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cobrakaisb · 2 months

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what was i made for?

summary: everybody hates you, but luke could never see you that way; luke hates himself, but he’s always going to be the center of your galaxy.

word count: 2.3k

featuring: angst, reader and luke share a vape (sue me🙈), but also friend dynamics, and official godly parent reveal 🙌, reader and luke are basically together (without the labels).

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“i hate it here,” you announce, taking a seat at the hermes table for breakfast.

chris, luke, and katrina all exchange glances. you can sense their nerves from a mile away, and their unease only seems to heighten when you slam your plate and goblet on the table. chris opens his mouth, ready to comment on your behavior, but he decides not to when you throw a nasty glare his way.

“wow, you’re hera’s daughter,” katrina teases, nudging your shin with her own from across the table.

“no shit, really?” you reply, stabbing a lone strawberry on your plate.

“no seriously, your glare is exactly like hers. i can see her staring at me in disapproval and everything,” katrina continues with a wide smile on her face.

you flash a tight-lipped smile in response, but don’t take the bait that’s dangling in front of you. over the past few months, you’ve established quite the reputation at camp half-blood. aside from being something akin to a forbidden child -- because it was always assumed that hera would never have children -- your nasty temper, smart mouth, and enormous ego have led to a number of fights. all of them were petty, with campers making claims about you that were so far into leftfield you were surprised they even caught on.

“what happened this time?” luke asks, his shoulder brushing against yours when he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table.

“that stupid fucking lava wall,” you grumble, taking a bite of your pancakes.

“okay…” katrina prompts, waving her hand in a continue motion.

you swallow your food before answering, “i love the lava wall, it’s such a good workout, but i hate that my time slot is the same as the ares kids.”

“nothing new, but what’d they do now?” katrina asks.

“annoy me,” you answer.

luke says your name in the same tone he uses when travis and connor get caught pulling some master prank. you can hear the disappointment in his tone, and that elicits an eye roll from you. he doesn’t even know the full story, and he’s already picking a side other than yours, typical.

“sorry, that we can’t all be the golden child like you,” you sneer, getting up from the table to throw the rest of your food in the burning fire pit.

everybody knows you prayed to your mother when the flames flash a deep purple before flickering back to their normal orange.

“i’ll talk to her,” katrina says, standing up from her seat.

luke lifts up his hand, shakes his head no, and replies, “i got it.”

he follows you out of the dining pavilion and into the woods. you know he’s there because you can hear the cracks of twigs and rustling of bushes as he matches your step. only two people are crazy enough to follow you, but only one of them knows when to walk in silence.

“go back to camp luke,” you demand, pushing a branch out of the way.

“not until you tell me what the fuck happened at the lava wall,” he answers, dodging the branch before it makes contact with his nose.

you stop short, looking at long island sound through a small gap in the trees. luke knows the spot; you two come here frequently. he waits for a moment, admiring your straight back. even when you’re feeling your worst, you still muster up the courage to walk with the confidence of a princess.

“the same old shit. you know the story,” you mumble, eyes squinting from the glare of the sun.

luke sighs. he doesn’t understand why you put up this mask with him. why do you feel the need to continue being the strong, confident, arrogant, and put-together, daughter of hera when it’s just the two of you? he steps closer to you, standing directly behind you so his arms can wrap around your waist. you lean back into his chest, shoulders sagging in defeat.

“i never used to care what people thought of me, now it’s all i can think about. this was supposed to be different, luke,” you whisper.

luke doesn’t say anything in return. he drops his forehead against the back of your head, and squeezes your hips just a bit tighter. camp was supposed to be different. you were meant to feel wanted and seen; he was meant to become a hero with ultimate glory. from the looks of it, neither of you are anywhere close to getting what you deserve.

—

some days were harder than others, luke knew this. yet, it didn’t make it any easier when one of those hard days came around. each and every time he feels utterly dead to the world, wanting nothing more than to rot away in the comfort of his bottom bunk in the hermes cabin. being head counselor doesn’t afford that luxury. so, he takes a deep breath, musters up every ounce of courage his body could possibly possess, and walks out the door.

usually, the training arena is quiet in the mornings. nobody, not even the most dedicated warriors, is willing to get up earlier than they need to. sleep is a hot commodity at camp half-blood. and so is privacy. so, luke relishes in the quiet mornings where he’s surrounded by the soft tweets of birds, the slash of his sword, and his heavy breathing. he trains and trains, searching for a way to be good enough again. he used to pray, but after years of going unheard and unanswered, he gave up on connecting with his father.

he thinks of his mother, alone in their house in suburban connecticut. she never doubted hermes, even when he left them for worse; her faith kept her loyal. luke wishes that he had her loyalty, but he doesn’t. instead, all he feels is anger and resentment towards his father. he swings his sword again, cutting through the outer layer of the dummy, and watches as the stuffing falls gracefully to the ground.

“that’s a lot of slashes,” you comment, and your voice draws him out of his own head.

he ignores you, continuing on with his practice session.

“you know you can take a break, right?” you ask, coming to stand behind him.

luke’s arm falls to his side, his sword resting against his thigh. his head falls forehead, and he takes in a deep breath, letting the clean air fill his lungs. your hand sneaks between the strap of his bronze breastplate and his bright orange t-shirt. he takes another breath, and your chin digs into his shoulder before you drop a kiss on the exposed skin by the collar of his shirt.

you don’t say anything, and luke appreciates that about you. ever since your arrival at camp, he’s tried to pinpoint what exactly draws him to you. every time he comes up empty handed, but at this moment he knows it’s your willingness to just let him be. you never force him to be happy or content with the gods’ and their behavior. you embrace the darkness slowly rising inside of him, even when he tries to suppress it.

“i just want to be good enough,” luke whispers, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable.

your arms tighten around him, and you reply, “you are good enough.”

“not for him,” he mumbles.

“he’s not good enough for you,” you say assertively.

luke doesn’t comment on your words. the conviction in your voice is enough to inform him that there’s no changing your mind. he wishes he believed you, but he doesn’t.

“you’re not the one who failed their quest,” luke mumbles.

you openly scoff at his words, letting go of him. he waits patiently for your next move and stumbles when you pull him towards your face by the strap of his armor. your eyes met, and luke swear he’s never seen such fury brewing in them.

“don’t ever use that as a determinant of your worth. that quest was impossible luke, and he knew that,” you seethe.

luke blinks, letting your words sink in. he can’t believe them; he doesn’t believe them.

“it was my chance, my one chance to show him that i’m worthy,” luke whispers, leaning his forehead against yours.

you let out a shaky breath and luke can feel the anger and frustration radiating off you in waves. he knows that if he wasn’t holding you in his arms, olympus would fall. he blinks, and you’re standing there, in the middle of crumbled temples and the debris of ancient ruins with the fiercest look in your eyes. you’re hera’s daughter, and you’re loyal to a fault, he thinks.

“i just don’t know how much longer i can do this,” he confesses, kissing your earlobe.

“me too,” you answer, squeezing him tighter.

—

the two of you are sitting on the dock, feet dangling over the edge as your toes barely graze the surface of the water. you always meet here after all the campers in the hermes cabin settled into bed. when he was able to sneak out and away from their curious eyes.

“i hate it here,” you whisper, leaning further back into luke’s chest.

“you don’t hate it here,” he mumbles, fumbling around in the pocket of his cargo pants.

“i do,” you answer with certainty. “everybody here hates me. except maybe you and katrina,” you continue.

luke doesn’t accept or deny your statement. instead, he just hands you the orange stick. you scoff at him, but take the vape from his hands anyways. one thing about luke, he feeds your addictions; every single one of them. instead of thanking him, like you normally would, you bring the vape to your mouth, inhaling deeply. you wait a second, letting the toxins fill your lungs, and then release the smoke in one puff. there’s nothing sexy or hot about the action, but luke squeezes your side, pulling you a bit closer.

“i can’t believe my plug is my boyfriend,” you joke, but there’s no happiness in your tone.

luke pokes your side. you switch the vape to your left hand, holding it out to him. you wait patiently for him to take it, but he doesn’t. that confuses you. you turn to face him, forehead bumping against his chin. it hurts, but you just grit your teeth instead of saying anything. luke grimaces, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“there are other people here who like you,” luke says.

“name them,” you demand, taking another hit.

luke takes the item from you, uses it, and then answers, “chris.”

“is your friend not mine,” you reply.

luke rolls his eyes. “connor and travis,” he continues.

“enjoy torturing me, not my company. besides, they’re like ten,” you say.

“okay then, what about clarisse?” luke asks.

now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “clarisse tolerates me.”

“that’s more than i can say,” luke answers, and you snort at his response.

luke smiles softly at you, and you feel your cheeks heat up. you hate when he does that. when he looks at you like you’re the only person he could possibly dream about. there are days where there's such deep admiration for you in his eyes, you wonder if he leaves burnt offerings in your name instead of the gods.

you turn his face in the opposite direction and whisper, “don’t do that.”

“do what?” he asks nonchalantly.

“you know what,” you answer, shooting him a pointed look.

luke grins. it’s proud and cocky, telling you that he knows exactly what he’s doing. his brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and his scar bunches up with the upturn of his lips. you think he looks the prettiest in this moment; in the dark of the night, with messy curls, grimy skin, and a vibrant smile. you turn again, so that your legs are draped across his lap, and wrap your left arm around the back of his neck. luke’s left hand, the one previously resting against your side, lands on your right thigh, and he squeezes the flesh there as he kisses your temple.

“do you think we moved too fast?” you ask, taking the vape from his right hand.

luke waits, expecting you to take a hit, but you just look at him with eager eyes.

“i think we’re doing everything right,” he explains.

his words hold a deeper meaning that you refuse to acknowledge at the moment. you know what’s going on, but you don’t want to think about it. what would mother say?, you wonder. you lean your head against luke’s shoulder, nose brushing against the crook of his neck, and close your eyes.

“do you think icarus knew he was falling to his death?” luke asks, breaking the silence.

it takes you a moment, but you respond, “maybe. i’m not sure.”

“i mean he was flying the whole time, and then suddenly, he’s plummeting into the mediterranean,” luke continues, taking the vape from your hand.

“maybe he wanted to die,” you reply, tilting your head to meet his brown eyes.

a confused expression overcomes luke’s face, propelling you to continue on: “he must have known that the sun would melt the wax, and then his wings would break. i think icarus meant to die, trying to send a message to daedalus or even maybe the gods.”

luke ponders your words for a minute. the gears in his head turning as he contemplates the truth behind your theory. is that what we’re doing?, he wonders. the brewing plans between the two of you linger over his head like a dark cloud, but he can’t bring himself to regret anything.

“so icarus had a greater purpose…like us,” luke observes, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“exactly,” you answer, leaning into his side.

luke hands the vape back to you, and you pocket it for good this time. he exhales deeply, engulfing you in a cloud of mango-scented smoke. it burns your lungs, but at least you feel something, which is more than you can say as of lately.

“i just want to be happy,” luke announces.

“happy and free,” you decide, kissing his cheek delicately.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @used2beee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcillia @obxstiles @maraschinocherry3

#luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan oneshot #all american bitch series #cobrakaisb writing

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wintfleur · 1 month

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stop i need stella moments with her brothers in videos about them like “going home” 🙏🏼🙏🏼

౨ৎ going home (featuring Stella Hughes!)

﹕─┈ pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X siblings! Hughes brothers )

°. — details ( g; fluff. w; none really? wc; 1.k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I am sooo sorry for how long this has taken for me to get out !!! It got lost in my inbox lovely, but thank you sm for sending in a request! I loved writing it, so sorry that it’s short !!! Hope you guys enjoy !!! )

°. — this is based off this video.

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

﹕─┈ All of Stella’s moments during ‘Going Home | Quinn Hughes’

“Lukey was the best pool player in the family I would say, or in the house” Quinn answered Kate's question, as he motioned his head towards Luke who was leaning over the pool table with his stick. Stella’s lips twitched up into a smile, already knowing where her older brother was leading the conversation too. Quinn continued to speak with a small smile “He had like the best win percentage, and then he bought a pool stick.”

“For like 200 bucks” Luke was quick to interrupt Quinn, an annoyed frown on his lips as he looked back on the bad money decision, he should have listened to stella. Quinn let out a small chuckle and glanced back at Stella before continuing to tease Luke “Yeah, and he just his game went down the down the rails like. He was like one in ten.”

“What about you stella?” Kate sent the youngest Hughes a warm smile, looking at Stella who was sitting Criss crossed on the couch watching Luke. Stella perked up at the mention of her name and sent Kate a happy smile, but before she could answer, Luke was quick to jump in and answer for her with a laugh “Stella’s the worst!”

Everyone in the room laughs at the dramatic gasp that Stella let out. Jack, who was leaning against the wall, laughing louder than the rest at the offended look Stella sends him. Quinn just shrugs, he was not going to get in between Stella and Luke today. The Producer chuckles himself before asking Quinn another answer “are you the cook in the house?”

Stella zones out as Quinn answers the question, her eyes dropping down to her lap where her phone rested when she felt it vibrate, a shy smile coming across her face when she sees who texted her. She bit her bottom lip to hide her smile, not wanting to give her suddenly happy mood away.

lovey 🩵: do you think i'd survive sneaking through your window tonight?

pretty girl 🩷: are you brave enough to try? (i give you a 40% survival rate)

lovey 🩵: Bet! (i’d die happy though)

“Isn't that right stella?” Quinn asked Stella, wanting her to agree with how he's a much better cook. Stella looks up from her phone where she was lost in her own world and sees everyone looking at her for an answer, but the only answer they got was a confused frown and a small “Huh.”

Quinn and Jack chuckle while Luke narrows his eyes on her phone, Stella quickly shutting it off when she sees Luke's stare. Quinn chuckles and gives the camera a cheeky smile “I'm gonna take that as a yes.”

Stella sat in the corner of the boat, a blanket over her lap and her hands stuffed into the front pocket of Luke's hoodie that she stole. She wanted to go sit up on the front of the boat, curled up next to her mom but they wanted her to sit with Luke and Jack, the fans wanted to see the siblings together more apparently.

“Get your toes away from me” Stella quietly hissed at jack when he rested them up on the seat next to her, Luke who was laying on his stomach behind her stifled his laugh at the groan of annoyance stella lets out when jack teasingly moves his toes closer to her. Ellen leans forward and looks back at her children, she sends a warning look to her middle son and leans back, knowing that's all she'd have to do for him to stop bugging his sister.

Jack rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed huff when Stella sends him a triumphant smirk, Stella leans back against the seat and looks out at the water as she listens to Quinn answer all the questions and talk about the lake. Luke absentmindedly played with a few strands of Stella's hair as he also zoned out looking out at the water.

Stella brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arm around her knees, resting her chin on top of them. She bounces in her seats at the waves quinn goes over, a laugh leaving her lips when her mother starts to shout at quinn and stand up “I’m kidding it's going to be fine” Quinn laughed as he watched his mom stand up, wanting to get away from the splashes of water.

A surprised gasp leaves Stella's lips and her body stills when she feels a cold chill run through her body, as she feels water come up and splash her in the face and neck. Everyone laughs on the boat as she hurriedly wipes off the water from her face, a loud laugh coming from quinn’s lips when stella whines “Quinnnn” Jack smiles and takes his hat off and drops it on Stella's head, protecting her face from the water.

Quinn gives the camera a big grin before shrugging his shoulders “oops.”

“What's the five for?” Kate asks Quinn as she motions towards the garage wall where four numbers in blue spray paint were written. 43,86,43 and 5. Quinn, Kate and the rest of the crew where in the garage, filming quinn as he shot some pucks, showing off the ‘shooting room.’

Quinn paused to catch his breath and turned to look back at the wall, memories flooding through his mind of him and his siblings all putting their number on the wall after the ‘shooting room’ was done. A great memory. Quinn smiled fondly as he looked at kate “Oh that's stella number when she used to play.”

“And I'm guessing those are hers too” Kate laughed as she pointed at the light pink skates that had a bunch of different stickers on them, the laces pink as well. Quinn chuckles and nods as he looks back at the skate's jack had gotten her a year ago, while Luke got her a new pack of stickers “yeah those are stella’s, she likes coming down and shooting with us.”

“Is she any good?” the producer asks, even though he already knew the answer. All the brothers have mentioned Stella's hockey skills before. Quinn leans down to take off his skates, ready to show them the next thing on the schedule. Quinn smirks at the camera “She's my sister, of course she is.”

At the end of the video the camera is filming all the guys playing a friendly skirmish, and you can see Stella sitting on the bench cheering for Cole who was on a breakaway!

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I bet you all can guess who she was texting !!! I just know the fans would eat the content up !!! I know it’s short but I didn’t really want to put a lot of Stella in this video, just a perfect amount where the fans would want more of her !!! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lxvelyzoe @bunbunbl0gs @lovings4turn x )

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frannyzooey · 8 months

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Short Days, Long Nights: 14

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M (childbirth, PTSD, mentions of grief)

A/N: I tried to make this as non graphic as possible, focusing instead on the emotions of the characters. The entire reason I wrote this fic in the first place, I couldn't have made it through this chapter without the incredible suggestions, support and beta reading of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch. I truly hope you enjoy ❤❤

In the blue wash of time between the middle of the night and the dawn, he’s asleep next to you when the first pains start.

Deep at the root of your spine, a low throb blooms. Fading in and out, you try to ignore the manageable ache and when you can’t, your first instinct is to curl in on yourself. So you do just that: rub the heel of your hand against your tailbone, letting your feet slide together in the same rhythmic figure eight you soothe yourself with when you’re really sick.

That motion alone should have been a giveaway, but it doesn’t strike you until the sun is rising that this is something different.

Still, you let him sleep.

On an instinct to be alone, you slip from the bed to go sit out on the porch. Another swell of pain ripples across your back, the sensation still light enough to soothe with a steady rub, and a taut contraction stretches across your hips for a fleeting moment, then disappears.

The sun peeking just above the horizon, you breath low and slow, watching as it makes a steady ascent. The peaceful setting seeps in, blanketing you in reassurance and comfort, and you’re remarkably calm when he comes out of the bedroom in search of you.

Sleep mussed curls and a frown on his face, his arms are crossed tight over his chest as he wards off the morning chill.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is husky and low, thick with sleep.

“I think it’s gonna be today.”

—

He dresses immediately, setting his mind to tasks you’ve discussed for months beforehand in an attempt to calm his nerves. Still, his hands tremble when he walks down to the bank to fill pails with water. He balls them into fists and shakes them in frustration, willing them to stop.

Hours, days: there is no way of knowing how long this is going to take. He hates the uncertainty of it, the edge of danger that you have to teeter upon while he is helpless to stop it. Anything, at any moment, could go wrong and he would have no way of knowing what or how to help you.

He’d be fucking useless, just like he was before.

The guilt he’s always felt creeps through his chest like the fungus that’s infected everything else, settling deep between his ribs. It branches up through his mind, invading his thoughts and the heavy weight of it pulls at him; his shoulders rounding in a slump. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging deep into the damp sand as he braces himself on the ground.

The thick, suffocating terror he felt on Outbreak Day comes back to him easily, a different version of the same brand of helplessness he felt on the day Sarah was born. The same as what he feels now, he feels his chest tighten and constrict, his breathing getting shallower and shallower.

No.

Fighting against it, he shakes himself from the reverie of images: blood, pain, anguish, sobbing. An intensely feral need rises like bile; an urge to burn the world to the ground while screaming just to make sure nothing touches what is his.

Useful to no one if he lets it take over, he pushes it all away. Practiced in remaining calm under pressure, he takes a deep breath, focusing on the water.

In and out, in and out, timing each breath with the gentle lap of waves along the shore.

He speaks silent affirmations to himself - prayers, if he was still a praying man.

He can do this. He won’t fail. He can’t.

Gathering himself, he stands.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, stepping back into the cabin. Shutting the door tight to keep out the spring chill, he sets the pails of water next to the wood stove and comes to sit next to you on the couch.

“Yea, I’m good.” A grimace of pain flits across your face for a split second, and he shifts to make room for you as you recline on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from across the back, he settles it over you.

“I think I should try to get some rest, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” Even as you say the words, a yawn breaks through.

“You’ll probably need it. Might not be a bad idea, ‘specially if you can sleep through some of the pain.” He rifles through the mix of bottles in front of you on the coffee table, placed there earlier by himself. “I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen,” he says apologetically. “But you can have some if you want?”

You wave it away, sliding down on the couch to try and get comfortable. “No, it’s okay. I can do without it for now. It’s not so bad.”

He moves to give you room, and your hand reaches for his, holding it tight.

“Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone when I wake up.”

The open vulnerability on your face pulls him in, the small way in which you ask breaking open his chest, and he immediately sits back, tugging your feet onto his lap.

“Of course, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He smoothes over the arches of your small socked feet, letting go when you curl them together, clearly a means to comfort yourself. He instead rests his hand on your shin in a reassuring hold, and watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing deepens and slows, his veil of control stays in place while his mind begins to free fall.

Panic, guilt, nervous anticipation, panic.

Again he resists, using the warmth of your shin as an anchor.

He’s quiet: sitting with you for a bit, reading a little before giving up, double checking the supplies on the table. Making sure the bed in your old room is covered with a tarp from the shed, some old quilts piled on top of it.

Pacing until he wills himself to stop.

His eyes flick over to you every time he sees you shift in your sleep: your hand coming to rest on your belly, rubbing the underside with a fleeting wince of pain. He watches, and wishes he could take this all from you: every twinge of pain, everything that’s about to come.

The guilt he feels at being responsible for putting you in this position is something he thought he made peace with a while ago, but it flares bright with every small frown between your brows and when you wake with a soft whine of discomfort, he strides to your side immediately, helping you sit up.

Your pained sound grows louder, both of your hands splaying over the source as you clench your jaw, and feeling helpless, he does what he can, rubbing broad circles over your back.

“I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

You seem to give into his touch, leaning against it for strength and your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh as you ride it out.

He keeps rubbing, and the next few hours pass much the same: waiting and pain.

–

“Can you hand me that rag?”

The bed dips with his weight as he sits next to you, and wringing out the damp scrap of fabric in his hands, he runs it along your hairline.

“I can do it,” you protest, no real fight in the words as your eyes slip shut.

“I got it.”

You feel as wrung out as that rag, exhausted yet unable to rest. Keyed up with adrenaline, you’re trying to let your body take over and not fight every single contraction, but it’s hard - so hard. Each one wracks your body with a tight, seemingly endless crest of pain that steals the air from your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, forcing you to struggle on instinct alone.

He swipes the fabric along the bridge of your nose, gently guiding your face to the side so he can collect the sweat dusted across your cheeks. You focus on the delicate drag of the cloth, letting your body relax.

“Thank you.”

Not for the first time, he looks at his watch as if it still worked and then immediately away, directing his gaze out the window.

“Seems like they’re getting closer,” he remarks, his hand coming to rest on the hard swell of your stomach. “Does it feel like it?”

“I honestly…I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track.”

He nods and then leaves the room, coming back with a pencil and paper.

“It’s late. ‘Round four, I think, so you’ve been at it about twelve hours. Let me know when the next one starts, and I’ll count it out. I’ll keep track on here.”

He sets the paper down on the bedside table, his hand poised to begin making a chart and you rest your hold on top of his.

“I think…” you lick your dry lips, swallowing. “I think we just go with it. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time?”

If you don’t officially keep track of the time between them, you won’t officially know when it’s time to push but…something about it seems right to you, given the way you’ve learned to live without structured time.

That, and without an official “start time”, you can force your nerves to the bottom of your mind, delaying inevitable pain. Even if only for a little longer.

The stern look he gives you in response tells you how he feels about that answer, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not just about knowin’ when it’s time. It’s about knowin’ when it’s been too long.”

His logic wins over your fear, and a weighted silence lingers between the two of you. Not wanting to acknowledge what that would mean, you let his hand go and curl onto your side. Facing him, you let him know when the next contraction starts, and while he sets his pencil down to hold your hand, you watch his lips move with silent counts.

–

You just… let your body take over.

Existing in a plane of never ending cresting waves of crippling pain that come closer and closer together, you squeeze his hand just as tight as you squeeze your eyes shut with every single one. The fight inside of you fades, instinct ruling instead and needing to have faith in your body to do the right thing without any knowledge to guide you, you just…give in.

You should be terrified at the prospect of it, but you can’t seem to find the strength to care. Your body was built for this, designed for this, has done this very thing billions of times over throughout human existence and giving yourself over to that idea, you find yourself comforted, in a way.

You do what it tells you to do: take deep breaths when you can, curl onto your side into a tight ball when you need to, let tears fall freely from your eyes without embarrassment. You writhe and shift on the bed into whatever position feels comfortable, giving into the instinctual need to seek comfort at whatever cost.

