futile as he overpowers you, his grip like iron as he twists your arms and bends you over the counter. The weight of his body presses against you, suffocating you with its presence. Fear and desperation grip you in equal measure as you struggle against his advances, you shout but he covers your mouth with one hand.

“Screaming won’t help you, sweetie. I actually like that.”

Summoning every ounce of strength you possess, you lash out with a ferocity born of desperation, delivering a swift and decisive blow that catches him off guard. His grip falters, giving you the opening you need to break free.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you flee from the suffocating confines of the kitchen, your feet pounding against the floor as you race towards the door. Tears blur your vision as you stumble into the unforgiving embrace of the outside world, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

You slow your pace as you put distance between yourself and the nightmare that still haunts you, the weight of what just transpired settling heavily upon your shoulders. Collapsing to the ground, your body racked with sobs, you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability, the tears flowing freely as you confront the harrowing reality of what just occurred.

But even in the depths of despair, a glimmer of determination flickers within you. With trembling hands and a heart heavy with sorrow, you rise to your feet, drawing upon a reservoir of strength you didn't know you possessed. There's only one person you can turn to now, one beacon of hope in the darkness that threatens to consume you whole. And so, with tear-stained cheeks and a resolve born of desperation, you set off towards the one place where you know you'll find solace, the one person you miss more than anything in this world.

You notice Billy's dad's car parked in the driveway, signaling his presence in the house. With a mixture of relief and desperation, you carefully approach his bedroom window, your heart pounding in your chest. Peering inside, you catch sight of Billy, reclining on his bed with a magazine in hand, seemingly lost in thought.

A soft tap on the glass draws his attention, his gaze snapping to the window before settling on you. Without hesitation, he rises from his bed, a look of concern etched across his features as he lifts the glass pane, inviting you inside.

"Y/N, what's happened?" His voice is laced with worry as he takes in your disheveled appearance, his eyes searching yours for answers.

"Can I come in?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, your throat tight with emotion. Billy extends his hand, offering you support as you clamber over the window sill, his touch grounding you in the moment.

You stand before him, trembling with a mixture of fear and relief, unwilling to let go of him as if he's your lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. His gentle hands cup your face, his touch warm against your skin as he guides you closer.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he murmurs, his breath stirring the strands of hair that cling to your tear-stained cheeks. "Come here, you're freezing." With a tender gesture, he leads you to his bed, his comforting presence a source of solace in the midst of turmoil.

As he helps you into one of his sweaters, the fabric enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth, you instinctively lean into him, seeking refuge in his embrace. His steady heartbeat echoes in your ears as you bury your head against his chest, finding comfort in the rhythmic cadence of his breathing.

"Want to talk about it?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper against your ear. With a shaky breath, you gather the courage to voice the horrors that still haunt you, the words tumbling from your lips in a torrent of pain and fear.

"One of my dad's friends stayed over last night," you begin, your voice trembling with emotion. "H-He was still there this morning. My dad was g-gone and he tried...he tried to..." Your voice falters as tears stream down your face once more, the memory too painful to bear.

"I'll kill him," Billy's voice is a low growl, his body stiffening beneath you as anger courses through his veins. You meet his gaze, seeing the fierce determination in his eyes, the silent promise of protection that he offers without hesitation.

You hold onto Billy tighter, his warmth and protective embrace providing you comfort.

"Billy, please," your voice trembles with fear and vulnerability. "I don't want you to do anything. I just needed to be here, with you."

He takes a deep breath, his grip on you softening slightly as he tries to reign in his emotions. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I just... I hate seeing you hurt like this."

“Is it okay if I stay? Will your dad get mad?” You slip your small, cold hand into his large, warm one, warmth spread through your fingers at his touch.

Billy's eyes soften as he looks at you, his heart breaking at the thought of you enduring such pain. He squeezes your hand gently, offering you a reassuring smile despite the turmoil raging inside him.

"Of course, you can stay," he says tenderly. “I’ll deal with my dad if he finds out.”

Relief washes over you like a gentle wave as you settle against him, enveloped in the warmth of his embrace. His words offer solace, a reassurance that you're not alone in this tumultuous moment.

"Thank you, B," you whisper, glancing up at him. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Billy tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"Thank you for coming to me," he murmurs, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions.

"I've missed you," you confess, the weight of unspoken words finally finding a voice. "I'm sorry for ignoring you. It was-"

"Don't apologize," Billy interrupts, his expression softening with understanding. "I understand why you did. I'm sorry for being such an asshole and ruining what we have between us. I understand if you don't want anything to do with me anymore. I just want to make this right, with you."

