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shellshocklove · 1 year

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i wanna be your lover | joel miller

pairing/AU: 70s!pornstar!joel miller x inexperienced!female reader

summary: miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 23, joel is in his early 30s, swearing, misogyny (bc of the times™), accuracies and inaccuracies about the 70s, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes (it’s the 70s alright), mentions of a bad previous sexual encounter and losing your virginity, use of pet names, porn (obviously lmao), sextoys, only one bed, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: i had fun with this one, but it turned out to be longer than i first intended. i hope people will like it still! also big thank you to @dustydaddyyy, for proofreading this

main masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Under a pink and orange Los Angeles sky, your platforms clicked against the sidewalk. Day left an hour ago, dipping behind the green hills of Laurel Canyon. Walking down The Strip, arms linked with your friend Deborah, the street bustled in the awakening night. Music spilled from clubs and bars, seducing the dressed-up crowd passing by this Friday night.

“Do a little dance, make a little love,”

“This,” Deborah emphasized, coming to a stop outside a club, “is exactly what you need tonight to get your mind off everything.”

She clutched your arm tighter to her body, almost like she was afraid you’d run off, and maybe she had good reason to think you would. You weren’t exactly in the right mood to party. Only a few hours ago, you’d gotten fired from your job. Three years as Mr. Cooper’s personal assistant down the drain.

Mr. Cooper was the creative director, and one of the partners at the advertisement agency where you’d worked. He was an important man, and he’d dealt with all kinds of clients on a daily basis. For you, it had been a learning curve of a job. You had no prior experience as a personal assistant, and it had been intimidating.

You’d only just moved to the City of Angels when you’d gotten the job. With next to no money, having left behind your family and your small town, you were desperate for a job. When you’d seen the ad in the newspaper, left behind on the table of a café near your apartment, you’d stepped out on the sidewalk immediately to find a payphone. During the interview Mr. Cooper had looked you up and down and scowled as he’d read your resume. You’d shrank in your seat under his gaze, but even with your lacking resume, Mr. Cooper had hired you on the spot.

Later, during your first full week at your new job, you’d come to discover why Mr. Cooper had hired you so quickly – he’d been desperate for a new assistant. Overhearing some of the other ladies whispering to each other during lunch, you’d been able to piece together exactly why. Apparently, Mr. Cooper and his former personal assistant had been having an affair. He’d gotten her pregnant and wanted nothing to do with her or the baby – he was a married man after all. This was where the story had gotten hazy, and the grape vine sang different songs. One version of the story said he’d forced her to get an abortion and riddled with grief over the dead baby and their failing relationship, she’d quit her job and moved back to her parents in Maine. While the other version of the story said that, rightfully angry at Mr. Cooper for not taking any responsibility over their situation, she’d gone to visit his wife at home to tell her about what’s been going on. Which story was the truth, you don’t know. What you did know, was that Mr. Cooper was still married, and his previous assistant was no longer working for him.

Even if the job had been intimidating at first, you’d quickly gotten used to it. You stayed on top of everything: Mr. Copper’s clients, his calls, his schedule. Ordered flowers for his wife, and even sent boxes of chocolates to his various paramours. You’d made sure the bar in his office was always stacked with his favorite bourbon, and most importantly: you’d made sure to be seen and not heard. It’s what he told you, in the job interview, that he wanted.

You had thought you were doing a good job, but clearly, Mr. Cooper had been laboring under a different impression…

Your day had started like every other day – normal. You’d arrived at work fifteen minutes before Mr. Cooper, like always. Dutifully greeting him with a sweet “Good morning, sir!” at your desk, and served him his morning coffee minutes later. The day continued like normal, occupied with calls and speaking to clients, you had no idea what shocking message you’d receive at the end of your day.

Outside the club, you gave Deborah a meek smile which faded when you saw the line snaking its way down the street, “Sure, but… we’ll never get in.”

“Get down tonight, get down tonight,”

The words of KC And The Sunshine Band traveled through the open club door, the music filled the warm summer air.

“Don’t worry, babes!” she beamed, “I know the owner.” With an overdramatic wink and a giggle, she pulled you towards the bouncer.

“Baby, baby, I'll meet you, same place, same time,”

“How exactly do you know the owner of this place?” you queried, as you passed through the door of the club while the music got louder and louder.

“Where we can get together, and ease up our mind,”

“Let’s just say we had a weekend together…,” she giggled, “and I got to know him very… intimately.”

Your eyes widened at her implications, and Deborah giggled even louder.

“Don’t look so surprised!” she laughed, “I’m all about free love,” she joked, putting up a peace sign.

A heat burned your cheeks. Still, after three years in LA you needed to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t in your small rural hometown anymore. No one was going to arrest you for talking about sex. Nevertheless, the habit was hard to shake, and the roots of the rules you’d grown up with – the ones that had taught you to be the perfect student and the perfect daughter – stayed embedded in your mind.

“So…” Deborah started, her back against the bar while she took her first sip of her Apple Martini. She’d ordered you some fruity cocktail you’d never had before that she swore you’d like. “What exactly did that sad excuse of a man say to you when he fired you?”

With a scrunch of your nose, you turned your attention to your drink, taking a sip. It tasted sugary, but fresh, one of those dangerous drinks where you couldn’t taste the alcohol.

“Let’s not talk about it?” you sighed, shooting Deborah another meek smile.

She returned your smile, but it was full of pity. “You’re right! Let’s not– Let’s forget that fucker,” she said, taking a generous sip of her drink, “you’ll easily get a new job! I know it!” she smiled.

Not soon after Deborah had finished her first drink, a man interrupted your conversation. The man was tall, with black wild hair, pork chops and a matching mustache. He was wearing a flower-patterned shirt tucked into a pair of brown bell-bottoms. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing dark chest hair and a gold chain. He wasn’t bad looking.

His hand on Deborah’s back didn’t seem to bother her, quite the opposite, she jumped excitedly, throwing her hands around his neck in greeting. You couldn’t hear what he whispered in her ear over the music, but it made her laugh.

“This is Tommy! He owns the club,” Deborah introduced you.

With a friendly smile, you shook Tommy’s hand and introduced yourself. His grip was firm, not like those people that made shaking their hand feel like gripping a dead fish. You decided that it was a good sign.

“So– are ya enjoyin’ yourselves, ladies?” he asked with a charming smile.

“Oh, yes!” Deborah smiled, her painted nails landing on his bicep, “But I think we’d enjoy ourselves even more after another drink.”

With a knowing smile and an easy laugh, Tommy ushered the bartender closer. “’nother round for these two beautiful ladies,” he ordered, “and… they’re drinkin’ on the house for the rest of the night,” he added, sending Deborah a wink.

The bartender served you your second drink just as Tommy convinced Deborah to dance with him. Quickly, she downed her Apple Martini before she turned to you, guilt written all over her face.

“You okay by yourself for a little bit?”

“Yeah– sure!” you nodded, “Go have fun!”

With a sorry smile and a promise to be right back, Deborah left you at the bar, dragged out on the dancefloor by Tommy.

Left to your own devices, you still felt a little awkward. This was supposed to be a girls night. Pushing off the bar, you turned to lean your back against it. You bopped your head to the music, trying to not look so out of place. In your hands, your drink was slippery from the condensation around the glass. Out on the dancefloor, the crowd looked like it moved in slow motion through the blinking lights, bodies twisting their hips and grooving to the beat. You took another sip.

It’s a strange feeling, feeling so alone, while surrounded by a crowd of people. To your, a couple gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes as they passed a cigarette back and forth, a ribbon of smoky white, clouded them in a love fog. They leaned closer, sharing a kiss. You quickly averted your eyes, desperate for something else to rest your eyes on.

Instead, they fell on a man.

You locked eyes with him from across the room. Clad in tight denim he sat casually in a booth in the corner, legs spread slightly. His hand was wrapped around a whisky glass, with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. With a shy smile, you quickly looked away again, eyes back to watching the bodies on the dancefloor. You took another sip of your drink, trying to act casual.

He wasn’t watching you, was he? Why would he? No one usually looked at you twice.

You were no good at this. Flirting. You were painfully awful at it to be completely honest. Too shy to be sexy, and never interesting enough, or pretty enough for a second date.

Your experience with dating didn’t really go further than the few dates you’d gone on with John, from accounting. He’d acted so sweet: opened doors for you, held out your chair, kissed you at your doorstep at the end of the night. He had been a dream. Then on your third date, he’d invited you back to his place for a nightcap. One thing led to another, and soon you were laying under him as he thrusted inside you. It was your first time – and he hadn’t known. It had hurt so much; you’d turned your face away so he wouldn’t see your tears. After, he’d called you a cab, not bothering to even kiss you goodbye. In the office the next day, he’d pretended like you’d never even existed: no more tender kisses, no more door opening, no more smiles. Your dream had turned into a nightmare.

He’d pulled you aside during lunch and told you it wouldn’t work out between the two of you. You were just such different people. You’d deflated like a balloon at his words, sinking into your chair as you watched him walk down the corridor back to his cubicle. To make matters worse you’d overheard him say, to some of his colleges by the watercooler, how awful in bed you’d been. It had been humiliating. And now, every time you as much as attempted to flirt with someone, a bell of shame rang in your ears.

The man couldn’t have looked at you. He’d for sure only looked in the direction of the bar. But something burned your cheek, and you couldn’t fight your eyes from trailing back in his direction.

Dark hair and a tidy mustache. Lips pulled up into a cheeky smile as you locked eyes with him again. He took a drag of his cigarette, and the fire lit up his handsome face. You felt something pool in your stomach. His gaze still on you as he exhaled, challenging you with a raised eyebrow. Again, your cheeks burned, and you had to look away. Suddenly, your own platform shoes looked extremely interesting.

“I remember when rock was young, me and Susie had so much fun,”

The sound of Elton John was the perfect distraction from the alluring stranger. You were sure that if you looked back at him again, you’d only embarrass yourself. You always did. Slurping up the rest of your drink, you pushed off the bar, and headed towards the dancefloor.

“Holding hands and skimming stones. Had an old gold Chevy, and a place of my own,”

Moving your hips to the beat you vanished in the bodies. And soon you were “hopping and bopping” to the Crocodile Rock, singing loudly along with the crowd to “Laa, la-la-la-la-laa”.

The air was clammy and stuffy, and sweat clung to your skin, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You were here to leave your shitty day behind. To dance it away. You moved through the crowd; a smile bright on your face while your feet couldn’t stay still. The handsome stranger in the booth, already forgotten.

As the song faded out, a new song faded in. It was slower. A slightly erotic, but melodic guitar filled the room, accompanied by a luring salsa rhythm. You slowed down your dancing. It felt like you were threading through water.

“Ain't got nobody that I can depend on. Ain't got nobody that I can depend on,”

A pair of hands landed on your hips, making you jump. Behind you, you heard the deep chuckle of a man.

“Relax, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear, moving your hips in time with his.

You leaned back against his body; head tipped back against his broad chest to get a look at the man. Your stranger from the booth. He wore a cocky smirk, but he didn’t come across as full of himself. He was confident. Confident in the way he held your body – big hands splayed over your hips. Confident in the way he danced, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and he did.

“Ain't got no one (no tengo a nadie). That I know of (no tengo a nadie). That I can depend on (no tengo a nadie),”

You let him move your body, turning you around to take your hand in his, pulling you closer to his chest. He smelled like cigarettes and cologne. He’d been watching you, you realized, not the bar. Interested enough in you to follow you out on the dancefloor. It intimidated you, but under the intimidation it also excited you.

He led your movements. You were no dancer, but he made it so easy, spinning you around with ease before pulling you back towards his body. The eye contact was intense, like he was searching for your soul. Santana’s wailing guitar and the stranger’s hand at your waist was the only thing grounding you to the moment.

“I ain't got nobody, that I can depend on (no tengo a nadie),”

The song reached its climactic end. The man spun you one last time before he pulled you tight against his chest. It was like the song’s ending had broken a spell over the two of you, the air of sensuality was gone, and replaced by his genuine smile and breathy laugh.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked you over the funky bassline of Eagles’ One of These Nights.

Wide-eyed, “Please,” was the only thing you could utter.

With a hand resting at the small of your back he led you through the crowd towards the bar, where he got the bartender’s attention immediately.

“An Old Fashioned for me Doug, and…” he looked towards you with a smile.

“Um… a Tequila Sunrise?” you said with a shy smile.

“A Tequila Sunrise, for this beautiful lady,” he told the bartender.

Grabbing one of the bar stools he sat down and gestured for you to do the same. You’d just about sat down before he leaned forward, grabbed a hold of your stool, and pulled you closer to him. A squeal escaped you before it turned into a giddy laugh.