Daylight shifts into twilight shifts into nightfall, and he’s with you throughout the whole thing, as steadfast as he’s always been.

At your side, like he’s always been.

There, like he’s always been.

With his reassuring presence beside you, you descend into a base version of yourself with his hand an anchor.

–

A quiet, formidable strength greater than the brute type he’s capable of emerges, and Joel watches as you close your eyes and draw on resources he didn’t know your body still had.

Underrated and overlooked in terms of survival, you may not have the physical skills he has but your internal strength and will to survive through hope and optimism are more valuable than his skills right now. Awestruck by the shift that happens before him, he wonders if that’s what's always subconsciously drawn him to you: this innate sense that you’ll fill in his blanks, bringing him a sense of peace when his life has known anything but.

You take his weaknesses and mold them into something good instead of a liability, meeting them with strengths of your own. He is responsible for so many things when it comes to you: your life, your well being, your survival. Seeing you now, taking charge of every one of those things with a fierce strength that outmatches anything he can provide in this situation, he not only understands that you have his back just as much, but also that you’ve always had it.

Two halves of a whole, your faith and his competence.

An equal partner, whose qualities shine bright in their quiet, unassuming way.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, you prop yourself up against the headboard of the bed with a low groan and tell him when you’re ready.

“I think it’s time.”

You barely get the words out before you’re bearing down in taut silence, your jaw clenched and he shifts on the bed, his hands molding over your knees to gently pull them apart.

“Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

–

His voice calls to you from the depths of your pain, the sound of it muffled behind the blood rushing in your ears and you use it like a beacon, something to focus on. The contractions one on top of another, it’s well past dark outside the cabin when everything seems to happen all at once:

A dark, wet patch of hair emerging; Joel’s eyes widening as his fingers tentatively reach out to touch it.

A sob catching in your throat; fluid soaking the blanket underneath you.

Pain so fierce and overwhelming it makes you lightheaded; a pressure so blindingly sharp and heavy and full that you scream before it abruptly stops, everything sliding out in a slick rush.

“You did it, honey,” he praises you, his head down as he cradles the baby in his hands. “You did it. She’s out.”

She. The sobs you let out are involuntary, a mixture of immense relief and joy paired with the crash of adrenaline and your limbs shake with exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillow he’s propped beneath your head.

It’s only then that the silence in the room comes to your attention.

“Joel?” You wearily push yourself up, trying to see her.

He’s looking down at the mattress with a deep frown of focus, his skin ashen and gray and your stomach bottoms out, panic flooding your chest. Limited as your knowledge is about babies, you know you should be hearing her make a sound right now. Any sound.

“Why isn’t she crying?” you ask, a slight tremble catching the end of the sentence.

He doesn’t answer you, instead staying focused on her, his hands smeared and glistening with blood as one splays over her impossibly tiny chest, his fingers rubbing along the dip of her sternum.

“Come on. Come on.”

His words have a frantic edge to them, one you can hear even with how he’s murmuring the near silent chant to himself and you mirror it, doing the same.

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

A thin whimper breaks the tense silence, her limbs suddenly flaring out in a silent fight against the world, and her timid cry blooms into a bright wail that pierces the air.

Relief floods out of you in sob, his own breaking free in the rush of a heavy exhale, and when he scoops her up, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. Handing her wet body to you, she’s matted and smeared with blood and slick, and she squirms on your bare chest for a moment, your arms automatically cradling her close.

Impossible tiny, just like he said.

“A she.” Your voice thick with tears, you look up at him and he grins down at you, his smile shining bright with pride.

“A she.”

Your cheek comes to rest on the crown of her head when he bends to press a kiss to your forehead and his murmurs against the sweat damp skin there make you cry even more.

“You did it, my girl. You did it.”

–

A slight tremble to his hands as he finishes tying off the umbilical cord, he gently hands her back to you and reaches for the bucket near the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna go empty this, but I’ll be right back.”

You acknowledge him, your arms tightening in their hold on her as you scoot back in your bed. Tucked safely against your chest, she’s already sliding into sleep and you join her, closing your eyes. Fixing the blanket around you, he picks up the bucket and leaves the room.

Night darkens the path as he makes his way down to the water, the setting around him awash in muted colors. Animals moving in their quest to hunt for the night, the fresh spring breeze rustles the new growth on the trees that surround him, but he sees and hears none of it, his vision beginning to tunnel.

Black gathers around the edges of the world, the basin in his hands falling onto the grass. His boots sinking into the sand, he barely makes it to the bank before he’s buckling, knees hitting the soft ground.

The image of the two of you sleeping flashes through his mind, and the pressure in his chest swells and overcomes him, emotion choking his airway. The intensity of the last twenty four hours seeps out of him, the image of her still body as he rubbed life into her fixed behind his clenched shut eyes and finally - finally - he lets it go with big, wracking sobs that pour out, a sound he tries to muffle with his hands.

Relief, relief.

–

June Miller.

A basin of warm water between the two of you on the bed, you watch as he cradles her endlessly moving body in his large hands and bathes her. Her limbs stretch and flex slowly, testing their newfound boundaries and not being able to decide on which face you want to look at more, you shift your gaze back and forth between her scrunched one and his more focused, intent one. He’s careful yet steady with his movements, the gentle splash of water the backdrop to the tiny squawks of protest she lets out.

The lantern illuminates them, a circle of light surrounding their figures in an intensely intimate way and you watch glistening drops of water slide down over his thick wrist as he cups some, pouring it over her hair.

“I know you don’t like it. I know.”

It’s innate, his soothing.

Second nature from the first time he held her and spoke to her, you could tell he’d done this before. His body curled protectively around her as he held her to his broad chest, his movements practiced and confident and you watched as it happened without him even realizing, like he didn’t have to think about caring for someone else - just doing it, as if he couldn’t help it.

Finishing bathing her with the fresh basin of water he brought back from the river, she keeps her eyes closed against the light of the world as he sets her in her cradle, turning to help you from the bed. You brace your hand on his solid shoulder as he kneels, exhaustion thickly blanketing your body as you feel soothing, firm wipes of wet warmth on your skin. He’s just as careful and detailed with it as he was with her, and after he dries and settles you in the bedroom you share with him, he crawls in after you, closing his eyes.

Dawn is breaking when you wake to the sound of a restless, small cry and you leave him sleeping when you go to grab her, bringing her back to bed. Brushing aside the soft blanket that covers her cheek, you look down and see two dark eyes blinking back up at you. Shaped just like his, they stay open.

You want to wake him because it feels…significant, this moment. She’s tiny — dark eyes, a button nose, a dot of a mouth and full little cheeks. Her eyes are open and so are yours and the two of you sit there and just — look. Basking in the strange sensation of silently learning each other, yet knowing each other so well already.

You remember what Joel said, about you and them and the peaceful stillness of sitting in the quiet and your vision waters, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. More joy than you’ve felt in your whole life, the emotion is overwhelming - as if a beacon of pure, unfiltered light has flooded your entire body, lighting you from the inside out.

She keeps looking, her tiny brow scrunching and you smile down at her, another tear sliding free.

“Joel,” you whisper, and he’s up in an instant.

“Yea?”

It takes you a minute to speak, and his face shifts into alarm.

“What’s the matter? She okay?”

He sits up quickly, scooting closer to see her more clearly.

“Yea,” you reply, sniffing. “Look at her.”

She looks like you, like him, like her own self and you can’t stop looking at her, trying to find fleeting traces of every version.

Mesmerized, he strokes the soft back of her tiny hand over and over with his thumb, and his voice is a low gravel, full of soothing adoration.

“Hey, baby girl.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction

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sheeple · 2 months

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Heirs of Hogwarts | part 3

Genre(s): Nuisance to Lovers / Fake dating / Fluff / No Voldy au Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Reader Summary: After finding out your (now ex)boyfriend cheated on you with the girl he told you not to worry about, you decide to get into a fake relationship with the kid of another founder of Hogwarts. What could go wrong? Warning(s): Matt's thirsty (but so are you also lowkey) / Awkward family moments / Visuals (Don't like them? Don't use them🤷🏻‍♀️) / I suck at writing kiss scenes (yes it's happening) / it's spicy but not full on smut (smut adjacent) A/n: For now this is the end of the mini-series. Thank you all for enjoying my story and see you all in the next one! [Masterlist] [part 1] [part 2]

Normally you would love to be proven right. Revel in the knowledge that they should have listened to you. But now? Fuck being right. You don't want to right.

You've been carrying the letter with you for a couple of days and the weight of it makes your schoolbag makes it feel like it's filled with bricks. The letter is weighing you down, and everybody around you seems to notice it. Especially Mattheo. You still hang out with him, of course, but every time the words are on the tip of your tongue, you chicken out.

"Have you told him yet?", asks Susan as she sees you reading the letter again during lunch.

Giving her a frowned look, you shake your head. How in Merlin's name can you inform him that 'hey, my parents want to meet you because Meemaw saw us sneak into my dorm. Now they think we are together and having sex and want to meet the hypothetical father of my hypothetical baby if we were actually having hypothetical sex and not being careful. All hypothetically of course. Why else would I sneak a boy into my dorm?'

Not casually at least.

You look over towards his table and meet his eyes. He motions with his head towards the door. You nod with a small smile and finish your juice. "See you in class."

"Have fun with your boyfriend!", she calls after you and you flip her off.

"What was all that about?", asks Mattheo with a small smile while the two of you walk side by side towards Herbology.

You shrug, scratching the nailbed of your thumb. You feel a sharp pain but you continue. You know now more than ever that this is the time. "I've... I've received a letter. From my parents." You fish the letter out of your bag and hold it out for him.

Mattheo stops and looks unsurely towards the folded-up paper. When you give him a nod he unfolds the letter. You watch nervously how his eyes scan over the words.

When he stays silent, you begin to panic. "We- you don't have to! I can totally write my parents back and tell them... something! That we broke up or whatever."

"You've got nieces?" He's got a soft smile on his face as he traces the embellishments of the letter. Of course, the stationery of House Hufflepuff has its letters decorated to match the vibe of the family name.

With a shake of your head, you run a hand over your hair. "Out of everything... the thing you focus on is my nieces? Not that fact that my parents want to meet you?"

Mattheo shrugs, handing you the letter back. "Yeah, so what? That's what boyfriends do, don't they? Meet their girlfriend's parents. Fake relationship or not. Wasn't it your parents you wanted to fool?"

That shuts you up and a flaring heat spreads over your face and neck, even towards the points of your ears. "I-I yeah... But I never imagined them doing this! Then I would have never done all this to you!" With a guilty look, you slowly reach for one of his hands. You rub slow circles over the back of his hand.

Mattheo's brain short circuits as his eyes focus on your hand and his. How soft the pad of your thumb feels against his skin. He wonders if your hands feel as soft on different parts of his body. Or how sharp your nails feel when you scratch his back.

He snaps out of it and shakes his head. Taking his chance, he turns his hand around and laces his fingers with yours. "So... how do I leave a good impression on your parents?"

You think for a moment, looking away. "As superficial as it sounds, they put great value in looking a certain way." In that way they're just like other pure-blood families, you want to add but don't. You don't want to offend him or his family.

With a determent nod, Mattheo starts walking the opposite way you were going, pulling you behind him.

"Where are you taking me? Divination is that way", you point over your shoulder as you catch up to him.

Mattheo gives you a daring smile, his eyes wrinkling playfully. "My dorm. I need your advice on what to wear."

You protest and sputter about your attendance all the way towards the Slytherin dungeons. A snake made of metal rises from the ground and reveals a set of double doors. "Pure-Blood", says Mattheo and the doors swing open. You give him a look and he shrugs. "It's the password. Nothing I can do about it."

"I said nothing!", you laugh, being pulled through the entrance

The common area looks like it's carved out of rock, with marble pillars and arches. Large windows give you a look into the endless depth of the Black Lake, fish swimming by. It takes your breath away how stunning the Slytherin common room looks. It's oh so different from your own, but just as beautiful.

You try to ignore the stares you get from the Slytherin's around the room. You do stand out like a sore thumb with your sunshine yellow robes.

"Don't you ever need to pee very much when you are in the common area?", you ask, motioning towards the waterfall you circle as you enter the common room and the many water features around.

Mattheo rolls his eyes with a smile as he leads you down a corridor and holds open the door for you to enter his dorm. Four four-poster beds with green drapes are arranged in a circle with a heater in the middle of the room, spreading warmth around the room. He motions for you to sit on his bed while he rummages through his closet.

You lean back on your hands as you watch him pull one after the other crumbled-up shirt and pants out of the closet. He sends you a slightly embarrassed look and you hop off his bed.

"Let me have a look", you say softly, pushing him to the side.

"I'm sorry... It's a bit of a mess." He scratches the back of his neck as a slight blush colours his cheeks.

You wave his worries away as you spot a nice pair of jeans and a not-too-crumpled black shirt. It could totally work paired with a dark green jacket. You lay out the pieces on his bed and look proudly between the outfit and Mattheo. It's something you're parents would approve of while still being himself

"If you wear this with the shirt tucked in and your hair just styled like you always do, everything will be okay." You turn towards him with a smile.

While you were arranging the clothes, Mattheo snuck closer to you. He now stands so close to you, that you can smell his cologne. Your lips part as you look up at him. "Matt?", you whisper as he slowly cradles your face with both of his hands.

His eyes flicker from your eyes towards your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel soft puffs of breath on your face.

Mere millimetres before his lips touch yours, the door swings open and the two of you jump away from each other. "God fucking damn it", you hear him grumble under his breath as Enzo and Draco stand in the doorway.

The two boys look at you with wide eyes before Draco's expression morphs into something more teasing. "I hope we didn't interrupt anything", he says slyly, sending a smirk towards Mattheo. Who gives the blond a scalding glare.

Feeling way too awkward about the situation, you quickly gather your things. "I-I have to go. I wouldn't want to be late for my next class." Giving Mattheo a shy smile, you rush out of his dorm and the Slytherin common room — almost stumbling down and then up the stairs.

Once you deem yourself far away enough, you slump against a wall and cup your scorching hot cheeks. Your heart beats wildly in your chest... and somewhere else. Did that really just happen? Or almost? In Merlin's name, when did you get so hot and bothered about Mattheo Riddle? Not long ago he was a nuisance to you. And now? Now you've almost kissed two times and he's meeting your parents this weekend.

When you close your eyes you still see Mattheo's warm honey ones, looking at you with such softness and want- no need.

Gods.

Shaking your head, you steady yourself and with slightly unsteady legs you walk towards Arithmancy.

Meanwhile, back in the boy's dorm, Mattheo collapses onto his bed and curses out his friends. "Fucking twats!" He presses the balls of his hands into his eyes, frustration running rampant through his body.

This was the second time someone interrupted him trying to kiss you. Just when he has gathered the courage to do so. First your friends and now his own. Who out there has it so out for him to cockblock him two times.

Draco and Enzo just look with high amusement towards their frustrated-to-no-end friend. They're gonna take this moment and tease him forever with it.

You don't get a chance to talk to Mattheo about the kiss. To talk to him in general. Because every time the two of you spot each other, either his or your friends wisk you away and it's driving you mad. It's like they planned it together or something.

It makes you all sulky because you want to discuss what happened between the two of you multiple times. You want answers — which you are lowkey scared of. But it's better to rip the bandage off quickly and get your heart broken than live with questions and never get an answer.

You walk into the Great Hall that Saturday, your fingers anxiously clawing at the nailbeds. But you've taken precautions and bandaged up your thumbs so you can't scratch. The pain stays but there's no blood.

"Don't you look all lovely", smiles Hanah brightly, making you twirl.

You smile and show her a cheeky leg as the split in your skirt falls perfectly when you sit. "Well...", you let out a nervous sigh, "Matt's meeting my parents today. So, we have to look the part, don't we?"

Your friends' eyes bulge out at the nickname you gave Slytherin bad boy Mattheo Riddle. Nobody ever dared to call him anything other than his name.

"Is that why he was not-so-subtly sneaking glances at us before you came?", wonders Susan out loud, which makes you tense up.

Looking at the Slytherin table, you find Mattheo easily. He gives a small wave with a smile and you return the gestures. "I'm going to sit over there. I have to prepare him from the wolves."

Slowly, you rise from your table and walk to the other side of the Great Hall. You feel the eyes of the Hufflepuff's and Slytherin's on you. But the only important ones are Mattheo's liquid honey ones, who look at you in wonder.

"Hi", you whisper when you finally reach him.

"Hi", he whispers back, a wide smile on his face.

"Can I sit with you?"

Without hesitation, he nods and slides to the side, almost shoving Enzo into Blaise's lap. He pats the now-empty spot next to him and you swing your leg over the bench. Mattheo zero's in on your bare leg and his brain shortcircuits.

You try to ignore the weird looks the Slytherin's present are giving you as you reach over and grab a piece of toast. You meet Hannah and Susan's eyes from across the room and they give you enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Swallowing your bite, you turn towards the boy next to you to say something. But your words die on your tongue at the look Mattheo gives you. It's unreadable. But not bad unreadable. There is some fondness in there you believe. "I have to warn you, by the way."

He cocks his head to the side, an easy smile on his face. "For your parents?"

A snort escapes you and you shake your head. "No- well... maybe my dad will grill you. But my brothers are way worse. They will either try to embarrass me or you."

"How many do you have?"

"Brothers? Four. There's a twin pair in there too. They are the second youngest after me."

Mattheo pales slightly. Four brothers? He found Thomas already trouble enough. But Four? He knows he's in for some shit.

You can't help but laugh as he visibly pales. Taking his hand, you pat it. You look around the Slyherin's. They all look very amused at Mattheo's despair.

The two of you finish your breakfast before it's time to go. Your parents expect you for lunch but knowing your family, there's not going to be time during just lunch.

"How are we getting to your home?", questions Mattheo as you both walk through the halls towards Professor Sproud's office.

You knock on the door and when there's no answer, you enter the room. "Via portkey. Which should arrive any second now." And like you said, a little yellow cup appears on the desk.

Placing a hand on the cup, you hold the other out for him to take. Mattheo does so and the two of you are whisked away from the castle.

You stumble for a second before you find your footing. Taking a deep breath, your senses fill with the floral aroma of your home. It feels good to be back.

"Holy fucking shit", you hear Mattheo whisper under his breath as he looks at the estate your family owns. It looks centuries old, with ivy covering most of the outer walls. A sprawling garden buzzes with bees and butterflies. A fountain is heard somewhere in the back.

You feel slightly embarrassed at Mattheo's slack jaw. This is mostly the reason why you never told about or took anyone home. The house mansion has been in your family's name for centuries. It's said that Meemaw bought it, but there's no proof of it.

"Come on." You tug him by his hand towards the front door. Mattheo's too caught up by the exterior of the house that he bumps into you when you stop in front of the front door. "Ready?", you ask, and he shakes his head.

As you ring the bell, Mattheo looks at the inscribing above the door. "Dum spiro spero, vi et animo. What does that mean?"

"As long as I breathe I hope, with strength and courage", says your father as he opens the door with a wide smile. "It's our family's motto. Nice to meet you, son." He holds out his hand for Mattheo to shake.

As he pulls the boy inside, you try your bestest to not cringe. "Dad this is Mattheo. My boyfriend." You shyly glance towards Mattheo to gauge his reaction. A slight blush paints his cheeks and you bite your lip hiding your smile.

Your dad shakes the dark-haired boy's hand enthusiastically. He starts to ramble off about the family motto and what it means and it morphs into an in-depth history lesson about the house. How the tiles and pillars in the foyer are at least four hundred years old and how they're kept in such fine condition by magic.

"Dad!", you call out, not having missed the hidden panicked looks Mattheo has given you, trying his best to look interested. "Don't you think it's a little early for Staghill History 101? Let the boy breathe."

Your father lets go of Mattheo with a jolly laugh, his moustache curling upwards. "You are right. I am so sorry, good chap. Why don't you two go to the library while I round up the twins? They're all very excited to meet him."

Tugging on Mattheo's hand, you nod. "Sure. Make sure they clean off any dirt before Mum has an aneurysm. Again."

As you lead him towards the south wing, you stop just outside of the library. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. My dad's a lot and he's just happy to see anyone and everyone. Could be Father Christmas with how jolly he is." You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, looking away.

Mattheo laughs. "It's okay. He's... nice. Now I get where you get it from."

"What?", you question with a cock of your head.

Mattheo wets his bottom lip, his eyes focused on yours. "That twinkle in your eyes when you talk about something you're passionate about." He reaches out for your flaming hot cheeks, cupping them.

The doors to your right swing open and the two of you feel like little children caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Your oldest brother, Felix, raises one disapproving brow and the two of you quickly step away from each other.

"Is it them? Don't hog the door, you big oaf!" Behind Felix appears Herbert, immediately engulfing you in a big, bone-crushing hug.

"They were snogging", says Felix, walking back towards the couch he always sits on when he visits home. His comment earns him a swat from his wife next to him.

"We were not!", you protest scandalised, wrestling out of Herbert's hold. "We were just... It's none of your business what we were doing!" You grab Mattheo's hand and walk into the library, towards your mother.

He scoffs under his breath, mumbling; "You made it everybody's business when you let Meemaw catch you." That earns him another swat from his wife and a stern look from your mother.

"Mum", you say after giving her a hug, tugging Mattheo closer, "I would like you to meet Mattheo."

"It's very nice to meet you, ma'am." Mattheo puts on his most charming smile while holding out his hand.

Your mother shakes her head and gives him one of her signature warm hugs. "None of that! Call me Clementine. Or Clemmy. Or Ma. You're practically family now!"

You blanch, shrinking into yourself. Dear Lord. Why does your mom need to be so much?

Felix snorts. "Is he to stay? What happened to that bloke from Christmas?"

Yours and Mattheo's eyes meet and you purse your lips. "I rather not speak about it..."

That gets their attention, both men leaning forward in their seats. "What did he do?"

"Nothing!" You grow irritated at their endless questions as your mom ushers the two of you towards a couch. Sitting closely together, Mattheo lays a hand on your knee. You don't know if it's to comfort you or to ground himself.

Herbert studies the two of you with his eyes narrowed. He purses his lips while leaning back into the chair. "He beat the ex up, didn't he?"

"Oh, my Gods! Can you not play detective about my life? Stop talking about my ex with my new boyfriend right next to me", you scowl, not wanting the two of them to flip out over something that you're way past.

At that, your mother claps in her hands. "That's right! Mattheo, why don't you tell me something about yourself? What house are you in for instance?"

Mattheo glances nervously towards you and you lay a hand over his own, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm in Slytherin, ma'am. I hope that isn't an issue."

Your mom chortles and waves his concern away. "Oh please, we aren't that kind of family."

"Speaking of family", pipes Herbert from across the room, "Who's family you belong to?"

Both your mom and you sputter and scold Herbert. But the twins coming in gives your brother his answer.

"Why on Meemaw's good name is Mattheo Riddle sitting next to our sister?", sneers Victor, Danny leering over his shoulder.

A groan escapes you while you slink down the couch, hiding your face in your hands. You had hoped that Mattheo's family wouldn't be a subject. The twins are the only ones from your family who have seen the kind of nuisance Mattheo has been to you before leaving school last year. Of course, it looks very fucking weird that he is now cosying up to you, his hand on your knee and claiming to be your boyfriend.

You feel everybody's eyes on the two of you. Mattheo shrinks down under the many gazes, his hold on you tightening in a silent plea to not abandon him right now.

Not knowing how to get away under the scrutiny, you glance at your mom. She looks shocked and when she meets your eyes, her gaze softens before turning stern. "Didn't I always tell you boys to not judge people? What can the poor boy do about which cradle he was born into? So get off your high horses and be nice to the boy!" She stands with her hands on her hips, berating your brothers.

"What did I miss?", asks your father, standing in the doorway with a tray filled with cookies and teacups, the teapot floating behind him.

"Nothing", smiles your mother, turning towards you, "I was just saying that Mattheo should have a tour of the house. Why don't you do that, honey?"

Getting what she's implying, you nod exuberantly. "Yeah, right! Let's go."

Mattheo's all too happy to escape the tense room and quickly follows after you, walking with a big arch around the twins, who are still glaring at him.

"I am so sorry." You cast your eyes towards the floor as the two of you walk through one of the many art-lined hallways. "I- There is no excuse for how they treated you..."

Mattheo's hand on your waist makes you stop and look up at him, unsheathed tears dancing in your waterline. He tuts, wiping away the single one that has managed to escape. "Don't cry, pretty girl. It's a warranted reaction. I'm used to it by now. How awkward it was anyways."

You pout while leaning into his hand. "That's horrible Matt. You don't deserve to be treated like that because your father made a wrong choice!"

"It was more than a wrong choice, lovely. Besides, there's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin, remember?" He laughs, but you see that there's sadness in his eyes.

