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avocado-writing · 8 months

Note

Poly aziracrow based on 2x04, where Crowley and R react to Aziraphale during this scene👀

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM2KFemoQ/

notes: yes. this isn’t the first time I’ve had a request about his voice in this scene. and I will NEVER get tired of them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

pairing: aziraphale x reader x crowley

rating: M (smut at the end)

tags: the light, the dark, and the space in between-verse; references to ptsd; slightly Dom!Aziraphale

You hate this bloody war.

You’ve been part of a few, and all of them have left their scars on you. In you, buried in your soul. You remember your time in those trenches barely thirty years ago and bile claws at your throat.

No. Don’t think about that. Concentrate on this. Concentrate on this horrid little demon who’s threatening the two people you love. Hands behind you, you finger a decorative paperweight, wondering if minions from hell are susceptible to being thwacked over the back of the head.

He finishes his little tirade and tries to read Aziraphale’s name from a book (you’re amazed that the cretin is literate). But his demonic lips can’t make heads nor tails of the syllables.

“Azil-pha-pha-la-luh—”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows just slightly, lips purse.

“Aziraphale.”

It’s not often you see your angel reach the end of his tether. He is a holy being after all; the pinnacle of patience, epitome of virtue. But sometimes, when something grinds his gears just right, that voice will come out.

It does something to you and Crowley both, and the two of you exchange a glance across the room. This will be explored later.

The demon, irritated, snaps his little book shut, then does a double take as his gaze passes over you. He didn’t even notice you were here. You try to look the picture of innocence as you ready the paperweight, thinking about the best way to swing a bludgeoning weapon when he has that ridiculous hair.

“And you? What’s going on with you, why are you here?” He steps forward and takes a deep sniff. “You don’t smell divine.”

“Oh god, don’t bloody smell me!” you hiss, planting your hand on his chest and shoving him backwards. Aziraphale and Crowley move towards you to intervene if needed, but you wave them off.

“Don’t bother with him, nightingale,” Crowley sighs, voice unbothered and bored, “he’s not worth your effort.”

You turn to the mirror in the dressing room instead and focus on smoothing out your clothes, ignoring the foul little gremlin until Crowley and Aziraphale sort him out. Which they do, inevitably, because they’re very clever and wonderful. The three of you head back to the bookshop for a very necessary glass of wine, and within the hour you’re all piled on the sofa, slightly blotted and very glad for each other’s company after a rough day.

You and Crowley are either side of Aziraphale, each with a leg hooked over one of his plush thighs. You’re doing that thing they love where you compliment them about how smart they both are, and they get all smug and silly (and you love it); but halfway through you catch Crowley’s eye behind those dark little glasses and something shifts subtly.

“You know, angel, you really gave that lapdog a dressing down earlier.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Aziraphale says, but he’s all puffed up like he gets when he’s flattered. Crowley runs a finger up the seam of his trouser leg, gently, slowly.

“And you know what really sealed the deal? That voice you used on him,” you continue. “There was something quite dominant about it. Sexy.”

You snake your hand up his chest. Finally he cottons on.

“Oh.”

“I think we both just wondered what it might take to get you to use it again.”

Aziraphale takes a final sip of his wine before carefully placing the glass on the table. He sits back, looking between the two of you, and there’s no missing the glint in his eye.

“If you wanted me to tell you what to do,” he says lowly,

and you shiver, “you need only ask. I’m sure I’ll do it if you both behave.”

Crowley shifts. You can see the effect Aziraphale’s had on him: the tightening of his trousers, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows.

“So. Will you behave?”

“Yes,” you and Crowley both whisper at once, voices thin and needy.

Aziraphale smiles.

“Then I think you’re both wearing far too many clothes.”

Your clothes end up a muddled pile on the floor, and between the two of you, Aziraphale doesn’t leave the couch for the rest of the evening. He has you ride his thigh while Crowley swallows him down his pretty little throat, whispering his praises to both of you in that delicious voice.

“Look at you both. Being so good for me. I love you both so much, my darlings.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, face burning with desire. He has Crowley fuck you over the arm of the couch as he watches the show, palming himself through his trousers, telling you where to touch each other. You’re happy to be his puppet, his plaything, anything.

So long as he keeps talking. -

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie @willyoubethepookietomypookster

#crowley x reader x aziraphale #ineffable husbands x reader #good omens x reader #david tennant x reader #michael sheen x reader #Request #Fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween

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swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual · 2 months

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DPxDC Prompt

Thinking back on it, Danny probably should have been more wary of being given the title ‘Ender Of Timelines’.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dcxdp #I guess any crossover but it’s the one I was thinking of at the time #probably a summon fic?#they’re like Oh Fuck Who Have These Cultists Brought In?!?!#panic. mayhem. chaos.#meanwhile Danny is like. you put ONE alternate universe version of yourself into your own CLONE and SUDDENLY it’s a PROBLEM #he steadfast ignores the other times he fucked with time and then refucked with it to fix it #arguably it’s a title that should go to Dark Danny who I’m calling Dante because #chefs kiss ITS GREAT #maybe it applies to both so it’s like. a coin toss who shows up #Dante is like. ugh. community service says I CANT. let me give you the most bored speech on the planet about loving the earth and making…#the most of your timeline.#you know. up until he actually NEEDS to go light some fires. which he’s maybe a bit too quick to jump in on as soon as he can #meanwhile Danny is like. I can barely pass geometry and now I gotta help solve THIS problem TOO?!#they’re both good at it. just. different approaches #the timeline is capital f FUCKED if both show up tho #the mythos… you could have so much fun with it lol

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buryustogether · 8 months

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the end of forever (god’s day)

aziraphale x reader x crowley

summary: the end of forever comes on god’s day.

word count: 2.6k

warnings/tags: angst, mentions of blood

author’s note: dedicated to @avocado-writing , with whom i did a fic trade and this was my piece!! this fic is part of their good omens original timeline, and i highly recommend reading it!!! <333

The end of forever started on a Saturday evening.

Granted, it was not the Saturday evening that dominates the beginning to every weekend, fitted with gentle rainfall pattering against the windows, and a book propped in your lap, and the comfortable ambiance of your lovers on either side as you let yourself be lulled into peace. Instead it was a dark, thrashing kind of Saturday, filled with panicked whispers over dances, and demons busting down the bookshop windows in hails of twinkling glass. It was blinding, seared into the forefront of your mind with traces of a halo detached from its angel and a pair of souls running away, bound for opposite sides of the universe and forever vanished into one corner together.

And, of course, it was snapped up in the jaws of the Metatron. He had taken Aziraphale for a stroll around the block once or twice, leaving you and Crowley to stare down the mess of what had become the bookshop and wonder if perhaps this had all been a dream.

“Fancy breakfast at the Ritz, love?” Crowley had said as the pair of you began to pluck cracked books from the floor and stack them to be restored and reshelved. With a wave of his slender fingers, he had sent the shards of glass cascading through the air like a silent breeze back to where they belonged in the window frames. “Reckon we deserve it, after a night like that.”

“Sure you’ll be able to handle the drive?” you had said and handed him the empty fire extinguisher, which had fallen down the winding iron staircase. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, Crowley. Spending all that time in Heaven? Must have been awfully straining on you.”

Though he would never admit it, Crowley rather enjoyed it when you fussed over him. He relished in the worry threading your voice together, craved the inevitable babying that accompanied your measures of protection. His chest had puffed slightly, and if you could have seen them, you were sure his wings had ruffled a bit.

“I’ll be alright,” he’d assured, then dropped into the chair he had long ago claimed as his beside Aziraphale’s desk. “Wouldn’t say no to a nap when we come back, though. Could sleep for a few decades, I think. Skip all the garish drama that’s sure to follow something like this. Care to join, nightingale?”

You had smiled at him, eyes full of exhaustion and yet at the same time, the restlessness that came with the knowledge part of your trio was still missing from the picture. “Afraid I can only keep you company a few hours,” you mused. “Immortal as I am, I don’t think I can lie still long enough until you decide to wake up.” Despite your teasing, you reached out your hand to caress his jaw, and he leaned into your warm touch. He knew it like he knew his own breath in his throat at this point, but he still nuzzled into your palm like an animal seeking warmth. Funny enough creature as he was, he was still, deep down, a demon searching your soul for any glimpse of love you might spare him. “I’m glad you’re okay, Crowley,” you said, letting your voice lower in volume so he understood you had dropped your jokes and cracks. “I don’t think I could bear losing you. Either of you.”

He had leaned up to kiss you then, lips and tongue seeking yours like, in spite of your words, one side or the other might tear you away from him. He tasted like cinnamon - an odd enough musk for him, but he had just returned from Heaven, after all. You were sure he hated it. But you had drank it in like it was the last thing you’d taste before you fell.

You found yourself some time later amongst the back shelves of the shop, knees and the heels of your hands aching as you painstakingly wiped away and polished the spots on the floor upon which unholy blood had been spilt and spattered. Aziraphale would not care to have those on his tile, thank you. A voice in the back of your head told you that one of your boys could simply miracle the mess away, but this seemed a bit more intimate - cleaning up the mess for your lover. This was your shop, too, in a way. And you wanted to rid it of any trace of what had happened here last night.

You only realized it was Sunday morning - God’s day - when you heard the bell above the front door jingle with its familiar chime, and the low rumble of your lover’s voices filled the empty space between the air. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, not over the sound of your brush against the floor and the dull ache in your lower back. After a long few minutes, you sat back and inspected your work.

Like the demon invasion of Fell and Co. had never even happened.