“Thank you, Doug!” he told the bartender when he returned with your drinks.

“On a first name basis with the bartender– you here often?” you asked him, taking a sip of your drink.

“Not as often as I’d liked– it’s my lil’ brother’s club,” he told you, taking a sip of his own drink.

“You’re Tommy’s brother?” you wondered with a frown, a little shocked.

“You know Tommy?” he asked, equally shocked.

You shrugged, “Yes– well… not really.”

He took another sip of his drink, eyes urging you to go on.

“I met him earlier– he’s… well,” you didn’t know how to explain it, “I’m here with my friend Deborah, and I guess her and Tommy are…” you trailed off.

“Fuckin’?” he finished for you, grin wide on his face.

You only nodded, swallowing down another sip of your drink.

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about Deborah…” he trailed off with a look on his face like he knew a secret, “… but nothing about her beautiful friend.”

You huffed out a laugh and turned your head, heat traveling up your neck to your cheeks, “I’m not sure there’s much to know.”

“How about your name?” he suggested.

You turned back to look at him, really look at him.

Had Deborah set him up for this?

You wouldn’t put it past her if she had. She was always urging you to go out with her. To clubs, to parties in The Hills, on double dates. You wanted to go, you really did, but a voice in the back of your head always held you back. You’d thought moving to LA would be the remedy. All alone in a big city would surely help you come out of your shell, right? The harsh reality had been that LA hadn’t magically fixed you. You’d thought you’d be a completely different person here, but you’d packed your insecurities in your baggage. The only person who was gonna help you out of your shell, you’d started to realize… was you.

Putting on a brave face, disguised as a friendly smile, you gave him your name. The man was silent for a moment, nodding as he brought his lips to the rim of his glass again, taking another sip of his drink. It made you hold your breath.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said eventually with an easy grin. His compliment sent a warmth to your cheeks, while you fought an urge to squinch your face with embarrassment.

After a second of silence, you raised a brave eyebrow at him, “What about your name? Or shall I just call you Tommy’s brother?”

He chuckled lightly, eyes glinting, before he cleared his throat, “Name’s Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeated with a nod, making his cocky smile wider. Tasting his name on your tongue, you decided it sounded pleasant on your lips.

“So– you’re Deb’s friend?” Joel started, to which you confirmed with a nod. “How come she’s never brought you ‘round before?” he wondered with a sip of his drink.

You gave him a relaxed shrug, “I’m not much of a drinker– if I’m honest.”

He leaned forward, like he was about to whisper a secret to you, “You are aware of the fact that you’re in a club, aren’t you?” he teased.

Your mouth dropped open before you playfully rolled your eyes at him, “Shut up,” you said, “I’m not usually much of a drinker… at least not without good reason.”

“So, what’s the good reason?” Joel asked, raising a single eyebrow, “Boyfriend dumped ya?”

“Boss dumped me, actually…” you corrected, “I got fired.”

Joel sucked some air between his teeth, “Ouch… you better get another drink, then.” He turned his body towards the bar to casually raise a hand, getting the attention of Doug.

You let out a scoffing laugh, shaking your head at his teasing tone, “Maybe I will.”

As you finish your Tequila Sunrise, Joel ordered you another one, and one for himself. You felt hot to the touch. The alcohol coursed through your body like liquid courage, it traveled through your bloodstream, greasing the part of yourself where your confidence laid dormant.

“What did you work as?” he asked, sipping his own Tequila Sunrise.

“I am–was…” you corrected, “a personal assistant.”

“A good one?” Joel wondered.

Taking a large sip of your drink, you tried to swallow down your failure.

“You’d have to ask my boss,” you breathed out.

“The one that fired ya?” he returned with a cocky smile, and you fought an urge to roll your eyes.

Sitting up a little straighter you narrowed your eyes at him, “What do you do, then? If you’re so good at your job?”

“Never said I was good at it,” he shrugged, cocky grin not going anywhere.

“You gonna make me ask you again?” you deadpanned, your shyness shedding with every sip of your drink.

Joel looked amused, like he was in on a secret only he knew. You continued to stare at him, raising a challenging eyebrow at his continued silence.

“I’m an actor,” he confessed.

You couldn’t hide the impressed look that crossed your face. Sure, you’d been in LA for three years, he wasn’t the first actor you’d met, and he for sure wouldn’t be the last, but it was something about the way he said it.

“A good one?” you used his own words against him, making him chuckle.

He took another sip of his drink, “I’d like to think so,” he smiled, looking at you over the rim of his glass.

“Anything I’d know?” you wondered, watching him put his glass down.

The corners of his mouth twitched into what looked like an ironic smirk, “God, I kinda of hope not,” he said, eyes trailing the scratches and dents in the dark wood of the bar.

You both went quiet, as you sipped your drinks. You’d started to wonder if you’d maybe said something wrong, when Joel cleared his throat.

“Not to mix business with pleasure–” he started, turning towards you, mouth twitching again at the innuendo, “but I happen to be looking for an assistant.”

“Oh, really?” you deadpanned, convinced he was pulling your leg.

“You don’t believe me?” he breathed out a chuckle.

“Let’s see: a strange man dances with me in a club,” you held up a finger, “then buys me a drink, then offers me a job? I may not be from around here, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that one.” You laughed with a shake of your head.

As you laughed, it hit you how easily you found it to jest with Joel. Usually, you were the quiet one. The one observing or just listening, always too shy to joke freely, especially with people you didn’t know, but somehow, in this moment you felt free. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was getting fired. Or maybe… it was Joel.

“Well, believe it or not, I ain’t fibbin’… it really depends on how much you need a job,” he took another sip of his drink.

“I just got fired,” you said matter of factly.

Joel gave you an infuriatingly innocent shrug, “Then you better start believing me when I say I’m looking for an assistant.”

You couldn’t do anything other than scoff in disbelief. “So what?” you asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow, “You’re just gonna offer me a job after knowing me for barely an hour? No interview or nothing?”

“Do I need to be interviewin’ ya?” he wondered innocently.

“It’s a job!” you spluttered, “You always interview people before you give them a job!”

He gave you a nonchalant shrug. “Then I guess I will… so what can you tell me about yourself? What makes you a good assistant?” he asked, tone genuine as he placed an elbow on the bar counter and rested his head in his hand.

“I don’t mean now!” you let out in a nervous squeak, and Joel seemed to enjoy the way you shifted nervously in your seat.

He shrugged, “Alright then… you got time for coffee? Say… tomorrow mornin’?”

Ten to ten the next morning you met Joel for coffee.

Wanting to give him a good and professional impression – he could be your new employer after all – you’d worn your brown three pieced suit with a purple paisley shirt under your suit vest. It made you feel strong– well usually, right now you couldn’t seem to shake the pre-interview nerves… Anyway, you were hoping your outfit would make Joel think you had your shit together – at least put together enough for him to hire you.

With eyes scanning the café, you found him at a table by the window, smoking a cigarette. When you approached him, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, he checked his watch.

“Ten minutes early!” he remarked with a grin.

“Reliability and punctuality are good qualities in a new employee, I’ve heard.” You shot him a shy smile before you placed your bag on the floor by your chair.

He hummed, watching you with an easy smile as you sat down opposite him while shedding your jacket. The white smoke danced in front of his face like coiling ribbons. Clad in a striped polo with a Johnny collar he’d tucked into a pair of Levi’s jeans, he relaxed in his chair, shifting slightly, and spreading his legs wider. The movement, like a reflex, drew your eyes to his lower half. His Levi’s were tight, held in place by a big western belt buckle, but it wasn’t his belt buckle that caught your attention.

“So…” he started. His voice startled you, and you flicked your eyes back to his face. His playful smile told you he’s caught you checking him out. Embarrassed, you looked past him, not daring to make eye contact as you fought the urge to cringe.

“How are ya?” he took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth.

“I’m–I’m good thank you,” you gave him a nervous smile, the confidence from last night gone with the rise of the sun, “how are you?”

“I’m good too, sweetheart,” he nodded, “wanna have this interview…? Or should I just tell you now you’re hired?”

Perplexed, your eyebrows met in a furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Honey, I already decided last night I’d hire you,” he grinned with another drag of his cigarette.

“I–… I mean are you sure?” you stuttered, “I brought my resume and references and everything– don’t you want to take a look at them?” you wondered, a hand dropping to your bag to fish out your newly typed resume and references. You tapped the papers against the table before placing them neatly in front of him.

Retracting your hands, you rested them in your lap, while you watched him. He placed his cigarette in his mouth before he picked up your resume. His eyes scanned the paper, his head nodding slightly.

“Graduated high school in 1970… A year as a cashier at Piggly Wiggly…” he started listing, his cigarette dipping with each word, “A year at Greasy Motors?”.

“Um– yes!” you peeped, “It’s my uncle’s garage shop– I worked as their secretary,” you told him, picking at the skin around your nails.

“You any good with cars?” he asked, one eyebrow raised as he took one last drag of his cigarette.

“No–No not really… I just spoke to the customers, answered the phone and stuff like that.”

You’d wanted to learn some of the basics, but you’d quickly given up. None of the guys had taken you seriously, and they had made sure to let you know where your place was – it was not with your hands deep in an engine.

Joel hummed at your answer and stubbed out his cigarette. “And Mr. Cooper’s the one that fired ya?” he asked.

You gave him a short nod. Your pointer finger burned with pain as you pulled at a piece of skin you’d picked loose around your nail.

“Why?”,

“The honest answer?” you sighed, and he nodded.

“I don’t know,” you told him, “he just called me into his office at the end of the day and told me he was gonna have to let me go– I was honestly too shocked to ask him why.”

“Oof,” Joel frowned.

“Yeah,” you sighed, you didn’t know what else to say.

“Well… you’ve given me a great impression, both last night and right now, so you’ve got the job, sweetheart– if you want it.” He leaned back in his chair, letting your resume fall from his hands.

“It can’t be that easy, can it?” the words fell from your lips before you had time to think. Joel raised a curious eyebrow at you. “I mean what’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch.”

He seemed to think about it for a beat, “Unless there is…” Joel’s lips tugged at the corners as he leaned over the table, “Remember I said I was an actor?” he asked, eyes boring into yours.

You gave him a skeptical nod.

“I’m an adult actor…” he lowered his voice, “You understand?” he asked before he leaned back in his seat again.

An adult actor. Your eyes widened with realization.

“Wait… you mean,” you looked around you before you leaned forward over the table like he’d just done, “you’re a pornstar?” you whispered, feeling your cheeks start to burn with embarrassment.

“Is that a problem for you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Was it? Was it a problem for you?

The question tugged at the back of your neck. Tugged on your childhood, on your upbringing. You’d escaped; had your own apartment now, made your own money. You were trying to come into your own, to finally be your own person.

With teeth digging into your bottom lip, you looked at Joel. He watched you expectantly, head tipping slightly to the right as he studied you. There was no malice in his eyes, and nothing about him seemed grimy or obscene… Nothing about him screamed pornstar. If someone like him could do something so… unusual, for a job, maybe wasn’t so bad.

“No,” you decided, “it’s not a problem.”

“Groovy!” he grinned, “I’ll have my manager draw up a contract for you.”

And just like that you were officially Joel Miller’s, aka the infamous Joel Packer, personal assistant.

Joel sat on the tiled steps outside his house, smoking a cigarette, when you pulled up to the curb. He perked up when he saw you, grabbing his worn leather duffel bag before he waltzed down his driveway.

“Cab for Miller?” you joked through the rolled down window, ducking your head to peek up at him.

He chuckled at your joke, pinching his cigarette between two fingers for one last drag, before putting it out with a twist of his shoe. The smog laid low over LA this morning, like a blanket. It was gonna be a long day, and a long drive.

Letting out a small grunt, Joel got in your car. The smell of cigarettes and cologne – the smell of him – filled the space between you. He twisted around tossing his duffel bag into the backseat, and your eyes couldn’t help but land on his bicep, watching the way his muscles flexed under the weight. You felt a sudden urge to roll down the window a little further.

When he turned back around, the smooth wood of your steering wheel looked extremely interesting.

“Thanks for drivin’, sweetheart. My car’s still in the shop for ‘nother few days.”

The corner of your mouth twisted into a small smile, “No problem, Joel.”

“Are we all set?” he breathed out his question before his hands landed on his thighs with a dull smack!

“Um, yes, it’s just…” you turned to look at him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a Steely Dan concert tee – All-American Tour ’74 – with his yellow tinted pilot sunglasses tucked into his neckline.

“Just what, sweetheart?”,

“I picked up a package for you– it’s in the backseat,” you cocked your head in the direction.

“What is it?” he twisted back around, one hand searching for the cardboard box behind his seat.