With a shake of your head, you lean closer to him. "You aren't bad! Such a vile stereotype."

This time a genuine laugh bubbles out of Mattheo's chest. "Oh, sweet, sweet, Hufflepuff", he trances your cheek with the pads of his fingers, "there are many things that make me as bad as they say. Mostly for the thoughts I have about you."

Your brain short circuits and you blink up at him, processing his words. He has what? Heh?

Mattheo chuckles at your dumbfounded look. Oh, how cute you are when you are clueless. He clasps his hands behind his back and looks around. "Is there anything in particular you want me to see?", he asks, throwing you a bone.

That seems to snap you out of your daydream of what Mattheo could do to you and you shake your head. "Yes. There is one final person I have to introduce you to."

The two of you walk side by side as he studies both muggle and magical paintings. You lead him towards the main sitting with an empty frame with a chair hanging above the fireplace. Dragging an ottoman over, you motion for Mattheo to follow your lead and climb on top of the cushions.

"Meemaw", you call out towards the empty portrait, "I would like to meet someone."

It takes a second or two before your ancestor appears from the side, graciously draping herself and her skirts on the chair. "My littlest Badger! How are you, my dear?"

You lean closer, smiling. "Hello, Meemaw. I would like you to meet someone." You motion towards Mattheo, who looks with big eyes at her.

"Isn't that...?"

Heat spreads over your face and you bite your bottom lip. "I- yeah..."

"Mattheo Riddle, your ladyship." He bows slightly, earning a hearty laugh from her.

"Aren't you a charmer? You musn't call me ladyship. Just Helga is fine. Or Meemaw, seeing as you are our littlest badger's love." She sends you a doting smile. "Say, if I may ask; aren't you one of Salazar's boys?"

"Yes. I hope that isn't an issue for you, Helga."

She waves his concerns away. It surprised you how easily Meemaw's taken by Mattheo. He's a naturally charming person when he wants to be after all.

"Oh, of course not, dear boy! Your great-grandfather and I had a... very special relationship of our own when we were younger. It warms my heart that our descendants have found each other." A fond look paints her face as she looks off in the distance.

As a melancholy glimmer befalls her, you take that as your cue to leave. "I have to continue my tour of the house, Meemaw. See you later."

Waving her off, you hop off the ottoman and put it back in the right place before exiting the sitting room. A sigh escapes your lips and you swing your arms back and forth. Mattheo gives you a raised brow before taking your hand in his and continuing the swinging.

It's nice. The two of you just walking and talking about nothing special in particular. You sometimes point out some facts about you growing up around the house. "In that room, we always used to build pillow forts in." Or "I once ran against that door and lost both my front teeth. They were loose anyways", you add quickly at his concerned look.

Everything's so easy with Mattheo that it scares you. How are you supposed to go back to strangers after your arrangement has come to an end? Can you even go back to strangers? Even if Mattheo doesn't feel the same, you wish you at least could stay friends. Because he's genuinely a nice person to hang out with. It would sadden you to lose him.

The ring of a bell plucks you from your thoughts and you turn towards where the sound came from. "Oh! Dinner's ready." You lead the both of you towards the dining room, taking shortcuts and hidden doors. Mattheo chuckles as you press open another hidden panel before finally arriving in said room.

Out of habit, you go to sit at your usual place at the table and Mattheo follows you. But as he pulls the chair back, Danny is quick to sit in it. After sending a glare at your brother, you look apologetic towards the dark-haired boy. His eyes scan the room and the only free seat is right in front of you, between Herbert and Felix.

Mattheo sighs and takes place on the empty seat. He feels your brothers stare at him, and he does his best to try and act normal. He smiles politely and answers any questions your mother asks him. Eventually, he learns that — who he believes is Felix — is a beater for the Caerphilly Catapults. His wife plays for the Holyhead Harpies and that's how they met each other.

Dinner seems to pass by smoothly — not counting the snarky remarks of the twins. But they're dicks. As everybody starts to collect the dishes, your father clears his throat. "Why don't you all go outside and...", he glances towards Mattheo, "Take a lap around the fountain so Mattheo and I can have a heart-to-heart."

Both you and Mattheo send slightly panicked looks towards each other as he gets led away by your father. As your brothers let out an 'oooh', you jab Danny in his side with your elbow. He rubs his side with a slight pout and you poke out your tongue.

"The last one is a rotten egg!", yells Victor and he sprints towards the back door. You let out a curse and start sprinting after him, the others following.

While you and your brothers race towards the burrow, Mattheo gets led towards your father's office. He anxiously takes place in the chair in front of your father's desk. The man leans forward and studies the Slytherin boy with narrowed eyes.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?", he asks, getting straight to the point.

What are his intentions? Well... he can think of a few things. But none are parent-approved answers. "I like her. I really do, Sir. I wouldn't dare to hurt her." Because that is the truth. He always had a crush on you, but getting to know you? You're everything and so much more than he imagined.

Your father hums. "I ask this because I have received some chatter that you've been in a... physical altercation with one Malcolm Preece. So, Mattheo, what is the deal with that?" He leans back in the leather chair, one brow raised.

For the first time in a while, Mattheo feels genuinely nervous. And it's not the same kind of nervous before he took you out on your first date. No. This is a different kind of nervousness. A deep-down fear to disappoint the people who he cares about.

And yes, you are one of those people he realises. He cares about you the most.

Lying will do no good. Because, as your father has shown, he somehow has a way to get information about what happens at school. "In all honesty, sir, Preece was threatening your daughter. They broke up and he kept bothering her. It... indeed got physical because some guys don't know when to take a hint."

Your father purses his lips, his eyes scanning over Mattheo's face. Searching for a sign of dishonesty. But he finds none.

"Did you at least get him good?"

That makes the dark-haired boy laugh. "Yes, sir. He won't dare to bother her again."

Your father stands up from his chair and holds out his hand for Mattheo to shake. With a smile and a firm handshake, he says, "You did good son. Now, I believe someone's way too anxious to wait a second longer." He points towards the door, where a shadow is seen pacing under through the crack.

Mattheo closes the door behind him and sees you look at him with wide eyes, chewing on your thumb. "How did it go? What did Dad say?" You fling your arms around him and press your cheek against his shoulder.

He smiles and wraps his arms around you. "Don't worry. Everything's fine." When you look up at him, he cradles your face and wipes away some stray dirt. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it", he smiles.

You roll your eyes but can't help but smile. "Fine. You know what, if we leave now, we maybe have some time left before curfew."

A smirk grows on Mattheo's face while he wetts his bottom lip. "And do what?"

"I don't know", you shrug playfully, pulling him with you, "We will see."

"Absolutely not", says your mother when you come and say your goodbyes. "Your room is already set up. Fresh sheets and everything! Wasn't that clear from my letter?"

Your eyes dart nervously towards Mattheo, who gives you the same look. You silently ask him if he's okay with it. If he's not uncomfortable. He shrugs. He's not too bothered by the idea of staying over.

A sigh escapes you. "Fine. But we don't have anything to sleep in."

Your mother claps in her hands and gets up from the couch, motioning for the both of you to follow her. She leads you through the house, towards your bedroom.

The smell of clean cotton hits you as soon as you enter your room and you breathe in the smell. That's one of the many things you miss about your home. The house elves of Hogwarts don't use the same detergent as your mother and it just hits a special spot in your brain when you finally smell it.

"I'll grab a pair of Felix's clothes for you, Mattheo." Your mother pats his shoulders before exiting the room.

The boy in question stands in the middle of your bedroom and a smile grows on his face. He can't explain why but it so much you. In the short period he has gotten to know you, this is exactly the type of room he imagined you to have. Maybe with fewer plants.

A four-poster bed stands in the middle of the room, facing a fireplace. On top of the bed grows some hanging plants that spread onto the walls and turn into wallpaper. There's a cosy-looking chair next to the fireplace with tons of pillows and blankets.

You watch him eyeing the chair and you mention towards it. "You can sit in it if you want. It gives you also a really nice view over the garden."

Mattheo does so, burying himself between the pillows. The garden is almost too perfect with the way it's lit up by floating lights and lightningbugs. When he looks back at you to comment on the beautifulness, he sees you pull away the many pillows from your bed into a trunk at the front of your bed and readying the bed for sleeping.

"I... I can sleep on the ground- if you're more comfortable with that. I could even fall asleep in this chair."

You stop what you're doing and look at him with such a scandalised look that it makes him shrink. "Uhm how about no? I dragged you into this, like hell I let you sleep on the floor!"

Your mother comes back at the right time with a pair of joggers and a shirt in her hands. She gives him a warm smile as she hands him the clothing, instructing him to where the bathroom is. Mattheo takes that as his saving grace to get a moment of his own. He has to admit, your family is a lot. This whole situation is a lot. And he has nobody to blame for it except himself.

Not that he blames himself. He's quite enjoying himself, being with you, meeting your parents and seeing where you grew up. He now gets why you are how you are. How you can shine so bright because your parents do everything to lighten you.

When he comes back you are also changed in quite the same outfit as him. You are sitting on your bed, nervously nibbling on the side of your thumb. He strides towards you and grabs your hand, stopping you from destroying your nailbed and making you look up at him.

"Are you okay", he asks, interlacing your fingers.

You nod with a hum, eyes focused on your interlinked hands. "Yeah... I'm just tired from today." You run a hand over your hair, brushing some stray strands out of your face. "Are you okay?"

Mattheo lets out a light-hearted scoff. "Don't worry about me, lovely. My family is much much worse."

You blink, wanting to ask more. But a knock on your door stops you. Your father stands in the door opening, Victor looming over his shoulder and glaring daggers at Mattheo.

"Will you do your old man a favour and keep the door open? I know it makes you uncomfortable, hun. But I don't think I have to explain why?" He motions with his eyes towards how close the two of you are and with a sigh, you nod.

The house is so old that it creaks and groans with even the slightest breeze. And it freaks you out when you hear it at night. Are you saying that this centuries-old house doesn't have ghosts? Likely.

As your dad walks away, Victor takes a step forward, his jaw taut. "You", he points towards the dark-haired boy, "I'm right next door and these walls aren't as thick as they seem. I will hear everything. No funny business!"

Mattheo sends him a charming smile that you know will irritate Victor. "I promise." But when he turns around when Victor storms away, he shows you his crossed fingers. You let out a giggle and swat him.

After that you take it as a cue to get ready to sleep so you crawl under the covers. Mattheo positions himself between you and the open door and the two of you lay on your backs, staring up at the canopy.

It... feels weird having Mattheo Riddle next to you in your bed. The even weirder feeling is the desire to keep him there.

You turn so you're facing him, your hands tucked under your pillow. "I've been wondering... When you spoke in Parsletongue, what did you say?"

Mattheo tenses slightly before turning towards you, a pink flush heats up his cheeks. His eyes trace every inch of your face, taking in the details; moles, freckles, perfect imperfections. It makes him want to reach out and trace every one of them.

"Oh I don't remember", he says offhandedly, his eyes fleeing yours.

You scoot closer, a mischievous smile on your face. "Yes, you do! Please tell me. It can't be that embarrassing."

His lips part and the same sounds fill the room, raising goosebumps on your arms. "You are... you are the most beautiful person I know and I don't know if I can keep pretending that this is fake."

Your smile melts off your face and you look with wide eyes towards him. An unsure look fills his eyes as his brows knit together. "Say something", he whispers- begs. A hesitant hand reaches out and gets placed on your cheek.

Your heart beats a million miles an hour and every word just escapes your brain. So you do what you have been wanting to do for a while now. And you kiss him. Pressing your lips against his, you close your eyes while your hand travels from his wrist to his shoulder, gripping him tightly.

Mattheo lets out a surprised humph, his eyes wide as he watches your eyes flutter close. He breathes in deeply before kissing you back, pulling you closer.

Two pairs of lips mould against each other while Mattheo's hand slides down and grips your thigh, wrapping your leg around his middle. Your body melts against his as the kiss grows more fierce, lips parting and tongues exploring each other's mouths.

A low growl emits from Mattheo as you part, your chest raising and falling rapidly. He zeros in on your neck and decides then and there how kissable the skin looks and that it needs to be marked.

Your head gets thrown back as Mattheo attacks your neck with kisses, licks and bites and you do your best to suppress the breathy moan that wants to escape you. You bite your bottom lip as your eyes squeeze close.

Mattheo's lips travel down, tracing the shape of your throat with his teeth and he flips the both of you over, hovering above you. He relishes in your bitten raw lips and the half-lidded look you give him. The way your chest raises and makes your shirt tighten... he thanks whatever god there is out there that made this possible.

His admiring takes too long in your opinion and you grab the back of his head, yanking him down so he kisses you again. Mattheo complies and cradles your face, his big hands engulfing your cheeks, feeling the heat underneath them.

He pecks your lips a few times before trailing down, Mattheo's hands finding the hem of your sleep shirt. He glances at you and only continues after a nod. He pushes your shirt up, above your breast while his lips trail from your chin, neck, and collarbones, to your sternum.

When he flattens his tongue tentatively against one of your nipples, a moan escapes you. It makes him smirk against your skin, doing it again.

"Matt... ah!", you squeak out, gripping his shoulder.

His tongue swirls against the nub and one of his hands reaches up, clasping a hand over your mouth to silence the sweet noises pouring out of your mouth. Your tongue swipes over one of his fingers. Mattheo presses the pads of his pointer and middle finger against your tongue before sliding into your mouth.

A 'mmph' escapes you while you suck around his digits, hands trying to ground yourself as everything feels too much; his tongue against your boob, his fingers in your mouth, and something hard pressing against your core.

Your hands find the hem of his shirt and your nails rake up against his bare back. He moans against you and releases your nipple with a 'pop'. He looks at you with dark eyes and swollen lips while he lowers himself towards your core.

While his fingers dance over the elastic of your underwear, you push his fingers out of your mouth. "Matt wait..."

As if your words scorched him, he's off you immediately, his chest raising rapidly and face flushed. "I'm-I'm sorry. I got a little carried away..."

You sit up, pushing your shirt down and shaking your head. "No... please don't- it's okay. I-I enjoyed it too. It's just...", you cradle his face and peck his lips, "I don't want our first time to be in my childhood bedroom and avoid making too much noise."

Mattheo leans into your touch and kisses your palm. You pull him down with you and lay on top of his chest. When you move your legs, you accidentally bump against his boner. You sputter out an apology, feeling bad for blue-balling him.

His hands grab your hips tightly and he presses you closer against his body. He brings his lips towards your ear. "Don't worry about it, Princess. Because when I have the chance, I'm gonna fuck you so good you forget our whole relationship was fake to begin with."

Oh Gods, you created a monster...

Tag list (bold means I couldn't tag you): @mylosz0 @kermits-bitch @jolly4holly @daisiesformylove @frogtape @dancing-inasnowglobe @slytheos @undercover-smutlover @reverse-soe @nikkissecretlibrary @moon-struck-meraki @bengbengbengi @justhavingsomefun1 @itsamusical4lifee @genshingeeksworld @y0urm0m12 @alnitakstarsky03 @mel-vaz @slytherinboysappreciation @sailtomarina @bubybubsters @jasmine2105 @abaker74 @lovelyygirl8 @vickykazuya @eltrss @llpovi@m1kasawps @sol3chu @ledtassoo @itsarajr @glittervame

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renthony · 11 months

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hey!! i am genuinely curious about how the catholic church helped implement the hays code, would you be able to tell me more/do you have any good reading material about it? thanks so much!!

This has been sitting in my inbox for aaaaaages, because I want to do it justice! It's actually a big facet of my research project that I'm going to go into much, much, much more depth on, but here's the short(er) summary:

The foundational text of the Hays Code was written by two Catholics: a Jesuit priest named Father Daniel Lord, and a man named Martin Quigley, who was the editor of the Motion Picture Herald. They grounded their guidelines in Catholic morality and values, based on the idea that art could be a vehicle for evil by negatively influencing the actions of those who view it.

The original list of guidelines written by Lord and Quigley was adapted into the Production Code, popularly known as the "Hays Code" after William Hays, the president of the Production Code Administration that enforced it. As president of the PCA, William Hays appointed a staunch Catholic man called Joseph Breen to enforce the code. Breen enforced it aggressively, confiscating the original reels of films he deemed inappropriate and against the Code. Many lost films from this era are only "lost" because Joseph Breen personally had them destroyed. Some were rediscovered later, but many were completely purged from existence.

When Breen died in 1965, Variety magazine wrote, "More than any single individual, he shaped the moral stature of the American moral picture." He was a very, very big deal, and was directly responsible for censoring more films than I could even begin to list here.

In 1937, Olga J. Martin, Joseph Breen’s secretary, said, “To an impoverished country which had become religious and serious-minded, the sex attitudes of the post-war period became grotesquely unreal and antedated. The public at large wanted to forget its own derelictions of the ‘gay twenties.' The stage was set for the moral crusade.”

In 1936, once the Code was being fully enforced on filmmakers by Joseph Breen, a letter was issued by the office of Pope Pius XI that praised Breen's work, and encouraged all good Catholics to support film censorship.

The letter read in part, "From time to time, the Bishops will do well to recall to the motion picture industry that, amid the cares of their pastoral ministry, they are under obligation to interest themselves in every form of decent and healthy recreation because they are responsible before God for the moral welfare of their people even during their time of leisure. Their sacred calling constrains them to proclaim clearly and openly that unhealthy and impure entertainment destroys the moral fibre of a nation. They will likewise remind the motion picture industry that the demands which they make regard not only the Catholics but all who patronize the cinema."

Basically, this letter was a reminder from the Papal authority that bishops and priests are supposed to stop people from engaging with "lewd" or "obscene" art. That meant supporting things like the Hays Code.

So, to summarize: the original text of the Hays Code was written by two Catholics, including a priest. The biggest and most aggressive censor under the Code was a Catholic man, who had the full support and approval of the Pope at the time. Good Catholics were called en-masse to support the Hays Code, because it was intentionally written to line up with Catholic teachings.

There's a lot more to say on the subject, and if you're interested in reading more on your own, I recommend the book "Pre-Code Hollywood: Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930-1934," by Thomas Doherty. There are plenty other sources I can recommend on request, but that's a solid place to start.

(And if I can toot my own horn, I'm intending to do a video lecture series all about American film censorship and the Hays Code. Pledging to my Patreon helps keep me fed and housed while I do all this damn research.)

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chloedrewitt · 2 months

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Midnight Rain - Thranduil x Reader

summary: You are an elven ambassador from Rivendell living in Mirkwood. The realm is currently celebrating a victory in battle over the dwarves when Thranduil asks to have a private word with you. The two of you share history, but his scars scared him into letting you go. A decision he clearly regrets after seeing you dance with your fiancé.

pairing: Thranduil x F!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst

a/n: Another part of my Swift series, where I write multifandom one shots inspired by Taylor's songs <3 the next series after this will be a Florence + The Machine one. Hope you enjoy this story!

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My girl was a montage A slow motion, love potion Jumping off things in the ocean I broke her heart 'cause she was nice

In the dim light of sundown, he watched the woman dance. Her hair cascaded loosely around her shoulders, and her red lips curved into a bright smile revealing her teeth. Giggles escaped her, the skirts of her dress in her fists so she would not stumble and fall over them as she hopped around her dance partner in circles. Giggles escaped her as she twirled around her dance partner, clutching the skirts of her dress to avoid tripping over them. Her bare feet moved confidently over the forest floor, soles stained with moss and earth from earlier rain.

He was sitting in his chair, a crown of leaves and twigs sprouting from his head. He could feel the weight of it pressing down even more than usually did, although he was sure this was merely his imagination. His gaze hardened as he observed the man dancing with the woman, their arms entwined. No one besides him noticed but each time they drew close, the man whispered in her ear, eliciting blushes and giggles.

The glass in his hand shattered.

“Oh, Your Majesty!” exclaimed a servant girl next to him, immediately taking the glass out of his hand and cleaning his palm of shards and blood. The cloth she used soaked up the red liquid as the girl placed the shards into a basket nearby.

Barely glancing at his opened palm, he held it away from his body, allowing her to continue cleaning up the mess he made. Hissing, he pulled it away once she informed him he was clean again. There was still a stain on his palm, but the cuts did not appear deep. He would seek out the palace healer after the festivities ended.

The music stopped when he raised his other hand, all eyes falling onto him when he stood from his seat. His blue eyes were resting on the elven girl he had watched earlier, the air thick with anticipation from his people.

“Do not let the festivities stop. I shall have a private word with the Rivendell ambassador inside. Please, continue,” he said, his deep voice loud and collected. It radiated authority and control, all while he never took his gaze off of you.

You gave your fiancé a short nod and left him alone on the clearing that had turned into a dance floor, just as the musicians to your right resumed playing their instruments. Some of the spectators around watched you as you approached the Elven King, others joined your fiancé in dancing, and the air was once again filled with laughter.

Thranduil extended an arm for you to take, and you reluctantly wrapped your hand around his biceps, feeling the expensive fabric of his garment on your skin. His scent was clear and familiar; a mixture of musk and wood.

Neither of them said a word until they found themselves on a terrace, far away from the festivities and the music, which could only be heard if one concentrated very hard. You placed your hands on the railing, your eyes drifting off to the forest in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Thranduil looking at you, his gaze making you feel naked, seen, though never uncomfortably exposed.

“Why did you want to speak with me?” you asked him, knuckles white from your tight grip around the railing. You hoped he didn’t notice your nervousness. He hesitated as if he wasn’t quite sure himself.

“You have proven to be a valuable asset in keeping an alliance between Rivendell and the Woodland Realm,” he began, his voice lacking emotion, his words sounding practiced and memorized. “I suspect now that you have found a suitable match, you plan to stay?” The words only reluctantly left his lips, and you could feel him tense further.

You clenched your teeth as you stared out into the forest, the sky darkening as dusk slowly began to blend into nightfall. There was a thickness in the air, indicating the imminent arrival of rain.

“Sharion and I have not decided yet,” you said hesitantly, the name of your fiancé now feeling strange on your tongue. You cursed yourself for the momentary feeling of shame that spread through your chest. Yet you had nothing to be ashamed of; Thranduil had turned you down.

“I see,” replied the Elven King, and you saw him follow your gaze out of the corner of his eyes. He stood straight and tall next to you, silence resting between you. It was almost suffocating until you heard the roar of thunder above you.

You opened your mouth to say something just as he did the same, and it was the first time that evening your eyes met. You stopped yourself from speaking, gesturing for him to proceed instead. With flushed cheeks, you listened and averted your eyes again.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said softly, the pain in his voice barely audible. Your grip around the railing tightened just as the first raindrop fell onto it. “Please, look at me.”

There was something else in his voice now; he was pleading. When you turned to him you saw the glassiness of his blue eyes, the way his thick brows furrowed and his arched lips pursed as if in agony.

“I do not know what you want from me, Thranduil,” you whispered, his name on your lips a familiar feeling. You were one of the few who knew about his name, let alone addressed him with it so openly. “I gave you my heart. I wanted to become your wife.” Your eyes momentarily dropped to his lips before locking with his again, your hand gently rising to touch his cheek where you knew he had glamored it. “No matter the scars you bear.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, leaning gently into your touch. You saw his own hand rising, only to fall again as if he was scared to touch you. As if he feared that if he did, you would pull away.

When he opened his eyes, he inhaled deeply with the greed of someone who had stayed underwater for too long. Underneath your touch, his skin began to fade, replaced by the deep scars you had often seen him stare at in the mirror with disdain in his eyes.

“I need you,” he whispered, but you only dropped your hand and he let the scars disappear behind his glamor again, eyes marked by rejection.

“I cannot be with someone who hides himself behind thick curtains of shame, Thranduil.” Next to you, you heard the falling rain quicken in unison with your heartbeat. “Are you ready to draw the curtains back?”

He hesitated and looked away. Now it was you searching his gaze, but stubborn as he was he would not meet it. The silence that followed was answer enough, only disrupted when the heavy rain swallowed it and thunder roared again. You felt as if nature itself was urging him to open himself fully to you, though he ignored its pleas.

“I do not want to fight for a heart that would freely stay inside its cage when it could be free,” you continued, the words heavy. “A home should not be a battlefield.”

You saw him tense before you turned your back on him, leaving him standing with only the terrace’s roof to shield him from the rain. You began shivering, the feeling of your engagement ring cold against your finger while tears streamed down your cheeks. It was painful breaking one’s own heart, but sometimes it was a necessary pain to bear.

With a heavy heart, you entered the palace again while the rain swallowed him calling out your name.

'Cause she was sunshine I was midnight rain She wanted it comfortable I wanted that pain

#thranduil x reader #thranduil #mirkwood #elvenking #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #lee pace #midnight rain #taylor swift #sunshine x midnight rain #legolas #lotr #lord of the rings #elvenking x reader

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dreamwritesimagines · 11 months

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Garden of Secrets [27] - Wolfsbane

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Some surprises carry bad news.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, slow burn.