"Billy, I've only ever felt such hurt once in my life, and that was when my mom died," you admit, vulnerability coloring your words. "I've never loved anyone else more besides my mom until you came along."

Billy's eyes widen at your confession, his own emotions swirling beneath the surface.

“I’m sorry if that’s weird for you but I’ve been feeling this for a while now and I just can’t hold it in anymore. You make me feel safe and-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Billy's lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, igniting a firestorm of emotions within you. You find yourself instinctively moving closer on his lap, your hands tangling in his hair and his hands taking place on your hips. When you finally pull away, breathless and flushed, Billy's gaze holds a mixture of adoration and desire.

"Don't hide your face, little mouse," he whispers, his thumb tracing your cheek gently.

"You make me flustered." You laugh softly, the tension melting away as Billy kisses you through those words and mumble against your lips.

"You fluster me more, sweetheart." He trails kisses against your neck. “You take up a part of my heart that no one else will ever fill.”

You shiver at the sensation of his lips on your skin, feeling every word he speaks reverberate through your body. It's as if each touch is etching his declaration into your very soul.

"I never knew love could feel like this," you murmur, your fingers tracing patterns along the back of his neck as you nestle closer to him, wanting to memorize every contour of his body.

Billy's arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer until there's no space left between you. "Me neither," he admits, his voice husky with emotion. "But I'm glad we found it together."

In that moment, you realize that despite the pain and hardships you've faced, love has a way of healing even the deepest wounds. And as you melt into each other's embrace, you know that this love will carry you through.

When morning comes, you wake to the soft light filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. Stretching lazily, you turn to find Billy still asleep beside you, his features relaxed in the gentle embrace of sleep.

With a tender smile, you brush a strand of hair away from his face, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The events of the previous night still linger in your mind, you shake the nauseous feeling rising in your throat as you cuddle closer to Billy.

"Morning," Billy's hoarse voice breaks the silence of the morning, and you lift your head from his chest, a smile lighting up your face as you meet his gaze.

"Morning," you mumble softly, the warmth of his sleepy eyes soothing your soul.

“That was probably one of the best sleeps I’ve had in a long time.” A yawn escapes Billy as he stretches, his muscles flexing beneath the sheets.

“For me too. I’d love to stay here with you all day but I don’t think your dad would approve.” You joke, sitting up slightly, staring down at him.

“You’re so pretty.” He speaks before he even realizes what he said. You can’t help the smile that takes over your lips.

“I could say the same about you.” You whisper, pressing a kiss against his lips, melting into his warmth again.

Billy deepens the kiss, pulling you closer underneath his blanket. Your heartbeat fills the silence of his bedroom as you continue making out until you hear a door close down the hall.

“I should get going.” You pull away, breathless.

"Let me make an appearance for my dad to see, and I'll meet you out front," Billy offers, rising from the bed and holding his hand out to you. You take it, standing tall as he pulls you into a warm embrace, showering you with more kisses.

He helps you out his window and you quietly make your way around to the front of the house, the morning air crisp and refreshing. Billy's sleek sports car sits waiting, and you slide into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a soft click.

As Billy rushes out of the front door, keys jingling in his hand. He smiles as he notices you in the car, sliding into the driver's seat and starting the engine. With a smooth maneuver, he backs out of the driveway, the familiar rumble of the engine a comforting sound.

"Can we stop at my place? I really need to change my clothes," you can't help but feel a surge of nerves at the thought of going back to your own place. But with Billy by your side, the fear eases, replaced by a sense of reassurance.

“Sure but if that asshole is there, I can’t promise what I’ll do.” Billy lights a cigarette, rolling down his window so the smoke doesn’t get trapped in since he knows you hate when he smokes.

Billy pulls into your drive and you swallow the lump in your throat but it settles since the driveway is clear of any other cars. Billy grabs your hand as you make your way to the front door, keeping you close to him.

As you unlock and open the door, silence is all you hear from inside.

“Noone’s here.” You inform Billy, hurriedly going to your bedroom to change.

“What’s up with the full box of cupcakes?” Billy questions as you walk back out to the living room.

“Oh, those were from Robin,” you pause, remembering your birthday. “She sent them to me for my birthday since she’s out of town.”

“It’s your birthday?” Billy looks at you concerned.