You were just about to call out to your boys when you heard a sharp hiss to Crowley’s voice that caused your heart to skip a beat. You twisted your head around to face the front of the store. Crowley only ever hissed when he let his disguise slip and his tongue split. And he only ever let his tongue split when he was so distraught not even a raging thunderstorm could comfort him.

Wiping your hands on your legs, you cautiously made your way through the organized maze of shelves toward the front entrance of the bookshop. There stood your lovers, the angel and the demon, staring one another down like they had never met, like their love had vaporized, like they had never met in that garden at the beginning.

“What’s happened?” you said and made your presence known as you stepped down into the threshold. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale turned to face you, obviously making an effort to brighten his features, but it was Crowley who faced away. Dropped his weight onto his arm against the desk. Reached up to tug off his shades, toss them aside hard enough that the lens cracked in its frame. The air crackled with a kind of tension that reared its head so rarely it was almost foreign to you. Or, perhaps, was that divine energy rippling the air, stirred and upset by the creatures standing before you?

“Darling,” said Aziraphale, then reached out to take your hands and placed kisses upon your knuckles. His lips were plump and soft, and when they made contact with the skin of your hand, a tiny sense of ease washed over your veins. “You needn’t worry about this. Just a… little dispute.”

“Oh, don’t lie to her like a child,” seethed Crowley from across the room, and whatever ease had settled your nerves disappeared in the blink of an eye. You felt your blood turn to ice beneath your skin when you heard a wobble, a shake, in his voice. Was your demon… holding back tears? He bared his teeth, which he’d allowed to sharpen like blades, and jutted out an accusatory finger toward his husband. “Tell them, or I bloody will,” he snapped, then lifted a deadly brow. “And you won’t like the way I phrase things, angel.”

Alarm blared like a siren in your head, flashed like lights that burned your eyes even through your lids. You knew at once this surely had something to do with last night, with the Metatron, and you were unable to stop yourself from snapping around to stare at Aziraphale expectantly. Where you searched for comfort and reassurance, you found only irritation and exasperation.

“Aziraphale,” you said, gripping his hands tighter as you gently shook your head with confusion. You only barely managed to keep your voice from shaking; something was very, very wrong. This was not like the time two hundred years ago when they had stopped talking to one another for a decade. This was far more serious, far more dangerous. “Aziraphale, what’s happening?”

Your angel stared into your eyes - or, perhaps, he was staring at his own reflection in your irises - and he let out a breath you had not heard him take in. “The Metatron,” he began slowly, softly, like you were a spooked animal who would run if he talked too loud, “has given me a generous, generous offer.”

From across the room, Crowley scoffed over his shoulder and gave another hiss from between his teeth.

“Based on a few of the…” Aziraphale seemed to struggle with the words. “Good deeds that have been performed the last six thousand years, Heaven has agreed to allow me back into its order - as the Supreme Archangel, now that Gab… Jim has vacated his position.” Despite the slow, sinking feeling growing like a black hole in your gut as he went on, the beginnings of an excited smile played upon the corners of his lips. “And they’ve even offered to redeem Crowley - as an angel again!”

The bookshop was a deadly kind of quiet, the kind that filled empty spaces with fear, and dread, and horror until there was nothing left but a rotting mess. Your mouth hung agape as you tried to process your angel’s words, tried to swallow down what he’s just said. Heaven wanted him back - would take Crowley back. That would be it. Their time on Earth would come to a close, a thunderous applause, a devastating end.

Yet there was a single question that hung tight in the air, one that waited like a dagger above each of your heads, waiting to see who would speak of it first.

Could you handle the sting when it planted itself in your back? “Aziraphale,” you heard yourself whisper as your brows knitted together and tears puddled in the corners of your eyes, “what about me?”

Though you could not see it, Crowley shut his eyes and pursed his lips, still attempting to stop the tears from falling down the gaunt planes of his cheeks. He knew the answer already, knew his angel far too well to pretend it could be anything different. He wanted to protect you from it, clasp his hands over your ears and snarl and snap at the world until he’d frightened everything that could hurt you far, far away. But you had to hear this.

Aziraphale swallows thick, holding your hands a bit tighter, like you might bolt from his grasp any moment. Even when you shift, he grips you in an iron grasp. “Well,” he drawls slowly, hesitation creeping into the corners of his voice, “of course, Heaven can’t grant holy status to… ah… humans. Immortal or not, I’m afraid, my love. But do you know angels hold the ability to possess human souls within themselves? Keep them safe and sound - isn’t that lovely? Why, I’m not the first angel in history to find a human they can’t let go of.” His hold tightens again, turning your skin pale where he grips you. “I - we could bring you with us. Your soul, darling.”

Every ounce of curiosity, of worry and fear, has morphed into a single sickening, dripping, venomous sensation that floods your systems, encases your body like a cocoon swallowing you whole; horror.

“You want to take my soul to Heaven,” you said quietly, so terribly softly that it was barely above a whisper. “Like a pet.” With this, you yanked your hands from Aziraphale’s and forced yourself to take three steps back. It stung like knives between your ribs to do so, to bear the expression painting itself across your husband’s face, but there was no other choice. “Aziraphale, you would trade us - trade this - to go back to them? After what they’ve done to you?” You took another step back, and you felt yourself bump into the chest of your demon. “After what they did to Crowley?”

You had always heard betrayal hurt worse from a lover than anyone else. Was this what betrayal felt like? Like stones in your pocket with a river pulling you under? Like venom slowly sucking your life from your very veins.

“No, of course not,” your angel tried, raising his hands. He opened his mouth to go on, then threw up a palm and sniffed out an exasperated huff. “If you both would just try and understand…”

“Oh, we understand plenty.” There came no term of endearment at the end of Crowley’s statement, no playful lilt or head nod. Only the cold, piercing gaze of those yellow eyes, and the slow wrapping of his hands around your arms, pulling you closer against him.

The movement caught Aziraphale’s eye, and hellfire flashed within them. “Oh, I should have known it would go this way,” he chided, pacing forward. “Here I thought you could, for once, Crowley, suppress your demonic ways of swaying her to your side. For once! Are you satisfied, you old serpent? Are you content with what’s happening?”

“How dare you!” The shout came from deep within your chest, an explosive rage nothing short of a scream that leaves the angel frozen where he stands. Those ocean eyes flicker to yours as you at last allow yourself to cry, to feel the sobs wrack your body like earthquakes and feel the tears gathering at the point of your chin. “How dare you let them come between us, Aziraphale! Between us!” You choked a bit and your angel visibly fought a battle within himself, wanting to pull away and surge forward all at once. “After everything… after everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve built, and you want to leave it to play God.”

“Of course I’m not leaving us,” your angel murmured, the crows feet against his eyes making themselves known as he knits his brows. Tears brim the edges of his vision. “I - I would be taking us with me. To somewhere safe… for all of us.”

“No,” you exhaled shakily, feeling Crowley’s fingers tighten around your upper arms. You shook your head at Aziraphale, your ears ringing and heart shattered. “Not safe for us. Better for you.” You peered into his eyes, into those watery blue eyes you could have drowned in, and saw your reflection staring back as he searched for something he could not find. “You miss Heaven, Aziraphale. You always have - and we know that. We all do.” There came a terrible, horrible, dreadful pause. “But we can’t go with you. We won’t.”

Your angel seemed at a loss for words. He simply stood there, staring you and his husband down. He gaped. Tried to form words. Took a step back.

Above you, his fingers now digging so tightly, so fiercely, so protectively, into your skin that his nails left marks, Crowley sneered and hissed in a voice filled with the desolation of a fallen angel, “You idiot.” You turned your face and tucked it into his shirt. “We could have been… us.”

Aziraphale said nothing for a very, very long time. Then he murmured, “I forgive you both.”

The bell over the door jingled, and he was gone, without leaving so much as a feather behind.

You sobbed loudly, awfully, horribly into Crowley’s chest, and you felt his own unholy, burning tears fall against your hairline as he stroked your tresses and kept you standing.

The end of forever started on a Saturday evening, and ended on a Sunday morning.

It was God’s day, after all.

#good omens #good omens crowley #good omens aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #good omens x reader #the light the dark and the spaces in between fic

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wondrousnovels · 10 months

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"People do not seem to realise that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 24 days

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-MASTERLIST-

Color Key

Red: NSFW

Blue: angst/ hurt no comfort

Pink: fluff/comfort

Green: horror/goth/unsettling

Orange: headcanon/analysis

Professor!Leon x Reader (NFSW)

- Professor, I didn’t cheat.

- Professor, I didn’t cheat pt.2

Older!Leon x Reader (NSFW)

- My baby, my baby… (angst)

- My baby, my baby… pt. 2

NSFW Leon x Reader

SFW Leon x Reader

OG series

- Insurgency index

Leon Headcanons

My short analytical essays on RE

- Leon Psychoanalysis

- Color Theory vs. RE

- Villain Analysis

Requests: On🤭

Ask questions or send me comments! I don’t bite!