Word Count: 3300

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To be completely honest, you weren’t the biggest admirer of weddings.

Up until very recently, they had only served as a reminder that you would have go through the same thing one day, and that always managed to make you feel breathless, tension filling your whole system.

But ever since you married Benedict, you had been surprising even yourself.

“My lady?”

You could tell Benedict was grinning from the tone of his voice and you jumped on your feet to steal a look at the closed door, then turned to Paula.

“You may leave Paula thank you—Come in Benedict!”

Paula opened the door to step outside and Benedict entered the room, stopping dead in his tracks the moment his gaze fell on you. You blinked a couple of times, trying to pull yourself together to not gawk at how handsome he looked, and he let out a breath, staring at you in silence for a couple of seconds.

“You are a vision,” he said softly and you tilted your head, shooting him a mischievous smile.

“I suppose it’s a good thing you’re an artist then,” you said airily and sat back down in front of your vanity, still smiling. “You look very handsome yourself.”

He gave you that lopsided grin. “Ready for the wedding?”

“Almost,” you said, holding up a pair of earrings before putting them down to grab another pair. “So the chapel first, then the breakfast?”

“Mm hm. But I’m guessing the breakfast will take some time.”

“I could always pass out if we get too bored,” you joked, your eyes finding his in the mirror. “That was what cut our wedding breakfast rather short for other guests.”

“I’m not opposed to that idea at all,” Benedict joked back and you turned to him, holding the bracelet over your wrist.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he said quickly and came closer to you to take the bracelet from you, then crouched down to get to your level. He clasped it over your wrist, his fingertips waking fire underneath your skin before he pulled his hand back as you nibbled on your lip.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

A smile warmed your face, excitement rushing through you and without so much as a thought you reached out to fix his cravat, your heart skipping a beat as soon as your gaze met his.

“It was um— it looks better now,” you stammered, retrieving your hand and shifting your weight. “Do you like weddings?”

Benedict paused, then shrugged. “I don’t really care for them.”

“Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because everyone says weddings are a celebration of love,” you said, motioning at him. “And I’ve never met anyone who worships love more than you. I mean you could compete with Bess and win, that’s saying something.”

“That’s interesting, Josie doesn’t strike me as a romantic person.”

“She’s not,” you said with a scoff. “Bess is romantic enough for both of them.”

“Hate for romance runs in the family then?”

You pulled your brows together. “I don’t hate romance.”

“Heavily dislike romance?” he tried again and you shot him a look.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve recently realized I don’t necessarily mind it,” you admitted with your nose in the air. “On certain, special and very, very, very rare occasions.”

Benedict leaned in slightly, tilting his head to pretend he couldn’t hear you. “Just so I’m clear, how rare?”

“Very rare!”

His laughter was like a melody in your ears but you scrunched up your nose at him, painfully aware of the smile curling your lips as well.

“We should go,” you said with a sigh. “We can’t be late to…celebrate love and all that nonsense.”

“Very romantic.”

“Always am,” you joked back and he straightened his back, then offered you his hand. You took it, your stomach doing a happy flip as you looked up at him.

“Well then,” you said. “Let’s go and celebrate.”

As usual, only the family was in the chapel and Daphne looked very happy, albeit nervous. When you and the rest of the family went back to the Bridgerton House, both she and Simon were surrounded by many guests who were incredibly eager to offer them their congratulations. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Daphne frowning at something her mother said before following her out of the room and you raised your brows.

Ah.

The wedding night talk.

At least you were certain Daphne and Simon were going to consummate their wedding, unlike you and Benedict. At first you were very glad about that but now…

Well, you’d had a change of heart on that issue.

“…I just remember being absolutely famished,” your uncle’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you tried to pay attention to the conversation. “Everyone except the groom and the bride eats at these things.”

“Probably because they’re busy thanking everyone for their good wishes,” Josie pointed out while Teddy ran around with Gregory, Hyacinth and Lottie’s siblings, giggling. “I’m so glad I didn’t go through this to be honest.”

“Because you eloped, Josie,” your aunt said and pressed a hand on her chest. “I wish we could have been there.”

“I’m sure we could throw a dinner party on your anniversary?” your uncle joked and Josie shook her head fervently.

“I’m not the biggest admirer of the ton uncle, you know that.”

“What, with your cheerful attitude? I do not believe it.”

You let out a laugh and turned your head when you heard your name being called, Lottie waving at you.

“Excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked to her, giving her a smile. “Hello Lottie.”

“Hey!” she said. “I could barely talk to you at the chapel.”

“Because Anthony has been hoarding you like a dragon with his treasure,” you pointed out, making her giggle.

“Well he is with Benny and Colin now,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to apologize, I promise,” you said. “So I take it this is a nice practice for you?”

“Hm?”

“For when you and Anthony get married?”

“Oh I—” she stammered, a happy smiling curling her lips. “I do not want to assume—”

“Lottie. Please,” you said. “You know it as well as I do that he’s more than ready, considering he has been in love with you for a while.”

An excited giggle escaped from her.

“I still cannot believe it,” she whispered. “I fear I’m in a dream.”

“The possibility of spending the rest of my life with Anthony would be my nightmare but I suppose it’s different for you,” you deadpanned and she bit on her lip.

“Nothing would make me happier,” she admitted, making you smile and roll your eyes playfully. “No really! I only wish he feels the same.”

“He does,” you said. “He’s only waiting for things to get calmer I guess, you know first Benedict’s marriage, now Daphne’s…”

“Oh I would wait for him for a hundred years,” Charlotte said. “I do not mind as long as he loves me.”

You made a face. “In love people never fail to surprise me.”

“You’re in love with Benny!”

“Why does everyone keep reminding me that?” you asked back, making her laugh. “I’ve been nothing but nice to all of you—”

“Y/N?” you heard Daphne’s voice interrupting you and both you and Charlotte turned to her.

“Hello Daph,” you said. “Congratulations again.”

“I’m so happy for you Daphne!”

“Thank you, both of you,” she said with a nervous smile. “Lottie, do you mind if I steal her for a moment?”

“Oh not at all,” she said. “I’ll go and find my siblings, they’re all over the house, I need to make sure they don’t break anything.”

“It’s alright if they did,” Daphne assured her and pulled you towards the foyer so that you and she could walk out of the house and into the yard.

“What’s happening?” you asked, confusion apparent in your tone and she took a deep breath, then turned to you.

“I must ask you a question.”

“Sure.”

“About the wedding night.”

Oh God damn it.

On one hand, it made sense that she would ask you, considering you two were friends and you had married into her family, not to mention everyone was convinced you and Benedict were madly in love.

On the other hand, unlike her wedding night, yours wasn’t happening in the foreseeable future.

Daphne seemed to have interpreted the look of fright on your face as discomfort because she quickly flailed her hands, shaking her head.

“I know you’re married to my brother,” she said. “And it must be very uncomfortable for you and trust me, it is for me as well, I recognize how unconventional it is.”

“…Right,” you said. “Uh huh. That’s the—that’s the reason, yes.”

“But my mama talked to me,” she said. “Not in a detailed way, she merely…she got embarrassed and I’m not quite certain I understood it all and you’re the only person in here who is both married and my friend.”

You blinked a couple of times and offered her a soft smile.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath and looked around, then leaned in closer.

“Simon and I…we kissed before,” she whispered and you repressed a laugh.

“Oh really?”

“And before you judge me—”

“I couldn’t judge you if I tried, it would be quite hypocritical of me,” you said. “Considering I did the same.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, you and Benedict kissed before your wedding?”

The memory was more than enough to send a fire through your veins, desire clouding your mind for a moment before you cleared your throat, then nodded.

“Mm hm.”

Daphne’s cheeks reddened.

“So when Simon kisses me, I really—I really like it,” she said and you tilted your head.

“That’s a good sign.”

“But after this conversation I just had, I must at least have an idea of…” she trailed off and looked you in the eye. “Please be honest with me. Is it pleasant?”

Oh, that—

Well, you’d had the same worries, and to be honest you still had your doubts about that but you couldn’t just tell her that. Your aunt had assured you it was pleasant, and that conversation you had with Benedict in the art room in this very house echoed in your ears;

“All poets say it’s perfection with the person you love.”

“And what do the artists say?”

You bit down on your lip, trying to focus.

“It’s…” you trailed off and took a deep breath. “Are you in love with him?”

“With my whole heart.”

You offered her a small smile.

“Then it won’t be just pleasant, Daph,” you said. “It’s going to be divine.”

She let out a relieved breath and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she said as she pulled back. “You’re a true friend.”

You waved a hand in the air.

“Don’t mention it,” you said and paused for a moment. “I mean it. I don’t want your mother to think badly of me, so don’t.”

She laughed and nodded her head. “Cross my heart.”

“Daphne!”

“That’s your cue,” you said as you stole a look at the wedding guests in the yard, one of them waving at her. She heaved a sigh.

“I will see you later?”

“Absolutely,” you said and watched her walk away from you to the guests. You smiled to yourself, then went back to the house, looking around for Teddy but he was nowhere to be seen. You frowned slightly, then made your way to Benedict who was in a conversation with Lucy and Henry.

“Hello there,” you said, smiling at them and turning to Benedict. “Have you seen Teddy?”

“Uh yeah, he’s in the kitchens with Hyacinth and Greg and Charlie’s siblings.”

“In the kitchens?” you asked and he nodded.

“Yeah there’s more cake there.”

You blinked a couple of times. “He already had two slices.”

Benedict looked almost abashed for a moment and cleared his throat.

“He asked me if he could have another slice and I said yes.”

Your jaw dropped. “Benedict!”

“In my defense, he said please—”

“You do realize that he’s going to have a stomachache and not going to eat lunch after this?”

“Darling I don’t think you’re listening to me, he said please.”

“You two are going to make fun parents,” Henry said with a laugh and both you and Benedict turned to look at him, your eyes widening. Lucy elbowed Henry with a smile.

“Don’t.”

“What? They’re already acting like parents and it’s only a matter of time.” he said, still grinning and you and Benedict exchanged glances, then averted your eyes from each other.

“I’m just— I’ll go and find him to check if he’s alright,” you stammered and Benedict nodded fervently.

“Yeah I’ll help you,” he said and quickly followed you as you walked away from them. You cleared your throat and made your way to the stairs with Benedict who let out a chuckle, making you look at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just—” he trailed off. “To think they believe that…”

“Not that surprising,” you pointed out. “You know what the ton is like, at least Henry is actually saying it rather than implying it.”

“Seriously?”

“I’d say we have like a couple of months until people start throwing us baby names—” you paused for a moment, tension making your stomach flip. “Benedict, should we talk about this?”

His eyes searched your face, and he seemed to have noticed the look of absolute nervousness on your face before he took a deep breath.

“About baby names?” he joked and you felt a smile curl your lips.

Alright then, maybe you wouldn’t talk about it just yet.

You were fine with that.

“Yeah,” you said. “About baby names, obviously.”

“Not really,” he said. “I mean if someone tries to give us suggestions, we can just tell them we already have an idea.”

“Do we?”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I for one think it’s quite clear that we should name the baby Nonexistent.”

You stared up at him for a second before a laugh escaped from your lips and you pushed at his arm.

“No?” he said, grinning. “Come on, it’s a family name.”

“Nonexistent Bridgerton,” you mused and looked over your shoulder as you made your way down the stairs. “Yeah, it has a nice ring to it.”

“See?” he asked with a laugh as he followed you. “I knew you would like it.”

Benedict was rather busy in his studio the next day throughout the morning, so you decided not to disturb him and instead meet with Josie to pay a visit to your uncle and aunt. It had been a while you dropped by the house, and you wanted to see what your garden was doing as well.

You were beginning to think that perhaps you could start working on your garden back home as well.

And perhaps you could even go into the greenhouse to see what was in it and work on it as well.

“Anyway, Andrew keeps talking about Felix,” Josie said as the carriage went down the road, the noises of the busy streets reaching inside. “And he seems rather sweet.”

“He is,” you said. “I always have much more fun at the parties if he’s attending as well.”

“Not with your husband?” Josie shot you a grin and you rolled your eyes at her.

“My husband is too talented,” you said, slightly aware of the proud tone in your voice. “So he keeps getting dragged away from me, by one person or another. Considering all the people attending the parties is the art circle…”

Josie hummed. “And how bizarre are they?”

“The parties or the people?”

“Both.”

You thought for a moment.

“Mostly very much fun and nice,” you said. “There are some…bizarre ones though. Why? Do you want to attend as well?”

“God no,” she said. “That’s not my crowd, sounds like too many people. Perhaps I might attend when you host one though.”

You pulled your brows together. “What?”

“Yeah I mean, will you not?” she asked. “You and Benedict are married, you get along well with his friends, not to mention you’ve just said you have fun in those. It only makes sense if you eventually hosted a party for that art circle as well.”

You blinked a couple of times, deep in thought.

“The idea hadn’t struck me until you mentioned it,” you admitted. “But yes, I suppose I could.”

“There you go,” she said when the carriage came to a stop, and you stepped outside after her, the coachman helping you both.

“Thank you.”

“Of course ma’am.”

You could hear Teddy’s happy chattering as you approached the house, so you went straight to backyard, passing by the house with Josie and Teddy let out a happy squeal the minute he saw you.

“Y/N! Josie!”

“Hello my sweet,” you said, crouching down as he started running to you, then flung himself into your arms. “How are you?”

“I’m well!” he said as he hugged Josie as well while you straightened your back. “I was just telling Mary how I’m going to be a sculptor!”

You smiled at the maid. “Hello Marry.”

“Hello ma’am.”

“Where is auntie, Teddy?”

“Um—she sent me outside to play,” he said, making you frown slightly. “Grown up business with uncle, she said.”

You and Josie exchanged glances and you turned to Mary.

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“I do not, ma’am,” Mary said, “Lord and Lady Thorne seemed in haste.”

“Josie, did I show you my sculpture? The one I made with Benedict?”

Josie managed to smile at him. “Not at all dearest, where is it?”

“Over here, come!” he grabbed her by the hand to pull her towards the picnic cloth under the tree, and you could already see a bunch of toys along with the small sculpture there.

“I’ll just see what this is about,” you told Josie and walked to the house to climb up the marble stairs, and passed through the front door. You walked into the foyer, trying to hear your aunt’s or uncle’s voice but all you could pick up was the occasional conversations of the maids as they walked in the upstairs hallway.

You hummed to yourself and decided to check your uncle’s study, but as you were passing by the small table in the foyer, a half-ripped envelope caught your eye and you stopped dead in your tracks, tilting your head to the left.

Your uncle never left envelopes around, he always opened them in his study or the drawing room.

You reached out to grab the envelope and turned it over to see who it was from but the second your eyes fell on the name, your breath got caught in your throat, the whole foyer spinning around you. You stared at the empty envelope, -no doubt the letter was with your uncle-, trying to fix your breathing, that familiar panic poisoning your system, running through your veins.

“You couldn’t find them?” Teddy’s voice reached you along with Josie’s heels echoing in the foyer but you couldn’t even raise your head from the envelope in your hands, fear gripping your heart so tight that your chest started to hurt.

“Y/N?” you heard Josie’s voice as you dug your fingernails into your palm, tears of absolute terror burning your eyes but you tried to blink them back, clenching your teeth.

“They are probably in uncle’s study, I will get them!” Teddy said, still too excited to notice how frozen you were and ran past you to uncle’s study while Josie touched your arm.

“Hey,” she said, “Are you alright? What is that?”

You swallowed thickly and looked up at her, trying to ignore the pain throbbing in your wrist.

“It’s a letter,” you managed to say, “From father.”

Chapter 28

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic #garden of secrets

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chaotic-orphan · 6 months

Text

Defiant Leader x Confident Villain: Part 4

Read Part one here

Continued from this part here

Honestly I have found so many good series parts in my drafts that just needs cleaning up with a light edit and boom, more content- it's great!

I am just ignoring my Christmas assignments and exams because who needs a degree, am I right? Enjoy!

TW: intimate whumper (ish), torture(light) and broken bones

*~*~*~*~*

Leader woke up to a finger in their cheek. They batted it away lazily, in theory.

In reality, their arms felt too stiff to move, groaning for Second to give them just five more minutes. They’d had a long fucking day, and their body was exhausted, not even accounting for the mental exertion it took to balance Villain as an enemy and not a member of their team anymore after they took them and strung them up—

Leader’s eyes shot open, but they didn’t meet Villain’s smiling face. Instead, they were met with two owlish eyes the colour of the Dead Sea, as if Leader could see through them.

Leader knew those eyes. Knew them too fucking well.

Leader evened their expression as much as they could, while Supervillain’s lips broke into an amused smile.

“So, you’re Villain’s old mentor,” Supervillain hummed, going to poke Leader in the cheek again. They were too close. Far too close to Leader’s face for comfort. Leader was tucked up against the wall, hands in the same heavy manacles Villain left them with as they drifted to a deep sleep. Their legs had moved, one bent slightly while the other was straight, and in the small bend of Leader’s leg was Supervillain’s foot.

Too close.

Leader tilted their head to the side, voice deadpan as they replied: “so you’re Villain’s new babysitter.”

“Villain said you were funny.”

“That’s funny, Villain never mentioned you,” Leader replied coolly, eyes never leaving Supervillain’s too-clear blue ones. “Mustn’t take it personally, maybe you just don’t make much of an impression.”

“Woke you all the same.”

“Yes, you did,” Leader said, then made a shooing motion with their fingers. “Now that you mention it, it was a very nice sleep, and I would like to get back to it now.”

Supervillain searched Leader’s eyes for something, then let out a soft hmph. “I have a better idea, Leader.”

Before Leader could protest a hand was in their shirt and in one fluid motion, Supervillain dragged Leader to their feet with such force Leader’s eyes blew wide, they weren’t touching the ground for a minute before their bare feet mercifully touched the floor again. Leader had a panicked grip on Supervillain’s arm holding them to the wall and only then did they notice the slight size difference.

Supervillain was tall, a good head taller than Leader, who wasn’t considered short by any means. That’s not where the differences stopped; where Leader was all lean muscle and agility, Supervillain filled their broad shoulders with strong, defined muscles that lay under his casual shirt and pungent leather jacket. Leader could make them out even when he wasn’t tensed and that annoyed more than scared them.

Leader had met Supervillain before, obviously, but this close? With this height difference? This disadvantage Villain had left them with, with no gear, no boots, no weapons. Leader didn’t like their odds. It was too new. Jarringly new and it sent a cold shiver down Leader’s spine, their mind racing on ways they could adapt to their sudden enforced weakness around their wrists and in their bare feet.

When they met on the field they were somewhat even. Supervillain was strong, stronger than Leader, but Leader made up for it with their speed. They danced in and out of one-punch-knockouts Supervillain had thrown at them before, they could do it again…

But that was in their combat gear, with their blades by their sides. That was with their boots on and their team at their back, and that was without heavy iron manacles locking their hands together.

Like this? Leader was too exposed, too weak, and they were just staring at Supervillain who could kill them without breaking a sweat right now, hiding all this panic behind an impassive expression, but they couldn’t hide that wide eyed surprise.

Supervillain had seen.

Supervillain saw Leader’s eyelids fly open in shock, so different from the half-lidded indifference Leader was trying to show off. Supervillain noticed the smallest thing, and maybe that was what was scaring Leader more than their disadvantage.

“What?” Leader asked, voice thankfully, mercifully even, “was your better idea making out or? This is very intimate Supervillain, honestly? I’m flattered. Kind of enemies to lovers scenario—”

All Supervillain had to do was curl their fingers into Leader’s shirt, knuckles resting painfully on Leader’s ribs and push Leader against the wall more. Pinned between a solid surface and Supervillain’s unforgiving grip, Leader didn’t know which would crack first, the wall or Leader’s ribs. Leader bent a knee and pressed the sole of their bare foot against the wall for leverage.

“Mmm,” Leader ground out, trying and failing to alleviate the pressure. “Kinky, don’t worry, kinda into it.”

Supervillain laughed. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you gag me, Da—” Supervillain let go of Leader then and Leader smiled. All doubt melting away as they pressed the sole of the foot into the solid surface, muscles tensed and at the ready.

Idiot.

Leader pushed off the wall with their foot, springing towards Supervillain, swinging their iron manacle clad hands up at Supervillain’s jaw. They missed the jaw and hit Supervillain’s nose instead and Supervillain fell back a step, letting out a startled cry, hands going to their nose in shock. Leader watched with a grin as blood trailed through the cracks in their hands and dribbled down their chin, staining their stupid shirt.

Their eyes would be blurry now, an advantage Leader needed. Leader shot their foot out, kicking Supervillain’s knee, then thigh, then ankle until they were wobbling, almost down.

One more hit.

Leader threw their hands up again as Supervillain’s eyes locked on Leader’s and Leader knew they made a mistake.

Clear blue eyes were the last thing Leader saw before the wind was knocked out of them and they were gasping for breath, Supervillain’s hand wrapped around Leader’s throat pinning them back against the wall. Leader thought they broke a rib with the impact, but they couldn’t think now, they were too busy panicking. They needed to break free.

They kicked out at Supervillain, trying to hit them anywhere until Supervillain stepped closer, making Leader’s legs useless, pinning Leader’s legs with their own and the wall, and the panic seized Leader’s chest. They were like a fish out of water, gasping on nothing. That’s when Leader brought their manacled hands down on Supervillain.

Loosen the hold for a second.

Or that’s what they intended to do.

At the last second Supervillain caught Leader’s wrist just below the cuff.

Fuck.

Supervillain slammed Leader’s arms back above their head and held them there no matter how much they writhed and struggled and fuck— black dots were encroaching on the edges of Leader’s vision like a vignette.

They couldn’t speak.

They couldn’t breathe.

They couldn’t fight.

They were going to die here. Supervillain was going to kill them and not break a sweat. Their struggles were weakening, and Leader knew they were gone, that Supervillain had won.

Would Villain be sad Supervillain killed them? Or is this what they wanted all along?

Leader was so fucking stupid and it got them killed.

At least Leader got a good few blows in before they died, at least they made Supervillain bleed, at least they went out fighting…

Those crystal-clear blue eyes stared down at Leader’s as they slowly lost consciousness and darkness engulfed them.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain was leaning against the wall beside the door to Leader’s cell, arms folded, head resting against the wall. When the door opened, Villain pushed off quickly, turning to see Supervillain with dried blood caked on their upper lip and nose, staining their shirt. Villain’s face dropped.

“What happened?”

Supervillain smiled, showing bloody teeth. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They got rowdy, so I put them down.”

“You said you’d be gentle.”

“You said they were weak and exhausted.”

“They are!” Village protested.

Supervillain raised an eyebrow at Villain’s voice rising in pitch, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as Villain looked away, and said, “they were. I left them hanging for three days, I was worried their shoulders would pop out of their sockets!”

“Did you have mercy on Other Villain’s Henchman when you left them hanging? Did you worry about their shoulder joints?”

“It’s different,” Villain said, eyebrows knitting together. “We were torturing Other Villain’s Henchman for information. Leader is just a prisoner, and you have to be humane. It’s not personal, it’s—”

“Humane?” Supervillain asked and Villain sighed, running a hand down their face. “Maybe if you were a bit less humane, Vil, it would have prevented the broken nose,” said Supervillain not unkindly, voice gentle and soothing, which just made Villain feel worse. They were going easy on Leader, and Supervillain noticed.

Supervillain placed a warm hand on Villain’s shoulder, and smiled when Villain looked up at them, eyes steeled. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know, Villain… I trust you,” Supervillain said, squeezing Villain’s shoulder lightly, and Villain tried hard not to blush at the words. It didn’t work.

“I mean obviously Leader has to be punished. Not just for this,” Supervillain said gesturing to their nose, “but for doing the Commission’s dirty work for them.”

“What? But you forgave me,” said Villain, setting their jaw, lips stretched into a thin line.

“I did,” said Supervillain. “The difference is you saw the corruption they wrought. Leader is still under their influence. They need to be persuaded.”

“Why does persuasion sound a lot like punishment in this case?” Villain snapped, jutting their chin out at Supervillain who just kept that same level smile on their face. Their crystal-clear blue eyes beaming with pride down at Villain.

Supervillain stood up straighter, took their hand from Villain’s shoulder and touched their bloodied nose gently.

“You’ve done beautifully, Villain. Leader is our biggest threat to enacting meaningful change. You got them out of the way! You should be celebrating; you should be proud—”

“What about the commission?” Villain demanded hotly. “You said they were the enemy!”

“They are, Villain. Leader is but a pawn and taking them off the board will rattle the commission into making a mistake, one we can use to press our advantage.”