Even in the smoldering LA heat, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. “Um… it’s your package.”

“Yeah, I got that, honey– but what is it?” he asked again, twisting his hand back and placing the cardboard box in his lap.

You let out a small whine, “Don’t make me say it Joel– it’s your package.” You gestured a hand over your nether region.

Joel looked at you with a mischievous smile spreading across his face, “Oh, now I really wanna hear you say it,” he teased, hooking his finger under the tape.

“It’syourdick,” you said quickly, “–the dildo.”

In another step towards furthering Joel Packer’s success, he’d been asked to model for a sextoy. It’s no surprise he’d been asked. With the women’s liberation movement gaining more and more followers every day, more women had been exploring their own sexuality. Joel was popular with both men and women. He was like a chameleon when it came to porn. He knew just what to give, whether that would be hardcore porn, tossing his scene partners around and making them come until they couldn’t anymore; or doing full frontal nudity for a centerfold for Playgirl.

With a drag of the tape, Joel laughed, his shoulders shaking. “I can’t believe you’re still shy about that stuff, sweetheart. You’ve been workin’ for me for how long now, huh? And you still can’t say dick to my face– what do you say to my business partners? Wiener?”

“I’m not shy,” you denied rather unconvincingly, making him shoot you an unimpressed look making you flutter. “I don’t know… it’s just different saying it to you!”

“Why?” he asked, pulling out the box with the dildo he’d modeled for.

Your eyes followed his hands, running over the pink packaging, the handsome photo they’d used of him on the front.

“I-I don’t know… it just is.”

A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he hummed – not convinced. Instead, he opened the box, pulling out the sextoy. The company had sent him one before they’d hit the shelves at the end of the month. They were being advertised in Playgirl first – to build up the hype. The sextoy looked exactly like him, and at the same time, nothing like him. The size and shape were true to life (8 inches like they’d advertised on the box), but the color was wrong.

“This is so fuckin’ weird,” he laughed, turning it in his hand, “’s this what I look like?”

“The color looks wrong,” you pointed out. He looked over at you for a beat and then back to the sextoy.

“’s a little… plastic-y,” he commented, “and weird lookin’ without the balls…”

He put the dildo back in the box before he handed it to you. You shook your head and turned the car key, “Just put it back in the backseat.”

“No, ‘s not what I meant,” he nudged your arm with the box, “you have it.”

You were glad the car stood still because the shock of his words would’ve made you get in a car accident.

“Why?” you said, a little flustered.

“Exactly what do women do with a dildo, I wonder?” he teased, nudging your arm again.

“No, Joel, that’s just weird– you’re my boss.” You nudged him back before you put the car in drive.

“You prefer the real thing, then?” a teasing lilt still wrapped around his words.

“Shut up,” you huffed, focusing on driving instead.

“I’m just messin’, sweetheart!” he laughed and threw the box messily behind him.

Leaning forward, Joel pushed the play button on your car radio. The cassette deck whirled before a twangy sound of piano filled your car as you started cruising down the road. A few seconds later Joni Mitchell sang the opening lines of the title track ‘Court and Spark’.

“I need you in charge of the map,” you broke the silence between you after a few minutes, “I don’t know where the house is.”

He opened your glove compartment, pulling out your map of California. You focused on the road while he studied the map.

“Looks like we need to get on the 101– it should take about three hours, Ronald said.”

You hummed. Ronald was Joel’s manager. He’d represented Joel for as long as Joel’s been in porn. Ronald was sleazy, and gross, and you tried to only be in his presence when it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, for you, Ronald was a good manager, and the reason why Joel Packer was as popular a pornstar as he was.

“When we get to Pismo Beach we’ll just stop and ask around for the address.” Joel said, folding the map.

Usually, Ronald was the one who came along to set with Joel. His reasoning being that there was business to attend to, and that he was supportive of his client, but you knew the real (pervy) reason. You on the other hand had only come along to set a few times. Quick to embarrassment, you’d quickly hid yourself away in Joel’s dressing room, claiming you had work you’d neglected to do.

This time, Ronald couldn’t make it because of scheduling conflicts. Joel was gonna go alone, but then his car had broken down on the 405. He needed a ride, and who else to ask other than the person he paid to help him out. The shoot was taking place at a beach house somewhere in Pismo Beach. You’d never been to Pismo Beach before, and neither had Joel. The booking agent had told you it was nice enough and secluded. Perfect for shooting a porno without bringing too much attention.

Three hours later, you and Joel arrived at the shoot. The beach house was busy and filled with people working like ants to get the film set ready. The shoot was scheduled to last for one day, and as the time flew past 10am, you were starting to get short on time.

As soon as you stepped inside, they ushered Joel straight to make-up and wardrobe. Careful not to be in anybody’s way, you took a look around the house. It was beautiful. Newly built, not more than ten years old you guessed, and right on the beach. Warm wood tones lined the walls and floors, and on the ceilings, sturdy beams met in the middle. A leather couch with matching chairs was turned towards the big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach, and a cowhide rug decorated the floor. They’d set up a step ladder by the windows, all ready for the first scene.

You found Joel a moment later in one of the bedrooms sitting, in a chair as he got his make-up done. You noticed he’d already changed into his costume. A pair of overalls with nothing underneath, and a toolbelt hanging from his hips.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he greeted, his eyes trailing your body.

“Hi,” you smiled, “How you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

He looked at you, a pregnant pause passing between the two of you, “No, not right now.”

“Oh, okay!” you nodded, teeth catching your bottom lip, “Just let me know if there’s anything.”

You moved over to the bed where his clothes were spewed across the bedding. Trying to make yourself useful, you picked them up to fold them.

“D’you know if Tess is ready?” you heard him ask.

Tess was Joel’s scene partner for the day, and also his most frequent scene partner. They’d been in more films together over the past years than you could count, their chemistry always electric. Everything they did was just hot, and this time would be no exception. Tess was playing a neglected housewife all alone in her big beach house until carpenter Joel arrived to help her feel less alone with his tool(s).

“Um, no… I haven’t seen her at all– but I can go find out if you want?” you said, placing his folded t-shirt neatly on the bed.

“No, bless your heart, it’s okay,” he spoke slowly, watching the make-up artist pack up her things before telling him he’s all set.

Left alone with Joel he spoke again, “You gonna watch today?”

His question kicked your heart into gear, stuttering along like a teenager who can’t drive stick. “I-I don’t know yet,” you folded his jeans, “… do you want me to?”

You felt him move closer, but he didn’t answer you. Gathering your courage, you met his eyes. He was watching you with a soft look in his eye, a look he’d sent you more and more often lately.

Grabbing your wrist, his calloused fingers like a warm bracelet, he took his jeans from your hand and placed them down next to his t-shirt.

“I’d like that.”

He said it with a smile, and you couldn’t do anything other than nod.

Joel had started to make you feel lots of things lately. Warm fuzzy feelings bubbled under your skin, just like the warmth from his hand on your wrist right now. Joel was a flirt, cocky and confident. Your complete opposite. You weren’t as shy as you’d been at the start of your job, but you couldn’t help but still be shy around Joel sometimes. Especially when he smiled at you the way he was right now, or when you felt his touch on your body.

The first scene they shot was the intro. A cheesy scene where Joel got invited into Tess the housewife’s home. One too many innuendos about ‘tools’ later, you’d slipped away before lunch time to find the catering table, fixing up a plate for Joel and one for yourself. After lunch, the fun began as the director had said.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Joel’s fingers brushed over the back of your arm, getting your attention. You were about to go sit in his director’s chair, to watch as you’d promised.

“Yeah, Joel?” you looked at him through your lashes, your face curious. You tried very hard to keep them on his face, and not to let them wander to the outline of his hard cock through his overalls.

“Could you go get me some lube?” he asked you, eyes pleading.

“Oh! Um–” you nervously perked up, “Yes, of course,” you nodded, turning around yourself on the spot like you were already on the lookout.

“Thanks!” His hand landed on your shoulder, turning you to focus back on him, fingers rubbed over the material of your shirt. He was smiling at you, a small glint in his eye as he took you in. It made something inside you flutter, your eyes eclipsing over.

“OK guys! Quiet on set!” the director called, pulling you and Joel from your moment. His hand fell from your shoulder, a sorry smile draped across his face.

Slipping away, you went on a hunt for lube. When you came back you were met with the deep grunts of Joel as he got his cock sucked. He was fully naked, standing at the edge of the bed with Tess naked and dutifully on her knees for him – pleasuring him to heaven by the looks of it.

“There you go, baby,” he praised Tess, his big hand entangled in her hair as he pushed himself deeper down her throat. “You like sucking cock, don’t you? Like cheating on your husband like the dirty fuckin’ whore you are, huh?”

You knew he was just reading off his lines, but he said them like he hadn’t practiced at all, it was all so natural. Stumbling backwards towards his director’s chair, you sat down. You felt drawn to the scene before you, caught up in the moment, in the sounds of Joel’s moans and Tess’ spluttering around his cock. Never had you allowed yourself to watch him this openly before – it sent an electric pulse to your core.

Tess gave him head for a few minutes more, filth and praises fell from Joel’s mouth as the cameraman dutifully got every angle. Mesmerized by the scene playing out before you, a small pit started to form in your stomach – a mixture of pleasure and… jealousy. You shifted in the chair at the thought of you on your knees for him instead, pleasuring him and pulling those moans from his lips. Wondering if the praising words he told Tess, would sound different if it was you he told them to instead. You didn’t realize how caught up in the sight in front of you until you heard someone call your name.

It was Joel.

Shaking yourself from your fantasy daydreaming, you pulled yourself together. They’d changed positions while the cameraman changed the film. Joel was now sat on his knees on the bed with his cock standing to attention. On her back, he had Tess’ legs parted and splayed open in front of him.

Why was he talking to you?

He called your name again, figuring you hadn’t heard him over the humming of conversation now filling up the set. You hopped off the chair and nervously scurried over to him.

“What’s up?” you whispered. Your eyes were glued to his face, not daring to glide them even an inch downwards.

He hooked his fingers around your thumb. On his face he was wearing the widest grin, “Could you grab me some water?”

His touch sent your brain into overdrive, your eyes blinking around his question, “Y-yes– I’ll be right back.” His touch fell, and you scurried away to find him some water before they started filming again.

Back, and with a bottle of water in your hand you allowed yourself one quick look at his naked body. His broad chest, the way his muscles moved underneath his tan skin. Your eyes raked over his body, down his stomach, trailing the happy trial down to his impressive cock.

“Okay, everybody– we’re all set!” The loud voice of the director made you jump. Joel handed back the bottled water, a rough hand wiping the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

If he’d clocked you checking him out, he didn’t show it. Instead, he got ready while you made your way back to his director’s chair. Tess said something you couldn’t quite catch, but it got his attention. He grinned from ear to ear, a quick look in your direction, before he playfully shook his head at her.

The next scene had you squirming in your seat.

With his head between her legs, Joel used both his mouth and fingers to pleasure her – and Tess was clearly enjoying herself. Her hands were digging into his hair, pushing him greedily down onto her pussy. High pitched, pornographic moans and whimpers escaped her. Joel was clearly enjoying himself too, moaning and groaning into her pussy as he ate her out greedily, making sure to pull every ounce of pleasure from her.

Tess came with a cry, withering breathlessly as she squirmed in Joel’s hold. He held her shaking legs in a tight grip, not letting up his licking and sucking until he’d pulled another orgasm from her. With a breathless laugh she pushed him away, big wide smile spreading as he peppered kisses to the inside of her thigh. You shifted slightly in your seat. An unmistakable wetness had gathered in your panties. You crossed your leg over the other, subtly.

With a tap to her thigh Joel encouraged Tess to turn over. He sat up, resting back on his heels as he stroked his cock languidly. Tess moved onto all fours, arching her back and putting herself on display for him. The camera moved in closer, a watchful eye, as Joel ran a finger through her folds.

“So wet for me, baby,” he said, replacing his fingers with the head of his cock. “This pussy’s been neglected, hasn’t it? ‘s just dying to be fucked.”

He thrusted inside her, burying himself in her pussy, moans and groans falling from both their lips. You felt the air stand still for a beat, before he pulled back and thrusted back inside. They quickly built up a rhythm, skin slap slap slapping, as their moans held the tune. They moved in sync. Joel kept up the pace, hands holding her waist firmly, while Tess met them with a breathy moan. When she gripped the sheets in pleasure, you wondered if it really felt as good as she let on, or if it was all just part of the show.

“Face the camera,” the director interrupted suddenly. He wanted a close up of Tess getting fucked.