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sangijazz · 3 months

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The Narrator is just annoyingly flirty instead of crazy obsessive :3

@godteri-takk I promised to tag you when i got some tsp art, here you go, friend ♡w♡

#was exploring the drawing folder to something unrelated #and found this one #don't think posted this one #stanley parable #tsp fanart #tsp #the stanley parable #tsp stanley #tsp narrator #stanley x narrator #lovebug au #stanarrator #stannarrator #fanart #my art #idk why it's so dark in the drawing #i mean i KNOW is bcs the parable is having problems with the virus and the lights were the first thing affected in my fic #but this isn't even fic accurate!#lol

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foursaints · 7 months

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everyone has that one specific fic idea that lives in their head that they will never get around to writing but are completely & unreasonably & unfathomably obsessed with right

#i want to hear about themmm #for me it’s my niche little jegulus historical aus that will never see the light of day… blows a kiss to them #fic: beneath dark arches #t

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cowgurrrl · 8 months

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Shrapnel

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them.” — Lois Lowry, The Giver aka a person from your past finds their way back [2.3k]

Warnings: pregnancy, a problematic ex, jealousy, talks of Jane, ✨feminine rage✨, language, threats of canonical violence

You're holding Joel's hand while walking through Jackson when it happens. He's not usually one for PDA, but since you found out you're pregnant, he almost always has a hand on you. He squeezes you when a voice calls out to you. You have a doctor's appointment later in the day and got through your unremarkable early morning patrol shift. You're much more interested in debating baby names with Joel than talking to anyone else, but the shouting gets more persistent. At first, it's just your first name, but as the sound gets closer, your maiden name gets tacked on. Nobody's called you by your maiden name in years. It's enough to make you turn with furrowed brows and frustration building in your chest.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the person in front of you, but once they do, you're stunned into silence. He's aged— wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, gray at his temples, and a slight limp in his gait. He's definitely not the teenage boy you once knew. You subconsciously drop Joel's hand and take a step back to fully process the man in front of you.

"Matt?" You breathe, and he smiles.

"Hey," he says. "I can't believe you're… here and alive."

"Yeah, I could say the same to you. What are you doing in Jackson?"

"My group trades out here sometimes. I've never seen you here before, though." He says. How the fuck could Maria not tell you about the smuggler who looks a scary amount like the little girl in the photo on your desk? Maybe she didn't know. Jane never had his last name. There's no way she would've known. "What are you doing here?" He turns the question around.

"We live here." You say and raise your hand to rub Joel's back. His shoulders are tense under your touch, but you each relax at the familiar affection. Matt looks between you two, and you recognize the slight puffing of his chest. Matt's body has changed with the apocalypse, muscles and scars peeking from his sleeves, but Joel is broader and a good head taller than him. Joel doesn't even blink at the peacocking.

"You gonna introduce us?" Matt asks, gesturing to Joel.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, this is my husband, Joel," You look up at Joel and nearly choke on your next words. "Joel, this is Matt, Jane's dad." Joel's face falls at the sudden connection. You can see him scrambling for something to say, but a light tap on your shoulder stops him. Like the patron saint of horrible timing, Ellie appears at your right. Matt looks over her in awe, and you immediately want to tuck her away from sight. "Joel, can you take her home?"

He stares at you, a protective glint passing through his eyes, and you give him a minuscule nod. He clears his throat and jerks his head at Ellie. The unspoken communication is understood, and she falls back enough for your blood pressure to drop to a reasonable level. He pecks your lips before holding a hand out to Matt.

"Nice to meet you, man." He says, and Matt meets him halfway, grimacing slightly at Joel's grip.

"Likewise," Matt says. Joel gives you one last look as he walks away. You watch him and Ellie bump shoulders and get further and further away from you and Nugget, Joel's nickname for the baby still developing under your heart. When you pry your eyes from your family and look at Matt, he smiles politely. "Should we talk?" You don't trust yourself to open your mouth and speak, but you nod and lead the way to the Tipsy Bison.

The Tipsy Bison is emptier than usual, something you're silently grateful for. Town gossip didn't end with Cordyceps— something you and Joel are more than familiar with— and you don't want to give anyone material for rumors. Matt gets a plate of food while you grab a glass of water and snag a table towards the back of the room. Once he settles across from you with his plate, you're not sure what to say or do. What do you say to the father of the kid you had at sixteen? The kid he abandoned?

"What've you been up to?" He asks, breaking the ice and making you chuckle at the absurdity of it all. "Besides getting married." There's enough bitterness in his voice for you to hear it and roll your eyes.

"That's normally what happens when you don't see someone for over twenty years."

"C'mon, let's not do that."

"Do what?" You snap, and he gestures vaguely between you.

"Fight. I'm not gonna ask you for anything," I'm not gonna ask for her back. "I'm just happy you're alive and safe. I wanna know how you got here and what's been going on with you guys. Can you just, I don't know… let me in?"

Something stupid, vulnerable, and fifteen in you wants to give in and tell him everything. Something else screams at you to run him out of town. You take a deep breath and a sip of water.

"I was a smuggler in the QZ back home for a few years before moving to Boston. That's where I met Joel." You say, and he nods, grateful for the information.

"Joel seems like a good guy."

"He is," you say. He takes a bite of food, and uncomfortable silence falls over you. You wonder if he can spot your barely there bump under your thick jacket and if he would even say anything if he did. He barely gave you any attention when you were pregnant with Jane. You doubt he'd see anything now. "How long have you been smuggling?"

"About ten years. I used to do the FEDRA jobs before I met the people in my group. It's better money, and I get to travel with them."

"What QZ did you end up at?" You ask. He gives you the name of another QZ about a six-hour drive from your hometown. He tells you he was visiting a friend when Outbreak Day happened and never made it back. Why would he? He didn't have anything he cared enough to come back for. You tell him about getting to the local QZ and staying there, conveniently leaving out details about Adam, hit jobs, and midnight star gazing. Once you're done, he stares down at his plate, moving food around with his fork as he thinks.

"That girl," he starts, and your heart clenches. "Was she-"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "No, she's not. Her name is Ellie. Joel and I adopted her a few years ago."

"So, where's Jane? She's… how old is she?" He asks. Your hand instinctually lands on your small bump under the table, a nervous habit you picked up from your first pregnancy.

"Twenty-five."

"I can't believe that. What's she like?"

"Matt…"

"I know I don't have the right to ask or even be here, but I wanna know about her. If you don't want me to meet her, that's fine. I won't argue with you. I just wanna know if she's happy. Well-adjusted, especially after everything. That's all." His words are too little, too late. How dare he act like you kept her from him when he never came around in the first place. Like suddenly he's Father of the Year, and you're the bitch baby mama who never gave him a chance.

"She's dead." It stings as it leaves your mouth, and you watch the weight of the words smack him in the face. His fork falls from his hand, and his eyes search your face like he's trying to determine if you're lying or playing a mean joke on him. You don't know what he finds in your expression, but it's enough for all his breath to leave him.

"W… what? What happened? When?"

You give him bits and pieces. You tell him about Mrs. Carmichael and the school, but you don't tell him how far you were from the QZ or why you couldn't return to your original, much closer trading post. You tell him you buried her but not where. You tell him you went after the Fireflies who detonated the bomb but not how you bled information from them until you were shaking from rage and grief. By the end of it, he's pale and wide-eyed, but his hands are steady.

"I should've been there," he says, and you want to agree, but then he keeps talking. "I could've protected her better or kept her safe or, I don't know. Maybe things would be different." Protected her better. What the fuck could he have done that you didn't? How would he have kept her safe? By keeping her from her peers, learning, and the sliver of hope embedded in her favorite books? By locking her away and controlling her every move like he tried with you?

"What would've been different, Matt?" You ask, decades of anger and annoyance bubbling up to the surface. "You? Us? Give me a fucking break. There's nothing you would've done to protect her. You weren't ready to be anyone's father, let alone hers."

"But you think you were?"

"The second I saw those positive tests, I knew I could. For ten years, I was ready to give her anything and everything. For ten years, I took the shitty jobs and overdrew my bank account, and lost sleep trying to keep her alive. And what were you doing when I got kicked out of my mom's house and had nowhere to go? What were you doing when she had colic and couldn't stop crying? What were you doing when she needed someone to walk her into school every morning for a month because she was so scared?"

"I was a kid." He tries, and you laugh, dangerous and low.

"And I wasn't? I was Ellie's age when I had her. Joel was twenty-two when he had his daughter, and he was scared but still stepped up for her." At the mere mention of Joel, he rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table.

"We're talking about us and our daughter, not him."

"Oh, it's our daughter now? Now that she's dead, you want some kinda claim?" You ask. "You don't get to come into my town, ambush me, and then act like I'm the bad guy," he tries to open his mouth to argue, but you put a hand up to stop him. "And if you say anything else about my husband, I'll tie you to the back of my horse and drag you out of town. Do you understand me?" You ask, and he pauses like he's trying to figure out if you're serious, nodding when he realizes you are.

"Here's what's gonna happen: you and your group are gonna trade whatever you need to trade for, and then you're going to leave my town. You're not gonna say anything about this conversation to anyone, most of all my daughter, and if I catch you so much as looking at her again, I'll break your fucking neck. You can keep smuggling here but never speak to or about my family ever again. If I find out you're spreading lies about Jane or Ellie or even Joel, I'll-"

"Careful, you might run out of big, scary threats there, sweetheart." The unmistakable sound of you cocking your gun under the table clicks in the air. It's a miracle he's survived this long with that big fucking mouth and no observational skills. He swallows hard as you press the barrel of your gun into his kneecap.

"You wanna cut me off again, or do you need to learn a lesson?" You ask. He shakes his head, suddenly enthralled by whatever you could have to say. "Get the fuck out of Jackson." You push your gun against his bone hard, hard enough to make him hiss in pain, before removing it completely.

Then, silently and with his tail between his legs, he does what he does best. Turns his back and leaves. You're privy to the fact that this is similar to the first time he left. You were pregnant, he was pissed, and neither of you were necessarily happy with the situation. Except this time, you hold all the power. This time, instead of going back to a home you'd be kicked out of, you're going home to your husband and child. This time, your baby already has a father who loves them so much, and you still have six months until they're born. This time, you're not worried about the future because you have people who support and love you, no matter what.

And what is he returning to? A sleeping bag and the knowledge that he fucked up and probably will continue to fuck up until he gets it together or dies, whichever comes first. For the first time since he yelled at you and left you to fumble with the pieces at sixteen, you feel a sense of closure or, at least, victory.