“Two days ago.”

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t know.” He walks over, capturing you in a hug, kissing the top of your head.

“Not your fault. I don’t think I ever told you, so no need to apologize.” You step back and grab his hand, pulling him out the front door again.

“Now, please, let’s get some food. I’m starving!” Billy revs his Camaro and speeds off fast.

As you arrive at the restaurant where you work and are greeted warmly by Mary.

"Hello there, darling! Belated birthday wishes to you!" Mary exclaims, enveloping you in a hug as she leads you and Billy towards a cozy booth.

"Thank you, Mary," you reply with a genuine smile, taking a seat while Billy settles in beside you.

"And who might this handsome fellow be?" Mary raises an eyebrow with an amused expression.

"This is Billy, my..." you start to say.

"Boyfriend, ma'am," Billy interjects, extending his hand to shake Mary's.

"Well, isn't that lovely," Mary chuckles softly. "Just know, Billy, if you ever hurt her, I'll have to come after you." She adds the threat in a playful tone.

"No worries, ma'am. I'll make sure she's safe," Billy assures with a glance at you, eliciting a smile and a flutter in your stomach as his hand gently squeezes your thigh.

"Excellent! Now, what can I get you two? It's on the house," Mary offers.

You place your orders and settle against the booth. You rest your head against Billy’s shoulder as he grabs the ashtray on the table, lighting another cigarette. You can tell by the way he’s fidgeting and biting at his lip, that something is bothering him.

"Is everything alright?" you whisper.

He looks down at you, his eyes searching. "Can you tell me the guy's name?" he asks quietly.

You sigh, relenting. "John Bellmore. He works at the steel factory where my dad used to work."

Billy nods, taking a drag from his cigarette. "I understand what you're feeling, but promise me you won't do anything reckless," you plead.

Billy takes a moment to exhale a puff of smoke before meeting your gaze with a determined look. "I can’t promise that but I will promise to keep you safe," he says solemnly, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You nod but are still worried about what might happen if Billy confronts John. The tension in the air feels palpable as you both sit in silence, lost in your own thoughts.

Mary returns with your orders, breaking the heavy atmosphere with her cheerful demeanor. "Here you go, dears. Enjoy your meal," she says, placing the plates on the table with a smile.

"Thank you, Mary," you say, mustering a smile despite the unease lingering in your mind.

As Mary walks away, you turn back to Billy, noticing the intensity in his eyes as he stares off into the distance. "Promise me you won't do anything rash," you repeat, hoping to ease the tension between you.

"I won't let anyone hurt you." Billy reassures you again, his voice softening as he reaches over, hand resting on your cheek, leaning in for a kiss. “I will do everything in my power to not let anyone hurt you in any way ever again. Please just take that as my promise.”

You nod, grateful for his protectiveness but also worried about the consequences it might bring. Deep down, you know that confronting John could escalate the situation, but you also can't shake the fear of it happening again.

You finish dinner, thanking Mary again, before heading out of the restaurant.

“How about I make it up to you for not knowing it was your birthday and take you to get some ice cream?” Billy opens the passenger door for you, helping you in.

"Now that's the way to win me over. You're catching on, Hargrove," you playfully tease as he settles into the driver's seat.

Billy chuckles as he starts the car, glancing over at you with a playful smirk. "There’s more to come," he winks, before pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards the nearest ice cream shop.

Hawkins High bustles with the excited chatter of students sharing tales of their holiday break. You enter, feeling a knot of nerves in your stomach, uncertain how Billy will act around you after referring to himself as your boyfriend.

“Y/N!” Suddenly, Robin crashes into you with a hug, nearly sending you tumbling.

“Robin! I've missed you,” you exclaim, returning the embrace, a smile instantly lighting up your face.

“I can’t believe my parents made me miss your birthday this year. I feel terrible,” Robin says as you both walk together towards her locker.

“It's okay, really. And thanks again for the cupcakes. They were amazing!” you reply gratefully.

“We're still on for our girls' night tonight, right? I hope you didn’t forget,” Robin reminds you.

“Actually, I have something to tell you,” you begin, but before you can finish, Billy appears, casually draping his arm around your waist and leaning his chin on your shoulder. “Hey there, little mouse,” he says in a teasing tone.

"OMG! There’s no way!" Robin gasps, her eyes widening in disbelief.

You exchange a sheepish glance with Robin, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. Billy's sudden display of affection catches you off guard, and you struggle to find the right words to explain the situation.