At Villain’s silence Supervillain sighed. “You know firsthand how corrupt they are. If capturing Leader has rattled you—”

“I’m not rattled,” Villain said, voice a bit too defensive. Villain sighed, then gestured to Supervillain’s face. “Go… go get that cleaned up, you’re bleeding all over the place.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Villain lied easily, “yes I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Maybe get some rest, Villain.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Supervillain nodded, then walked to the end of the hall, towards the stairs out of the basement. Villain waited until they heard the sound of the heavy door shutting before they leaned against the wall and let out a long-laboured breath.

This was all they needed.

Then they opened the door to Leader’s cell and walked in, letting it close behind them.

Supervillain watched from the shadows of the stairs, a frown finding its way onto their face. Then they turned and actually left to fix their nose.

*~*~*~*~*

When Leader woke up again, they gasped awake, desperate to get some air into their lungs as the hand on their throat— Leader blinked, and it was the biggest mistake they ever made. A thundering headache followed, and they nearly whimpered at the pain but kept silent as they took in the new room around them.

At least they were sitting down this time and didn’t have any less articles of clothes on than they did before which was a plus, although their feet were starting to feel the cold. This time Leader woke in a chair, a comfortable enough chair, their arms resting on the arms rest were tied down with reinforced leather straps that brokered no movement when Leader tried to yank their hands free. All it did was tighten the leather around Leader’s fists, crinkling like rubber, but they couldn’t complain. The leather was far more comfortable than the manacles, Leader was getting first class treatment as far as the last few days were concerned.

They longed to stretch their limbs, but as feeling slowly came back to their body they realised they couldn’t move their legs either, strapped to the legs of the chair in what felt like the same strong leather as their wrists. They let out a soft sigh and pulled at their restraints just because.

They were tired.

Exhausted.

Their head was fucking pounding because of Supervillain and his stupid need to be tall and strong and authoritative. He could have at least been kind about the strangle hold, like, oh I’m sorry Leader, here’s some paracetamol for that headache you’ll wake up with.

Leader just wanted to go home, be with their team. They should have never pursued Villain; in hindsight they should have stayed with their team and then none of this would happen.

They would have stayed on mission and not abandoned their target to pursue an obvious trap, Villain knew they would follow though, Villain wanted them to, counted on it. They wanted to show off their new reinforcements and show Leader, they didn’t need them and their team anymore. They wanted to show Leader who was stronger, and Leader’s ego made them follow.

Stupid.

There wasn’t much room for any other thoughts after that.

From behind them Leader heard movement and then they saw the hammer coming down hard, a merciless swing, straight on the back of Leader’s right hand. Leader screamed as they felt, no heard, every bone in their hand shatter. They struggled in the comfortable chair, trying to alleviate some of the pain, to get away from the aftershocks of pain as Leader tried to move their fingers.

“Do I have your attention, Leader?”

Leader howled when Supervillain drive the hammer down harder on the back of Leader’s hand, rubbing against broken and bruised bones. “Yes! YES! Just stop!”

The hammer lifted after Leader found their words and their sigh of relief ricocheted through their entire body, adrenaline pumping in their blood. They sucked in a sharp breath when Supervillain came to stand in front of them, glaring angrily up through pain blinded eyes. Their chest rising and falling like a rabbit’s that was suddenly cornered by a dog.

“Good,” Supervillain said with a smile and dropped the hammer unceremoniously on the floor. Leader flinched when it clanged against the concrete floor. Their breath still struggling to fill the hole in their lungs from the shock.

“Villain asked me to go easy on you,” said Supervillain. Leader’s heartbeat skipped at that. Villain still cared. Just not enough to get you out of here, a nasty voice in the back of Leader’s head hissed. “They think you’re just blindly following the commission’s orders, that you need to be persuaded to see the light like they did.”

“Yeah?” Leader laughed, the laugh manic, off and wrong. “And follow you, is it? I’m devoted to one dogma, Supervillain, I can’t stomach two, I’ll have to pass.”

“Why do you follow the Hero Commission’s orders, Leader? Hmm?”

“Why don’t you ask Villain?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Villain only followed you,” Supervillain said, delighting at the pain that must have showed on Leader’s face. “They never believed the commission’s bullshit, or so they say.”

“But they believe your bullshit, is that it?”

“I am just one man,” Supervillain said with a smile, spreading their hands wide. “Ineffectual. What could I do that’s so bad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, using a hammer as a wakeup call comes to mind,” Leader grouched, relaxing back against the chair. “Aside from that do you want the list categorically from worst to least bad, or chronologically, either way it’s a long time we’re going to be chatting.”

“Oh Leader, don’t worry. We have time,” Supervillain purred, walking over to Leader’s chair. Leader couldn’t even back away, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything with how fucking tightly they were tied down and it scared them.

Scared them how easy it would be for Supervillain to kill them then and there.

Tied up, defenceless, immobile.

The fear must have shown in their eyes because Supervillain let out a soft laugh when their legs touched Leader’s knees.

“You’re not so brave like this, are you? Did I scare you earlier Leader? Did you think I was going to strangle you to death? Are you afraid I’ll do it again?” Supervillain reached a hand over and Leader recoiled, trying to avoid it getting anywhere near their neck, but Supervillain’s hand pressed against Leader’s throat all the same and the fear gripped them like a vulture’s talons.

The courage bubbled up Leader’s throat and they bit out, “yeah? Let’s see how brave you are stripped of your gear and tied up in enemy territory.”

“I could you know. It would be so easy,” Supervillain said with a soft hum, squeezing slightly.

Leader’s eyes turned to stone, a grave challenge in them, the kind Leader would wager their life against. Leader leaned forward slightly, staring directly into Supervillain’s stupid smiling face, and said: “then do it and get it over with. Kill me and spare me the torture of having to listen to you talk.”

Supervillain smiled a handsome smile.

Their smile didn’t waver as they drew their fist up and slammed it down hard on Leader’s broken hand. Leader howled, throwing their body forward on instinct, trying to protect themselves but all they did was drive themselves straight into Supervillain’s strangling hold and Leader gasped in pain, tears streaming down their face as Supervillain shoved them by their neck to the back of the chair.

Leader choked on nothing, sucking in startled air which got caught on their strangled cries of pain in their throat. Their body fighting against the restraints and Supervillain’s hold trying to fight, trying to escape. Their body hadn’t gotten the message that struggling was futile yet.

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed. “I think you’re right Leader. I much prefer the sounds of your screams over my voice.”

“You fuc—” Leader screamed again as Supervillain drove the palm of their hand into the back of Leader’s, kneading the shattered bones, choking on their screams, clamping their teeth down on their cheek to soften them to more of a pained hum.

“I can make good on that gag Leader,” Supervillain promised, moving their fingers up to pinch Leader’s cheeks and force their mouth into an O shape. Leader swallowed, feeling Supervillain’s hand bobbing with their throat. “That way I still get your delightful screams and cries of help.”

Leader huffed out a breath, the pain finally receding in their brain enough for them to think.

“Grapefruit.”

Supervillain blinked, then frowned, then raised their eyebrows and tightened their hold ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Grapefruit,” Leader said again, voice raw, almost breathless and Supervillain let their grip loosen a little.

“Have you lost it already, Leader?” Supervillain asked and Leader shook their head as best as they could.

“Then what’s Grapefruit?”

Leader swallowed hard and rasped: “It’s a citrus fruit—”

“I know what grapefruit is,” Supervillain huffed, “I don’t know why you keep repeating it.”

Leader looked up through their tear-soaked lashes, all innocence and doe eyed charm, and said with a straight face: “my safe word is grapefruit.”

Supervillain stood up straighter and let go of Leader’s throat and Leader could breathe easy for the second of relief that came with it. Then Supervillain slammed down their hand on Leader’s hand and Leader struggled and howled and screamed and cried, “oW! JEES— motherFUCKER! GRAPEFRUIT! GRAPEFR— FUCK!”

“Maybe I hurt the wrong part of you, Leader. Maybe I should have broken your jaw, then maybe you would shut up!” Supervillain hissed.

“Maybe….” Leader ground out, a shit eating grin on their face despite the pain, despite their situation, despite everything that was thrown at them in the last week. “Maybe you’re going to have to kill me to stop me, Supervillain. Do it right now, say it was an accident and maybe, maybe Villain— argh! Maybe Villain forgives you. I’m irritating, an honest mistake, I pushed you too far…”

Supervillain glared down at Leader now, hands completely off Leader, balling into meaty fists at their sides, nostrils flaring in anger. Leader took that as their cue to continue with their exhausted throat.

“But the longer you keep me alive, the longer I have with Villain? The less sleep you’re gonna get because I found Villain, I made them who they are today, and you’re scared. You are terrified of me, that’s why you tied me down so tight. That’s why Villain isn’t here right now. You’re in deep, and you don’t know how to get out. Kill me, you risk alienating Villain forever, keep me alive? Me and Villain have more chats about the good old days, and you still lose them. Either way you’re fucked, but I know which one I’d choose, Supervillain. Take your hammer to my temple and be done with it.”

Supervillain stilled, eyes widening slightly in a dim realisation, and then, to Leader’s chagrin, Supervillain smiled. Smug and superior and oh so knowing, and Leader frowned because they didn’t know what they had to be so happy about.

“Oh Leader,” Supervillain sighed. They patted Leader’s head and let out a small, startled laugh. “Leader, Leader, Leader,” they said and as quick as they arrived, they left, and Leader tried to turn in their seat to see what they were doing but they couldn’t. All they could do was stare forward and hear Supervillain’s footsteps getting further and further away.

“What?!” Leader yelled, twisting and turning and getting nowhere except aggravating their hand and they cursed and sat staring at the wall. They flinched when they heard a door open and close, and Leader was left alone.

That thought scared them more than anything Supervillain did.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations

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superblysubpar · 1 year

Text

modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

We'll Call It Love Masterlist | song inspiration

4.8k words | 18+ NSFW

Warnings: *This is a prequel to my series "We'll Call It Love" linked above | reader drinks wine and loves olives on her pizza | swearing | SMUT (PIV intercourse -wrapped before tapped /oral - both receiving and performing/dirty talk/ass slapping)

A/N: While this is a prequel to the series, I think it's actually kind of fun to read this after the first two parts and before the third, little easter eggs and what not. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for your patience in waiting for this story! 💛

“You’re laate,” you sing into your phone, smiling at Argyle across the bar as he motions to your almost empty glass of wine. Spinning on your barstool as you nod and Robin huffs into the phone.

“I’m so sorry, but Joe was on a terror today and like yes sir god forbid you have raisins in your trail mix and no I did not watch the barista take the temp of your half caf soy bullshit latte because believe it or not I do actually do real work for this company other than wait on your hand and foot and-”

“Robin!” Laughing into the phone and shaking your head. Your own chest hurts from her lack of ending a sentence. “Take a deep breath. I’m just joking, I already ordered the pizza and…” trailing off as she becomes far too quiet on the other end, “You’re not coming at all, are you?”

Your new friend groans, “I’m so, so, so, sorry. I promise I’m not normally this flakey, but like I cannot afford to lose this job and I have that date tomorrow so if I leave now I may as well go and buy a plot at the cemetery because-”

“Oh my god,” laughing at her dramatic flare, you smile at Argyle as he sets your refilled glass back in front of you. “Stop, you’re fine. I’m more than content to just hang here at the bar. There’s a game tonight, besides, Argyle can keep me company.”

Batting your eyelashes at him, he winks and Robin laughs on the other side of the phone but it quickly turns to another groan. “Please get extra olives on the pizza for me? Dingus hates them and he’s a baby who always gets his way and oh shit,” she whispers into the phone, “Gotta go. Joe is back and asking where his steak is and I forgot to order it. And by forgot I mean he told me he didn’t want steak an hour ago. Please pray for my quick and painless demise. I love you.”

Robin hangs up before you can reply and you slip your phone back into your purse. Leaning onto the counter, you sigh as your chin rests in your palm. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Argyle.”

He tosses a rag over his shoulder and leans against the wall behind him. “Hot date cancel on you?”

Shrugging, he was no stranger to the guys you’d picked up at that very bar in just the few short weeks you’d been coming there. You take a sip of your wine before admitting, “Nah, just Robin. Although, she is very hot.”

He squints, rubbing at his jaw before snapping, “Super talkative lady right? She’s nice, I like her.”

You laugh into your glass as you nod. “That’s the one.” Looking around the fairly quiet bar, you turn back to him with a fake pout on your lips, fluttering your eyelashes dramatically. “Could I persuade you to put the baseball game on?”

He groans, wiping down a glass, “You know Eden’s rule…”

Leaning forward on your elbows, exaggerating your pout as he trails off. He squints before throwing his head back, blowing out a long exhale, “Man, you’re going down with me if she gets mad.”

Snickering into your wine glass because the other owner is quite…particular about the restaurant. Argyle is the exact laid back balance she needs to run the business or she’d never get anyone in the place - there’s a reason it’s named after him. If it were up to Eden, every guest would need to answer a questionnaire about what music taste they have, toppings on pizza, and if they played sports in high school. Any sort of sports paraphernalia on your person would get you on the sidewalk immediately if she had her way.

Which is why you’ve learned from Argyle that Eden runs the behind the scenes business side of things, and Argyle gets creative freedom on pizzas and drinks, tending to the customers, and earning the tips he rightfully deserves. He was not let loose on decor however. The pizza bar is decked out in nostalgia from the decades, various band’s vinyls covering the walls, black and white photographs of Eden and Argyle in front of their VW Van across the country. Candlesticks with dripping wax and soft lamps lighting the tables, gold and black accented decor, and a strict aesthetic to be met when it came to the music played and what was shown on TV.

Making a crossing motion over your chest, “I promise your secret is safe with me, nobody in here will be paying attention, anyways.”

He hums, unconvinced, but pops it on. Rolling his eyes at your grin while making a show of muting the TV and putting subtitles on.

The bar, aside from your seat, is empty, other patrons snuggled into booths behind you. Argyle brings you out your pizza and keeps your cab at a decent level throughout the first several innings, chatting with you as he gets orders done for others. Despite being bummed to not see Robin, you’re a tad excited to have a quiet night to yourself. You enjoy being able to sit at the bar, drink too much wine, eat the kind of pizza you like and-

“Shit.”

A whisper just over your shoulder has you turning, wine glass half suspended to your lips.

Your eyes greedily take in the man in front of you. From his worn brown leather boots, up dark black jeans that fit him perfectly, to a striped shirt revealing thick chest hair just above the top button. Swallowing harshly when you spot the gold chain nestled there as your gaze climbs higher over the tanned skin of his neck, dotted with freckles and moles. Several pairings of two that lead you to a jaw lined with slight scruff. Your thighs squeeze together on the bar stool when your eyes finally meet his, a hypnotizing and enticing swirl of honey and moss.

He runs a hand through his disheveled chestnut locks, causal and airy with his tone after he blows his breath out with a nod to your pizza, “I was about to come over here and throw out an incredibly smooth pick up line that I worked on for the last ten minutes,” his thumb hooking over his shoulder to where he must have been before he continues, “But I see you have olives on your pizza. So. Enjoy your horrible dinner choice.”

Your mouth drops open as he slides down two open chairs from you. He smirks into his bottle of beer as he leans back on the stool, eyes on the screen playing the game.

Hating that you can’t come up with any sort of comeback, you snap your jaw closed and roll your shoulders back, facing the mounted TV screen as well.

Watching out of the corner of your eye as he leans forward on the bar, eyes dancing across the screen and his fingers twitching on the bottle. His thumbs wear down the paper label as the home team lets two more runs happen.

Argyle returns with the cardboard pizza box you asked for and he glances at the screen and you lunge forward, finger pointing in his face, “Aha! So you do like baseball!”

He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, sure, when the Cubs are winning.”

You scoff into your wine glass, “Mm, so never.”

The olive hating man next to you groans, his forehead landing on his arms as his voice is muffled against the bar, “You hate the Cubs too? What is wrong with you?”

Your wine glass hits the bar top a little too harshly and Argyle winces, moving it safely from the edge as you turn to the adorable yet infuriating man next to you, “What is wrong with you?! I was having a perfectly normal night and then you came over here and complained about my dinner and my team preference and-”

“I’m sorry, I saw a pretty girl, alone at a bar, watching baseball and I thought I’d shoot my shot. Excuse me for finding the one girl who not only likes my least favorite food but also hates my team?!”

Rolling your eyes, you narrow them at the TV muttering to Argyle, “Why are the cutest ones always obnoxious?”

Olive man grins, catching his glance out of the corner of your eyes. His tone changes, amusement in it as his perfect teeth gleam in the low light. “You think I’m cute?”

Groaning, you rub at your temple and he keeps going, “Cause, you know, I think you’re still pretty, for what it’s worth. Even if you’re an olive loving Cubs hater.”

He sighs when you turn to face the TV again fully, arms crossing over your chest. Hearing his chair scuff against the dark hardwood beneath it, you’re a little disappointed he gave up so easily. But then, you watch Argyle smile down at the ground as a tapping happens on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you practically growl as you turn around to see olive man standing there. “What?”

He extends his hand, leaning on the bar next to you, “Hi, I’m Steve. While I think your choice in pizza toppings is horrendous, I’m willing to look past this fact and your denial of rooting for an excellent baseball team because you’re super cute and I’d love to buy you a drink, maybe walk you home, could even kiss you goodnight.” He smirks as you look down at his hand, and he raises his eyebrows, waiting.

You laugh, because you can’t help it, there’s just something about him. Call it a cosmic connection, who knows. He’s cute, smooth, and able to make you laugh which is saying a lot considering what you’ve been dealt lately. Slipping your hand into his, you try not to focus on how it engulfs yours or how long his fingers are as you introduce yourself.

“Very nice to meet you. And, great choice, by the way,” hand still holding yours, he leans forward, his mouth hovering just over your lips. Mint and beer hitting you and making you dizzy as he whispers, “The cutest ones are always the best kissers too.”

That’s how you ended up kissing him in your lobby, up the entire flight of stairs, taking a break to push you against the wall, back arching over the railing as his palms pressed flat to the brick on the side of your head. Breaking apart only when the door at the bottom creaks loudly and rudely interrupts you. Steve’s lips stay on you as you bump and fumble your way to your door, hot and quick gasps for breath against your lips as his fingers dig into your hips. Moaning into your mouth as you yank on the back of his hair a little harshly.

“Keys,” breathing into him, nipping at his top lip as he pushed you into your door.

Steve nods and you laugh, pushing on his chest so you can focus. Only spurring him on, his lips find purchase on your neck instead. He smirks into your skin at the little yelp you make at the feeling of his teeth grazing under your ear. Thighs growing sticky from his raspy tone as his nose skims over the shell of your ear, following the curve. “Keys?”

Your back arches, neck extending as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress. Eyelashes fluttering and mouth parting as his nose and lips drag down your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, as you laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, you know. Those things that…fuck,” Steve’s mouth is back on your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as his knee slots itself between your legs and you sigh. Fingers dragging down his collar and into his chest hair as you continue, “Unlock doors?”

He hums into your jaw, smiling at the way your hips roll, searching for friction on his thigh and he pulls away, hands on either side of your head again. His eyes sparkle in the low light of your hallway, his lips twitching up on one side before he speaks, “So unlock the door. What’re you waiting on?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as your fingers pull the keys out of your purse slowly. Batting your eyelashes as you try to gain the upperhand again, “What’s the matter, Steve? Growing a little impatient?”

Steve’s eyes narrow playfully, he brushes a finger across your cheek, tracing it down your jaw. Soft and sweet in contrast to the way you were just making out. He leans in, lips hovering over yours as your eyes slowly fall closed, waiting for another kiss.

That’s when his hands are on your hips again, rocking you over his thigh and you know you’re leaving a damp spot, whining into the air between your lips at his teasing. You aren’t winning this one, and you don’t really care.

“God, fuck, I-” your brain is actually short circuiting from the way his nose brushes up yours, at the scruff of his jaw on your skin, his eyes darting down to watch the way you use his thigh shamelessly.

Steve suddenly removes his leg, eyes growing dark at the pout your lips form, at the needy sigh that comes from your chest and huffs out of your nose. He smiles, voice a whisper and a warm breath across your cheek. Throwing your teasing right back at you, “What’s the matter? Growing impatient?”

Rolling your eyes, you spin, quickly unlocking the door and pushing inside. Steve can’t help himself it seems, hands on you immediately again. Keys and purse thrown somewhere to be dealt with later, he pushes you up against the door, his chest to your back as his nose brushes behind your ear.

Your fingers search for purchase on the wood, back arching into him as he leaves a trail of kisses on your neck to your shoulder, his hand slowly pulling the zipper of your dress down.

“Be-bedroom?” you gasp out as he spins you to face him, his eyes roaming over your body. His fingers gliding over the band of your underwear and snapping it, making your thighs push together.

Steve only nods, lips dragging down your chest and stomach as he drops to his knees, “We’ll get there. Just need to taste you right now.”

“Oh, I…oh,” Your head hits back against the door behind you as his nose drags over your clothed slit.

His fingers pull your underwear down and yours fall into his hair as his tongue licks a long stripe through you. Steve gently pushes your legs apart further, hooking them over his shoulders as his tongue swirls around your clit. Hands holding your ass, he pulls you closer to his mouth forcefully. Moaning into you as his nose glides through you, parting your lips before his mouth returns to them. Your fingers tug in his hair as you glance down at the way he’s devouring you like a man starved. Pleasantly surprised since most guys don’t even offer to go down on you during a hookup, and they definitely don’t find your clit the way Steve found it.

His tongue prods at your entrance, teasing it before licking back up to your swollen nerves, sucking the sensitive bead between his lips. Your thighs are already shaking around his head, whines falling from you between curses and his name.

Steve’s fingers slip through you while his tongue works at your clit under the vacuum of his lips. He pushes one finger into your entrance, squeezing at your hip when you whine. Quick to slip a second digit into you, they swirl easily, curling forward in a motion that makes you moan loudly, hand slapping over your mouth.

He breaks away, only for a second and shakes his head no. Kissing your thigh quickly and tapping his fingers on your waist, “Come on, don’t be shy now. Wanna hear you.”

Mouth back on your clit, fingers pumping into you at a pace that matches the swirl and flick of his tongue, your hand falls back to his hair, pulling yourself closer to his face desperately. Steve nods into you, pace picking up until you’re whining loudly again. Heat radiates through your body until your thighs are squeezing on the side of his head, releasing over his tongue and fingers as your mouth falls open in a gasp, eyes pinching shut.

Steve takes everything you’re giving him, slowly pulling his mouth and fingers away from you as yours relax in his hair. The sight between your thighs makes your arousal flutter again already. Stomach filling with warmth at the sight of his pink and glossy lips, rosy cheeks and rumpled hair.

He smirks at you, shaking his head before sighing dramatically. “God, how can someone who tastes so sweet,” he pulls you closer to him again, kissing your thighs before continuing, “Like olives on her pizza?”

Your laugh bursts out of you, head hitting the door again, “Oh my god, shut up.”

Steve’s fingers flex on your hips, lips dragging across the plush skin of your thigh. Eyes glinting with a dare. “Make me.”

Moving to let your legs fall and do just that, he quickly grips you harder, standing. You yelp, grabbing onto his hair, your head almost hitting the ceiling. He lets your body drag down his, torturously slow like a scene straight out of Dirty Dancing, until his hands are under your butt, legs wrapping around him and your faces are close together. He’s grinning widely, tongue licking over the top row of white gleaming at you, breathless as he asks, “Bedroom?”

You point wordlessly, swallowing at the way his muscles flex around you and the warmth of his fingertips on your spine. Your lips attack his again as he lays you on the bed. Your arms fall around his neck, pulling him to fall across you. The muscles in his forearms dance on either side of your head as he grinds against you. The denim of his jeans a welcomed friction on your sensitive cunt and you gasp into his mouth.

It’s a flurry of wet lips over hot skin, clothes thrown to places neither of you care to pay attention to. Bodies sliding together, his swollen tip catching on your clit and you bite down on his lip at the feeling, fingers pressing crescent moons into the tight muscles of his shoulder blades. You roll, landing on top of him and working your way down his body. Lips kissing at every freckle and mole you find along his chest and abs. Nose dragging across his hips, you smile when he shivers underneath you.

Your tongue licks up his length, tracing the curve of the vein, swirling around the tip. Pulling the mushroom head between your lips, Steve’s hips jerk as your tongue flicks at the pre-cum spilling out of him already. His fingers twist in your comforter, a strangled noise from his throat as your head sinks lower, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. You glance up under your fluttering lashes to find him looking down at you, wrecked, eyes wild as his tip hits the back of your throat, spit spilling from your lips around him.