Did you see that, Janey girl? You think when you walk outside and look up at the gray March sky. Do you see how I'm still protecting you? Do you see how much I still love you? Do you still feel it? A single, strong kick to your side seems as good an answer as any. You laugh and rub your hand over where you felt the tiny foot. For a moment, you realize you're the only bridge between Jane and this baby, that whatever cells Jane left behind in you are mixing with these new ones. And you're not religious, haven't been for a long time, but you pray they're able to know each other through you. You pray you're strong enough to do that for them. You pray one day you'll see Jane again, and she'll tell you how she was with you every step of the way.

Not yet, sweet girl, you think. Not quite yet.

#when you’re lost in the darkness #look for the light #joel miller x reader #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #dad!joel miller #tlou fic #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us series #joel the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us angst #joel miller angst #joel miller and ellie williams #platonic!ellie williams x reader

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urdepressedslut · 1 year

Text

Stray ❝part two❞

♡ Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader/Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky takes shelter in your house, waiting for the storm to pass. He notices something a little off about you.

♡ Warnings: hinted dark themes, light angst, fluff

Part 3

“Okay, just for tonight.” He agreed.

Even though you had opened your home to him, letting him know he was allowed anywhere he pleased, besides your room, he made himself comfortable outside on the front porch. Attempting to take up as little room as possible, deciding to camp out in the corner.

You had offered to help him set his arm back in place, but he immediately grew tense and shook his head violently fast.

Note to self: He doesn't like to be touched?

You felt bad watching him grimace as he moved around, trying to make himself comfortable. But you had to respect his space. If for some reason he didn't feel his arm should be set, them so be it.

You watched him from the window, not feeling like you were doing enough. You felt overwhelmed suddenly at having a guest, wanting to care for their every need. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to let him be, and busy yourself with the multiple tasks throughout the house.

Just for tonight.

His words rung in your head, and you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling sad that he’d only be here a short time.

“It’s fine…” You mumbled to yourself, unaware that Bucky could hear your distant voice through the window.

Bucky didn’t know what to think of you, he was confused and cautious around you. Despite your kindness, he thought it was too good to be true. He was used to mistreatment and harsh environments, it was his normal for a long time.

Now he feels he has whiplash from how different things are. He was used to the cold, dark cells of HYDRA. Normalizing the guard’s treatment towards him, how he had been manipulated into thinking he deserved it.

But now he sits on a rustic front porch of a charming ranch house, in the middle of nowhere, it seemed. Patches of flowers covered large sections of the fields, the vibrancy of all the colors overwhelming to him. Although his environment was extremely different than what he’s used to, it was you that had him lost for words.

For so long he only ever knew pain, and the sudden change of character was discombobulating.

How could you be so caring towards him? Did you know what he’s done? We’re you secretly scared and just not showing it?

He didn’t think it was possible to find such a sweet soul after all he’s experienced, he truly believed he’d be surrounded by the abuse forever. But you showed up, offering food, water, clothes, even shelter, and he still didn’t believe any of this was real. He didn’t believe you were real.

God, he wished— hoped it all was.

✿

The storm had rolled in several minutes ago, the ranch now shadowed in darkness, harsh winds jingling the wind chimes. Bucky found the storm to be scary but breathtaking, watching the streaks of lightning paint the sky in beautiful designs. The wind felt cool and dried his clammy skin, relaxing him in a state of calm that he had forgotten he craved. Waves of rain would blow into the front porch with violent gusts of wind, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was relaxed, and he feared if he moved an inch, he’d lose the calm.

He was perfectly content in his corner, not caring to even attempt to sleep.

That was until he heard a loud thud from inside the house, causing his body to tense up, fearing that HYDRA had found him.

Meanwhile, you were exhausted and frustrated, throwing things around in the basement. You had thrown the shovel down, not caring that you’d hit the furnace, causing the loud thud to echo the walls.

Glancing down to the dirtied sheet, you felt conflicted. How could one feel relief and guilt so strongly at once? Your eyes watered, your stare not breaking, your mind clouded once again with faces. Ones that felt familiar, but the harder you looked, you felt you couldn’t recognize them at all.

“Am I sorry?”

You whispered out to no one, the concrete walls of the basement making you feel claustrophobic. You couldn’t stomach the sight before you anymore, and turned and ran up the stairs, slamming and sealing the door of the basement.

Clicking the last lock in place, you pushed away from the door, backing up with slow steps, eyeing the door as if it would open itself. Afraid that you’d see the faces striding up the stairs, eyes red with rage.

“Not real.”

You whispered to yourself, in attempt to ground yourself from all the noise in your mind. You backed up more and more, eyes burning from the lack of moisture, but you felt terrified to blink.

Suddenly your back hit a solid mass of muscle, and you shrieked jumping back towards the basement door, fears forgotten as you turned towards the intruder.

Your eyes locked with the man’s fear blown orbs, and you instantly softened your gaze, in shame that you’d startled him.

“I-I’m sorry, you scared me I… I didn’t hear you come in.” You told him, trying to catch your breath.

Bucky had crept into the house, the wonder if you were okay lingering in the back of his mind, and he was concerned to find you creeping away from a door, unaware of his presence. You whispered something, he assumes to yourself—considering you didn’t know he was there, and he felt uneasy.

Something about the way you spoke when you thought no one was present, he was able to get a glimpse of your true self. But it disturbed him when your voice sounded so dull, empty of life. You had so far portrayed yourself as helpful and cheery, and this change in demeanor had him confused.

“Are you okay? Did you need something?” Your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

You were suddenly aware that he had come inside the house.

“I heard a noise.” He spoke, keeping his voice particularly quiet.

He watched your eyes flash from confusion to realization, watching you swallow nervously and glance back at the door.

“Oh…Uh I just dropped something downstairs, no biggie.” You waved him off, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath to get yourself together.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, trying to get a look at the door behind your head. You noticed and tried to hide your panic. Luckily a loud clap of thunder broke him from his focus on the door.

“It’s getting bad out there, you can take the couch in the living room.” You offered, headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Bucky winced from your offer, he preferred to keep his distance. Your living room had looked comfortable and homey, but he didn’t want to burden you with… Well himself.

“I shouldn—“

“I insist, I promise you won’t bother me.” You told him, almost like you had read his mind.

He opened his mouth to object, but closed it once he saw you smiling. He didn’t want to make you unhappy, you had given him more than he could ever ask for. He couldn’t find it in himself to say no to you.

Bucky had grabbed his small collection of stuff, plopping it down on the floor near the couch. He sat on the window bench, watching you cover the couch in a silk sheet, then covering the sheet with a comfortable looking blanket. He felt guilty at the sight, he felt awful for taking up space in your home.

Finishing up, you plopped two white cased pillows down on top.

“This okay?” You asked him, watching him nod shamefully.

You wanted to ask what was wrong, as he always looked guilty like he was doing something wrong. But you decided not to pry, and left it alone for now.

The lights all went out in the house suddenly leaving you and Bucky in the dark. Immediately you knew where to find candles, and went and got them. You placed many candles around the house, lighting up the area. You didn’t want to admit it, but the dark was terrifying to you and if Bucky weren’t here you’d probably be freaking out.

Lighting the last candle on the table next to Bucky’s bed, the couch, you snuck a glance at him. He sat in the same spot, eyeing the couch but never making a move to get up.

“I know this isn’t much, and I’m sorry if it feels like I’m forcing you to stay here… I…” You trailed off, taking a breath, “You know you’re allowed to leave whenever you want… I just— I just wanted to help you.”

He listened to your nervous rambling, feeling bad that he’d unintentionally made you feel like you were forcing him to do anything. You weren’t forceful, not like the people from HYDRA, you were quite the opposite. He was suddenly tired of not being able to put a name to your face, and wondered why it had taken this long.

“What’s your name?” He asked you, and you seemed confused at his sudden subject change.

You hadn’t realized you’d never told him your name, that probably made him uncomfortable.

“Oh uh, (Y/n).”

Bucky hummed at the name reveal, and he decided quickly that it fit you well.

“What’s yours?” You shot back, watching his expression drop.

After a few moments of silence, you took it as a sign that he wasn’t going to answer. Thick tension filled the living room, making you fidget with the ends of your dress again.

“I think my name is Bucky.” He spoke, ruining the silence.

You smiled and repeated to yourself in your head, Bucky. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“You think?”

He glanced at you, hesitating whether he should be honest with you or not. He feared you’d run, and for some reason he didn’t want you to be scared of him.

You sensed his discomfort from your question.

“I like Bucky. It fits you.” You told him cheerfully, watching his eyes meet yours and you swear you saw a smile ghost his lips.

Deciding to try and give him his space, and go to your room upstairs, you started to get up from your spot from the arm of the couch.

“(Y/n)?” Bucky got out before you took your first step away.

You faced him with a gentle smile.

“Yes Bucky?” You waited, watching his lip twitch at you saying his name.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked quietly, watching as you sat back down on the arm of the couch.

“Sure.” You gave him the go ahead, and he surprised you by standing up.

You tried to keep the smile plastered on your face, but it wavered in shock that he was moving closer to you. You stayed very still, in fear that if you moved, you’d spook him. Instead you sat and watched him take slow steps, up until he got to the couch, and lowered himself, multiple inches from you.

Your smile grew back as you watched him sink into the couch, the soft feeling comforting him. He was relishing in the feeling like he had never been on something so soft.

Facing you, he held your gaze, and you grew nervous from the intensity that his blue eyes held. It was in this moment you realized just how blue his eyes were, they were piercing… Haunted.

“I saw some pictures… When I came inside before.” He started, and your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

“Pictures? I… I don’t…”

“It was of a family.” He finished, and you felt your limbs freeze up.