"Uh, yeah, um..." You stammer, unsure how to address Robin's obvious surprise.

Billy chuckles softly, giving you a reassuring squeeze before addressing Robin with a smirk. "Surprise, surprise," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

"I thought we despised him?" Robin crosses her arms, recalling the fallout from the incident involving him and Heather.

"Listen," Billy straightens up, his hand still gently resting on your waist as he addresses Robin directly. "I know I messed up big time with our friend, but I swear I'll never hurt her again."

Robin's gaze shifts between the two of you, seeking reassurance in your eyes. You offer a small smile and a nod, silently confirming Billy's words. Robin sighs, a sense of resignation washing over her.

"Fine, but just know that if you ever break that promise, I won't hesitate to kick your ass," she warns, her tone firm but laced with a hint of underlying concern.

The bell for first period rings and you say goodbye to Robin as she walks in the opposite direction. You can’t help but glance around at all the eyes on you as Billy hasn’t removed his hands from you, sliding his hand in the back pocket of your jeans.

“Don’t mind them, little mouse.” He moves plants a kiss to your head, smirking as the various students whisper and gasp.

“What’s up Hargrove?” Tommy and Carol intercept your path before you make it to class. “Slumming it now?”

You shoot a withering glare at Tommy and Carol, but Billy steps forward, his posture exuding confidence.

"Watch your mouth, Tommy," Billy warns, his voice low and threatening. "Or you'll regret it."

Tommy scoffs, but Carol pulls at his arm, urging him to back down. "Come on, Tommy, let's not start anything."

“I’m so tired of that shithead.” Billy lets out a frustrated sigh as he guides you towards your first class.

“Why do you put up with them anyway?”

“They were just there. Never really thought about who I hang with until you came along.” Billy reflects, pausing by the classroom door.

“Now you’re stuck with me.” You smile jokingly.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Billy leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. The hallway fades into the background as his touch ignites a warmth within you. Without hesitation, you close the distance, meeting his lips in a tender kiss.

For a moment, everything else melts away—the whispers, the stares, the drama of Hawkins High. It's just you and Billy, lost in the sweet embrace of each other's lips.

“I don’t want anything else.” Billy says as you pull away, a soft smile dances on his lips, his gaze fixed on you with a newfound fondness. “I’ll see you later, little mouse.”

You detach, unwillingly heading into the classroom with every pair of eyes practically burning holes into you but all you can do is smile the whole way to your seat.

Taglist:@msbillyhargrove @uselessbutinteresting @milestellergfs @ghostcastaway @missingbillyhargrove @lotionlamp @billys-pretty-babe @isimpfortoomanypeople @rosey96 @girlwifteef @miheartsedthings @empathyroad @notzoey @iletmytittiestitty-russ @the-ch0sen-on3 @coral021 @fossface @vicurious28

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peachywritess · 1 year

Text

happiness looks good on you ー knj

☁️ genre: long-term lovers, estabilished relationship, fluff, kind of domestic!au, namjoon being a supportive husband.

☁️ pairings: husband!kim namjoon x artist!female!reader

☁️ warnings: there aren't any, just joonie being husband material, use of pet names such as jagiya, baby, love.

☁️ word count: 1,7k

☁️ author's note: just a small little thing i had in mind, not my best but i really liked writing this, i hope you like it bubs!!<3

Feedbacks are welcomed !

The brush plopped into the water jar, and a few drops of coloured liquid spilt on the wooden surface. Some ended up on your phone which lit up, the lock screen displaying your favourite picture: you and Namjoon holding a white teddy bear he had won at an amusement park. You remembered that day clearly: it was your first anniversary.

You had captured the moment with a polaroid camera Namjoon had bought as a gift, and you still hadn’t figured out how it worked so the shot came out far too bright. However, looking at that picture years later still brought a sense of warmth and nostalgia: you were both so young, inexperienced, and still seeking to understand each other. Seven years had passed since that day, and so many things had happened: your trip to Bali, rescuing two calico cats and naming them Zelda and Esme, your tour of Europe, and then your marriage.

Your house was full of memories and pictures from your numerous adventures like the one in the Italian Alps where you were too scared to cross a suspended bridge, and Namjoon had to carry you for more than a mile. Or the one in the french Blue Coast when he had mistaken tanning oil for sunscreen so you both had pretty bad sunburns for the entire week.

“I told you to buy sunscreen, Joonie - sunscreen!”