Joel slipped out of her, the bright lights catching on his glistening cock. The sight of Tess’ arousal reminded you, and the bottle of lube in your lap, about your insignificancy. Joel quickly slipped back inside Tess, a hand gripping her shoulder as he picked up the pace again.

“Just like that, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good around my cock.”

You felt silly, the reality of what you’d just done settling in. Why on earth would you agree to watch Joel? Pornstar or not, he’s still your boss. Your longing for him to be something else, would never erase that fact.

Disappointment was a heavy rope tying you down. You needed to get out of there before you hurt your own feelings. Sliding out of the chair, you left the bottle of lube. Straightening out your suede skirt, let out a quiet sigh. You didn’t want to look at him, but something drew you to him either way.

You locked eyes immediately, his eyes were dark and intense. He picked up the pace, Tess almost screaming with pleasure underneath him, but his eyes still didn’t leave yours. You couldn’t look away. The world narrowed until the only thing you could see was him.

With a grunt and a firm thrust, Joel came inside her, mouth parted in pleasure and eyes never leaving yours.

Squeezed into a flimsy plastic chair, feet planted steadily in front of him, Joel sat smoking a cigarette by the pool. Ripples of blue swam across his face, before giving way to the soft warmth of the burning cigarette. He looked deep in thought as you got out of your car, a plastic bag of take-out swinging from your hand. You slammed the door shut, jolting Joel from his thoughts. The evening wind softly kissed your bare arms as you walked across the parking lot to the fenced in pool area.

The shoot had run long and by the time it was over, it was late. Joel was tired, and when he’d suggested you stay at a motel for the night, you’d been quick to agree. Watching the darkening sky, you’d started to dread the three-hour drive back to LA – you’d rather wait for daylight.

Situated right off the main road Joel had spotted a Motel 6 with the neon ‘Vacancy’ light humming. With tired steps you’d walked together towards the lobby, and the lady at the desk didn’t look up from her magazine when you and Joel approached. Behind her, coming through the door to the back office, you heard a laugh track.

Joel turned on his southern charm, “’Scuse me, ma’am.”

The receptionist still didn’t look up from her magazine.

“Do y’all have two rooms vacant?”

With a sigh, the woman looked up at him, peering over her glasses. “We only have one Queen left.” She smacked her lips together obnoxiously as she spoke, a piece of gum visible in her teeth.

Joel looked over at you, one eyebrow raised. Crossing your arms over your chest, you didn’t know what to say. If they only had one room, they only had one room. You tapped your foot restlessly, made a face like you were thinking it over before you gave Joel a short but affirmative nod. He watched you for another beat, before he turned back around to say, “We’ll take it.”

The room was nothing much; a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, two chairs and a table tucked into one corner, and a door leading to a small bathroom. First thing Joel did was find a place to put his bag. You didn’t have a bag, only your handbag, you hadn’t planned on not sleeping in your own bed tonight. Joel, on the other hand, always brought a change of clothes to set. He’d told you once he didn’t like to leave in the same clothes he’d arrived in.

As you closed in on Joel by the pool you realized he was still wearing his clothes from this morning. He’d told you he wanted to shower, so you’d gone out to get you both some dinner to give him some privacy. Now you wondered if he’d even had his shower.

“Hungry?” you asked, putting the plastic bag down on the round table beside him.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, watching you through a cheeky smile, “Starvin’.”

“The only thing open was the roadside diner, so I’m afraid it’s greasy burgers.”

Joel gave you a shrug as you sat down, “Works for me.”

You ate in silence – sloshing coming from the pool and the cicadas hiding in the bushes, filled the air instead. When Joel finished his burger, and started on his fries, he looked up at you.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked you. You were silent for a second, before you looked down at the burger in your hand.

“Er...” you hesitated, not sure what he wanted you to say, “It’s not bad... meat’s a little dry, but–”

Joel interrupted your train of thought with a deep chuckle.

“I meant the porno, darlin’,” he said, using one of the napkins to wipe the corners of his mouth, “not the burger.” A smile pulled at his lips.

“Oh,” you said, and felt your cheeks fire up in embarrassment. You swallowed, buying yourself some time before you gave him a shrug.

“Was good,” you said, clearing your throat awkwardly, “I’m sure your fans will love it!”

“I wasn’t askin’ about them,” Joel said. His gaze felt like it was piercing through you, “Was askin’ you, wasn’t I? Did you like it?”

Despite the desperate embarrassment firing through your veins, you raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me about porn over dinner?”

“Fair point,” he said with a nod, “You’re deflecting, though.”

A small chuckle escaped you, a smile tugging on the corner of your mouth as you shook your head and looked away for a second.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked him, looking back at him, “It’s porn, I’m human... of course I liked it.”

Bingo.

You can see from the corners of Joel’s smile that he’s happy with that answer, and he lets out an agreeing hum.

“See?” he said, his tone teasing, “Was that so hard to admit?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said through a small scoff, pushing your styrofoam container away from you as you fell back in your chair.

“I am–… what was your favorite part?”

He was grinning hard now. He dug a hand in his back pocket, fishing out his packet of cigarettes and his lighter. You watched him with your head tilted, waiting for him to let you off the hook like he usually did. Instead, he grinned even wider, small splutters of breathy giggles making the cigarette dip as he tried to light it.

“Gimmie that!” you commanded, reaching out your hand for his cigarette. With a surprised eyebrow he took a quick drag before he handed it over. He watched you quietly as you took a breath. Savoring the first tar-y breath filling up your lungs.

“I liked the way you…” you took another drag and exhaled through your nose, “I don’t know…” you handed him the cigarette.

“I’m waitin’,” he teased, making you playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Well,” you sighed, “I liked the way you’re so attentive and made sure she’s feeling good even though it’s acting and everything… Even when you’re like throwing her around, all in charge and stuff.” You waved away the words.

“Yeah, well, that is the most important part of sex,” he gave you a look. Suddenly, he was a little serious. “It’s not fun if she’s not havin’ fun.”

“Not every guy thinks like that, you know,” you spoke, “it’s really nice that you do.”

Joel hummed at your words before a comfortable silence fell over you. You listened to the buzzing cicadas and the burning of Joel’s cigarette every time he took a drag.

“And… the dirty talk was hot too– you’re good at that,” you mused after a moment, breaking the silence, feeling comfortable enough with Joel to tell him the truth. He doesn’t judge you about what you think was sexy, and you realized it felt nice to open up to somebody, to let your suffocating shame die.

“Now, darlin’,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “now you’re just strokin’ my ego.”

“I can stroke more than your ego.”

Joel choked on his cigarette, coughing around the smoke before he looked over at you with wide eyes. “Am I goin’ crazy, or did you just tell a dirty joke?”

Your giggle filled the air between you before you leaned forward for his cigarette again. You brought it to your mouth as you impishly shrugged. Inside, you buzzed with a fluttery feeling.

You smiled at him. “I don’t know– you tell me.”

He playfully narrowed his eyes at you, leaning over the table to get a good look at you, “I’m not sure I’m likin’ this… where’s my sweet girl, huh?”

My sweet girl.

Your heart skipped like stones over water, and you had to look away. A smile blooming across your face. You heard him let out a sweet chuckle before he stood from his chair. The plastic feet scraping ever so slightly against the concrete. You watched him as he stepped before you, squatting down to be at eye level with you, his big hand landing on your exposed knee to steady himself.

“She’s still here,” you whispered after a moment. The cigarette between your fingers was burning out, but your whole body felt like it was on fire, a burning spreading from under his touch.

“I know she is, sweetheart,” he whispered back, his fingers rubbing gently over your skin. Joel looked at you with attentive eyes, “I love how shy you get for me.”

Before you had time to process his words, he pinched the cigarette from your fingers and stood to his feet. “Let’s call it a night?” he asked you, offering up his hand for you to take.

Feeling brave, you took his hand. It dwarfed your own, but it was strong, and warm in your hold. You watched as Joel finished off the cigarette, and stumped it out in the ashtray on the table, before gathering up your trash. You walked back to your room, hands intertwined and swinging between you. You couldn’t shake the thought of how you wished he’d kissed you.

Back inside your room he let you use the bathroom first. It was small, and the air was damp. You could see droplets of water clinging to the shower curtain. Joel did shower after all, he’d rinsed the day off into the drain. With no toiletries, you made do with what the motel offered. A bar of soap was sufficient enough to remove your make-up, but you knew your skin would punish you for it later. After brushing your teeth, you stepped back out where Joel waited for you on the bed.

“I’ve got a spare shirt if you wanna borrow it.” He held up his hand, handing you the clean cotton shirt he’d packed.

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly.

He watched you for a beat, his eyes soft, but tired. “And I’ll sleep in one of the chairs– don’t want ya worryin’ about nothin’.”

Shaking your head, you protested, “No, Joel, you’ve had a long day! I’ll sleep in the chair!”

This time he shook his head, a small chuckle escaping his mouth, “No, darlin’, you’re drivin’ tomorrow, remember? You’ll need your rest.”

Your eyebrows met in a furrow. He was right; you couldn’t do the drive back to LA tomorrow on no sleep, but you couldn’t live with yourself if he didn’t get any sleep either.

“Let’s just…” you trailed off, “You’re tired, I’m tired– let’s both sleep in the bed?” you suggested.

Crawling under the sheets clad in only your underwear and Joel’s t-shirt, you wondered if you were being unprofessional. This was technically a work trip. Joel was still your boss. You looked over at him where he sat on the edge with his back turned, fiddling with the alarm clock. Your eyes trailed over his bare back, tan and strong. You knew you could stare at him all night.

It was official: you’d left professional at the door.

Finally, the alarm clock set for tomorrow morning, Joel put it back on the nightstand. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he caught your eyes on his body. It made him smile.

“Joel? Can I ask you something?”

He got under the sheets, his foot grazing against yours as he got comfortable. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Can you turn off the light?”

“You needn’t ask me if you can ask me, to turn off the light,” he laughed, “you can just say ‘Joel, turn off the light’.”

You scrunched your face together. This was coming out all wrong. “No, I mean… I don’t think I can ask you my question with the lights still on.”

He looked you over with a warm smile before he leaned over and turned off the light on his nightstand. “There… what you want to ask me?”

Even bathed in darkness, you hesitated to speak. “Um… I guess…” you started, not knowing how to ask what you wanted to ask. You turned over on your back and stared at the ceiling, cursing the return of your shyness.

Joel waited for you patiently to gather your courage.

“How much… of porn, is fake?” you finally uttered.

Joel turned to his side, facing you, “What do you mean?”

“Like… when– when the girls…” You couldn’t say it.

“Come?”, he helped.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “is that real or… like– do they actually like it?”

“Right…”

Joel thought about your question, “’s hard to say… I mean mostly it’s real– at least in my experience– like I can feel it around my cock or fingers… but everybody has off days, and not everybody can come from penetration.”

Mostly it’s real. You went quiet, silently thinking about his answer as you stared a hole in the ceiling. Not everybody can come from penetration.

“Why you askin’ me this, sweetheart?” He shifted a little closer.

You pulled your hands from under the sheets, resting them over your chest. Your thumb on your right hand found your thumb on the left where it picked at the skin.

“Huh?”

“I– I don’t know… it’s silly.”

“No, ‘s not– you’re not silly, sweetheart.” He shifted a little closer, a reassuring hand falling over your own and stopping you from picking at your fingers.

You didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look at him either. You felt silly. You’d just complimented him earlier about how attentive he comes across in bed, and now you’re asking him if any of it was even real.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Joel asked, breaking the silence between you.

Nodding your head, you hummed.

“Are you a virgin?”

His question almost made you jump. Suddenly, his previously calming hands over yours felt heavy. A fire started in your cheeks. You were mortified, and it felt crazy. If you were back home right now, you’d be mortified to tell anyone you weren’t a virgin seeing as you were unmarried. Now, with Joel, you felt mortified he thought you were one.

“No,” you peeped. It would’ve sounded like a lie if it wasn’t the truth. “W-what makes you say that?” You finally looked at him, your eyes wide as saucers.

Unconvinced, he gave you a lopsided smile, “How many have you slept with?”

“How many have you slept with?” you mumbled.

“Honey, we both know that I’ve slept with way too many to count.” He said it with a teasing lilt to his voice, and a comforting rub of his thumb over the back of your hand. His small touch was enough to relax you, to bring you back from the ledge of mortification. This was Joel for god’s sake. He would never judge you; you knew that.

“One…” you whispered, “Only one person.”

With a hum, Joel shifted over to lay on his back, but his thumb still rubbed circles over your skin. “So– you’re asking me this ‘cause it was bad?” he mused.

“I don’t know… maybe,” you whispered.

“You don’t know if it was bad– or you don’t know why you’re askin’ me if women enjoy sex?”