Bucky watched your eyes slowly go unfocused, and he grew concerned at the lack of light suddenly within them.

Swallowing harshly, you tightly gripped your dress on your thigh in attempt to ground yourself.

“Oh…” Was all you could muster.

“Is it your family?” He asked, debating whether he should stop, but he knew you wouldn’t answer if you didn’t want to.

“Some of them are, yes.” You answered, your voice more monotone then it was moments ago.

“You…” He swallowed nervously, “You said it was j-just you here?”

Finding out that there may be more people living here, he felt betrayed that you would lie to him. But he didn’t understand why he was so bothered, he didn’t even know you. He couldn’t help himself from clinging onto the first kind person he’d come across.

“No no—I swear it’s just me here.” You held your hands up defensively, “You can check the house, if you want.”

Bucky kept that offer in the back of his mind, not trusting you enough now that his mind was clouded with doubts about you.

“If what you say is true… Then where’s your family?” He asks, like the final nail in the coffin.

He was just a stranger to you, but you couldn’t help yourself from fearing what he might think of you, if he knew everything. You felt judgement from his questioning, but it was judgement in which you felt you deserved.

Just for tonight.

Right, he wasn’t going to be here in just a few hours. What’s the harm?

Unless he goes back to town, alerting the towns people of your baggage. He wouldn’t do that, he’s running too. Unless he’d use you as a distraction? No— Maybe?

Your head ached, your eyes threatening to spill tears. Faking a yawn, you stood up and started walking to the stairs.

“You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen, you can watch tv… I don’t care. Goodnight.” You muttered, feet heavy with dread, knowing what you’d see when your eyes would fall shut.

Bucky watched your form drag up the stairs, he was confused at what he had said wrong. He’d been getting a read on you ever since he’d seen you, and he never expected you to have something dark following you. His words seemed triggering, maybe something happened to your family. That thought alone made his heart hurt, you living here all alone. Well that made his heart hurt even more.

His mind was conflicted with thoughts, his brain not wanting to turn off. He knew it would be a sleepless night, instead he’d lie awake, wondering why a part of him didn’t want to leave tomorrow.

A/N: this is going to take a much darker turn than y’all were expecting 👀 hehe let me know what you think!

taglist: @viperchick47 @hunitweet @vixi-3303 @mirtaqueen

#reader insert #light angst #fluff #oneshot #imagine #buckybarnes #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagines #bucky x female reader #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan #dark themes #dark character

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biteofcherry · 1 year

Text

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; threats; power imbalance;

word count: 4.4k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Chapter 2. Lava in the snow

~ * ~

Always a professional, you decided on setting hard boundaries with Mr Rogers, but in the privacy of your office.

It was never a good idea to have an audience for a type of a scolding, especially if a person considered themselves in a position of power compared to the people witnessing the scene. That escalated reactions, while meeting eye to eye gave the opportunity for both parties to still hold respect.

Taking a step back from Rogers’ towering posture, you stiffly motioned for him to walk inside your office.

You cast a pointed glare Natalie’s way as you closed the door. She was swift in her work against the unexpected circumstances, but you wanted to drive in the point of not doing favors for anyone.

The only favors you accepted in the center were those for the patients. For them you’d make things as flexible as needed.

You took a calming breath, fingers still resting on the door handle, before you pulled back your shoulders and turned around to face your guest.

He watched you curiously. At least you preferred to assess it as merely curiosity, as something told you it was best not to read the intensity in his eyes as actual, deeper interest.

The way his gaze slid up from your feet, taking in every inch of your body until it settled on your face, was bordering on inappropriate.

You met his gaze evenly, trying not to show that the vivid contrast between you two made you feel uneasy.

You were wearing a simple, pale blue pantsuit (the jacket currently hanging over the back of your office chair) and a white blouse; your heels not too high, a few jewelry pieces not overbearing your looks.

Appealing light tones to underline your professional approach.

He was an unpolished chunk of darkness. Clean, but heavy boots; jeans on which you tried not to focus, since they seemed so tight around his thighs and ass; a dark henley and a black leather jacket to match.

Each piece was basic, but pristine; and heavy compared to yours.

Light versus dark, to put it simply.

But there was more to the difference between the two of you. And you weren’t certain - not with the way he carried himself - that you’d easily maintain an upper hand even in your own office.

Rogers was like a nugget of volcanic rock that landed among the bright snow of your world, and the black heart of it sizzled with so much destroying force the innocent wintery landscape would have to melt for him.

“Please sit, Mr Rogers.” You tilted your chin up, adamant on not yielding.

You walked around him, noticing that he moved to sit down only as you took a seat in your own chair. He probably waited to assess your intentions. Or it could be a gentleman’s habit, though you wouldn’t assume he possessed such traits.

Not with the way he strolled into the center, like there was no risk of him being denied anything he demanded.

He was probably leading some old-money, family company, where the great grandsons of a slaver were so used to their wealth and spoiled with attention, they didn’t even bother to show simplest acts of courtesy.

“I’m sure you’re a busy man Mr Rogers,” you forced your jaw to relax, not to grit the words through your teeth. “So I assume your need to see me goes beyond simply wanting to meet the new director of the center.”

You knew there have been phone calls with invitations to lunches, or brunches, or other unches, with bored philanthropists and benefactors. Which Natalie skilfully dodged, placating the hungry for novelty elites with promises of you joining them for a meal in the future.

You didn’t suspect Rogers of that, but one could never be sure.

“It does, but you are a curiosity.” He leaned back in his chair.

“How so?” You raised an eyebrow.

Was it because your name hasn’t been on the list of celebrity doctors, with whom Stark-level elites were mingling with? To have an actual commoner become the head of a prospering health center could shake the boring world of snobs.

Then again, it didn’t seem that the center was interesting to any of them, since Howard made sure to not profit from it. Its main goal was to serve people, not his name.

“A pretty, shiny fish being dropped into a tank full of sharks and swimming through it all calm and confident.”

His voice carried hints of amusement and disbelief; and also a drop of fascination, which alerted your senses as something bad.

Still, you weren’t about to reveal uneasiness, nor uncertainty. That’s how people of his caliber learned they get to poke at weaker ones. You wouldn’t be weaker. So you crossed your palms in your lap, holding your back ramrod straight.

“If you mean dealing with health care system moguls, I assure you I have experience in that. Managing donations for a privately based center won’t be much different than wrapping pharmaceutical companies around a finger.” You shrugged, quite confident in your abilities.

Rogers, in turn, grinned darkly.

“That’s not what I mean at all.” He replied, entertained with your attempts to cover a shiver which clearly shook your body.

Becoming even more annoyed, you huffed and placed your hands on your desk.

“What is it that you mean, then?” You asked, your patience thinning.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Rogers tilted his head to the side, previously shown amusement dimming down.

The air around him seemed to hum with power as his features settled into sharp seriousness. You were starting to suspect it wasn’t a usual business meeting. Nothing about this man was usual. Not in your standards, anyway.

“One of Howard’s benefactors?” You swallowed nervously, while still trying to remain calm on the outside.

You wanted to believe that initial assumption, even though you now suspected it to be a lie. Not only from the course of the conversation, but also the way Steve Rogers sat in a basic office chair as if it was a throne.

His ringed fingers resting loosely over the armrests added to that aura.

Thick, dark silver bands; some simple, some twisted in more intricate shape, a few even had colorful stones submerged into heavy metal.

Vines of black ink stretched over one of his hands, a shape of bare roots that twisted into a thicker pattern over his wrists, but the tattoo disappeared under the sleeve of his jacket and you were unable to decipher it.

You should’ve noticed earlier that he wasn’t a spoiled heir to an old fortune, but someone who probably reaped his riches with brute force.

“Of sort.” Rogers quirked his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth tilting in a smirk for a brief second. It was all gone in a blink of an eye.

“I’m someone who has all of those benefactors under my thumb.” He stated simply. “As well as other people.”

He wasn’t boasting. Rather laying down the law he expected you to take into consideration and abide by.

“What do you want exactly?” Earlier you were careful not to irritate (too much) a potential donor, now you needed to stay cautious of danger that lurked beneath the surface of Rogers’ handsome face.

“A lot of things,” his grin was sharp and threatening, “but now, from you? I want this place.”

That actually surprised you. Having watched too many movies, you half expected to hear something about paying for protection, or else your place will accidentally burn down to the ground.

Instead, Steve Rogers wanted to own the whole place. For what reason? It made absolutely no sense. It wasn’t a company that gained money, you weren’t producing, or selling anything worthy. It was a health center founded on charities, basic contracts with the ministry, taking care of people who couldn’t afford private help.

“You want to run a health center?” You asked slowly, still not comprehending his words.

“Not at all.” Steve shook his head, his grin not disappearing. “The grounds it stands on are of value to me.”

At that you felt a surge of anger. Justified, in your opinion.

A cocky bastard, who potentially could kill you with his bare hands, was attempting to deprive dozens of people in need of medical and mental help they needed, just because he wanted to own some valuable land.

“There are plenty of available plots all over the city and outside of it.” You rose to your feet in a rush, ready to throw him out of your office (though you weren’t sure how exactly you would manage to do that).

“I am not going to hand over this place, robbing people in need of the help they only recently received, just because you wish to broaden your show-off territory.” You circled your desk in swift steps, standing in front of Rogers with your hands on your hips.

“I won’t ever sell it. Or hand it over. No!”

As you nearly screamed the last word, it dawned on you what you’ve done. How reckless was your outburst, considering the man you were speaking to.

You still had no idea who he was exactly, how deep under the ground he buried his enemies - or maybe, quite the contrary, he displayed them for all to see, so no one else would go against him. But you sensed it was stupid to go for his throat so boldly.