“It is! See, huile de bronzage.” He had panicked showing you the little brown bottle.

“It literally means tanning oil, Namjoon Kim!”

A smile shone on your lips ー reminiscing all of the wonderful memories you had made together. You missed his buzz cut, and how his short hair used to tingle your palms: when you were younger, Namjoon let you dye it in different colours. One time, you had opted for pretty pink flowers, and the dye had stayed on for months.

You loved that he couldn't give a damn about other people's judgement - in fact - he would always brag to his hyungs how talented his girlfriend was. Surely, he would let you know.

"Jagiya, you are so talented. Please dye my hair forever!"

You had majored in arts whereas Namjoon had chosen to open up a travel agency. Initially, it was not easy for either of you: you had only each other's support and getting through the month was always difficult.

Namjoon stayed out late to advertise his shop, but despite this he would always stay up all night watching you finalise one of your paintings, making sure to bring you a glass of water about every half hour because "it's important to stay hydrated when you are working hard."

He would try his best to stay awake by telling you about his day, showering you with compliments and then attempting to analyse what you were painting. You would quietly listen to him, some mhmh's and mhh's in response and occasionally interrupt his chatter to tell him to get some rest. Yet each time he reiterated the same phrase: 'I'll stay awake as long as you do, love'.

And so within minutes he would fall asleep on the couch and you would bring a blanket and a pillow for him to be comfortable.

But now, his hair had grown out and you had practically lost the sparks you usually felt when you painted. Finishing a canvas was now something you had to do - and really didn't enjoy at all.

“You have one month, Y/N. Then I will shred the contract to pieces, understood?”

You listened in silence as your boss complained over the phone, her voice a few octaves higher.

“I mean, what happened to you? Do you think I pay lazy and unmotivated people? Our company seeks talent and commitment, and I’m afraid you no longer have any of these requirements.”

You sharply inhaled pinching the bridge of your nose, back resting against the chair as Namjoon stood right behind you, he too in silence. His hands were placed on your shoulders, which he stroked softly.

“I understand, Mrs Han. I am working on a piece at the moment, and I swear that it will be done in less than a month-”

You took all of your courage to speak - that woman truly scared you. Ms Han was the director of the agency you worked for, whose aim was to sell artwork at a premium price. She was a fifty-year-old woman with a passion for belittling her employees and underpaying them.

“No more promises, I don’t care. I just want that piece at the end of this month.” She interrupted you, and you sighed.

Just know that this is your last chance.”

And just like that she hung up, leaving you lost in a limbo of disbelief and terror: you could not afford to lose this job.

Yes, it probably wasn't the best job on the planet, but you hadn't yet realised your dream of opening your own atelier, and this company - although not particularly ethical - was a sure ticket to gaining a small amount of notoriety in the industry.

“Wow, what a bitch.” Namjoon proclaimed breaking the silence and bringing a small smile to your lips.

“Damn right she is.”

You groaned, squinting your eyes shut, before running your hands down your face - in a gesture of sheer exasperation. “I could end her whole career if I wanted to.”

“Then do that, baby. You have nothing to lose, she does.”

You let your head fall back, resting it on the chair, finally meeting your boyfriend's gaze. He was smiling, and his dimples looked so adorable you wanted to squeeze his cheeks.

“Um, probably my job, Joonie?”

“Yeah, that’s a good point.”

Namjoon leaned forward until you were close enough to look directly into his eyes, then left a soft kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes, savouring that brief moment of tranquillity. His attention then shifted to the canvas in front of you - a few lines of red paint already starting to dry up - and observed it thoroughly without saying a word.

"Do you remember when you accepted the job offer?" He questioned.

"Mhmh, what about it?"

"And do you also remember what you told me?"

You bit your lower lip, scratching your chin with your index finger.

You had said a million, no, a billion things to Namjoon before you signed that contract.

"Um, wish me luck?" You said in a slightly questioning tone, and your husband facepalmed.

With a swift movement, he turned the chair you were sitting on allowing you to look him directly in the eyes. That gesture made you blush and you stared at him with doe eyes.

"No, jagi, not the correct answer." He tilted his head, soft jet-black locks brushing his forehead. "You promised me you wouldn't let them change you."

You were struggling, and that broke his heart.

Namjoon knew you were desperately trying to paint something, anything that would please your boss. He had examined the shift in your brushstrokes from time to time, and they didn’t seem to belong to you. They were abrupt and quick, whereas you always directed them with gentle movements.