“The latter,”

“So, it was bad,” he concluded, before he whispered, mostly to himself.

The silence was back, speaking loudly between the two of you as you both processed what the other had just said. After a beat Joel turned back on his side to face you again.

“Tell me– how bad was it?” He said it softly, a tenderness in his voice you hadn’t heard before.

“It just… it hurt.”

You sighed, and for the first time since the light went out you turned your head to look at him. “John–” your face scrunched up in a grimace as you spoke his name, like you couldn’t believe you were telling him this story. “He worked in accounting, and we were going around, you know? Went on a few dates. He was a sweet guy. After the third date we went back to his place, for a drink. He kissed me– and then we were making out, and during everything I just thought ‘This might as well happen’. I thought I wanted to lose my virginity… and I liked John– so why not. But then he just… pulled off my underwear, didn’t even touch me and… went to town.”

Joel sucked a breath through his teeth, his hand gripping yours a little tighter. “Did you– have you ever had an orgasm?”

You shifted uncomfortably under his question and turned your head back towards the ceiling again. “Yes,” you whispered.

Joel moved a little closer, and you felt your body dip towards him from his weight against the mattress. His hand resting over yours traveled down your arm, and under the sheet.

“By your own hand then,” he said it more like a statement than a question.

You felt your heart beat out of your chest, as something in the air between you shifted. Underneath the covers your body burned. Sucking in a breath, you held it for a moment before you nodded.

“Show me.”

His hand grazed over your waist, fingers dancing over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of your panties. You reveled in it, his touch, his proximity, his gentle kiss to your shoulder. You looked at him, searched his face for any indication that he was just messing with you.

“No? Ain’t feelin’ it?” He’d watched you too, you realized.

He withdrew his hand from your waist, and you panicked, “No!”

He stopped, instead hovering his hand over your body. “No, you ain’t feelin’ it, or no, don’t stop?” he asked you.

You panicked again. “Yes!” you said before your eyebrows met in a furrow, “I-I’m sorry, this isn’t very sexy.”

Joel withdrew his hand from your body, and your disappointment sank like a rock in water, but then he cupped your jaw and you forgot to breathe.

“Forget about sexy, sweetheart,” he told you, a calloused thumb rubbing against your skin, “not that you ain’t sexy– you are, but I need you to relax, okay?”

You nodded, and a smile spread wide across his face,

“Good girl.”

You almost mewled at the praise, and he noticed, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

“You liked that, huh?” he teased, rubbing his thumb softly over your lower lip, “Y’like being a good girl for me?”

You found it hard to think with him so close, breathless when he touched you like this. You nodded slowly; moony eyes fixated on him. Like a reflex, your legs rubbed together under the sheets, aching to relieve the pressure building.

“You’re so sweet, baby– and shy,” his voice was low, like he was afraid someone would hear him. Slowly he leaned closer, pressing the softest kiss to your neck. A quiet whimper fell from your lips.

You felt Joel’s smile against your skin, teeth nipping as he pressed kiss after kiss to your sensitive skin. “You make my cock so fuckin’ hard.”

“Joel,” you finally choked out, a wet patch already soiling your panties.

“Yes?” he took your earlobe in his mouth, gently biting down on it before letting it go. You couldn’t think – at least not about something that wasn’t Joel and his touch.

“P-please kiss me?” you tried, your hand landing on his shoulder.

His breath puffed against your skin in a small chuckle, before he lifted his face from his new home in the crook of your neck. He found your blown out face, watching you with a tenderness in his eye. A beat passed and then he leaned closer, brushing his lips over yours. Your hand on his shoulder followed his neck to cup his face, keeping him close to you. His hand pushed gently at the sheets, revealing your upper body to him. The kiss was tender and slow, your noses pressed together. He pulled you apart and then put you together again. One of his hands trailed along the hem of your – his – t-shirt where he pushed at the fabric, bunching it just below your breasts. You broke apart.

“Was that all you wanted, sweet girl? Just a kiss?” His forehead touched your own, words low and taunting. You slowly shook your head, eyes still locked with Joel’s. His hand moved methodically, trailing down your stomach until it reached…

Your breath hitched in your throat.

“No?” he asked with a teasing grin, “What do you want then, sweetheart?”.

He already knew. His open palm cupped you over your soaked panties, the breadth of it pressing firmly down on your clit. You mewled under him, hips bucking up to meet his hand.

“Nah-ah,” he lifted his head from your forehead, dark eyes boring into yours. “You need to show me.”

Joel had started a dangerous fire inside of you. It lapped at your insides, burned away your insecurities, and replaced them with lust. With a shaky hand, your hand found Joel’s. His eyes were still locked on you – his gaze burning your cheek and branding you his.

“There you go,” he praised, letting you guide his hand up and down your clothed cunt, feeling your arousal seep through the fabric, “good girl.”

You guided him to your clit, pressing the pads of his finger down on it in tight circles. You were so sensitive – on edge since you watched him filming earlier – a small moan fell from your lips.

“Feels good doesn’t it, baby, getting your clit rubbed.”

“Yes…” Joel drew another moan from you.

Your grip around his hand loosened, and Joel took over. With a practiced hand he circled his fingers just right. He started with a steady pace and tight circles, before he put more pressure on your aching bud. He was bringing you closer and closer to the edge, coaxing small whimpers and breathy moans from your lips as you got more and more lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“Have you ever fingered yourself, sweetheart?” he asked you, dipping his hand beneath your panties. A bold finger ran through your folds, a finger teasing at your entrance.

Your front teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite down to suppress a moan. It was hard to concentrate on what he was asking you when he was touching you like that.

“Y-yes, but…” you trailed off, feeling his finger, now coated in your arousal, back on your clit. It made your brain go blank.

“But what, sweet girl?” he pulled his hand from your panties, and you whined.

A wet trail followed him up your stomach. When you made no move to answer, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Leaning closer he pressed a short but tender kiss to your lips; his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow.

“It’s too messy,” you said when he pulled back, shaking your head.

“Yeah? You’ve got a messy pussy, sweetheart?”

Joel leaned down again, pressing soft fluttering kisses down your throat. When he reached the collar of your shirt, he pulled at the fabric, exposing your collarbone to his kisses. Your hands found his hair, tethering you to the moment.

“Yes,” you whispered, heat burning your cheeks at the confession he pulled from you.

With a wide grin, Joel sat up. His fingers found the hem of your shirt. He helped you pull it over your head, exposing your naked chest to him. Not even a second later he was back to kissing his way down your body, worshiping you with every press. You burned under him, every kiss like a small death.

Shifting on the bed, he settled between your legs. His mustache tickled the skin on your tummy, making you giggle. You felt Joel’s smile against your skin, at the sound of your fluttering laugh. He let his lips brush over your skin, trailing downwards to the top of your panties where he pressed a kiss, teeth pulling at the small bow like you were a present to be unwrapped, before his fingers hooked around the elastic. With a lift of your hips, you let him pull off your panties. The wet spot in the center clung to your cunt, as he peeled them off.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “wanna taste you, baby, wanna taste that messy pussy.”

With his fingers back on your cunt, you jumped a little under his touch. The air filled with a slick sound of your arousal as he ran them through your folds, a finger teasing your entrance.

“Relax for me baby,” he soothed, gently pressing kisses to the soft skin of your inner thigh, “I’ll take care of you.”

Looking down at him between your legs, you let yourself go. His eyes bored into yours. Warmth and lust, and nothing but affection behind them.

You nodded, “Please.”

A wide grin blossomed across Joel’s face as he leaned down, hovering just above your clit. He ducked forward, pressing the softest kiss to your clit, taking it slow and easing you into it with slow licks. You couldn’t help the whimpers escaping you, a needy sound desperate for more – more Joel. He pinned you down with his arm splayed over your tummy, keeping you right where he wanted you, turning you into a withering moaning mess under him.

Joel continued exploring you with his tongue. Changing between flicking and lapping at your clit, circling it just right, and wrapping his lips around it, giving it gentle sucks. He lapped at your folds, the hook of his nose catching on your clit as he tasted you properly. You felt yourself pushed closer and closer towards the edge, coxed by Joel.

Two careful fingers spread you apart, gliding up and down, coated in your arousal. He easily found your entrance to push a finger carefully inside. You felt yourself clench down on him; you couldn’t help it. You were so sensitive and so close. Dropping your mouth open, a breathy moan escaped.

“Oh, fuck,”

Joel hummed against your pussy, the vibrations traveling straight to the coil tightening in your tummy. Slowly, he started thrusting his finger inside, rewarded by a slick sound, telling him just how wet and desperate you were for him. With a moan your head rolled back into the pillow – you were so close.

“Joel,” you panted.

His tongue continued his assault on your clit, and you lost yourself in him. You clamped down on his finger with every thrust. You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Joel was so focused on you, so attentive, so responsive. Between your legs he drank in every twist of pleasure and whimpering moan.

“Joel,” you panted again.

“You’re gonna come for me aren’t you, sweetheart? Be a good girl and make a mess on my face.” he coaxed.

Joel quickly withdrew his finger to slip in another, and the new stretch had your legs shaking. His tongue circled your clit, sucking it with just the right amount of pressure. Underneath him you squirmed, breathy moans hitching in your throat.

“Oh, god,”

You couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t take it anymore.

With a silent cry, you came. His strong arm over your tummy held you down, as you twitched against the mattress, legs shaking. You’d never felt anything like this before. A pleasure so all-consuming you couldn’t remember your name, or where you were – only Joel. He helped you through it. His fingers kept up their pace, pads brushing right up against that spot of bliss, as you clenched down hard around them. You gripped the sheets, desperate for a lifeline as you came down.

Joel slowed down his fingers, pressing soft kisses to your clit. Your pleasure turning to overstimulation – now you definitely couldn’t take it anymore. Fragile and sensitive, you pushed him away with a shaky hand.

He let you push him around, his lips finding the inside of your thighs instead, where his mustache teased the sensitive skin. With one last kiss, Joel pulled away. You almost didn’t register the dip in the mattress as he laid down beside you. You were somewhere else entirely, floating away on a post-orgasm-cloud.

“Joel, shit, I…” you tried to speak, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

“I know, sweetheart,” Joel answered. He pulled you closer, wrapping a hand around you. Slowly, you turned to your side, engulfed in Joel’s embrace.

“D-did you want to–”

You could feel the presence of his hard clothed cock pressed against your ass, but his big safe arms around you told you a different story. He nosed at the back of your neck, pressing fluttering kisses to the skin, making goosebumps erupt.

“No, darlin’, not tonight,” his voice was just above a whisper, the bass vibrating against your ear.

“Are you sure? I-I mean– we can if you want to,” you spluttered. He’d just given you the best orgasm in your life, he shouldn’t have to go to bed without one for himself.

“Not tonight,” he said, pressing a kiss behind your ear, “It’s been a long day– I’m tired, you’re tired… let’s just sleep, my sweet girl.”

“S-should we talk about this?” you asked, your hand slipping into his, pressing it against your naked chest.

“In the mornin’,” he hummed, voice coated in sleep.

With heavy eyelids, you fell asleep in Joel’s arms. The safety of being wrapped up in him, lulled you into a peaceful slumber. The motel bed was hard and uncomfortable, and the pillow thin and flimsy, but it didn’t matter in Joel’s arms.

Morning came too quickly, and with a screeching sound of an alarm clock that pulled you from heaven. Jolting awake behind you, Joel groaned. His hands slipped from your body; the warmth exchanged with prickling goosebumps. You shifted over on your back, watching as Joel turned off the alarm. The beeping stopped, and with a tired grunt Joel laid down back beside you. When he looked at you – his tired eyes glinting – a sleepy smile pulled at his lips.

“Mornin’,”

“Good morning, Joel” you smiled back.

“It is a good mornin’, isn’t it?” he hummed, turning on his side.

You mirrored him, shifting closer and resting your head on his pillow. He snaked a hand over the dip in your waist, big hand splaying over your naked back.

“It is,” you agreed, locking eyes with him.

Rubbing in slow circles, his hand on your back was soothing. You reveled in it, reveled in Joel, in the bliss of being so close to him. You shifted even closer, resting your forehead to his chest.

“You should probably fire me,” you mumbled into his skin, “I’ve been extremely unprofessional.”

A chuckle came from deep inside Joel, it vibrated through his skin, where you felt it under your fingertips.

“I ain’t firin’ my best employee,” he laughed, placing a dry kiss to the top of your head.

You pulled away with a frown, head back on your own pillow. “This is like the cliché of clichés, Joel– sleeping with your assistant…”

In the bright light of the day, you cursed yourself for your late-night moment of weakness. You’ve never done anything like this before. What if this will be all that Joel wants from you from now on? You don’t think your heart could take it if it was.