“You haven’t yet heard my offer.” Rogers remained seated, though you noticed his fingers clenching on the armrests of his chair.

His rings scraped against the metal and you almost felt the cold pressure of them against your own throat. He’d undoubtedly leave red dents in your skin if he clenched his large hand around your neck.

“I’m not interested in it.” This time your reply came out softer; as if his fingers were already circling the front of your neck, threatening to squeeze.

You weren’t going to change your decision, but you had enough working brain left to control yourself to not antagonize Rogers further.

“You should be.” Steve slowly stood up.

As he did, you instinctively took a step back, bumping into your own desk. Which was a bad move, you knew. Not only you sort of blocked your own way of escape, but showed a sign of fear, which the predator before you undoubtedly noticed.

“See, I’m not the only one who will show interest in this place.” Rogers rolled his shoulders back, in a move similar to fighters readying to throw a punch.

With how big he was, how strong his fingers alone looked, you suspected that if he punched you, your teeth wouldn’t only rattle in your mouth, but fall out.

Though maybe he wouldn’t hit you, just break your neck in one quick snap.

“Word goes around, especially in this city. Others will reach out to you, too, when they find out I’ve shown interest.” He took a step forward. “Sooner or later. For your sake, I hope it’s too late for them.”

When his gaze slid up the length of your body, it felt like a scrape of a blade against your skin.

His eyes were so cold, irises a shade of rising sunlight caught in mountain ice, that running a sharp knife along your skin might feel a warmer caress than standing his gaze.

A chill crept up your spine.

A different kind of zing surged downward at the unexpected image of Rogers' blue eyes studying your responses as he runs an actual blade over your body.

Still, you tilted your chin up defiantly, arms crossing over your chest.

"If it's so desired by many, as you claim, why should I take your offer instead of others?" You asked, stubbornly refusing to bend to Steve Rogers' will.

Not that you planned on taking anyone’s offer, but perhaps you could play a sneaky game and lead them all in circles with false declarations of selling to the others. Though you doubted they’d believe it for long. Rogers sure didn’t look stupid enough to fall for it.

He cocked his head to the side, a glimmer of curiosity reigniting in his eyes; like a glint at the tip of an ice pick about to pierce right through you.

"Because-" his voice was so deceivingly warm and deep- "I can protect you from them. But no one can protect you from me, Princess."

First obvious threat striked you, forcing the air out of your lungs in a gasp. Your arms fell to your sides, fingers slightly trembling.

You wanted to accuse him of a big ego, laugh that any petty criminal would say how dangerous they are and no one else could protect you from them. But somehow you believed Rogers. You believed he’s as scary and untouchable as he painted himself to be.

“There’s no need for condescending names,” you blurted out instead, needing to direct your shaken feelings at something.

“Condescending?” Steve inched even closer, his feet bracketing yours as his hands slipped between your arms and your body to rest on the edge of the desk.

He had you truly trapped. Caged between the desk and his powerful body, which radiated warmth that was so tempting to lean into.

Further temptation was his perfume. A warm spicy scent, notes of cedar and cardamom, with a splash of something awakening, something tart and fresh to pull you from the lulling haze of the first notes.

His perfume was just like him - a lethal slice of acid hidden beneath a warm, comforting veneer.

“A Princess is a title of a royal family’s member,” Rogers’ eyes bore into yours, “You may not be connected by blood, but you are now an heiress to Stark, who has been treated like royalty for decades.”

“A Princess-” one of his hands brushed your hip- “is also a girl deserving to be spoiled.”

You couldn’t help glancing at his lips when he licked them. Or maybe you wanted any excuse not to be looking into his ice cold eyes.

“Seize the opportunity while I still consider you deserving of it.” He pulled back; the comforting softness of his voice transformed into coarse bidding.

“You can keep your center, I don’t need it locked down. But you will sign the property over to my name.” There was finality to his tone which you didn’t dare object at this very moment. “You have twenty four hours to consider. This time tomorrow, I’ll come to hear you say yes to me, Princess.”

Don’t hold your breath, itched to roll out on your tongue.

You kept silent, however. Twenty four hours wasn’t long enough to wage your options, but perhaps it’ll be enough to contact law enforcement or other institutions and gain yourself help.

You watched Rogers leave your office, your fingers clenching on the edge of the desk as you allowed tremors to shake you now that he wasn’t watching.

A few heartbeats, three deep breaths, and you were straightening.

You walked to the door with purpose, telling yourself you wouldn't shake if Rogers was still behind them. Yet you sighed in relief when you saw his shadow disappearing far around the corner.

Your gaze shifted from the end of the corridor to the two people still standing nearby. Natalie was typing away on her phone, seemingly unperturbed by what just occurred. Felix wasn’t shaking as much as before, but his forehead was still dewy with sweat.

“In my office, n o w.” You ordered, though your anger didn’t scare them as much as Rogers calmth did.

Maybe you needed to start wearing darker clothes?

You shook your head to rid away the idiotic thought, reminding yourself that you did not want to be anything like Steve Rogers. Your goal wasn’t to terrify people, it was to provide help and safety.

Something Rogers was probably unfamiliar with as a concept.

Felix closed the door when both of them entered your office, choosing to stay behind and sit on a small chaise that served more decoration than a used seat. Natalie took the chair which Rogers not so long vacated, spreading her calendar open in her lap and looking at you with her usual readiness to follow the day’s agenda.

“Who. The. Fuck. Is Steve Rogers?” You paced the floor, needing to get rid of the last remnants of adrenaline his visit evoked.

“I swear, if one of you says influential-” you leveled them with a pointed glare- “I will throw a stapler at you.”

“He’s a mob boss.” Felix gulped, rubbing his hands against his thighs. “A very, very bad man.”

“Well, he’s good at running his branch.” Natalie rolled her eyes. “There are three major mafias in the region. Rogers is the head of one of them. Over the past few years, his power has grown enough to push back the other two families, leaving them only scraps.”

“A mob boss.” You said to yourself, nearly breathless.

You suspected it, but some naive, helpless side of you didn’t want to fully believe it.

Things like that happened in movies and books. Sure, you were aware the likes of him truly existed, but they never crossed paths with people like you. Hell, the only crime you ever committed was a speeding ticket half a year after passing your driver’s license exam.

“More like a king, to be fair.” Natalie looked at you seriously, a first flash of her taking the situation as heavy as it was. “He really has ties all over the city and far beyond that.”

“I’ve heard he has at least four senators in his pocket.” Felix piped in, calmer now that Rogers nor his men were anywhere near. “And quite a few big fishes on other continents, too.”

Rumors tended to be overblown. Those serving to cement someone’s big, scary reputations were probably deliberately maintained, so people wouldn’t fight him out of fear of consequences. As there were - to some - repercussions worse than death.

“I should assume he has sway over the police, then.” You nearly deflated as realization dawned on you.

If Rogers had even one third of the influence they said, it meant you wouldn’t do well going with this case to the police. He’d know about it right away, which could result in retaliation worse than what awaited you if you just stubbornly said no.

“I-” Felix opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “He was seen having dinner with the chief of police and some FBI person. Chatty and cozy, like old friends.”

Your eyebrows rose nearly to your hairline. Natalie turned her head, glancing at Felix over her shoulder with a genuinely surprised expression, too.

“And how do you know that?” She asked; perhaps a little offended that Felix knew more than her. Natalie liked to be the best at everything.

“You know me, I can’t help but live for the gossip columns and blogs.” He admitted, with an embarrassed sigh. “Even if that’s only gossip, I’m pretty sure it’s close to the truth.”

You suspected he was right. If some of the information about Rogers’ connections was exaggerated, still it was safe to assume it had basis in truth. There was no safe way to ensure your actions weren’t reported back to him.

“Fucking fantastic.” You muttered, closing your eyes and pressing your fingers against your temples.

If the whole ordeal resulted only in one big headache, you’d take it. Unfortunately for you, there were more problematic consequences awaiting, regardless of your choice.

“Can’t you just give him what he wants?” Natalie asked cautiously.

“No!” Felix’s protest sounded more vehement than yours.

His suddenly discovered moral spine surprised you. In a good way.

Natalie was calculating, you couldn’t blame her for that. If saying yes meant little trouble, you probably would choose it as the logical option. But Rogers owning the place meant he could decide its fate at any time. Promises of letting you run it could be revoked within months. Not to mention the reputation of the center would shatter, if the public learned who truly owns it.

“If Mr Rogers simply wanted me to admit someone into our program, cutting the waiting list, I’d give him that.” You’d still be pissed that some rich fucker wanted to screw over poor people who were also waiting, but it was something at least someone in need could actually gain from.

“What he wants isn't that simple.” To him it was; a simple yes or no. To you it could change your entire life.

Moreover, his insinuation suggested others would be coming with similar propositions. Perhaps worse propositions, leaving you no false hope of even running the health center as it was.

His wrath, if you took someone else’s offer, would probably be a very painful one, too.

Why did it all have to fall on your head? Couldn’t Rogers discover the worth of these grounds a few months ago, when it would have been Howard’s problem, not yours?

The rest of the day ticked away like mad. Meetings and smaller problems, with which you’d deal easily any other day, now seemed to gain in size and difficulty. Your head wasn’t clear; images of Rogers’ face flashed back before your eyes. The sound of his voice saying twenty four hours resounded with each strike of the clock.

Before you knew it, the sun was setting. Meaning you stayed at work longer than you first assumed you would.

It was dedication to what you did, but at this very moment also fear of having to fully face the truth of what was coming in the morning. Who was coming.

And you still had no idea what to do.