He was not seeing you on that canvas, instead, he was seeing a version you had been forced to become.

"Is it worth it, love? Do you want to become a machine for them to make more money?"

You sighed. He was right ー Namjoon was so right.

You had completely forgotten how it felt to make art, you had forgotten how it felt to be free. You had submitted to their rules because they had made empty promises from the start and you had believed them.

Namjoon crouched down, resting his hands on your knees. In that position, the light coming from the window illuminated his face as you gazed at him with pure admiration. He was glowing.

His brown eyes seemed to light up, turning a honey-like amber colour.

"Joonie..." You murmured as your hands gently grabbed his. "I can't lose this job, I just cannot."

"Y/N, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, you know that right?"

His thumbs softly rubbed the back of your hands, something he always did to comfort you. As he stroked he gently drew imaginary shapes like circles, flowers or hearts.

You hummed in response locking eyes with him.

"That's why I want the best for you. I want you to be happy because I can't bear the thought of you ever suffering. And what I truly wish for, is for you to find your love for art again, and-"

"Baby..."

"I don't want you to feel obligated because I swear to you Y/N, I will always support you no matter what," he then grabbed both your hands in his, and brought them to his lips. "but I wish you just left this job."

You smiled when Namjoon placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. Despite all these years, he had never changed: he was still the same old romantic and you couldn't complain.

"I know, Joonie, but what if I can't find anything? What if... I don't make enough money to open the atelier?"

Namjoon lightly squeezed your hands, his eyes never leaving yours as one hand cupped your cheek, delicately caressing it.

"Jagiya, you are the most talented woman I've ever known, and you can do whatever you wish to do. You inspire me every day."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." You relaxed in his touch, letting out a breath.

The warmth of his hand unexpectedly left your cheek, and that's when you saw him searching for something in the pocket of his jeans.

"Perhaps, you could start with these."

You blinked quickly observing the object your husband was holding before your eyes. You raised your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why he was showing you a pair of rusty keys.

Then, a wave of realisation hit you.

Namjoon immediately noticed your eyes turning glazy and your mouth opening slightly in an expression of pure wonder. You grabbed the keys with trembling hands and clutched them to your chest, heart racing.

"The place is a bit run down, but I am sure that in a few months, we will manage to make it perfect."

Without wasting a second you threw your arms around his neck, and tears of happiness fell from your eyes. You couldn't believe it: your dream had just come true.

"I love you so much, Joon, I- I can't believe it. I love you!"

Namjoon stroked your hair, unable to resist tearing up with you, holding you close to him. At that moment, all he wished was for time to stand still and remain like that forever.

"I love you too, princess."

Happiness looked so good on you.

Please consider reblogging my works if you like them! <3

#namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x female reader #kim namjoon x female reader #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon imagine #kim namjoon fic #kim namjoon one shot #bts x reader #bts x female reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagine

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xbellaxcarolinax · 10 months

Note

Congrats! Can I ask for Jake lockley and “use your words” pls and thanks, I feel like he would be so dirtyyyy

Love You, More

Jake Lockley x f!reader

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: smut, p in v, lots of cum I guess, fluff too, Jake likes to fuck in his car (what's new), sappy Jake, I hope he's not too ooc.

Also, I'm trying out different ways in including Spanish translations. Do you guys prefer translations at the end of the fic or within the fic? Let me know!

Also, also, it's my first time writing Jake. Enjoy <3

MDNI

"Jesus, Jake," you flung his car door open, immediately greeted by his cherry-scented air freshener and spiced cologne, "I called you seven minutes ago! It's rush hour! Did you bulldoze through traffic, you loon?"

Jake broke into a grin. He was calm and collected as ever, his left arm resting over the steering wheel as if he’d been waiting an eternity for you. He unbuckled his seatbelt as you shuffled into the passenger seat, letting you slam the door shut and toss your things in the back seat before snaking a gloved hand over the nape of your neck and tugging you toward him, giving you a searing kiss.

"No pasa nada," he muttered over your lips, his fingers gently sneaking into the roots of your hair, "fuck traffic. My girl needed me." (It's no problem)

Jake was dramatic, that much had been clear when you first met him. If you asked him for an inch he’d give you a mile. If he could, he'd fight for a way to give you the moon and stars if you asked.

But you hadn’t asked him for the moon and stars. You were a simple woman. You just wanted a ride home from work, too exhausted to take the tube. Either way, you were grateful.