Joel’s laugh died in his throat, his eyebrows meeting in a frown. “Who said anything about sleepin’ with my assistant?”

Your eyes widened with mortification. Shit. A hand came up to rub at your face, as you sat up, pulling the sheets around you.

“Hey, no, sweetheart,” Joel grabbed at your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

You couldn’t look at him – afraid tears would push behind your eyes. He’s a pornstar, what were you thinking? You were just a girl. A girl to warm his bed for a night. How could you put your job on the line for something like this?

The sheets rustled as he shifted closer, “Please, lay down, I need to talk to you.”

“Joel, I-I’m sorry– w-we can just forget about it– I’ll quit, don’t worry about it– me, don’t worry about me,” you stuttered out, your back still turned.

“I ain’t forgettin’ about nothin’, sweetheart– shit, d’you think I do this often?”

His question made you turn around. He was propped up on his elbow, carefully watching you.

You nodded, and he sighed.

“It’s been years since I’ve slept with someone outside of work,” he confessed, “Shit, I don’t even seek it out, I ain’t interested in it.”

“I-I’m sorry Joel, I–” you started, but he cut you off,

“You’re not listenin’,” he shook his head, “what I’m sayin’ is: I wanna sleep with you.”

Your face scrunched up in a confused frown, “Because I’m someone from work?”

Joel let out a breathless chuckle, “No, sweetheart, ‘s because I think you’re beautiful.”

His words almost didn’t register.

“What?”

This time his laugh is loud and golden, coated in happiness. He pulled at your hand, and you fell, your back hitting the sheets.

“You are…” he emphasized, cupping your cheek, and guiding you back in his embrace. “And you’re a shy little thing, aren’t you? But so smart, and kind, and caring– someone you can’t help but fall in love with.”

“Fall in love with?” you repeated, you couldn’t believe what he was telling you.

“Yeah, sweet girl,” he smiled at you, all teeth, and crinkles around his eyes in the morning light.

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” he laughed, guiding your face closer to his, his lips brushing over yours, “wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

His kiss stole your breath and twisted you up inside. He licked at the seam, and you opened yourself to him. He licked into your mouth, one arm snaked around your body, drawing you closer, pulling whine after desperate whine from you and stealing your breath.

Landing on your hip, his hand traveled downwards – over the thick of your thigh, and down the inside in smooth motions. He tugged on your leg, pulling it to rest over his hip, his hard cock rutting into your bare heat. His kiss got more desperate; his tongue melded with yours. It was hot, and dizzying and all-consuming all at the same time.

You grinded against him, feeling his hard cock against you. The fabric of his underwear caught on your clit, rubbing it just right, your arousal darkening the fabric. You moaned into his mouth, a desperate need for Joel building deep in your stomach.

With a rut of his hips, he broke away from your kiss. “You want me to fill up this perfect little pussy, don’t you baby?” His hand on your cheek disappeared between your bodies.

“Yes,” you tried to say, but the words got stuck in your throat when you felt the head of Joel’s cock rub up and down your folds. Your heavy breathing, the slick sound of your arousal the only sound in the room.

“Listen’ baby, y’hear how wet you are for me?” he whispered in awe, the head of his cock caught on your clit. You braced yourself with a hand to his shoulder, breathy pants the only sounds leaving your lips.

“You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” he chuckled. He let go of the grip around his cock, the sound of it slapping against his stomach obscene. A beat later he swiped his fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal before drawing tight circles to your clit.

Your face squeezed shut in pleasure, your fingers dug into his shoulder. He eased a finger inside, before he quickly pulled out and added another. The stretch of his fingers was easy, your arousal dripping over his knuckles as he thrusted them inside with ease.

You grinded down on his hand, meeting his thrusts, forcing his fingers deeper inside. Always so attentive, Joel curled his fingers where they hit your spot perfectly, just like he’d done last night. A breathy squeal fell from your lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me hear you,” he egged you on.

“Joel, please,” you panted. Sparks traveled through your body, collecting in a pit in your stomach where it coiled in on itself, aching for release.

He curled his fingers again, and hit your spot – his palm snug against your throbbing clit, “Fuckin’ perfect you are, darlin’, so tight and wet around my fingers.”

“Shit,”

He pushed you straight for the edge, your walls fluttered around his fingers. Your panting got heavier, your eyes squeezed shut, you’re so close. Joel chuckled, his breath puffing your face and he… pulled away.

You whined at the emptiness, opening your eyes to see him staring at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

He cupped your jaw, “Poor baby,” he pouted before he pulled you in for a kiss. You sighed into him, desperate to feel him anyway he wanted.

“Turn around,” he ordered against your lips, his hand letting go of your jaw to tap at the top of your hip.

You did as he told you, turning around in his hold to press your ass against him, feeling his hard cock pressed against you. Behind you, you heard him let out a deep and guttural groan. His hand hooked under your thigh, lifting it to your chest and exposing your wet and desperate cunt for him. You let him manhandle you into the position he wants, trusting him to know what’ll feel the best.

He guided the tip of his cock through your soaked folds coating it in your arousal before grazing it over your throbbing clit.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he whispered in your ear, like a hiss. He lined himself up with your entrance, teasing you, and himself.

“I-I need it, Joel, please,” you begged, a hand clinging to the sheets.

“Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need this big cock to fill you up?” he asked, pushing just the tip inside.

“Joel, please, please,” you whimpered, almost a squeak. In one fluid motion he pushed inside, burying himself to the hilt inside you. The stretch of him was overwhelming, but the angle had you seeing stars.

“Ah– fuck,” you cried, your eyes immediately squeezing shut. Your hand searched for his where it held your leg to your chest. You needed to anchor yourself to him, afraid you’d fall apart right there and then.

“You alright sweetheart?” you heard him whisper in your ear, and you nodded slightly, “Feel good?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered, mouth dipping open in pleasure.

Behind you he groaned into your ear, cursing in hushed whispers. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all that cock inside,” he pulled out nearly all the way, taking his time with it, moving with practiced motions.

“Shit,” you mewled as he bottomed out inside for the second time. Grinding against your ass, he pushed himself as deep as he possible could – you felt him in your fucking stomach, he was so deep.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he told you, pulling out and thrusting back inside.

Picking up the pace, Joel started fucking into you deep and hard. With each grind of his hips against your ass, with every thrust, he made sure to bury his thick cock as deep inside as he could, angling his cock expertly so the head rubbed up against your spot. Behind you he grunted and moaned in your ear. It was sweaty and hot, and sticky between your legs.

He let go of your leg, ordering you to press it to your chest, as his hand traveled downwards to brush his fingers over your throbbing clit.

“Joel,” you mewled. He pulled a symphony of whimpers and moans from you with every thrust.

“This pussy’s so fuckin’ tight– shit,” he panted in your ear, “You’re so good for me baby, takin’ that cock so well.”

His fingers pressed down on your clit, drawing tight circles, pushing you towards the edge of bliss. You squirmed against him, hips meeting his with every thrust as you start to chase your fast approaching orgasm.

“Need you to come for me, sweetheart– squeeze that cock like a good girl.”

“Joel,” you cried and let go. Your walls fluttered around his cock as you came, back arching off his chest, as your body squirmed and shook in his arms. Breathy gasps and pathetic whimpers left your lips as he kept up his unrelenting pace, fucking you through it, and prolonging your high.

You were far away. Blissed and fucked out as you came down from your moment of ecstasy. Behind you Joel’s grunts bordered on desperate, as his thrusts started to become sloppy.

“Shit, sweetheart– m’close, so fuckin’ close.”

“Come for me Joel,” you pleaded.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he pulled out.

His hand was on you in an instance, pushing you to your stomach as he turned you around. He knelt over you, fisting his cock desperately. Turning your head, you pushed off the bed to look over your shoulder where you found his eyes, locking them with his. Joel came with a guttural moan, the muscles in his stomach tightening and loosening as he coated your ass in his cum. It was hot and sticky on your back, feeling it drip slowly down the side of your waist.

“God damn,” he breathed out through a chuckle. His breath was heavy, like he’d just climbed ten stories.

You turned to your side to look up at him properly. He looked beautiful; his hair messy from sleep, broad chest heaving, a content smile pulling at his lips as you gave him a smile.

“Took the words straight out of my mouth.”

i hope you liked this! part two -> here

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #dom!joel miller #the last of us smut #tlou smut #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #inexperienced!reader #70s AU

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prythianpages · 2 months

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Love Me Like You Do | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Cassian has a bad mission and you're there to comfort him.

warnings: fluff, angst

word count: 1,887

a/n: Just something short and sweet I wrote after getting stuck on another part for this series.

Heart thudding madly against your chest, you stood at the gates of the High Lord’s riverhouse. The grand ironwork arched above you, intricate designs woven into the metal, casting shadows that danced in the late afternoon sun. The air was filled with the scent of blooming jasmine, mingling with the cool breeze coming off the nearby river.

You were tense, fingers curling and uncurling against the cute, pink cake carrier you held. A strange feeling that was becoming way too familiar for your own comfort settled into your stomach, spurred on by your concern for Cassian.

Your letters had gone unanswered for the past week and a half. You hadn’t seen him since before that, and worry began to gnaw at you. Had you done something to upset him? Or worse, had something happened to him?

It’s why you had baked a chocolate cake to have an excuse to check up on him. Taking a deep breath, you finally gathered the courage to press the buzzer. After a few moments, the gates were opening. Your legs moved almost on their own, carrying you up the cobblestoned pathway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flower beds.

As you reached the doorsteps, the door swung open, revealing the Night Court’s High Lord. Rhysand was as captivating as ever, donning that signature smile of his that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. “Y/n,” he greeted you. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.”

"Thank you," you reply, stepping inside the grand foyer. "I, uh, made this for Cas…”

Rhysand’s smile softened, his violet eyes twinkling with a warmth that eased some of your tension. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had ventured off into your mind or you were simply that easy to read.

“Nyx will be disappointed it’s not for him.”

“I’ll make sure Cas shares.”

“He’s not going to,” Rhysand chuckles but all amusement leaves his face as he turns his head slightly. “He’s in his study. Third room to the right. He might be in a mood. He hasn’t spoken to us much these past couple of days. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. Maybe you can figure out why he’s been avoiding us.”

When you reached Cassian's study, you paused, taking another deep breath before gently pushing the door open.

Cassian stood in front of his desk, papers strewn about. His head was lowered, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he leaned his palms against the wood. His wings drooped slightly, their usual proud arc diminished.

His head perked up at the sound of the door. “Go away, Rhys,” he said, voice rough, as if he hadn’t used it in hours.

“It’s not him.”

"y/n?"

You offered a tentative smile, despite the fact his back was turned to you. "I brought you something.”

“You should go.”

Setting the cake on a nearby table, you approached him slowly, giving him time to tell you to go away. If he did, you would do so. But his silence let you know that despite his words, he didn’t want you to go.

You moved behind him, your heart aching at the sight of his tension. Cassian didn’t talk about his role as general in the Night Court much. Though he was proud of his title, he preferred to leave work at work. You knew enough to understand how jarring and exhausting his job could be—a never-ending demand to keep the Night Court’s warriors in check and ensure their readiness for any threat.

The last time he had visited your shop, he spoke about the mission he had been dreading. One that involved visiting multiple Illyrian war camps and restoring order to the recent disturbances in Illyria. The unrest there was a knot of conflict and simmering resentment. Another never-ending chaos

It was clear to you now that, that mission had gone as he expected.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, knowing just how much physical touch meant to him. It was Cassian’s main love language, and among the first things you had learned about him. You rested your cheek against his broad back, careful not to brush against his wings.

He stiffened for a moment, but then he relaxed into your embrace. You held him close, feeling his shoulders slowly unclench as you let the quiet of the moment stretch between you, not knowing just how warm and grounding your touch was to him.

“I’ve been worried about you. It’s been awhile since you visited my shop or responded to my letters. I thought you were upset with me or something happened to you…”

He let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s been…a lot. I didn’t want to burden you–”

“You’re not a burden, Cas.” You interrupt gently. “I’m here for you.”

Cassian rested his hand over where yours were crossed. You immediately pulled away from him, turning him to face you, lips pressed into a frown as you took in the bandage wrapped around one of his hands that went all the way up to his arm. The frown in your brow deepened when you also took note of the healing bruise on the left side of his face. Instinctively, you reached out a hand but Cassian turned his head and your hand fell back to your side.

"It's nothing," he says dismissively.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Cassian replies but when you reach out for his injured arm, fingers gently grasping his hand, he winces.

You move his hand closer to you, gaze narrowing as you assess the bandaging. It appears to be clean and fresh–no hint of that metallic scent of blood. You decide it’s best not to unravel it as whoever treated his wound already did the most one could do. Instead, you bring his hand to your mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his bandaged hand.