“Fuck, fuck. Condom? Do you have a condom?” He gasps, pulling his hips down, his cock falling from your mouth as you nod to your dresser.

Steve’s quick to slip it on as you straddle him, fingers dragging through his chest hair. He sits up, arms circling your waist and yanking you down closer, pulling a laugh from you. His teeth nip at your neck, voice raspy as he asks, “What do you want? Tell me what you like.”

Taken aback by his question, your hook ups are rarely able to make you laugh, orgasm, and be attentive. He slides between your folds, letting you hover over him and you pull your lip between your teeth as he sucks a bruise under your ear.

“This is…is good,” you gasp out as he pushes at your entrance.

Steve nods, guiding you to sink down onto his length, fingers squeezing at your waist as your mouth parts in a gasp, yours gripping at his shoulders.

You press your face into his neck, whining as you slip further down, taking him fully and you both groan as you circle your hips.

“Shit, take me so well, honey, that’s it,” Steve’s babbling, hands roaming up your back as his lips kiss over your chest and neck.

Your hips circle again, slowly lifting yourself up and sinking back down on him. His nose presses into your cheek, breath huffing along your jaw as he whines your name and you flutter around him. The slow drag of his cock along your walls not enough and too much all at once.

“Steve, I-” your chest is tight, familiar heat growing rapidly in your stomach and he holds you, pushing you down into the mattress, his weight falling on top of you.

Steve curses softly, pulling out of you and thrusting back in with a force that makes you both gasp around each other’s lips. It’s a dirty glide, sweat slicked bodies grinding together, moans lost in each other’s mouths. The sound of your hips meeting and your arousal filling your room drown out the way you practically plead his name. Each thrust into you feels like he’s knocking the air from your lungs and filling them at the same time. Coarse hair hitting your clit with each roll of his hips, his lips hover over yours as you throw your head back into the mattress. Your hands cling to his back, nails scratching down it as each powerful thrust shoots you higher and higher. Your eyelids flutter, you’re pretty sure you’re actually losing oxygen, leaving the atmosphere.

Steve’s name leaves your lips in a strangled gasp and he pants into your parting mouth, “Yeah? Gonna cum for me baby?”

Nodding, babbling nonsense to him, he nips at your bottom lip as your eyes squeeze shut. Your vision fills with stars, heat filling your belly as your walls clench around him as his thrusts only pick up their pace.

“Yeah?” His tone is mocking now into your lips, you can feel his smile against them. Your eyelids flutter, you’re whimpering, feeling like you’re on another planet, floating aimlessly through space. His thrusts stop suddenly and he sucks on your bottom lip before asking, “How about another one?”

Before you can comprehend the question, he’s pulling out and flipping you. Your stomach somersaults at the way he handles you so easily, almost lazy in how he can manhandle you. His palm rests against your lower back, your cheek pressed into the pillows. Steve groans as your legs spread for him. His hand comes down on the curve of your ass in a slap, not painfully. He cups it as you jolt forward and he curses under his breath.

He’s not quick about it, letting his tip drag through you and you shiver. Not pushing in until you’re begging him, “Steve, please…”

Who the hell is this guy? How does he have you begging for a third orgasm?

He slips into you, your strangled cry of relief mixing with his moan.

“Only cause you asked so nicely, pretty girl.”

Your comforter twists in your fists as his thrusts quickly turn to a brutal pace. Steve’s grip on you is bruising as you arch lower for him, spreading as wide as you can, chest heaving into the mattress. Steve’s lips trail down your spine, the cold metal of his chain dragging with them.

He falls forward, his chest against your back, hips stuttering as his hand reaches around and rubs fast and messy circles into your clit. Your name leaves his lips against your ear as his thrusts try to match the pace of his fingers.

You’re weightless, body buzzing, vibrating like you’re waiting for take off. Steve’s gasping as shooting stars dance across your closed eyelids. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in and he swears, asking you to cum please. You’re certain the entire galaxy just exploded inside of you as his hips thrust quickly, falter, and slow while your name leaves him in a breathless gasp and your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

Steve rolls off of you, your chests heaving in tandem as you both stare at your ceiling.

“That was…” Steve’s hand drags down his cheek, laughing a little.

“Yeah?” Your lip pulls between your teeth as you try to fight your smile.

It’s quiet for a second before he clears his throat, voice a whisper, “Yeah.”

Normally, a guy would be out your door by now. They got what they came for, and regardless of if you had a great time, you’re happy to see them go. This feels different, you’re a little hopeful for the first time in awhile. Wondering if you could do all of that again in the very near future.

“Um…” Steve coughs, voice trailing off as you turn your head. His hand runs through his hair as he squints at your ceiling, lips pursed in thought. Your eyes track the veins and lines of muscle in his arm up to his armpit and shoulder. To the sharp line of his jaw and nose. You feel ridiculous that your thighs already push together from want after all of that. Body heating up with embarrassment, you quickly snap your head back, eyes on your ceiling once more.

He finally sits up and questions, “Bathroom?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Right through there.” You point as you sit up as well. Your fingers cover your lips as you take in the angry red lines from your fingernails that contrast against the tan skin of his back. Head tilting as you watch him stand, smile hiding behind your hand as you watch his butt walk away.

Steve looks over his shoulder, squinting as his own smile tugs at his lips. He tries to cover himself up and whispers dramatically, “Wow. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Would if I could,” your laugh escapes you, your grin finally winning as your hand drops and he closes the door.

Steve finds you dressed in sleep shorts and a band tee, chugging a glass of water in your kitchen a few minutes later. You extend it to him, noticing he’s fully dressed with his shoes in his hand. He takes a sip before setting it down, knuckles tapping on your countertop before blowing out a long breath.

Your lips twitch as you try to fight the smile that seems to be a permanent feature around him as he looks around frantically, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Um…I guess…I should…” he trails off, watching you.

Your arms cross over your chest, barefeet overlapping each other as you nod, “Right, yeah. That was…”

He smirks, nodding as you trail off. “Yeah, it was.”

Steve goes to leave, but spins, licking his lips before rushing out, “Listen. Could we do that again sometime? Maybe I could get your number?”

The cocky and smooth man who you met at the bar, the one who just took you to outer space seems to have disappeared. The blush in his cheeks darkens, lips parted as he seems to hold his breath waiting for your response.

Nodding, you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you try not to grin while acting indifferent. “Sure, yeah.”

An awkward shuffle of him pulling his phone out and you typing your number in before handing it back to him.

You’re startled when there’s a soft press of his smooth lips against the apple of your cheek. Warm breath hitting your jaw as he whispers, “Have a good night.”

“You…you too.”

Your hand touches where he kissed as he leaves, unsure if you’ve ever been kissed on your cheek like that before.

Only two minutes later, tucked back in your bed when your phone buzzes.

You bite your lip as you pull the comforter up over your chin, typing back for it only to buzz with a response immediately.

Laughing as you roll onto your stomach, it flips when you inhale the scent of his cologne that clings to your sheets. It takes a minute for him to respond again, your eyelids growing heavy when the phone buzzes finally.

Huffing into your pillow, the smile that sits there is a welcomed friend as you message him goodnight and save his number in your contacts. Rocketman seems fitting for an idiot who takes you to outer space three times in one night.

Even if he does hate olives.

WCIL taglist: (I just used the series taglist for this, hope that's okay!)

@boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3x3

#steve harrington #modern!steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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deepdisireslonging · 9 months

Text

Wanna *Beep* You Tonight

Dean and the Reader are caught in traffic after a case. The Reader convinces Dean to agree to the best way to pass the time.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, voyeurism, this poor car, cream-pie, situational humor

Word Count: 1630

Note: Yes, I used two Little Mix songs back-to-back. They’ve got really inspirational stuff. Only one more song-fic for the Summer Playlist after this one. Let me know how you like the fic, the series, anything at all in the comments and with your reblogs. Happy reading!

“Beep Beep” by Little Mix

“Oh, come on!” Dean reached for the horn, but snatched his fist away. It wouldn’t have done any good.

Leave it to Sam to find a hunt in Vegas. Then ditch you and Dean so that the impala could get stuck in traffic after the big fight let out.

“Why are there so many people?” You asked for the fifth time. Taking your elbow off your eyes, you sat straight in your seat. “Who drives out of state after the fight? Vegas is an oasis of hotels for a reason.” With a huff, you motioned at another traffic bailer. “See! Go back into town. And stop gumming up the works for the rest of us.” You were quietly jealous of the dust cloud they left in the wake.

Music was no good. Dean’s cassettes were long out of your favor. And he didn’t appreciate your adaptor for you could play your music. In the quiet that took all the air in the car, you could hear the music and arguments from the cars around you. Dean was mostly content to lay back, cross his arms, get comfortable, and take a nap while traffic was frozen. You were too fidgety. You flicked the air up and down. Checked the radio stations for levels of static. Poked Dean’s keychain to make it jangle.

“Would you mind not fondling all my buttons?” Dean cracked an eye to glare at you.

“I thought you liked it when I fondled your buttons,” you mumbled. As he grinned, your face lit up with a smile. He didn’t move when you slid to sit immediately by his side. “Hey, Dean-“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Lack of privacy.”

“It’s dark.” You rolled your eyes towards the windshield. “The stars are exhausted of this night. It’s dark as heck out there.” With a whine, you looped your arm under his. “No one would see us,” you whispered in his ear. Turning on the charm, you nuzzled your nose against the shell of his ear. “We may be gridlocked, but the thought of you is driving me wild.”

Dean barked a laugh. “It is too late at night for those kind of pick-up lines-“

“The thought of you sliding your hands all over me. Over my chest. Around my waist. C’mon. We’re stuck on the 202, I love making love to you. I’m going stir crazy in here. And if you won’t help me out, I’m going to take care of myself.”

His eyes snapped up just as you snapped open your jeans. Fascinated, he watched as you pulled them down just low enough to reach in between the denim and the cotton of your underwear. After another thought, you removed your jeans entirely. Your other hand reached for your chest. To your delight, Dean’s hand slid up the steering wheel and squeezed. You closed your eyes and rolled your hips. Starting cold like this wasn’t a good way to come to a finish, but the lust in Dean’s gaze was plenty of heat to start your fire.

“Tell me what to do, Dean,” you hummed. “If you won’t touch me yourself, tell me where to move.”

“Move-“ Dean licked his lips and cleared his throat of the squeak, “move your hand into your hair.”

“Like this?” Purposefully, you took your hand out of your pants and threaded your fingers into your hair. You imagined how Dean liked to tug when he had you in his lap or on your knees. Biting your lip, your hips rolled.

Dean shook his head, his breath coming out short. “No. The- the other one. Put the first one back.”

“Okay.” You switched which hand was in your hair, and which was playing with your breasts.

“No- for fuck’s sake.”

When you opened your eyes, Dean was leaning over you with a glare.

“Brat.”

“Always.”

He crowded into your space further, pushing you down to lay across the front seat. At your neck, your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, Dean sucked and kissed from one target to the next. You writhed beneath him. Your hands gripped his arms and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He pushed them away. Eventually, he trapped them above your head so he could ravage you without you getting in the way.

“Hey-“ you moaned when your mouth was free. “I thought- I thought you didn’t want to do this? To many people and all that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Alright then.” He grinned against your skin. Then he sat up, taking you with him to land on his lap. He guided you to grind against his growing bulge. When his head fell back, you took the opportunity to latch your lips around his pulse point. His hips jolted into you. Of the hands guiding the rolling pace of your hips, one slid up to continue the kneading of your breasts that you had started. Already you were panting. And Dean’s breath came out in puffs on your cheek.

He grunted as your hands fumbled with his belt. The zipper. A long groan rumbled against your skin as you brought his length into the open. With Dean literally in your hands, you weren’t taking any chances that he would draw this out. You immediately pulled your panties to one side and sank down his length. Dean gripped your shoulders. Though whether it was to slow you down or to force your body down further onto his cock, you couldn’t really tell. He bit at his knuckles to keep from crying out as you seated him inside you fully.

“Don’t do that.” You kissed his fist and pulled it away from his face. “Wanna hear you. Wanna make every car hear you for a mile around.”

He chuckled, closing his eyes to the pleasure of your slow opening movements. “Noise ordinance. Cops-”

“Fuck the cops. I’m fucking you and there’s nothing they could do about it.”

That may have been true, but there was something Dean could do about it. He gripped the back of your head, bringing you close for a kiss that stole your breath. And your focus. Before you knew what, he was thrusting faster than you could control. You broke from the kiss with a strangled grasp. With his large arms wrapping around your waist, there was nothing you could do except hang on for the ride. You reached back, one hand finding the steering wheel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the couple in the car next to you had stopped arguing. You couldn’t see their faces through the tint of their windows, but you knew they were watching. It made your walls clamp around the cock within you.

“Dean-“

“I know. I see ‘em. ‘S what you wanted, isn’t it? Having the whole highway know how impatient you are?” He forced your shirt over your chest so he could kiss between your breasts. “Come on, Sweetheart. Show ‘em what we’ve got.”

His movement sped up, making you cry out. Your earlier threat to make Dean loud enough for the highway to hear began to ring true as his thrusts began to falter. He hugged you close, muffling his moans with your chest. It made your hand slip, catching on the gear shift. A twist of his hips, and you saw stars as he speared the point that made your mind mush.

“I think I broke the stick.”

“You better not have,” he growled, thrusting harder.”

Between moans that increased in pitch, you managed, “been dreaming all day.” You bounced up and down, finally gripping the steering wheel again, but your hand slipped and accidentally hit the horn, “dreaming about jumping on this-“ The car horn went off, startling the people in the cars around you.

Dean laughed. “Been wanting to ‘beep’ you all night to, Sweetheart.”

Ahead of you, other car horns started going off. It didn’t register for you what it meant. You were too busy chasing release. But Dean managed to crack open his eyes.

“They’re starting to move.”

“Good for them,” you breathed.

Dean reached for your clit. “We better get moving.”

You nodded, squeezing and clamping your walls in any way that zinged you with pleasure. Maybe time slowed down. Or sped up. You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. Your vision whited out behind your closed eyelids. Dean hoarsely called you your name. He held you down as he came deep inside. You let your body go limp. Even with overstimulation threatening, you didn’t want to move. You kept bouncing, lazily moving to prolong the sparks of your release.

“Baby, you gotta stop-“ Dean tried to move you, but you wrapped your arms around him. “Traffic’s movin’. I gotta start the-“

“I’m not finished.”

He managed to at least roll you off into the seat so he could turn the key. The Impala roared to life and set off just as the cars in front of you cleared out. His cock still laid against his leg, dripping with him and you.

You scooted close to him and reached out. Nuzzling your nose against his ear, you worked his length until it swelled in your hand.

The people in the car next to you waved at Dean. From the driver’s side, the guy gave Dean a thumbs up, which was returned.

“I think they liked our show.”

You hummed. “Good. If they can keep up with you, they might get another.” You circled your thumb around his slit. The Impala roared again as Dean pushed the gas pedal almost through the floor. He kept up that speed, looking for any hotel so he could finish round two. You both settled for the first dark turnoff that wasn’t crowded with traffic.

***

Masterlist

Other Dean WInchester Fics:

Love Like Lightning: Part 1 (Smut) : Part 2

Last of the Season (Food Mention, Fluff, Smut)

In Heaven’s Eye (Smut, Challenge Fic, Demon/Angel AU)

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #winchester x reader #reader insert #supernatural #spn fanfiction #summer playlist 2023 #summer songfic series 2023

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

The Deployment Diaries Part 23 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You pull out all the stops for Bradley's promotion to Lieutenant Commander. He always pulls out all the stops for you.

Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff and swearing

Length: 5500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

Bradley had been meaning to ask you something important for the past few days, but he wasn't sure how to. He'd had plenty of opportunities to do so, most notably when he tried his dress whites on to make sure they fit, and you ended up making him feel better about the current state of his body.

But he had waited until the day before his promotion was to take place at the swankiest hotel in San Diego to bring it up. As happy as Bradley was, he still occasionally felt awkward and overwhelmed, knowing that he could rely on you but not knowing how to ask for what he needed.

"Sweetheart?" he asked you softly, gently kissing your neck while you peeled some potatoes for dinner. You were kind of dancing a little bit to whatever song was stuck in your head, and he loved that.

"Hmm?" you hummed. He wrapped his arms around you, so happy to have full range of motion now that all of his stitches had been removed and he had graduated to level two of physical therapy. He just hoped his scars would fade and he could hit the gym again soon.

"I... well, I'm allowed to have a loved one pin me at the ceremony tomorrow. It's not a big deal, and Cyclone or Mav can just do it for me, but I was thinking maybe you would pin me? But only if you want to, of course..."

You set the potato and the peeler on the counter and turned in his arms to face him. You cocked your head and your lips were parted, and you looked so much like you had when he'd first bought you a beer at the Hard Deck last year that you had his heart pounding.

"Bradley," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Of course I want to. I already kind of assumed I was going to, even though you didn't explicitly ask me?"

Bradley sighed in relief and rested his forehead against yours. "Thanks, Sweetheart. I should have asked sooner, but I started thinking about my tap out ceremony, and it was making me anxious."

You kissed his lips softly while you dragged your fingers through his hair. "What happened at your tap out ceremony?"

Bradley's mind drifted back to the day he graduated as a real naval aviator and nobody was there to support him. "It's embarrassing."

"I doubt that." You led him over to one of the kitchen stools and waited for him to sit. He spread his legs and let you stand between them, resting your palms on his thighs and warming him through his shorts. You waited, gently stroking him with your thumbs and kissing his cheeks until he was ready to talk.

"My tap out was my first big ceremony, you know? I didn't realize how it was going to feel until I was there, but I had nobody. No family, no friends, nobody was there with me. And I had to watch every other officer get tapped out by someone who cared about them. The guy next to me had ten family members there. Ten! I had to wait until everyone else was tapped out and allowed to leave with someone. I had to watch them all, Sweetheart, and I stood there until the end when one of the Admirals tapped me so I could fucking leave."

"Roo," you whispered. Your eyes were brimming with tears, and he loved you for it.

"I watched Nat hesitate and almost walk back onto the stage to tap me, but we weren't super close yet back then, and I think she wasn't sure if I would have wanted her to."

You dragged your fingers slowly up his body, and he sighed when you held his face and told him, "You don't have to worry about that anymore. I'll be there for all of your ceremonies from now on. And I'm really good with Navy pins, okay? I can get them straight the first time, every time."

Bradley laughed, he couldn't help it. He'd watched you pin and unpin both your uniform shirt and his so many times.

"I love you," he told you, and nothing had ever been truer.

"Your parents would be proud of you, Roo." Your voice turned to a tentative whisper as you asked him, "When are you going to take me to Virginia? To see their gravesites? And get the photo albums and all your stuff?"

Bradley's heart was pounding in his chest. "You- you want to go? Visit the cemetary?"

"Of course I do. Will you take me?"

---------------------------------------

Saturday around lunchtime you were rushing around trying to get Bradley ready to go. "You need to be there in like thirty minutes, Bradley!"

He was shaving around his mustache when you ran into the bathroom to grab his deodorant and add it to the bag you were packing. "I've got your white shoes and socks in here along with your hat and your deodorant. What else do you need?"

"My pins?" he asked, rinsing off his face.

"I already put them on your jacket, which is inside the garment bag!" you called from the bedroom as you ran around.

You were going to drop him off at the hotel before going to get your hair done. Then you'd come back home and finish getting ready while he rehearsed and dressed at the hotel.

"I'll meet you there no later than five o'clock for the cocktail hour. You want me to bring the Bronco?" you asked, laying your own dress out on the bed while Bradley buttoned up one of his dad's old Hawaiian shirts.

"Absolutely, Baby Girl. Can't have them valet parking your little shit car. It would be embarrassing."

"Hey! I like my car! It's dependable!"

He leaned down and kissed you. "Just bring the Bronco."

So you dropped him off with all of his stuff and went to get your hair done. It was July in San Diego, and you didn't want to be a sweaty mess all night, so you opted for a slightly messy, low bun with some loose pieces. Then you went home to play with Tramp and do your makeup.

"It's Daddy's big night," you told your dog as you tossed his tennis ball across the yard. Your phone vibrated in your pocket with a text from your mom reminding you to take a bunch of pictures. Then it vibrated again. Bradley had texted you a photo of himself in his uniform, and he looked hot. Like stupid hot.

You were so dumb. His dress whites had been hanging in your shared closet for months, and you'd never once asked him to try them on for you before this week. Bradley asked you to put your flight suit on about once a week now, so you were absolutely certain he'd jump right into his dress uniform for you if you asked. You texted him back, and you knew you had to be encouraging.

You look so good, Roo.

When you headed inside to finish your makeup, he wrote back.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: i can't wait to see you in your dress. already looking forward to taking it off later too

You pressed your lips together to suppress a moan. Your dress was beautiful. You'd never worn anything quite so formal and yet sexy in your life. Dark blue satin fabric glided across your fingers when you touched it. It was delicate and feminine yet very alluring. And if you were being honest, you picked this one out in particular just because you knew he would go crazy over it.

------------------------------------------

Bradley paced around the hotel lobby, hat in hand, waiting for you to arrive. It was almost five, and the cocktail hour would be starting soon. He'd tried to make sure his hair looked nice, and really all of the bruising on his face was gone by now. He just wanted to look good for you.

He knew how that blue dress was going to look, hugging your body and making him sweat all night. He knew how beautiful you'd look standing next to him in his formal, white uniform. And he knew you'd have every guy in that room looking at you, because you were charming and appealing. But you were with him, and you'd be pinning him tonight.

"Roo," you called from across the lobby, and Bradley almost fell over when he turned around. Your hair was pulled back and kind of messy, just the way he liked it, and you had on blue nail polish. And your dress fit you like a second skin. It ended at your ankles, but the slit up the front of your left leg showed off so much of you, he was already breathing deeper. Bradley knew for a fact that he would be able to tell whether or not you were wearing underwear if he could just slide his fingers inside that slit, and he was dying to do just that.

But the best part of all was that you were wearing the necklace with the charms he had given you. Actually, as far as he knew, you never took it off, which just made him want you more.

"Sweetheart," he said, meeting you halfway across the lobby and pulling you against him. "You look incredible. In fact, you look like I should just take you back home right now." Your strappy silver shoes had such high heels, you barely had to reach up to get your arms around his neck.

You smiled and kissed his lips with your bright red ones. "We're not leaving until I've pinned you. And even then, I'm eating whatever fancy food they are serving until I can't walk straight. And then you can take me home and peel this dress off me, okay?"

Bradley licked his lips and looked down the low cut front of your dress. You weren't wearing a bra, and now he was even more curious to know if anything was covering your pussy. "We'll see." He let his knuckles brush your satin-covered nipple before he wrapped his big hands around your waist. His palms were met with the lacy fabric covering your lower back. You arched into him and moaned his name when he kissed you, and he knew he'd never make it until he got you home later.

"Hey, Bradshaw," called another officer who was being promoted. Of course he came over to briefly shake Bradley's hand before turning his attention to you with a big smile.

When you introduced yourself as his girlfriend and a Lieutenant with a master's degree in software engineering, Bradley's heart swelled with pride, and he pulled you away with a nod in the other guy's direction.

"Don't wanna miss cocktail hour, Baby Girl."

-----------------------------------

You were glad you had skipped lunch and opted to enjoy cocktail hour instead, because these hors d'oeuvres were absolutely delicious. The hotel ballroom looked nicer than the last five weddings you had been to combined. The stage was all set up with a string quartet at one end and the tables for the ceremony at the other. You couldn't wait to get Bradley's pin on his white jacket.

"You want me to get you a drink from the bar?" Bradley asked, running his hand up and down your side as you fed him a bite of your mini quiche.

"Sure, Lieutenant Commander," you practically purred, and he groaned in response.

"A beer?" he rasped, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"No! Get me a martini or something. I don't want them to know I like cheap IPAs. That's between you and me and the Hard Deck."

Bradley walked away chuckling and you saw Commander Bickel and his wife and went to say hi to them. When Bradley returned with two martinis and handed you one, he fell into easy conversation with your boss. You waved to someone from another lab who was being promoted to Captain. And when Maverick placed a warm hand on your shoulder and hugged you, you were surprised you knew so many people here. There had to be hundreds in attendance.

The string quartet was playing some soft music, and now you could feel Bradley's hand resting just above your butt. But soon he was kissing your cheek and telling you he needed to line up for the ceremony to start, so you took his empty glass with you to table nine where you would be eating dinner together after you pinned him.

Bradley had explained that when they asked for those who would be pinning the officers to walk to the stage, someone would help you line up in order. You were excited that he was near the beginning alphabetically, because you couldn't wait to put that pin on him. He had worked so hard for it.