He rested his brow on yours with his eyes closed, letting his knuckles skim your cheekbone down to your jawline.

“Missed you, princesa.” Jake hadn’t seen you in about a week, mostly fronting to drive around overnight (and deal with…Moon Knight-related activities) for some extra cash while simultaneously letting Marc and Steven rest.

“Missed you, too, baby.” You melted into his touch immediately, letting him work his tongue into your mouth. One thing about Jake was that he was a filthy kisser. He was all tongue and teeth and spit, and Goddamn was he good at it. But he took his time with you now, savoring your taste of mint mixed with the sweetness of the orange slices you had with your lunch.

“You didn’t kill anyone on the way here, did you?” You asked between kisses.

“Mm, don’t think so.”

You giggled, giving him a few well-deserved kisses. Your lip gloss left shiny smudges over his lips, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose, but he didn’t mind, growing fond of your little smooches to the point where it became an expectation.

"Thank you for picking me up."

"Claro, amor." (of course, love.)

"Alright, fast and furious, take me home."

The drive was comfortable. Jake watched his speed this time, taking the local streets just to have you in his car longer. He had the radio playing low, a hand gripping your thigh while the other steered. You weaved your fingers through his before giving his hand a light squeeze. Every once in a while he'd release your hand, trailing his fingers higher up your thigh and settling into the crease between your legs, skimming your warm core, before moving back down to claim your hand in his.

You knew what he was doing. He was teasing you, warming you up for the inevitable. It's been a week after all. You indulged him, spreading your thighs just a little bit wider while watching the city pass by in a blur.

He drove into the private parking lot two blocks away from Steven’s flat, parking into his designated spot and cutting off the engine. The abrupt stop of the radio left you both in silence, Jake looking over at you with a look in his dark eyes that meant he was up to something. You smiled, unbuckling your seatbelt to plant a kiss on his waiting lips before attempting to open the car door.

“Uh, uh.” Jake reprimanded, stopping you. He quickly shuffled out of the car, slammed the door closed, and swiftly walked to your side, opening the door for you.

“Ahh, what a gentleman.” You teased, grasping the hand he offered you before slamming the car door. Before you could make any other moves, he opened the door to the backseat.

“Get in, mami.” You brows furrowed in confusion.

“What—why?”

“I won’t be answering questions at this time,” he said, playfully swatting your bum, “be good and listen.” You bit your lip with a nod, shuffling into the back seat and tossing your belongings toward the front of the car.

Jake was on you as soon as he got in, slamming the car door and pressing his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking on your delicate skin.

“Is this a good idea?” You breathed, your fingers sinking into his curls just beneath his hat. “Won’t we get caught?”

“Mmm, windows are tinted for a reason.” He hummed into your neck, his hand messing with the buttons of your dress shirt.

“But people are gonna be parking—”

“Let them park, don’t worry about it. Ven acá.” (come here) You yelped when his hands found your waist, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips as he helped you straddle his lap. “That’s better.” he grinned, tugging your shirt from inside your pants to let the soft leather of his gloves caress your sides.

You looked past him through the back windshield when a car drove into the lot, a panicked look in your eyes as your hands settled on Jake’s shoulders.

“Mirame,” (look at me) He forced you to look at him with his fingers pressed to your chin, “focus on me.” You looked back at him, blinking owlishly. He brings you down for a kiss, a slow one that makes a noise when you separate. “I want you.” He whispered over your plump lips, licking them gently as he fiddled with the button of your trousers, dipping his hands inside to tug at the waistband of your panties.

You let out a shaky breath, your skin burning from his gentle touches as he pushed your pants down as far as he could, hands slipping under your panties to grab the globes of your ass. He squeezed them, capturing your lips again in a filthy kiss that was all tongue and spit.

You moaned, falling into his trap with little objection. You could feel his cock through his trousers, his large bulge twitching right under your sex. You moved your hips over his, grinding down against his growing erection. He groaned over your lips, his hands shifting to grasp your hips, moving you over him at the pace he wanted.

You could feel yourself getting moist, panties probably wrecked from the continual stimulation. Your fingers reached between your bodies, desperately fighting to loosen Jake’s tie.

“Esperate, mami, you’re gonna choke me.” (wait) He chuckled breathlessly, slapping your hands away to loosen his tie and removing it, tossing it to the floor. You knocked his hat off, taking his face in your hands and kissing him fervently. He moaned letting you lead him for a moment before he tapped your thigh. “Up, baby, up, want these off you.”