Felix and Natalie were long gone when you left the building, as were the rest of the employees. Only the night shift security guards remained. They escorted you to the parking entrance and locked the door behind you.

You nervously swayed your car keys in your hand as you walked toward your car, briefly entertaining the idea of driving far far away.

An escape would postpone making any decisions. But it wouldn’t solve the problem.

Quite the opposite, it could multiply it.

Plus, it wasn’t in your nature to just run. You always fought back against whatever life threw at you. Granted, often you fussed and whined, pitied yourself when you had to struggle with something, but you never ran.

You were a few steps away from your car when you heard a sound from somewhere behind you. Clutching your keys in your hand, you turned around.

There was no one.

Before you were able to let out a sigh of relief, a dark cloth was thrown over your head.

Arms wrapped around you, trapping your own arms to your sides. Your scream was muffled by the hood that covered your whole face and a hand pressing over your mouth.

You squirmed with all your might, trying to jerk your head backwards to maybe break the assailant’s nose. You managed to kick them, your pointy heel cutting into their leg.

He cursed, but his hold on you didn’t falter much. It was a man, judging by his voice. He called you a bitch when you began kicking back with all your effort, striking his legs a few more times.

Then another set of hands were grabbing your ankles, depriving you of this form of defense. They hoisted you up, despite you thrashing like a fish out of water.

Suddenly, your legs were dropped down. You didn’t know why, only heard a grunt and the sound of something heavy falling.

Your other captor cursed, pushing you down so hard your head hit the asphalt. Above you, something metallic clicked, then grunts and sounds of something crushing followed. You rolled on the ground, hoping to blindly get yourself from whatever was happening.

Buzzing noise filled your head as you propped yourself on your hands and knees. You really hoped you didn’t have a concussion.

With jerky moves, you ripped the hood off your head. Your vision was slightly foggy. It took you a long moment to realize it wasn’t dark because you had a severe head injury, but because it was very late in the evening.

You glanced toward the commotion. Someone was lying on the ground, unmoving. Perhaps it was the man who was holding your legs. The other one was fighting with someone. Futily. Despite his muscles and physical strength, he couldn’t block any of the fast punches from his much smaller opponent.

You weren’t interested in staying to see who would win. Your savior would have to do with self-pride, because you weren’t going to stay to say thank you. Oh no, you were going to drive the hell away from here.

As soon as you located your car keys, which had to fall out of your hand when you were tossed to the ground.

You were searching for them in panic, squinting your eyes to see better in the shadows, when a screeching sound of tires pierced the night.

A black car burst into the parking lot. It raced past you, smoothly wedging itself between you and your assailants, and halting.

Two pairs of heavy boots jumped out of the car, landing with a thud on the asphalt. One pair ran around the car toward the fighting strangers, the other pair turned your way.

“Get rid of them,” came someone’s cold, angry voice.

“Then find that fucking little rat.”

You almost crawled back on all fours when those boots stopped inches from you and a familiar face came into your line of vision when he crouched down.

Steve Rogers was here again.

And it hasn’t been twenty four hours yet.

You stared at him, both in fear and awe. He appeared to be your savior, but his eyes didn’t hold an ounce of pity or sympathy. A stormy ocean was locked in his irises. You couldn’t be sure if you weren’t also a part of the source of wrath shining in his eyes.

Steve reached his hand out, picking up your keys, which suddenly materialized so close to you. He tossed them up and caught them again, but didn’t offer them back to you.

“Come, Princess. Before midnight strikes and more trouble comes your way.”

“Worse trouble than you?” You huffed, wincing as you tried to stand up.

You weren’t that badly battered, but it still hurt to move. Dizziness took over your head as you clumsily stood up.

Rogers’ hand wrapped around your elbow, supporting you as you swayed a little. There was that smile again - half amusement, half threat - but the shadows distorted it into a wicked grin.

“Give us a chance,” he teased, not letting you go, but forcing you to walk along him toward his car, “you may like the kind of trouble I am.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark!mafia steve rogers #dark!mafia steve rogers x reader #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #to find the light we must first touch the darkness #touch the darkness #my writing #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine

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avocado-writing · 9 months

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For nightingale, aziraphale, and Crowley, could you write something with them going on holiday or honeymoon to a museum or historical site, and remembering old times together? Maybe they discover one of them in the background of a historic photo or they’re mentioned in a piece of writing or turn up in a painting or a statue? I just need more of those 3 so whatever you feel like, dealers choice <3

aziraphale x reader x crowley (good omens)

third chapter of this. kissing you on the lips anon for requesting it.

rated M for light smut.

1.5k words.

if you like what I do, here’s my ko-fi!

Your marriage is a quiet little affair.

It has to be, really. Can’t have a big crowd wondering how three people are able to all wed each other. It’s hard enough miracling the registrar to not notice anything out of the ordinary, let alone worrying about having a bunch of guests second-guessing the technical legality of the thing.

Luckily, it all goes reasonably smoothly. The registry office isn’t busy on a Thursday afternoon, it doesn’t take long to get in and out. Yes, all three of you sign these documents, that’s absolutely fine. Congratulations and I hope you have a happy future together.

Rings on fingers, plain gold wedding bands binding the three of you to each other. Chaste, meaningful kisses and wide smiles.

Being married to them doesn’t feel any different, but then again you suppose it wouldn’t. You’ve been together for longer than any human has ever been alive. You were all practically married anyway, getting the paperwork done was just… the cherry on top.

“Well, now what do we do?” you ask, stepping out onto the busy London street. Aziraphale and Crowley take a moment to consider this question, as if they hadn’t really thought about it either.

“Lunch?” the angel says, just as the demon replies “bed?”

You laugh, and the three of you end up doing one and then the other.

Crowley kisses you both hard the moment that the bookshop door shuts, pausing only to flip the sign firmly to ‘very closed’. You trap Aziraphale between your bodies, knowing how much he loves to be showered with attention, and strip off as you retreat through the nonfiction section to the well-loved sofa in the break room.

It feels like there isn’t time to go upstairs. It’s time to consummate this marriage here, now.

“Come on, angel,” you hum as Crowley sheathes himself inside him, making Aziraphale’s eyes roll in pleasure, “like Geoff wrote, ‘In wyfhode I wol use myn instrument as frely as my Makere hath it sent’.”

Despite the overstimulation as you sink down on him, Aziraphale laughs. Crowley cocks an eyebrow.

“What on earth are you going on about?”

“Inside joke, I suppose,” you reply wickedly, before silencing any further questioning with a kiss across Aziraphale’s shoulder.

When you’re done breaking in the marriage bed - after you finish breaking in the marriage couch and then the marriage kitchen counter - the three of you lie together, limbs tangled, the two of them feeling you breathe.

“You know what we should do?” you eventually pipe up, lost between twisting your fingers in Aziraphale’s curls and running your hand up the length of Crowley’s thigh.

“Look, I’m happy to go again, just give me ten minutes,” Crowley murmurs. You almost get caught up in it as the angel plants a kiss on your bare shoulder, but snap yourself back to reality before they can delay your train of thought further.

“No! - I mean, yes, but also, we should go on a honeymoon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale says, lighting up, “That’s a wonderful idea. I can’t remember the last time the three of us took a holiday together. One where we didn’t have to also do some work, anyway.”

“It was Stockholm, nineteen-seventy-five,” Crowley states without missing a beat. The two of you both look at him, and it clicks.

“Oh god, it was, wasn’t it?” you laugh. Of course. Was it that long ago?

“The Eurovision final! Goodness, how on earth did we forget?”

“Repressing painful memories?” the demon suggests. It was one of those trips he’d clearly not been very pleased about, but insisted his chaperoning was better than the alternative of letting you and Aziraphale run wild around Sweden.

“I can’t believe you had a perm for that whole decade,” you say to Crowley, who just groans and slings his arm over his face to hide.

“I thought it was very fetching,” Aziraphale reassures, squeezing his husband’s - husband’s! - hand.

“Well, why don’t we go somewhere a bit closer to home?” you suggest. “Somewhere like, I don’t know, Edinburgh?”

“I like Edinburgh. Well, apart from one statue, but we don’t have to go and see it I suppose,” Aziraphale agrees. The two of you look over to Crowley. He lifts his arm just enough for you to see the sparkle in his yellow eyes.

You set off a couple of days later in the Bentley, boot packed up tight with suitcases (none Crowley’s, one belonging to you, the rest Aziraphale’s; he insisted he needed to bring at least twenty books ‘just in case’). With Crowley’s driving the eight hour journey takes about five, and soon you’re at your little bnb planning how you’re going to spend the week.

And it’s lovely. You do all the touristy things, the guided tours, the hidden gems, and slowly making your way around what feels like every pub in the city. You and Aziraphale eat a quite astonishing number of lunchtime finger sandwiches, and Crowley takes you out dancing to a little hole-in-the-wall joint he had a hand in founding a couple of decades ago. Your heart is full and you realise over and over again just how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the two people you love most in this universe.

On the last day, you finally do the big one: Edinburgh Castle. You’ve been in there but only once, and that was a couple of hundred years ago. It’s changed but not as much as you thought: it’s nice to see the conservation work people are doing in old places like these. Saving little pieces of the past.

You’re walking through one of the little side corridors - a place you’re probably not meant to actually be on the tour, but one of your husbands has a way of making locked doors open and the other is very good at getting people to forgive you if you’re found going through them.

Up ahead they’re bickering. About what you can’t say. You’ve learnt to tune it out unless it’s about something actually important. Despite that you almost miss it, walk right past the bloody thing - but then you catch the flash of paint out of the corner of your eye and do a double-take.

Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god. You two, come here and take a look at this!”

Aziraphale and Crowley halt their quibbles and double back to stand at your side. They’re both as shocked as you are.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasps.