“y/n, what–”

“A kiss makes everything better,” you explain, smiling when you see your lipstick left an imprint on the white bandaging. Pink stardust rose from the lip stain, traveling up and down his arm, enveloping in a magic bandage of its own before seeping into the one right below it. It draws a shudder from Cassian.

Your eyes meet his. “Would you like me to kiss that bruise of yours?” You ask, tone bordering on playful.

“I’m okay,” Cassian says, voice slightly strained as he tries to maintain his composure. He decides to redirect your attention. “I didn’t know you had healing powers.”

“It’s not so much healing, it’s really just alleviating some pains.” You tell him with a small shrug. “I should look into some healing potions and spells some more for your sake. It won’t be as great as the healers but something is better than nothing, right?”

Cassian just stared at you.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion at his intense gaze.

Cassian blinks, tearing his gaze from you momentarily as he becomes suddenly interested in your bright, pink shoes. “Eyes, a nose, a mouth…”

He looks back up, catching the way you roll your eyes. It draws a smile from Cassian. A genuine one.

“Rhysand says you haven’t spoken to them much recently,” you say, the name of the Night Court’s High Lord still tasting foreign to your tongue. You turn one of the chairs in front of the desk to face him before settling in. You nudge his boot with yours, silently prompting him to do the same with the chair behind him.

With a sigh, Cassian slumps into the chair across from you, his usual confidence replaced by a weary demeanor. “Is that why he sent you?”

“No one sent me. I brought myself here and that chocolate cake over there.”

Cassian’s eyes light up, a spark of his usual charm returning, making you laugh. He turns his head, following your gesture. Using your magic, you float the cake carrier gently onto his lap. “Baked it myself,” you grin proudly.

“So it’s not edible then?”

“Rude!” you exclaim, flicking your wrist and sending a sprinkle of pink stardust his way. He coughs, the glimmer of your magic enveloping him briefly in a sparkling haze. “I had Moxie taste test it, so it’s very edible.”

Cassian chuckles when he opens the cake carrier to see that a slice was indeed missing. Comforted by your words, as that young apprentice of yours was the pickiest eater, he inhales deeply, taking pleasure in the rich aroma of chocolate that invades his senses.

But the pleasure is short-lived as your pink magic closes the cake carrier with a loud snap. His face falls slightly, and he looks at you with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Why have you been avoiding your family?” You ask and with a bit of hesitance, you add, “and me?”

Cassian shifts in his seat. He looks down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the cake carrier. “They have their own tasks to attend to, own burdens to worry about. And you? I fear I have troubled you enough with my problems. I can work through this on my own…”

You ponder on his words with a small frown. Cassian was strong-minded and sharp. You knew he could handle his own problems, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to. He was also kind, caring, and selfless—qualities you admired about him. But sometimes, he was so selfless that he left himself out of the love he had to give.

“Cas, no one loves you like I do. You’re no trouble to me at all. You’re always there for everyone so let me be here for you.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by his sudden change in tone. “What do you mean? I’m serious. I’m your friend.” Your voice is tinged with concern and a hint of hurt.

“Friend.” Cassian repeats the word, his tone filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

“Yes,” you say, sensing his contemplation. He looks away, his jaw tightening and you can't help but shrink back into your seat. “Do you not want me to be?”

Cassian looks at you, those hazel eyes meeting yours. You catch the way his throat bobs. “It’s not that,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. Your heart skips a beat, his words hanging in the air between you. But then he shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts.

“I love being your friend.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing…” he trails off, the weight of his words making them feel inadequate. “It’s just, you can’t always be there for–”

“Nonsense,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ll always be there for you.”

For a fleeting moment, the vulnerability in his eyes is raw and unguarded, as if he’s been caught in the storm of his emotions. Then, he nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips.

But the lingering sadness in his gaze tugs at your heart, even more when he asks, “always?”

You smile warmly, reaching out to trace a finger over the center of your chest, just slightly to the left. “Cross my heart.”

a/n: This takes place sometime after you meet the IC. Sorry, I keep skipping around. I just got stuck on writing that part. So if y'all have any ideas lmk. You can find a sneak park here though.

also, if you've asked to be on the tag list and your name is below but you didn't get a notif, lmk! for some reason, some of the tags haven't been working. If you've asked to be on the tag list and don't see your name below, please let me know!

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon,

@talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa, @breadsticks2004, @chicken-fifi

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar cassian #cassian x witch reader #dream!cas

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felinecyan · 2 months

Text

When The Night Calls

[Izuku Midoriya x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your best friend leaving the hero course was enough to make you lose your mind. Especially when he’s suddenly standing across from you with nothing but a tired smile.

WC: 2978

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Vigilante!Deku

Please give this one extra love!! Somehow Midoriya is also very suspiciously difficult to write 👀 (Also, that 3rd-degree burn I gave my hand today is making me want to cry and throw myself in a river. Damn you, AO3 curse!! )

『••✎••』

Seeing that letter taped on your door broke you in more ways than one.

He had been gone for almost a week, but his note left behind made you realize just how long it'd been. How long he had left you with nothing more than a simple explanation of his departure and how it felt like he was never coming back.

The entire class had been on edge ever since. The note even threw Bakugo for a loop, as much as he would deny it. It had everyone wondering where he was and if he was okay.

It hurt you the most, though. He was the closest friend you had and the only one who truly understood your feelings.

But now he was gone.

Aizawa still continued teaching, but with Midoriya absent, the class just couldn't focus. He wasn't as good at making things seem less depressing or stressful, and his lectures were just boring without a green bush to lighten the mood. Or at least, you thought so.

You haven't been paying much attention lately, and you're too busy thinking of your missing friend. Your grades had been slipping, but it wasn't like anyone could blame you. Even if your friends could, they didn't say anything.

They had tried talking to you, but all you could do was give them a half-hearted smile, shake your head, and tell them, "I'm fine."

You weren't fine, and you knew that. But what were you supposed to do? Cry about it? It’s not like he’d come back if you did that.

Ironically, he did technically come back.

That day, Aizawa decided to keep the pain everyone felt about Midoriya buried beneath the surface, so he assigned you all a ten-page essay about the history of quirks.

So, here you were, writing a half-assed essay close to two in the morning. Kaminari was blowing up the group chat with memes and random jokes, but no one seemed to care or even respond.

Well, that was until Bakugo started yelling at him to stop texting because he was trying to sleep.

That went on for about a solid ten minutes, with everyone getting annoyed at the two idiots, but eventually, it died down.

You took a glance at the clock, which now read 2:12 a.m.

Sleep just couldn't come to you. Not now, not when your brain was filled with thoughts of the broccoli boi.

Then, there was a tiny patter against your window, almost like a knock. If it hadn’t been so quiet, you might not have heard it.

You ignored it at first, of course, but it continued, the knocks getting louder and more urgent.

Finally, you stood from your chair, deciding to investigate, but then, the knocking stopped.

You paused, confused, but shrugged, figuring you must have been hearing things.

Yeah, right, because hearing knocks on your dorm window at 2 a.m. is normal.

It turned out to be a good thing you got up because when you turned back around, a figure was directly behind you.

You jumped back in fear, letting out a short shriek before slapping your hands over your mouth. The side eye glance to your window, now open and curtain rustling in the slight wind, had you regretting not locking the damn thing.

The figure let out a small chuckle, his shoulders shaking a bit, and your heart rate sped up.

You could see the person a lot better now that they weren't in the shadows, but the moonlight still kept their face hidden.

All you could see was the curly mess of green hair and a large hoodie with a black mask pulled over the bottom half of their face.

But you didn’t have to see his eyes to know exactly who it was.

Your hands fell limply to your sides as the boy stepped closer. His hand reached the hood of his suit, slowly pulling it off, and his bright, emerald green eyes were staring straight into yours.

The only thing you could do was stare, dumbfounded.

"You did lock it, by the way," the boy's voice said. It sounded hoarse and scratchy as if he hadn't spoken in days. He probably hadn't.

Still, his intuition never failed.

You continued to stare, eyes wide and unblinking.

Midoriya's brow furrowed, a look of worry replacing his smile.

"They really should put more difficult locks on these things. I mean, honestly, all I had to do was twist it, and it opened. If I were a villain, then— hmph!"

Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, cutting him off. His eyes widened, surprised, but eventually, he relaxed, wrapping his own arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

"I was so worried," you said. You could feel your body starting to tremble, tears pricking your eyes. "Everyone was."

His arms tightened, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. "I couldn't think of any other way."

You leaned back a bit enough to look him in the eyes. His tired, determined eyes.

"Wait, if you’re here… does that mean...?"

"I need my notebook." He kept his frown, and a sigh escaped his lips. "You have my old notes, right? I need those."

Oh.

That was it.

That was why he was back.

"Oh," You failed to hide the disappointment in your tone. "Right, uh, hold on…"

You pulled away, your eyes looking away from his. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head as you walked over to the desk, rummaging through the drawer.

Speaking of, your desk was an absolute disaster. If allowing students in your dorm room wasn't against the rules, Iida would have broken down your door a long time ago, screaming at the top of his lungs about how your room was in utter chaos.

Eventually, you found it. It was covered in sticky notes, and some of the pages were folded. Makes sense, considering the fact that you'd spent the last week reading it, studying, and hoping to find some kind of clue about his whereabouts and the league itself.

But even if it was in your hands, screaming for its owner, you hesitated. He was going to leave again, wasn't he? He wasn't going to stay.

But common sense hit you. You couldn’t force him to stay. It would be selfish of you to even ask.

You turned, walking back over to him. He was staring intently at the ground, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and he had a small frown on his face.

When you were a couple of feet away, he finally looked up, his hand reaching out for the book.

"Here," you said, trying not to let the sadness seep into your words. "Don’t mind the added stickies. Simpler terms, easier to understand, you know?"

"Right, thanks," he murmured, his eyes darting over the cover before flipping through the pages. His brows were scrunched together, and his fingers fiddled with the pages, flipping through them with a practiced speed.

He was so concentrated on the notebook that he didn't see your frown, and he didn't see the sadness in your eyes.

But then, he froze.

His eyes scanned over one of the pages, his fingers tightening around the spine of the book, and his breath hitched.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and his lips were set in a tight line.

"You read this?"

"Huh?" You blinked, taken aback. "Was I… not supposed to read it all?"

"What? No, no, I meant this page."

He flipped the book around, opening it to a certain page, and held it up for you to see.

Oh, yeah, his page. The one where he wrote about himself. Which, proudly, you knew most of what was written in it, anyway. Some things caught you off guard, but not many.

"Oh, yeah, I skimmed over it," you admitted.

"And... how much did you skim over?"

"Um... all of it? I mean, I'm in your hero notes, too. I took a lot more of my time on the page dedicated to me, I have to admit, but uh… What's the big deal?"

Midoriya looked at you, and his gaze was intense. "Did you… miss me that much that you would study my hero notes that closely?"

"Well, I wouldn’t say closely—"

He tilted his head in an almost sarcastic manner, and his eyes narrowed as he leaned over to point at a section in his notes.

A bright pink sticky note, covered in stars, was stuck onto the paper.

It was a small part, a very short paragraph, and you had given your analysis of him and not of his quirk either. It was a list of his attributes, his personality, and the type of hero he was.

To someone else, it would be pretty informative about what kind of person he was and what kind of hero he would be, but you both knew the true meaning behind the note.

Because it was all the things you missed about him.

"… oh, " was all you could say.

The air around you two suddenly became awkward, the silence becoming heavy.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

But, as expected, Midoriya broke the silence.

"I figured since you’re still awake, it must mean that you're working on homework or studying, and you wouldn’t do that at night if I weren’t gone," he began. "I thought that maybe it would be too soon to come back, or even that I should have stayed away, but, well, I really needed my notes, and, honestly, I wanted to see you, and—!"

He was rambling again. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, his brain spitting out more words than his mouth could.

At least he was still himself, you thought.

You decided to cut him off, placing your hand on his arm, and he jolted at the sudden contact, his head snapping back up to yours.

"I’m sorry," you said, looking down.

He looked confused, tilting his head. "What for? You have nothing to be sorry for; you didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I—" You cut yourself off, biting your lip, and looked away. You took a deep breath before speaking.

"I'm sorry," you started. "For not stopping you. For not coming with you. For not helping you. I had no idea what you were going through, and I was too worried about myself, and I didn't—"

"Hey, hey, stop," Midoriya said, placing his hand on your shoulder. You hadn't realized you were shaking. "This is my fight, okay? It's not yours, and I was the one who didn’t want to bring anyone else into this mess. This isn’t your fault, so please don’t beat yourself up about it."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do." You looked back up at him, tears blurring your vision. "I don’t know how to help."