You sat with a group of people at your table and finished your drink while you listened to a few admirals you didn't know followed by Cyclone giving speeches. When they had the officers who were being promoted stand on the stage, you clapped loudly along with everyone else. And then they called for everyone who would be pinning someone to come forward, and you practically ran in your excitement.

You looked up at Bradley on the stage, and he was already looking back at you with the biggest smile on his face. When his name was called, you snatched his new pin off the table where it rested next to a cardstock tag with his name written in beautiful calligraphy. Your heart was pounding as you were escorted up the steps and led across the stage to where he stood, tall and proud. His hat was just the tiniest bit crooked on his wavy hair, and you could feel yourself holding back tears.

"Hi," you whispered when you were standing right in front of him.

"Baby Girl," he whispered back. With a smile and shaky hands, you reached for the front of his uniform and added the newest pin to all of his decorations. It was perfectly placed and straight as an arrow on the first try, just like you had promised him. And with a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips, you were escorted across the stage as the next name was called.

----------------------------------

Bradley was just sitting down to eat dinner next to you, and he was already able to rank this night toward the top of the list of the best nights of his life. He wasn't surprised at all when he realized most of those nights had been ones he had spent with you. You had pinned his Lieutenant Commander insignia on him, and now that his promotion was official, he intended to enjoy the rest of the night at your side.

You and he ordered two different entrees at your request. "Come on, Bradley. We get to try more shit that way," you whispered, rolling your eyes at him when he looked at the menu. He would do whatever you wanted.

After dinner more musicians joined the band on stage, and dozens of desserts were brought out to the tables around the perimeter of the room. You led Bradley around, sharing mini desserts with him, scooping bites onto your fork and feeding them to him. Your eyes still shone with happiness when they dimmed the lights slightly, and Bradley was just mesmerized by you. When you licked a bit of chocolate ganache from your lip, he felt his dick throb.

"Oh, I love this song!" you insisted when the band started playing This Magic Moment. You handed your plate to a server and thanked them before you led Bradley out to the ballroom floor where he wrapped his arms around you.

Bradley sang to you while you danced, and you were soft and pliant in his arms as you let your cheek rest on his chest.

"Sweeter than wine, softer than a summer night. Everything I want I have, whenever I hold you tight."

You looked up at him before kissing the longest scar on his neck. "I love your voice, Roo."

He knew he looked a little worse for wear now than he had when you met him nearly a year ago. He had a smattering of new scars, and he'd lost a bit of his muscle mass while healing from his injuries. But you always made him feel not only desirable and attractive, but important and necessary as well.

He held you close for several songs before your boss cut in for one. Then he watched you dance with someone else you knew, then some other random guy Bradley recognized from your lab was there with his hand at your waist. Bradley finished his drink, counted to ten and then cut back in.

"I missed you," you whispered, and he could smell the gin and chocolate on your breath.

"I always miss you when I'm not with you," he promised, kissing your forehead.

"Yes," you giggled, adjusting his hat on his head. "I'm very missable." You'd had a few drinks, and now you were looking at him like you always did right before taking his hand and leading him to bed. He bit back a groan and considered whether or not it was too early for him to leave his own promotion banquet with you tossed over his shoulder.

"You're fucking perfect." He held you tight and glared at your coworker when it looked like he was going to try to cut in again. The satin of your dress was gliding over his uniform as you rubbed yourself against him.

"It's so hot in here," you whispered, tracing his long scar with your fingertip before pulling out of his grasp. "I'm going to get another drink. You want one?"

Bradley nodded and sighed. He really should make the rounds to Maverick, Cyclone and Warlock before he dragged you out of here like a caveman. "Yeah, I'm going to chat with the Admirals. You wanna come find me in a minute?"

"Of course," you replied, grinning at him over your shoulder, and Bradley watched you walk away, the blue fabric grabbing your ass the entire time.

------------------------------

You watched Bradley conversing animatedly with Maverick from across the ballroom. He looked like he was having a great night, and you were so happy he had Maverick to talk to.

You shuffled forward as the crowd moved. There was a long line for the bar now, as the dancing was just starting to really pick up. You took a startled step backward as someone almost stepped on your toes, and you bumped right into a tall man wearing a tuxedo.

"I'm sorry!" you told him quickly. "I didn't realize you were right there!"

He smiled at you. "It's no problem at all. My name is Alec."

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well. He grinned and said, "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you know... open bar."

You laughed. "Right. No need for that."

When you tried to turn back to face the front of the line, he asked you, "So, who are you here with? I saw you walk across the stage earlier for the pinning ceremony. I'm desperately hoping you're going to tell me you're here to support your brother? A cousin?" His eyes were warm as he waited for you to answer.

"I'm here with my boyfriend. He's just been promoted to Lieutenant Commander. He's an aviator." You smiled at Alec and moved as the line shifted again.

"Damn. I guess that's what I get for hoping so hard since you're not wearing a ring. You look beautiful."

"Thanks." You blushed and examined your blue fingernails, unsure how to proceed. If you looked beautiful, it was all just for Bradley. He treated you the same when you were in bed for three days with food poisoning wearing his stained shirt as he did when you were dressed like this.

"Well, you make sure that Lieutenant Commander of yours treats you real nice," Alec told you when it was your turn to order, and you just smiled at him.

You were tired of the martinis by this point, so you ordered two beers while Alec stood right next to you and ordered his own drink.

"Bye," you told him with a smile as you turned to your left, practically running into your boyfriend in the process.

---------------------------------------------

Bradley couldn't take his eyes off you as you waited in line. Every curve he loved so much was just there, on display. Everyone was allowed to look at you tonight, catch just a small glimpse of what he was treated to on a daily basis. He was literally the luckiest man in this room, and he knew it.

He also knew he would be expected to socialize more with the higher ranking officers now that he'd been promoted, so he made an effort to do so. The other aviators had already been busting his nuts all week about how he supposedly thought he was better than them now. But honestly, he was a good three or four years older than most of them, so it was such a relief to reach the next level before they did.

If you were to get promoted soon, it would be a dream come true for Bradley. He briefly wondered if you would change your name after you and he got married. Having two Lieutenant Commanders Bradshaw around would be a bit confusing, but he did love the idea of it.

He pulled his focus back to what Warlock's wife was saying, but that didn't last long. He saw you almost get plowed into, but you managed to step out of the way. And then the guy behind you in line had his hands on you.

"Easy, buddy," Bradley muttered to himself with clenched fists before looking back at Cyclone's confused face.

"As I was saying..." Cyclone rambled on. But now the guy was smiling at you, and Bradley could only imagine the unamused expression on his own face.

"Please, excuse me," he said, plastering on his most charming smile before striding directly across the dance floor. He dodged around couples moving together in time with the music as he headed toward you.

When you picked up two glasses of beer and turned his way, Bradley had a great view of that random guy checking out your ass.

"Roo!" you gasped, startled to find him so close. "I hope you don't mind, I got you a beer instead of a-"

Bradley took you by the hips and pulled you against him. You held one beer out to each side as the amber liquid sloshed onto your fingers. "Roo! What are you doing?" But you moaned his name as he kissed your neck, and Bradley immediately forgot about the other guy.

"I'm just showing you how much I love you," he whispered next to your ear as he ran his hands over your satin covered ass and ground his hardening cock against your belly.

"Bradley!" But you were looking at him with those bedroom eyes again, and he needed to fuck you as soon as possible.

"You look too good like this. It's not fair," he whispered, planting soft kiss after soft kiss to your lips. "Your nipples are hard, Baby Girl. I can see them pushing against that sinful blue dress." He ran his right palm across both of your tits and listened to you whimper. "You sound like you're about to beg me to fuck you."

You sucked in a breath, jostling enough to spill more beer out of both of the glasses you were still holding. "Are you going to make me beg you for it?" you whispered so softly, it took Bradley a second to process. Your pupils were blown wide now, and he could see you were squeezing your thighs together. Your breasts were rising and falling with each deep breath you took.

He wanted you to. He wanted you to beg for his cock, but he didn't want to have to ask you.

You flagged down a passing server and roughly set the glasses of beer on the tray before you wrapped your arms around Bradley's neck. Wordlessly, you started walking him backward toward the ballroom doors.

"Please?" you asked, running your fingers along the brim of his uniform hat. "Please, fuck me." You ran your tongue up the column of his neck, and he knew he needed to get you out of this room. "Please, Bradley!" you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. "I want you now," you whined.

Holy hell! He loved the sound of you begging for him. "I'll take care of you," he promised, leading you to the lobby.

"Please, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. There's got to be a closet or something," you whined.

Then a devious grin spread across Bradley's lips. "Sweetheart, you look like royalty tonight. I'm not gonna fuck you in a closet. You deserve something much nicer."

With one hand at your lower back, Bradley quickly guided you to the long marble check-in counter at the far end of the lobby. Thankfully the same woman was working now that Bradley had talked to earlier.

"Marjorie, I need a favor," he said in his sweetest voice. He could hear you moaning softly next to him as you ran your hand up over his ass and inside his white uniform jacket.

"Hi! How can I help?" Marjorie asked, smiling at both of you.

"Getting ready to head home for the night, but I left something upstairs earlier when I changed into my uniform. Can I borrow a key? We'll just be a minute."

Marjorie was either completely oblivious, or she knew exactly why Bradley was asking for the key. Either way, she coded one and handed it to him with a smile.

"Thank you so much," he said, snatching it from her hand.

"Bradley," you whimpered. He squeezed your ass before guiding you toward the elevator bank. "Where are we going?"

He eased you back against the wall next to one of the elevator doors and selected the up arrow. He pressed his body against yours and ran his thumb along the valley between your tits. "I'm going to take you up to the Presidential Suite, Baby Girl," he told you, wrapping his hand around your neck. Your pulse was pounding against his palm. "I'm going to fuck you in the penthouse, right on Cyclone's desk."

Your moan was so loud and obscene when the doors opened, Bradley didn't think he'd even make it to the top floor with you fully clothed. He stumbled into the elevator with you and selected floor 28. Your hands were around his neck and your lips and tongue were immediately tangling with his. He pushed you back until your ass hit the wall, and then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

"Been dying to know if you're wearing underwear all night," he growled, slipping both hands inside the slit of your dress. You were whining his name as he guided his fingers a few inches higher, and he grinned up at you when his fingers connected with some more satiny fabric.

"Bradley!" You were pleading with him now as the elevator went higher and higher. Bradley prayed the elevator wouldn't have to stop on another floor first as he looped his fingers inside the fabric, and he watched you wiggle your hips as he lowered the world's tiniest blue g-string down your legs.

"Fuck, Baby Girl," he groaned, looking up your dress at your pretty pussy as you stepped out of the underwear in your outrageously high heels. He held them to his nose and grunted before tucking them in his jacket pocket.

"Please, Bradley!" you begged, grabbing onto his biceps as he stood.

With eight floors to go, Bradley nudged your legs apart with his knee, reached up your dress with his right hand and fucked you with two fingers. He kissed you to muffle your pleasured screams before nipping at your lips and saying, "That's Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw." Bradley took his hat off and set it on your head right as the bell rang for the penthouse floor, and he withdrew his fingers from your soaking slit. He smiled at you and took your hand in his wet one, and both of you ran down the hallway as fast as you could in your heels.

As he worked the key card into the door, you kissed his neck and whispered, "Are you really going to fuck me on Cyclone's desk?" Your voice was breathless, and your eyes were wide as Bradley nodded his head and led you into the palatial suite.

He walked you past the full kitchen, the chilled bottles of champagne and the door to the bedroom and picked you up in his arms. "You begged for my cock, now I'm gonna give it to you, Sweetheart."

He spanked your ass once before setting you down on the huge, mahogany desk. Bradley wedged himself between your legs, and you were immediately unbuttoning his uniform jacket before reaching for the front of his pants. What a gorgeous picture you painted; hard nipples straining in your dress and Bradley's hat perched on top of your head as you desperately tried to get to his cock.

"Oh God," you moaned into his mouth as he tilted your chin up and kissed you. Bradley fucked your mouth with his tongue as you unzipped his pants and pulled them down just low enough to get the job done. He realized that if someone walked into the suite, they would have a great view of his ass and get to hear the chorus of moans coming from you. And he wasn't even inside you yet.

"Spread 'em nice and wide for me," he instructed, squeezing your thighs. "Show me that pussy." But the dress was too tight to allow that. His cock was standing at attention, and you were whining for it again. He grabbed the fabric on both sides of your dress and ripped the slit higher until he could spread your legs and get to you.

"Bradley! My dress!" you complained just before he rammed his dick inside you. He tipped his head back and hissed as he bottomed out. You felt warm and slick and perfect, and he loved being buried deep inside you.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to make eye contact with him, and your face already looked so fucked out. "That's Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw to you, and I don't give a fuck about your dress right now," he growled. Bradley slammed into you over and over, keeping your legs spread while you gripped his biceps to keep yourself upright on the desk.

"Yes, sir," you whimpered as he railed you. Bradley watched you bite your bottom lip as his hat jostled on your head. The little broken grunts and gasps you made had him going faster and harder, and he was squeezing your legs hard enough to leave marks.

"You look so good, your dress ripped up, showing me your pussy like this," he groaned, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over. "You love being filthy, don't you?"

"Yes, Roo," you moaned. "Yes, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw."

"You're dirty and sweet, and I fucking love you," he ground out, rubbing your swollen clit with his thumb. You were instantly screaming and squeezing around him as he pumped into you until he was spurting his cum inside you. Bradley let his head come to rest on your shoulder as you whispered Roo over and over again.

He knew it was a dangerous idea to linger too long here, so he withdrew from you and pulled you to your feet. As you started to get your bearings, you gasped. "I can't believe you ripped my dress."

He kissed your cheek softly and rubbed his nose along your temple. "I needed to get to that pussy, Baby Girl. I had to have it."

You moaned and mashed your lips against his, and his hat tipped further back on your head. Bradley stroked your jaw with his thumb before kneeling in front of you. "I'll buy you a new dress, but in the meantime..." He pulled several pins from his uniform jacket, including his brand new one, and carefully pinned your dress until the slit was no longer obscene. "That's better," he told you, watching his cum drip down the inside of your thigh.

Bradley quickly buttoned and zipped his pants before you and he fled the suite, giggling the entire way back to the elevators. As you rode back down to the main floor, you wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his neck while he sang This Magic Moment and caressed your bare back.

--------------------------

I have had parts of this chapter written in my head for SO LONG!!!! I can't believe I finally get to share it with you!! Love you and thanks for reading!

PART 24

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albertasunrise · 9 months

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Hope - Getting Your Hopes Up

Masterlist

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (So first chapter's a little short but I promise its building... Gonna be away for a few days one a work trip but will try get some more updates out in a few days)

Series Masterlist - Part 1

Joel had instantly sensed that something had changed between you both after the visit to Tommy’s and not for the better. You were more guarded around him. Kept a sort of, metaphorical and sometimes physical, distance from him at all times and he just couldn’t understand what had changed. He had thought the visit had gone well. You and Tommy had hit it off and his brother hadn’t stopped thanking you for the help you were so generously bestowing on him and his daughter.

Maybe that was it.

You were fed up with the sleepless nights and taking care of not only Sarah but him also. When you said you were going to move in and help, he hadn’t thought to ask how long you planned to do that. It had been a few months now. Perhaps you were at the end of your tether and he couldn’t expect you to do this forever.

You on the other hand were wracked with guilt. The feelings you had developed for Joel and the statement he’d made at Tommy’s had led you to avoid any sort of close contact with him. You thought by distancing yourself from him that it would get easier to cope with them but you were wrong. It just confused you further. His sad eyes would follow you as you flitted around the house cleaning or cooking or tending to Sarah. You knew you weren't dealing with this in the right way but there wasn't an instruction manual on this.

'Idiots guide to dealing with your crush on your dead best friend's husband.'

Yeah, there wasn't anything out there to help you navigate these feelings you felt. Then, on a rare and much-needed night out 3 months later with the girls, your friend Linda suggested you try something new.

"Speed dating?" You snorted as you sipped your Mojito.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it." Linda defended, pointing her forefinger at you as she smirked at your reaction "My sister met her fiancé doing it and they're an amazing couple."

"I'm not exactly looking for a husband right now." You chuckled, glancing at Hanna that was watching this interaction with amusement.

"Well, my tall dark and handsome over there would probably happily help you with your dry spell." She chuckled, motioning at the man who had, unbeknown to you, been glancing at you all evening "He's not been able to take his eyes off of you."

"I don't know." You grumbled, smiling at him sweetly before looking back at your friends "I don't know if I-"

"He's coming over." Linda grinned as she playfully elbowed you.

"I think it's time for another round." Piped up Hanna, winking at you "Linda, could you help."

"No… No, no Pleas-" You didn't get to finish your sentence before they were up and leaving you to fend for yourself.

Mr tall dark and handsome seemed to falter a moment before schooling his features and heading over to your table.

"Hi." He said softly, giving you a sweet smile and you felt yourself relax a little as you replied with a quiet "Hey." Back.

"Your friends are about as subtle as a dump truck." He joked and you snorted.

"Understatement."

"I'm Alec." He said, holding his hand out to shake which you accepted as you gave him your name in return.

"I uh… I gotta confess something." He said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully and you felt your pulse quicken "I uh, I'm not very good at this. I just got divorced and my buddy over there dragged me out to find someone to wet my wick."

"Think my friends were trying to achieve something similar." You chuckled "Been going through a bit of a dry spell." You confessed, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I pretty much noticed you the moment you walked in with your friends and I… Well, I decided that if there was anyone I wanted to try this whole 'dating' thing with again, it was you."

"I could be a psycho for all you know." You scoffed "How could you possibly know that I was the girl you wanted?"

"Because you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He stated plainly, ripping the air from your lungs "You have honest eyes."

"Honest eyes?" You chuckled and he nodded.

"You can tell a lot about a person from their eyes."

You smiled at his statement. Finding yourself taken by his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. You continued to talk, even when your friends returned with the round of drinks they had promised. They eventually left, demanding you call them with the details to which you rolled your eyes before hugging them goodbye. You stayed at the bar a little while longer. Getting to know Alec intimately. What he liked to read, cook, and do on the weekends. You learned that he had a two-year-old that he had sole custody of. The mother not wanting to be tied down by family. He lit up when you asked if he had a picture and he was quick to pull out a Polaroid that he kept in his wallet.

"My uh… My parents have Noah for the night." He said, smiling nervously at you as he took his shot "Did you uh… do you fancy coming back to my place?"

"Definitely!"

Joel was sitting staring at his mug of coffee when you made your entrance that following morning. He looked up at you briefly before returning to staring at the mug in his hands, watching the steam rise from the drink and fade into nothingness.

"Good night?" He asked, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.

"Great night." You replied, pulling a mug from the cupboard and pouring yourself some coffee from the machine "Really needed it."

"Good." He replied plainly "Glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I did." You continued, completely unaware of the tone Joel was setting "I didn't realise how badly I needed to let my hair down. The last few months haven't allowed for much fun." You chuckled and Joel scoffed.

"Sorry, we're such bores." He grumbled, taking a large swig of his coffee and your brows drew together as you turned to face him.

"You know I didn't mean it that way." You argued, feeling your heart tug a little at the thought he would think you didn't enjoy his company.

"You didn't come home last night." He stated and you felt even more confused by his attitude.

"I uh… I met someone last night and we hooked up." You replied casually, shrugging your shoulders as you blew on the coffee in your grasp.

Joel felt jealousy lick at his soul but he knew he had no right to feel that way. You were only there to help him with Sarah. He had said it himself. You and he were just friends. Nothing more.

"Right, well, would have appreciated a heads up that you weren't coming back." He grumbled, downing the last of his coffee before standing to grab himself a refill "I was worried."

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped in your tracks. You were living under his roof and you should have probably given him a heads up.

"I know sorry." You sighed "Didn't mean to worry ya." You continued as you scraped a hand over your mouth "I wasn't really thinking about you at the time."

"Figures." He snarled and you felt your fuse burn out.

"You know, I think perhaps I should move back home now." You piped up and Joel's eyes widened as he turned on his heel to look at you "Sarah's nearly 5 months old now. You don't need my help anymore."

"I-"

"I'll still be around if you need help but I think it's best if I just go home. I'm only getting in the way now."

"You're not…" Joel trailed off as he tried to find the words to say to stop you from doing this.

From leaving him.

"Sarah's so used to you being around. What if she doesn't like just me being there."

"She'll forget about me in no time." You said softly, starting to feel guilty about the decision you were making "It'll be fine Joel." You assured him "You're a great father!… You don't need me."

You moved out that night. It didn't take you long to pack the clothes you'd brought with you, packing them into your car before saying your goodbyes to Joel and Sarah and driving home. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you watched them disappear in the rearview mirror. You hated to leave them but you knew that if you wanted to remain friends, you had to leave. It was the right thing to do.

In the two months that followed, your and Joel's relationship started to mend. You were able to laugh together again. You continued to take care of Sarah on the days he wasn't able to but your evenings were taken up by your new relationship with Alec and his adorable son. The relationship flourished with each date and kiss you shared.

Joel watched from the sidelines as you fell hard and fast for this man. The green monster he had tried to tamp down was trying to crawl its way out every time he was near the two of you. Weekends with you, Alec and Noah had become a common occurrence. Noah seemed to enjoy showing Sarah how to play and she seemed to be just as taken by him.

"Maybe there are wedding bells in their future." Alec joked one Saturday as he watched Noah lay on his tummy on Sarah's play mat beside her. playing with her assortment of toys as she watched him with a wide grin on her face.

"They are super cute together." You piped up, chuckling as Alec wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close so he could kiss you sweetly.

"Not as cute as you too." Chuckled Tommy from his seat beside his brother "It's actually a little sickening." He said as he mimed himself vomiting and you rolled your eyes at him and flipped him off.

"You're just jealous." You teased the younger Miller as you returned to arranging the sides and cutlery on the table.

"Not much time for relationships right now." He replied with a shrug as he took a swig of his beer "What about you brother?"

"Hmm?" Joel hummed as he looked at his brother "What about me?"

"You been on any dates?"

"I'm a widow with a baby." Joel scoffed "Not much time to date between naps, changed diapers and bottle feeds."

"You know we would happily have her for an evening if wanted a night off!" You piped up, looking up at Alec who smiled and nodded at you in agreement.

"I hear there's a speed dating event going on this weekend and the Rising Sun." Alec announced as he scooped up the burgers and placed them on a bun "Didn't a friend of yours meet her fiancé at one?"

"Friend's sister but yes." You replied, "They're like the perfect couple I swear!"

"I'm not looking to date right now." Joel growled, wishing desperately for this conversation to end.

"Oh come on brother, you can't remain alone forever."

"My wife, Sarah's mum, has been dead less than a year." He snapped and rendered you all silent "I lost…" He tried off as his eyes zoned in on you, noting Alec's hand on your hip and how you leaned into him as he planned a tender kiss on your temple.

"Sorry, Joel." Piped up Tommy, pulling his attention away from you and to his brother beside him "We didn't mean-"

"I know." Joel stopped Tommy in his tracks, giving him a reassuring look as the necks of their beers clinked together "I'm just not sure I'm ready for anything new right now."

"You know where we are when you are." Alec piped up "We're here for you."

"Always." You said, giving Joel a nod before looking up at Alec adoringly.

Joel said nothing more. He watched as you and Alec shared what could only be described as a loving kiss and Joel could do nothing but watch. Muttering what he was about to say under his breath as he sipped his beer.

"I lost my chance with her." His eyes didn't leave you as you giggled at Alec cheekily grabbing your ass as you started to carry the burgers over to the table "I blew my chance at loving her."

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #last of us #the last of us #joel miller gif #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gif #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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vinnoa-articles · 9 months

Text

Just a Sip

[Image by Eiichiro Oda]

Habit Substitute Drabble Series! This will be 2 out of the 8 drabbles I will be writing, because, why not? Some characters like certain things on a daily. But what if you were there?

Here are the links for the others.

[Luffy] [Zoro] [Usopp] [Sanji] [Law] [Smoker] [Crocodile]

Rating: +18, you have been warned. If you are a minor, leave now.

Word count: 871

Type: Smut

Characters: Zoro, reader (Female)

Trigger warnings/content: Sexual implications at the end, drinking, swearing

His lips met the gourd of sake, leaning against the rail of the Thousand-Sunny as his legs were outstretched, going through his simple schedule of working out, a nap, snacking, a short closing of the eyes, then working out, maybe a jog on the island, eating, then rest, only to repeat it the next day. However, today was different. Everyone demanded he stay on the ship, for he would get lost like he always did. Sense of direction was never his forte, but his mind was mapped out perfectly. This perfect routine that never strayed far away from its course.

“Drinking again?”