“Huh,” Crowley mutters.

“It’s us,” you state.

It is. An oil painting, ancient. The only description is a tiny plaque which sits beneath it in tiny lettering: a portrait of a gentleman and two ladies, c 1665. No more information is given, which is clearly why it’s been delegated to a back room rather than hung in somewhere more important.

But there’s no mistaking it: Aziraphale in his white jerkin and doublet, Crowley in a black dress with his hair down, and you in the middle. Dressed in rich colours, heavy jewellery hanging off you. Your lovers hold either one of your hands in theirs, the three of you looking out serenely towards the viewer.

“We commissioned this for your birthday in sixteen-sixty-five. Do you remember, Nightingale?”

You nod. Yes, you remember the two of them trying to surreptitiously get you to pose while someone caught your likeness in a sketch to transfer later to canvas. Portrait sittings were an exhausting thing and there was no way they were going to trick you into believing anything else was going on.

“I thought it was destroyed,” you whisper, gobsmacked. The three of you had lived in a little London townhouse around the time, when your relationship was still young. And yes, a birthday present it was: right before the great fire of London had broken out. You’d had to evacuate the city as quickly as you could, no time to save anything as unwieldy as a painting.

But clearly it hadn’t burned. Someone had saved it - or nicked it, more likely, before the blaze got to it - and now it ended up here. In this corridor. Where the three of you had just happened to trespass to find it.

“Miraculous,” Aziraphale breathes, and you can only agree.

“Should we try to get it back?” Crowley asks. “I’m sure there’s someone I can blackmail in this castle.”

“No. No, let’s leave it. I quite like it here. A little piece of us somewhere, preserved in time, you know? It’s lovely. Besides,” you turn to your husbands, “I get to have the two of you every day now.”

The three of you take a moment to let the idea soak in; and then you kiss in the quiet of the castle corridor. Happy. Looking forward to the future you’re now allowed to live.

“Now,” you announce after a beat, “I think we’d better get some lunch and then I’m going to go and graffiti that statue of Gabriel. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Oh absolutely,” says Crowley just as Aziraphale tuts “certainly not!”

You talk him round though, and by that evening, he’s doodled a moustache on the smug archangel’s marble face with a sharpie.

#request #crowley x reader x aziraphale #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween #ineffable husbands x reader #good omens x reader

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months

Text

✨Masterlist✨ A03

Hi! I’m Jamie and welcome to my blog! If you’d like updates for my work, my updates page is @mermaidgirl30-updates. I mostly write about Pedro Pascal characters. Always looking to converse about music, writing, video games, Pedro Pascal, really just anything ☺️ I am always open for requests and asks and will do my best to answer them 🩵 Dividers and Masterlist main pic by @saradika-graphics

~I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANYBODY USING MY STORIES OR REPOSTING THEM IN ANY AI OR WEBSITE!~

✨One Shots/Drabbles✨

Comfort in His Arms: A little Drabble about enjoying the sunrise while you’re being comforted and held by Joel. Soft, gentle, warm. He’s your forever.

Dominate Me: dom! reader x sub! Joel. You dominate Joel in the bedroom, and he takes every demand you give him.

Happy One Year, Baby: You forget your one year anniversary with Joel and don’t remember until you see a dozen roses with a love note left on your doorstep. Since he’s away on a work trip, you decide to get all dolled up to give him a little show over FaceTime

Haunt Me: Joel isn’t all that he seems. He might be dead, might be a ghost, might somehow just be trapped in a curse, but you find him. You always find him.

I’ve Got You, Baby Girl: After suffering all day alone with cramps, Joel comes home from work to take care of you and gives you exactly what you need.

Jealousy, Jealousy: After having a bad breakup with Joel Miller, you decide you need a night to relax at the bar and find someone new. Little do you know, Joel is there and he’s not alone. Will you let your jealousy get the best of you or will you get revenge with another man at the bar?

Just Breathe: You find yourself in the middle of a sticky situation in the pouring rain, not to mention a large T-Rex stalks the area you’re in. Joel steps in and saves the day, and he’s the best at calming you down.

Love and Coffee in the Mornings: This one's just a short fluffy/smutty one shot that's filled with morning love between Joel and reader.

My Heart I Surrender: Feelings and words never come easy to Joel, but they come out slowly and surely for you. So much angst coming off the pages on this story, and it's all in Joel's POV.

My Paper Heart Will Fold: Joel fights himself over his feelings for you, not wanting to admit they’re there. He finally comes to blatant terms that he can’t lose you. He can’t ever lose you. Not ever.

My, My, Such a Sweet Surprise: When you stumble upon a cute little property with a farmer’s market, you get more than you bargain for when you meet the man with honeysuckle eyes and a thick Southern drawl that makes you weak in the knees.

Run Rabbit: At the beginning of every month, you meet Joel to play a little game of hide and seek at the abandoned mansion near Jackson. It’s not just any game of hide and seek though. It’s dark and it’s twisted. If he catches you, he gets to do whatever he wants with you.

Soft: Just a little Drabble about Joel being in love. So very soft.

Stay in the Light: Joel gets injured after a raider attack, and he’s wishing he could’ve told you all the feelings he held back from you for so long

Take Me to Wonderland: You find yourself in Wonderland, but you think you’ve been here before. And the handsome stranger, Joel Miller, is someone that definitely seems familiar.

Welcome to the Moulin Rouge: Welcome to the Moulin Rouge where touches and gazing eyes turn to feelings and longing that overpower all senses. That’s where Joel meets you, the girl of all his desires. The girl that starts a fire inside him that he can’t control. But he’s not the only one after her. No. And he’ll have to share even though it destroys him.

✨Series✨

Can You Please Be Mine?: (Ongoing multiple part series)

No Outbreak!Joel x fem! reader

It’s a hot summer’s day in Austin, and you’re cooling off by having a cold ice cream cone while riding the carousel at the fair. You see a handsome, older man that you think is just the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and you just wonder what it’d be like if he took you home with him.

Captured in the Woods:

(Ongoing multiple part series)

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Joel books a nice secluded Airbnb cabin out in the middle of Southwest Texas to get a little alone time with you for a weekend. Little do you know, you’re not alone. You’re being stalked by a deranged family, and you’re going to have to fight your way to make it out alive.

Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge: (Ongoing multiple part series)

Moulin Rouge Joel x fem! reader

Joel Miller doesn’t know what awaits him as he takes on a maintenance job at the Moulin Rouge. He doesn’t know he’ll meet the absolute love of his life, the Sparkling Diamond, as his world comes crashing down around him fast. Will he be able to stay away when he’s warned not to touch the dancers? Will he listen or will he challenge that pull that draws him to the one thing that sets his soul on fire?

Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller: (Ongoing multiple part series)

dbf! Joel x fem! reader

After going out with your classmate from graduate school, Mr. Miller doesn’t take so kindly to your date when he sees you out and about with the college jock. Will the older, attractive man you’ve been pining after for years finally give you what you’ve been wanting for so long? The only problem is that he’s your dad’s best friend.

Dancing With Fire: (Ongoing multiple part series)

maintenance Joel! x ballet dancer fem! reader

You’re starring in the ballet Swan Lake, taking on the lead role in New York at a huge theater. You practice day and night and are always staying after hours. One day you notice the hot maintenance worker, Joel, and you can’t seem to keep your eyes off him. Lucky for you, he can’t keep his eyes off you either.

Dark Shades of Innocence Lost: (Ongoing multiple part series)

pleasure dom! Joel x fem/sub! reader

After your friends drag you out to Club Inferno on a Friday night, you meet an unexpected man with dark brown eyes. That man is Joel Miller, who turns out to be the owner of the club. The menace that will turn your life upside down. After not dating for a couple of years, Joel finds out and strikes up a proposition for you. Keep coming back and he’ll make sure you experience pleasure like you’ve never felt before.

Enchant Me: (Ongoing multiple part series)

soft! Joel x witchy garden fem! reader

Joel delivers a custom built table to a little house out in the middle of the woods, but he doesn’t realize he’s going to fall for the girl behind the doors of that small purple house. He falls head over heels for her special herbal tea, tarot card readings, and talks of nature and plants as he keeps going back to see her.

Just Breathe: The Dinosaur Diaries: (Ongoing multiple part series)

paleontologist! Joel x fem researcher! reader

After going under the wings of doctor Miller, the hottest paleontologist you’ve ever seen, he takes you on a little adventure as his research assistant. You’ll get more than just knowledge and dinosaurs, you’ll also end up getting the sweet scientist who can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

Look for the Light: (Completed)

outbreak! Joel x fem! reader

Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him?

Love Amidst the Blue: (Ongoing multiple part series)

sailor! Joel x mermaid fem! reader

Joel sets out on the Tyrrhenian Sea with his crew in search for hidden treasure. What he doesn’t know is that he’ll meet a beautiful mermaid that will turn his world upside down. Will he win her over or will he introduce a long ago foe to the mermaids of the hidden underwater city of Capri?

Royalty Clad in Silver Armor: (Ongoing multiple part series)

knight! Joel x princess fem! reader

You’re the royal princess of Ireland and your parents are hounding you to find a suitable man to marry. Joel gets placed as your protector (knight in shining armor) and swears an oath to put your life before his own. But after meeting him for the first time, you don’t want to leave him alone. In fact, you can’t help but to pine after him, even though he is off limits to you.

Tear You Apart: (Ongoing multiple part series)

dark! Joel x fem! reader

Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you into the forest?

✨One Shots✨

Javi’s Playground: Javi decides to blow off some steam at the strip club, but he doesn’t intend to attempt to take one of the dancers home with him.

✨Moodboards✨

Colors 💜

Infra-Red ❤️

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