You wasted no time, kicking off your shoes ans standing up as best you could while being cramped up in the back of his car, letting him slide your trousers down, revealing your damp panties.

“Mm, look at that,” he grinned, shoving your pants down to your ankles, “already wet for me.”

“Shut up, Lockely.” You muttered with no bite, clumsily kicking off your pants completely before taking a seat on his lap again. Jake groaned at the pressure, bucking up into your warm heat.

He carefully peeled his gloves off, placing them in the cup holder of the door, his fingers immediately tracing down your abdomen and then further down, pushing your panties aside to dip into your moist heat.

“Damn,” he hissed, “you’re fucking soaked.” You moaned when he pulled his fingers out, separating them to watch how your juices clung to his fingers. Your hands flew to his belt, fighting to release him from his shackles. You sucked your teeth in frustration, your fingers fumbling against the leather and metal that clung to his hips.

Jake chuckled, “What is it?” You whined pawing at his crotch. “No, mami, use your words, I wanna hear you.”

“Want your cock,” you breathed, “please, baby?” You fluttered you lashes, though that wasn’t necessary. He was easily convinced.

Jake assisted you by lifting his hips, watching you yank the offending fabrics—boxers and all—down till they pooled around his ankles. His cock bobbed out, poking through his white dress shirt.

“You want this cock, baby? Come get it.” He pushed his dress shirt out of the way, gripping his cock firmly in his hand. The swollen tip was bright red and leaking precum down the length. “Sit on it.”

Your arousal flared at his words, and you wasted no time in pushing the soaked fabric of your panties aside, lining yourself up, and sinking down. You both moaned in unison, your hands flying to his shoulders to stabilize you while he held your hips in his warm hands, his mouth hanging open as he watched you move with lust-filled eyes.

You bounced on his cock, delicately at first, testing the stretch and the thickness of him, your cunt fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“Estas mojada, mami,” (you're wet) Jake groaned, tossing his head back against the cushioned seat, “fuck your tight, always so tight. Missed this pussy.” He was submerged in your juices as you rocked your hips above him, moaning like you never had before. Maybe it was the location, something about having Jake fuck you in his car while potentially being caught had your dial turned up to a thousand.

“Y-you feel so good,” you mewled, back arching when Jake thrust his hips up, his cock reaching impossibly deep, “you fuck me so good.”

Jake suddenly brought you flushed against him, his arms circling your waist as he thrusts into you every time you slammed down on him. He was sweating, you felt the moisture when he buried his face in your neck, breathing heavily over your skin.

“Need you to come,” he groaned, the sound of your slick pussy the loudest thing in the car, probably in the entire parking lot, “need you to come first.” He snuck a hand down toward where you both were joined, taking his thumb and circling your clit in the way he knew you loved.

“Fuck, Jake,” you squealed, your pussy tightening from the added stimulation, “I think I’m gonna—” You threw your head back as your body convulsed, your cunt gushing over his cock and thighs. You cried, tears leaking from your eyes as he kept thrusting sloppily into you, you’re overstimulated sex squeezing tight as you came. “J-Jake.” You barely got his name out, your body trembling in his arms.

“I know, baby, I know, you did so well for me,” he cooed, his voice strained as he chased his own pleasure, “gonna fill you up so good—” he groaned, rocking his hips a final time as he held you close, filling you to the brim with his cum. He squeezed you tightly in his arms, his fingers digging into your back as he bit your neck, riding his high. You felt his cock twitching inside your wet walls as he kept coming, his spend leaking out of you.

You were both panting against one another, chests heaving as you searched each others mouths, kissing with more tongue than anything else. He cradled your face in his hands as he kissed you stupid, his lashes tickling your skin as he licked, and licked and licked.

Every shift of your hips had his spend leaking out, running down his balls and onto the seat in a warm stream.

Jake’s heavy eyes blinked up at you, a smile curling on his lips.

“Love you, mami.” He muttered, bringing you in for a tight hug as if it was the last time he’d be seeing you. You made him sappy, at least, that’s what he always told you. He didn’t know he had a sappy bone in his body until you came along.

Now, he made sure to remind you how loved you are.

You stayed nestled comfortably on his lap, his cock still lodge snuggly in your hole. You held him, your fingers threading in his sweaty dark curls. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent.

“Love you, more.” You made sure to remind him, too.

#caro's 2k #moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley fanfiction

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