“Hm?” His right eye opened, his scar twitched to only see you sitting cross-legged in front of him. Since when did she get here? When? “Huh? What do you want?” Raising the gourd back up, the soothing burn that he craved slid down his throat. Easing his mind, which was already at peace, yet something about not sensing her presence was something else. His eyes wandered from her slightly bent legs, leaning on her fist, her eyes unfazed by his question.

“Let me have some,” her free hand outstretched, just out of reach from the bottle. Zoro just stared, him? Share? Why on earth would he do that, when Sanji uses the majority of it for cooking. There was no way.

“Why should I?” Almost spitting at her, as her hand didn’t falter. Steady as the calm waves, her hand tried to creep closer, but it stopped, her eyes still lazily staring at his face. “No!”

“Why not?” The same outstretched hand now slapping her knee, almost pouting. Just for a split second, she looked cute, her stubbornness definitely was similar to his, and he loved a challenge here and there. This was the only time though, he could enjoy the lack of his captain running around screaming with Usopp and Chopper, along with the ero-cook fawning over the other women on the ship, and off, almost drooling over them which agitated him. “Come on!”

“No! Look-” Zoro pointed at her face, her eyebrow raised now, curious as to what he would say. It was written all over her face, she was unimpressed, unfazed, and right now he was going to make sure she understood. “This is MY liquor that I worked hard for. Can’t you see that I get only one luxury around- HEY!” She snatched the gourd as he used his hands to express his emotions, yet she didn’t seem to care. Slowly, her lips touched the gourd, yet Zoro lunged forward, the bottle grazing his fingertips, his eyes only focused on the prize. The slow-motion of the bottle releasing from her palm as it slid onto the deck, cracking and the contents spilling out. “Ah...ugh” He held up his weight above the ground, his other hand smacking his forehead, upset that the only bottle he could secure was now broken all over the grassy deck.

“Hey”

“You!” His grip grasped her top, almost stretching it out, as he could see her collar bone, her head hung slightly above the floor, “why can’t you fucking listen!?”

“Zoro…”

“And you just like fucking with my things! I caught you touching my swords, which I still don’t trust you with. Then you constantly badger me about my bounty being lower than that perverted cook’s, and now-”

“Are you going to just keep me pinned on the ground, or are you going to move?” He finally took a breath, his vision clearing a little, seeing exactly what it looked like. His thigh was between her legs, one on the right side near her thigh, one hand holding himself, as his grip nearly tore her shirt. Her unbothered stare, finally cracked into a small smile. “Alright, since you craved the taste of that shitty booze…” Her head turned, what was her antic this time? What ploy this time? He felt a tug on the top of his green long jacket, it was firm, he was going to fall onto the ground? There was no way. Her lips gently touched his, the taste of the liquor lingered on her tongue, it was intoxicating; shocking.

“Hey…”

“Yes?” Her eyes staring into his soul, the feeling of longing, he was getting drunk off of just a single kiss. “Well, that was kind of boring, thought I would get a rise out of you,” sighing as she let go, still gripping her shirt, making sure her body was in limbo.

“You took what’s mine, and now I am about to take what is yours,” Zoro’s eyes ignited, and what a perfect opportunity it was for him to find something to do, a new activity to do other than drink. “I guess instead of a drink, I’ll have to take you now won’t I?” His smile creeped onto his face, “unless you are too weak to handle me…of course I guess I could just…” his grip loosening on her shirt, but she grabbed his hand, gripping it to signal for him to hold her firm.

“About time don’t you think?” As his lips crashed into hers, her assertiveness clashed with his.

“Well, then I guess I should show you how to properly take things, yes?”

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carionto · 6 months

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Another Happy Landing

Space!

It's huge!

Like, beyond words and stuff.

So anyway, people want to get to places that are far away, BUT they also don't want to wait for months and centuries to get to those places that are really REALLY REALLY REEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLY far away.

But then there's this jerk called Physics, you know, total rules lawyer, nobody likes them, but their dad is God, and just generally a total Karen when you try something they didn't think of before. Real party-pooper. Meanwhile, you're just a guy named Greg. With a bad knee and student debt. And your wife left for Chad. She found a nice beauty resort and booked a three week experience. She'll bring back souvenirs. If she remembers. Which she won't, just like the last three times. But it's okay, you've got a bucket of ice cream and the entire TNG series loaded up. Not the movies though, you're trying to erase them from your mind.

Back to Greg. Wait, no - Physics.

Today, Captain Knoslark and his advanced research ship - The Radiant Dusk at Everest (and crew) are going to give that snotty brat the middle finger.

For today, marks the beginning of a new era of space travel. One that barely involves using space at all. Time either. We're just gonna bypass those two pesky nuisances and finally freely go from one point in the Universe to another!

Combining our research into Warp technology, which essentially just uses a Fuck Huge amount of power to rip a hole in Time-Space, with the surprising developments into short range teleportation by an independent facility, as well as [insert favorite brand of gobbledygook], we will finally overcome the issue of getting spaghetified and/or transported into the center of a star!

Champagne for everyone!

All that's left is to fire up the miniature star reactors, crank the output to 400%, and bask in the applause!

"This is your Captain speaking. Hello everyone! I'm excited! Fire it up! LET'S GOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

With the message clear, the crew continued to do what they were doing. You know, following procedure and guidelines, of which there were, admittedly, less than normal given this is the first full test of this nature. it'll be fine. They said igniting a miniature star inside a reactor would blow up the whole planet, but it only took out a 200km chunk of it once, not that big a deal.

The energetic smile and tense grip of the railings Knoslark held on to for the subsequent forty minutes without letting up for a single second. It kinda got a little creepy, but the crew will never drop their poker face in front of him. They won't give him that victory.

Anyway. Again. The final step of the sequence has finally arrived and all that's left to do is for Knoslark to push the big red button on his data pad. Which he did immediately and with the most dramatically long winded motion his body could produce - swinging his whole arm from the back, over his head, and stopping just before slamming the button with his fist to gently extend his pinky finger to lightly tap on the button.

A brilliant black light in a perfect sphere engulfed the whole ship and then they were gone.

Immediately afterwards, just slightly above the surface of an unknown planet in orbit of an uncharted system in a galaxy that has a grand total of two entries across all databases. It's name - TPSC-SY398-2250074, and age relative to what the Milky Way can see - 1.8 billion years. None of that matters.

What does matter is that this planet has a new crater with a stupidly huge piece of junk lying in the middle of it. Mostly intact. Actually, who am I kidding, it's our well known Human engineering we're talking about here, the only problem is that it crashed sideways and a few fires sprung up, no worse than an overly exciting game night turned drinking party.

"Well, that was unexpected. Everyone good? Can we upright The Dusk?" Knoslark inquired right after climbing his way out of a pile of chairs, loose equipment, and three crewmen. Sergeant Ying Zhao emerged from from behind him, dusted off, relocated his shoulder, and grunted. "Seems so. Engineering - what's your status?"

"Minor leakage of non-essentials, two reactors stopped purring, could use a nap, don't let the captain say it and we'll be good." replied Chief Engineer Ira Tameki over the comms. "Negative, Ira, he's got the look already." "Groan for the two of us then." "Roger that." "Not you too..." "Sorry."

As the reports of minor damage, light injuries, and general mess came in, Captain Knoslark was pleased with the results.

"Excellent work everyone. Everyone's alive and The Dusk still works. You know as they say - another happy landing!" Knoslark said, with a big dumb grin.

youtube

"So anyway, where are we?"

Continues->

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #story #scifi #Youtube

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whump-tr0pes · 24 days

Text

Honor Bound 6 - 27

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: themes of self-harm, harm reduction, imperfect recovery, PTSD, tattooing, piercings, themes on nonconsensual tattoos and branding, angst

“Come into town with me,” Sam said, looking right at Isaac over the breakfast table.

Isaac’s hand tightened in a fist around his cereal spoon. “Um…” He glanced at Gavin, who sat next to him. Gray had already eaten breakfast hours ago and was out on a walk.

Isaac’s scars stung. He was going to… not use his knife, he wasn’t going to do that after breakfast, he told himself he wasn’t. But his skin itched and he needed to do something. He had been planning on holding an ice cube after breakfast until it disappeared into water, dripping off his fingers.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “What’s in town?”

A faint flush warmed Sam’s cheeks, and a smile tugged at their lips. “Zachariah did some asking around, and it turns out one of the guys who lives in town used to be a tattoo artist, back down south. Zachariah is going in today to, uh… get his tattoo covered up.”

“Oh,” Isaac said softly. He chewed his lip and kept his gaze from flicking to Gavin with sheer will alone. “His…” He motioned at his own shoulder with the spoon in his hand.

Sam nodded solemnly. “His Stormbeck crest, yeah.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “How would they cover that up? It’s… huge. And dark black.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said with a shrug. “But apparently the guy said he could do it. And I wanted to go, to support Zachariah. I figured you might come with me.” Their gaze shifted to Gavin’s. “Both of you?”

“That sounds nice, Isaac,” Gavin said gently, sliding his hand into Isaac’s free one. “But if you, um… need a break after last night—”

“No,” Isaac snapped. The embarrassment of Vera’s gaze and words hadn’t faded, but he was fucking sick of being the one having to be babied. Not after what Gavin had been through. Not after what Gavin had survived – after what he nearly hadn’t survived. Isaac wasn’t going to be the reason Gavin stayed inside, away from the sun and air and grass, because he was fucking embarrassed.

He shuddered and carefully put his spoon down. When he looked up at Gavin and Sam in turn, they were looking up at him in concern – or perhaps something deeper than concern. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he ground his teeth against the shame that prickled where their gazes touched him. His throat worked and he made his shoulders relax.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I hate being this on edge.”

“We know,” Sam responded without hesitation – but without judgement, too.

Isaac offered them a tentative smile. He squeezed Gavin’s fingers and glanced between him and Sam. “I appreciate you being concerned. Both of you. But… I’ll be okay. I think it would be better, actually, if… if you both believe I’ll be okay. And…” He returned his gaze to Gavin’s, and his smile grew warmer. “And we should get you outside as much as possible. Get some color in those cheeks before winter comes.”

Gavin laughed and drew his hand through his short-cropped hair. “Vera did say I look so white now I may as well be a ghost.”

“Damn, Vera,” Isaac muttered.

“She meant it as a joke,” Gavin said, still smiling. “I wasn’t hurt by it.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. But maybe she could wait until I stop seeing you dead in my nightmares before she starts joking about it? He pulled Gavin’s thin hand to his lips and kissed the bony knuckles.

“So… yes?” Sam said, giving them both a thumbs up. “Tattoo guy? Zachariah? Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Isaac said with a nod. “Gavin?”

“You know I’m always interested in going into town,” Gavin said with a grin, and in that moment, Isaac’s heart swelled to bursting. There was Gavin, his old self – perhaps not his old self, but his true self, the way Isaac had seen him in the few months they had had together before Gavin had been taken – radiant and mischievous and sweet. In that wide, contented grin, the pain and fear had fallen away from Gavin’s face, the circles under his eyes faded, and the scars stretched until they were pale again. Isaac’s throat tightened and he drank in the sight of the thing he hadn’t truly believed he would ever see again: Gavin safe, home, and happy.

The intensity of Isaac’s attention made Gavin blush. “What?” he said, his smile growing wider.

“Just… looking at you,” Isaac murmured. His own face flushed and he looked away. “Sorry.” He glanced at Sam. They stared at him, grinning too. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam said with a chuckle. “It’s really nice to see you two back together, is all.”

Isaac flushed deeper and snatched his spoon up off the table. “Yeah,” he said, and scooped up a bite of cereal. “Let’s finish up breakfast so we can head into town.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “I can’t wait to see what Zachariah is gonna get.”

∴

Isaac didn’t know what he found more intriguing: the man’s tattoos, or his piercings. Isaac had seen all kinds of piercings before on the team’s missions – rings all over the ears, in nostrils, in lips, in eyebrows, in nipples – but he had never seen, or at least noticed, anyone who had pieces of metal seemingly embedded in their skin like the tattoo artist did. And he had them all over his face – on his dimples, cheekbones, and above his eyebrows. Isaac couldn’t stop staring.

The man seemed to notice. He gave Isaac a long glance, which had him shifting his gaze down sheepishly. When the man turned his attention to Zachariah, Isaac used the distraction to look at his tattoos.

They covered his skin – or at least, his left forearm and hand, with some stretching up his neck to wind across his jaws as well. His right forearm was almost completely bare, and the half-rolled sleeves of his shirt and pants obscured the rest of him from view. But across his left arm twisted the impossibly complicated shapes of skulls, birds, and geometric shapes, all in a gritty swirl of black and gray and red. The designs shifted with his muscles as slid his hands into his pockets. He stood only a little taller than Sam, and was even more slight in stature.

The shop itself was actually just a glorified shed attached to the feed store, but it looked like it had been completely made over to accommodate an array of tattoo supplies – plus a chair in the center of the large shed that looked like it could be unfolded to be like a bed. A few stools lined the walls as well.

“So,” the man said with a thin shrug. His dark, baggy clothes seemed to hang off him. “You said shoulder, right?”

“Um… that’s, that’s right,” Zachariah said softly. He rolled up his short sleeve and stared at the floor as he revealed his Stormbeck tattoo. Sam reached out and put a hand on his arm.

Isaac’s throat tightened. It’s bigger than I remember.

Still, the man nodded, seemingly unbothered, his eyes moving over the tattoo. He tilted his head. “Any ideas for what you wanted instead?”

“Oh… no,” Zachariah mumbled. “Just whatever works. I know it’s… it’s bad.”

The man snorted. “Definitely not the worst I’ve seen. You ever try to cover one of these up on the face?”

Gavin gasped. “Who the fuck tattoos on the face?” he breathed.

“The Torrs,” the man said with a dry chuckle. “When they’re feeling particularly shitty. A bull in the most god-awful blocky style, right here on the cheek.” He motioned to his own cheek, bare except for a dot of metal. “Or on the neck. Still, I think I’d prefer that over the Stormbecks.”

Gavin went rigid beside Isaac. Isaac could hear his throat click as he swallowed, watched his lips tremble as he opened his mouth and asked, “Why… would you prefer a face tattoo over the Stormbecks?”

With an easy shrug, the tattoo artist pulled up the sleeve on his right arm and exposed the brand over his bicep: the head of a raven, surrounded by vines. By the look of the scar, it was a decade old at least.

“R-right,” Gavin whispered. “Stormbecks brand.”

“Hurts like a bitch, too,” the man said with a chuckle.

“So you were owned by my— by Benjamin Stormbeck?” Gavin croaked. His eyes swam with tears.

“Yup,” the man said. When he didn’t continue, Isaac’s gaze shifted from Gavin and pinned the artist where he stood.

“You know who he is.” Isaac’s mouth was dry. His hand inched toward his gun.

“I suspected,” the man said gently. He shrugged again. “No hard feelings, though. I mean. I heard some of the story, so I know that’s not even your real name anymore. And I heard you were in town. So it wasn’t hard to guess. But like I said. No hard feelings. You think I haven’t done shit? I wasn’t branded for no fuckin’ reason. It was because I got caught selling Stormbeck playthings to a higher bidder. So.”

Gavin went pale. “You sold—”

Isaac fell back a step, pulling Gavin and Sam with him. “Let’s—”

The man raised his hands. “Holy shit, here’s a good first impression. I did it so I could feed my little sister and her kid. And I didn’t exactly enjoy it. And once I escaped, I didn’t start again. Fuck, I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to Zachariah. “Well, I might have entirely fucked this up. Sorry. But I would like to help you out, still.”

Zachariah stood frozen, his eyes darting between the man and Sam. “I… um…”

“Start over, maybe? My name’s Brandon.” Brandon held out a hand and shook Zachariah’s. “Good to meet you, man.”

Zachariah’s hand swallowed Brandon’s, but his was shaking. He squeezed Brandon’s hand in a quick handshake. “You too, Brandon,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“And you guys, too,” Brandon said, his relaxed demeanor slightly giving way. He held out his hand for Gavin to shake.

“Gavin Uriah,” Gavin said, his eyes still downcast.

“Yup,” Brandon said with a nod. He held out his hand to Sam.

“Sam,” they said, their mouth turning down at the corners. They kept their arms folded awkwardly across their chest.

“Sweet.” Brandon didn’t skip a beat. He reached out to shake Isaac’s hand.

“Isaac Moore,” Isaac said flatly. He only barely held himself back from grinding Brandon’s knuckles together in his grip. Instead, he released his hand quickly, so he would be able to reach for his gun if it turned out he needed it.

“Okay, cool,” Brandon said, rubbing his hands together and glancing at the four of them. “It really is my bad for bringing up the plaything… thing. Not exactly something I’m proud of and it’s honestly not something I bring up a lot. If you don’t feel good about moving forward, totally cool. But…” He peered at Zachariah’s tattoo again, taking a step to the side as if to look at it from a different angle. “I think this is totally doable, depending on what you go with.”

Anger and distrust churned in Isaac’s gut. The door called to him, but more than that; this entire town felt absolutely crawling with people he couldn’t – or shouldn’t – trust. Just being in the same room with someone who had sold stolen playthings made him sick to his stomach, and to know that this same man had also brought up the Stormbecks knowing who it was that stood in front of him…

After everything Gavin has been through, after having that history carved into his fucking arm…

“What do you think, Zachariah? It’s up to you,” came Sam’s voice, winding through his distrust – and below the distrust, as there always was, was fear.

Zachariah wrung his hands and looked to each of them in turn. “Um… I would… really like to have it covered,” he said weakly.

“Then let’s stay and have it covered,” Sam said with a nod. They glanced at Isaac, and he felt their gaze like an admonishment.

He forced himself to nod back, forced his shoulders to relax.

“Okay,” Brandon said with a gusty exhale. “Sounds good. Um. I do a lot of my designs freehand as long as they’re simple, but I have the stuff to do a stencil too. So. If you don’t have any ideas, um…” He pulled up a stool and sat down. Everyone else remained standing. Brandon didn’t seem to notice. “What kind of things do you do? What do you enjoy?”

“Um…” Zachariah spread his hands. “I don’t… really know. I uh… I played soccer with my siblings, but that was more for them.”

“Hm. Okay. What else?”

Zachariah glanced at Sam and blushed a furious red. “I like… Sam,” he said, almost too quietly to be heard.

“No go. I don’t do couple’s tattoos.” Brandon waved the idea away. “Used to be bad luck in case you broke up. Now I don’t do it in case one of you dies.”

Isaac let out a sound like he’d been punched.

“Way less likely up here, but a superstition is a superstition,” Brandon said with a shrug. “Let’s think of something else.”

“Um…” Zachariah twisted his hands together. “Finn and Ellis have… a cat that’s really friendly, and I like him…?”

“Mm, could be promising,” Brandon said. “What are the main colors?”

“Oh, he’s all black,” Sam said with a grin.

Brandon leapt up from the stool. “Bingo,” he said, and went to his table of supplies. He paused and glanced back at Zachariah and lifted his eyebrows. “Does that work? Black cat tattoo?”

“You… can really make this work?” Zachariah murmured, glancing to the others hopefully and back to Brandon.

“Sure thing,” Brandon said. He pulled on some gloves and began preparing the tattoo gun. “Only thing to settle is payment.”

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “We don’t have any—”

“Yeah, I know, nobody does,” Brandon said with a good-natured wave of his hand. “But I have a small tree that’s been about to fall over in my yard for a few months. I don’t have a car to pull it over and I don’t have the strength or… frankly, the fuckin’ time to chop it into firewood when it does go. Help me pull it over, then give me like four hours of chopping? Whatever amount of wood that makes?”

“Th-that’s it?” Zachariah said softly. “That’s… all you want?”

“Yeah, dude,” Brandon said with a snort. “Believe me, it’s worth it to me.”

“I can start tomorrow,” Zachariah breathed.

“You’ll start once this is healed,” Brandon laughed. “You don’t want a tattoo this big getting infected. Especially not up here where I don’t have a lot of the stuff I would need to treat it.”

“Thank…” Zachariah swallowed hard and sank into the tattoo chair. “Thank you.”

Brandon turned around and rolled his tray of supplies closer to the tray. “Oh yup, just make yourself comfortable. I already wiped the chair down before you got here.” He gestured to the stools along the wall. “The rest of you want to have a seat?”

“Thanks,” Sam said, and gave Zachariah a reassuring squeeze on his arm. They and Gavin each went to a stool and sat down.

“I’ll stand,” Isaac said coldly.

Brandon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Sit down if you feel woozy.” He poured disinfectant over a cloth and smoothed it over Zachariah’s exposed shoulder. “Did the old tattoo heal okay?”

“Um, yeah,” Zachariah mumbled. “Just a little itching. The Storm— um. They gave me a good tattoo cream for the healing process.”

“At least there’s that,” Brandon said with a one-shoulder shrug, peering at the tattoo again. “Let me just…” He uncapped a black marker and drew a few swooping lines across Zachariah’s shoulder. “There. That’ll be the general idea. Like I said, I can add more detail if you want, but…” He stripped off his gloves and passed Zachariah a mirror. “Take a look. Do you—”

“How did you do that?” Zachariah whispered, eyes wide, staring in awe at the mirror in his hand.

Sam jumped up off their stool. “They me see,” they said, grinning. They stared at the drawing on Zachariah’s shoulder. “I… wow. I didn’t… so you’ll fill in that part and that part?” They held out their left hand to point.

“Okay, now I have to see,” Gavin said as he slid off his stool, too. His eyes widened as he looked at Zachariah’s shoulder. “It’ll be…” He wet his lips. “It’ll be like it was never there.”

Isaac ground his teeth and stepped around Zachariah, unable to contain his curiosity. The drawing was simple, but the lines were clear; once they were filled in, the image of Nata curled on Zachariah’s shoulder would fully cover the black Stormbeck crest that marred it now. Peeks of Zachariah’s skin would even show through to show the cat’s eyes, nose, and whiskers, and his tail curled around Zachariah’s bicep.

“I love it,” Zachariah rasped. “Seriously, I… I love it. Let’s do it.”

Brandon clapped his hands together. “Awesome. Let’s do it.” He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and switched on the tattoo gun, dipping the tip of it into the small pot of jet-black ink beside him. “We’ll take this at your pace, okay? Shouldn’t take too too long, but if you need me to slow down or if you need to just tap out, no problem. We can always go again another time.”

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. Tap out?

Zachariah nodded vigorously and pushed out a slow breath. Sam pulled their stool forward and reached out, taking his other hand. Isaac watched in confusion. They’re acting like he’s about to give birth, what—

The needle touched Zachariah’s skin and he let out a hiss.

Isaac fell a step forward, his eyes fixed on the needle in Brandon’s hand. “Does that hurt?” he said, before he could stop himself.

“It’s…” Zachariah’s eyes went wide and he stared up at Isaac. “N-no,” he stammered. “No. It doesn’t. I… it’s not that bad, I promise it’s—”

“But it hurts,” Isaac said weakly. “Right? Like, does it always hurt?” He could feel Sam’s gaze on his face, but he ignored it.

Brandon wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “Depends on the person, and on the body part getting tattooed. And on what’s being done. But yeah, tattooing hurts, man. It’s needles going into your skin at like 10,000 times a second.” He chuckled and glanced up at Isaac. He immediately sobered when he saw the expression on Isaac’s face.

“Do you…” Isaac swallowed dryly. “Do you tattoo over scars?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Brandon said, and turned back to his work. “I work in the North. If I didn’t work with scars, I wouldn’t have a job.”

“I mean… do you…” Isaac’s hand shook as he fumbled for his sleeve. He wordlessly pulled his sleeve up to reveal the scars at his wrist and forearm.

Brandon paused his tattooing and looked at Isaac’s arm. He looked for a long time, so long that Isaac flushed with embarrassment and yanked his sleeve back down. Then, Brandon drew in a deep breath and said, “Of course I do work over those kinds of scars, man. But I can’t tattoo over broken skin. You’re gonna have to stop doing that if you want any work done by me.” Without another word, he turned back to Zachariah. He switched on the machine again and deftly moved it over Zachariah’s skin, wiping, tattooing, wiping, tattooing.

Isaac fell a step back and sank onto the stool next to Gavin. His scars prickled where the air had touched them. Still, as he watched Brandon work, he imagined how it might feel to have a needle slide into his skin 10,000 times per minute leaving ink in its wake, making designs instead of scars. He shivered as Gavin slid his fingertips against his palm and laced their fingers together.

“You doing okay?” Sam said gently.

“Yeah,” Zachariah said with a tight smile. “Really, it’s not bad at all.”

“Damn,” Brandon murmured, as if to himself. “This is gonna be a really cool piece.”

Continued here

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#honor bound 6 #hurt/comfort #whump #angst #self-harm #harm reduction #Isaac/Gavin #Sam/Zachariah #imperfect recovery #PTSD #branding

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