He was silent for a moment, but then, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you once again, and you buried your head in his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

"It's okay," he said. "I don’t expect you to know how to help, and I didn’t come here for your help. Well, technically, I did since you had my notebook, but I’m speaking on a—"

“I know, I know," you mumbled.

Another moment of silence, and then, he sighed, a puff of air brushing your ear.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back, if I ever will, but I promise," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear and his words making your heart skip a beat. "I promise we will be fine. We all will. Me, you, everyone else. It might take a while, but we will be okay."

You nodded, your grip on his hoodie tightening. This was the sound of a goodbye, and the finality of it terrified you.

"It’s just…" you mumbled, and his brow furrowed.

"Just what?"

You hesitated, a lump forming in your throat.

"What?" He repeated, pulling back to look you in the eye. "Please tell me."

You took a deep breath, swallowed the lump, and looked him in the eye.

"It's just that... You’re my not-alone buddy, remember?”

Midoriya froze, his eyes widening.

It was a little game you two had back when things weren’t so complicated. Back when you were just normal students.

You both struggled to make friends, so you made a pact. Obviously, that thought disbanded when everyone else got close, and now you all were pretty good friends, but the friendship between him and you was different. It was a bond between you two that was just special.

Not even ‘Kacchan’ could ruin that, as close as he and Midoriya grew.

You never called him Deku, even after Bakugo and the rest of the class started calling him by the nickname. Sure, it was his hero name, and you could call him that, but you just never felt comfortable.

Todoroki didn’t either, but then again, Todoroki didn't call anyone by their nicknames.

But, back to the point.

"We made a pact, and... that was one of the things I wrote on the sticky notes." You gestured to the book. "It was during my angry denial phase, so I’m not that proud of it, but… it was still true."

"You were angry?" He asked, confused. "Why?"

"Well, first of all, I was worried sick. I knew you were going to go do something stupid, and obviously, I was right.”

He winced at that.

"But I was angry because you didn’t trust me, and I felt like you were leaving me, too," you said, biting your lip. "I know that sounds stupid and selfish, and I get that this was your battle, not mine, and I can't change that, but... I guess I was just scared. You didn’t even tell me before you left, and the note was just..."

You trailed off, a lump forming in your throat again, and your eyes burned with tears.

You didn't want to cry in front of him, so you buried your face in his chest again, and his grip tightened around you.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

You shook your head. "Don’t apologize. It's not like you're changing your mind."

He was quiet for a moment, his head lowering and his lips resting on your forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Your breath hitched. "Izuku, please don't say it."

He pulled back, and his face was unreadable. He looked determined, his eyes burning with passion, and it hurt. It hurt to know that, despite everything, he still had his mind made up.

"I have to go," he said, and his voice was quiet. "I don’t want to leave you alone. I really don’t, but I have to, and you need to stay safe. Me being here isn't doing anything good, and I can't keep coming back and putting you in danger. So, for now, at least until the Shigaraki is dealt with, please just be safe. Don’t try and find me, and please don't let anyone else know I was here."

He paused, his eyes glancing towards the window.

"Actually, I might come back just to get rid of that lock. I mean, seriously, I barely even touched it, and it came right off. You could easily replace it with something stronger, maybe one of those new locks that only respond to fingerprints! But, then it can be traced back to you, and they can use you to— oh, man, I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

You didn't bother to respond. Instead, you leaned up, pressing your lips against his cheek.

Midoriya's entire face went bright red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

You could feel your face burning, but it was worth it to see his reaction.

"Be careful," you said. "Please, Izu, don’t be stupid."

"R-Right."

He stumbled a bit, his hand coming up to touch the spot where your lips were. His eyes flickered back to you, and you swore you saw him blushing, but then he turned, heading towards the window.

"Oh, uhm, b-by the way," he said, reaching the window. He placed his hand on the frame, glancing back at you. "For Aizawa's essay, you have to also analyze the strengths and weaknesses, not just the evolution of quirks. Make sure to read the whole paragraph in that book he gave us at the beginning of the semester."

He gave you one last smile, pulling the mask over his mouth and the hood over his head. You looked in befuddlement as he stepped out onto the roof, and your hands were wrapped around the edges of the open window.

"How did you—"

"It's Aizawa," His mask was muffling his voice, so he lifted it up a bit, and his eyes twinkled. "What else do you expect from him?"

And then he jumped.

He let the mask drop back down and became just another shadow in the night, with his green lightning trailing behind him.

You didn’t have the energy to laugh, and you didn't have the heart.

You leaned against the windowsill, letting the cool night air wash over your face. You sighed, watching the clouds drift in the sky.

"You're still an idiot," you whispered, closing your eyes.

When the sun rises, this encounter will only be a distant memory.

But for now, the cold night was enough to convince you otherwise. For now, his green eyes were staring up at the same night sky, and he was thinking of you, too.

That kiss on the cheek, as tame as it was, was still enough to make his head spin. You were still his friend, his not-alone buddy, and nothing was going to change that.

And you both were okay with that.

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serpentandlily · 1 year

Text

Untouchable II - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister! Reader ✨

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

a/n: Thank you all so much for all the love on the first part of this story! If you want to be added to the tag list, either comment or message or send me an ask :)

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part II

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The minute you guys winnowed into the foyer of the River House, you were nearly tackled to the ground by your own brother. He spun you in a circle, greeting you as if you’d just come back from a war or something. You couldn’t help but giggle at his huge overreaction.

“You act like I’ve been gone for years,” you laughed.

“It felt like it,” he replied, giving you what you assumed was his best impression of a sad puppy dog—an odd sight to see on such a powerful High Lord.

He had barely set you down when you were scooped up into someone else’s arms. Luckily Cassian wasn’t as dramatic as your brother. He pulled away to hold you at arm's length, taking a sweeping glance down your body.

“You’ve lost some muscle mass and what is this you’re wearing,” he chided in a teasing, affectionate tone. “Are you even still part of the night court, y/n?”

A scoff sounded from behind the General and you peeked over his shoulder to see Azriel standing there, his arms crossed. “She’s only been gone for three months.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him and you quickly pulled your eyes away, ignoring the strain in your chest. You jokingly shoved Cassian away from you. “I’m gone for three months and the first thing you say to me is that I’ve lost muscle? Can take the boy out of Illyria but not Illyria out of the boy.”

“Damn right,” Cassian said proudly as you stepped around him, finding the rest of your family lounging about in the sitting room. “Besides, do my letters to you not count as talking?”

You rolled your eyes before giving Azriel a smile. He dipped his head in greeting, his eyes trailing over your form, but made no move to embrace you like the other two.

“You wrote letters to Cass and Rhys,” he said. “But not to me? I thought I was your favorite.”

“Rhys demanded I write to him. And Cass wrote to me first.” You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

A muscle ticked in his jaw when he met your eyes again but he said nothing else so you brushed past him, squeezing him on the shoulder as you did, determined to not let his presence squander the confidence you had built up these past months.

As soon as you stepped into the sitting room, a baby was pushed into your arms. You smiled at Feyre, pressing a kiss to her cheek in greeting and happily accepting to hold Nyx, your nephew. “It’s good to see you, y/n. Being on the continent has done you wonders. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, I’ve been immensely enjoying my time there. But I missed you too, Fey,” you replied with a wink before hoisting the baby further up in your arms to snuggle against his head. “And Gods, I missed you, little one.”

“He missed you too, you know.” You looked up at Rhys who was leaning against the back of the chair Feyre had plopped down in. “You’re the only one who knows how to make him laugh when he’s in one of his moods.”

You saw his words for what they truly were - ammunition. A way to guilt you to stay. The sad part was it kind of worked. If there was anyone you’d drop everything for, it was your nephew. “I think you guys did just fine without me.”

“Some of us did,” Amren piped up. “Others wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘What do you think y/n is doing right now?’ ‘When do you think she is going to come home?’ ‘Send me to the continent to check on y/n.’” She mocked, glaring at your brother. But then her glare shifted to the shadowsinger who gave her an unamused look. Your cheeks turned pink. Had she been including Azriel in that…

“I’m glad you’re finally spreading those wings, girl. It’s about time,” Amren continued, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Anyways,” Mor cut in. “Are you going to tell us what is so important that you dragged me and your sister back for?”

“I will, during our family dinner,” Rhys said. “We’re still waiting for Lucien.”

You couldn’t help but glance at Elain, who looked just about as uncomfortable as you did. It wasn’t that you specifically had anything against the fox. But he had been the close companion of the male who was the reason your mother was dead, the reason you had almost lost your wings and your life that fateful night. It made it hard to be around him without thinking of Tamlin, which brought back those painful memories.

Conversation turned normal after that and you tried to keep your eyes away from the shadowsinger. Instead you listened to Cassian and Nesta talk about the improvements the Valkyries had made in the three months you were gone. You promised Cass that you’d go to training with them tomorrow morning.

Lucien finally showed up and the small party was moved to the dining room. You took a seat next to Cassian and your heart nearly froze as you watched the redhead enter and make his way towards the empty chair next to you. You clenched your skirt in your fist but before he could take it, Azriel cut in front of him and claimed the chair as his.

You gave him a small, grateful smile. He nodded and you turned away as Elain sat down next to him. Great. Perfect. Now you’d have to listen to them all night. Perhaps the fox would’ve been a better choice.

Dinner was served and you poked at your food. Your proximity to the shadowsinger made your appetite minimal. You leaned your head against Cass’s shoulder, taking comfort in him. Cassian had always felt like a second big brother to you. And he treated you as such.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured to you, stacking more food on your plate. “You’ve got to eat if you’re going to come train with us tomorrow.”

Nesta rolled her eyes from next to him and you covered your grin. You were about to reply when Rhys stood. The room quieted when he cleared his throat. “Feyre and I have invited you here tonight for a reason. Would you like to do the honors, darling?” He tilted his head to her and she stood, smiling.

You couldn’t help but melt at the sight of your brother and his mate. You were so happy he finally had the life he deserved. Feyre placed her tattooed hand on her stomach and your eyes widened, a gasp escaping your mouth as you realized what this announcement was.

“I’m pregnant again,” she said, pure happiness in her voice. “With a little baby girl.”

Cheers and shouts erupted around the room but you were the first to jump up and hug Feyre. You couldn’t stop smiling as you let her go to be embraced by the others, taking your brother in your arms instead.

“Congratulations,” you whispered in his ear. “I’m so happy for you, Rhysie.”

“I can’t believe it,” he muttered back. “Another baby. In less than two years.”

You felt claws scrape against your mental shield.

We’re going to name her after mother. We’ve already discussed it.

You pulled back with shock, looking up into his eyes to make sure he was telling the truth. Tears lined his eyes as he nodded at you. A small cry broke from your lip as you hugged him again. When you finally composed yourself, you let him go so the others could have their turn with him. You stood off to the side, wiping your tears.

You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice the male who fell into place next to you. “Are you alright?”

You looked up at Azriel who was watching you with concern in those beautiful hazel eyes. You nodded, clearing your throat. “They’re going to name her after our mother. After Selene.”

Azriel’s eyes widened and then he glanced at your brother, a small smile on his lips. You know how much Azriel and Cassian had loved your mother too. Had felt the loss of her all the same. You sucked in a breath and wiped away any lingering tears.

Azriel looked back down at you, his eyes searching your face. Part of you wanted to use your daemati gifts, to take a peek inside his head, to see what he was thinking. But you would never cross that line.

“You’ve got make-up,” he said, gesturing towards your face. “Here.”

You went to wipe it but he grabbed your hand. “Let me.”

He conjured a cloth napkin in his hand and gripped your chin with his other gloved hand, tilting your face up at him. Your eyes widened at his touch and you froze in place, your breath caught in your throat. He dapped at a spot on your check, just below your eye.

You hated the effect he had on you. How his scent wrapped around you, his mere presence clouding your mind. Hated how you wished to step closer to him. This wasn’t the first time he had done something as intimate as this with you but those moments were far and few between.

He was surprisingly gentle as he wiped at your face, his hand never leaving your chin even as his other fell back to his side. He stared down at you with an indiscernible emotion and your eyes bounced between his. Part of you wished this small moment would never end. But wishing and praying had never done you any good and the moment was over before you knew it.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Elain had made her way over to you and Azriel dropped his grip on you like your skin had burned him. You swallowed harshly, looking at the girl who had captured his heart in the short time she had been here.

“I’m okay, Elain,” you replied with a little dip of your head. “Just a bit emotional is all.”

She smiled at you and you wished more than anything that you could hate her. But you couldn’t. She had only ever been sweet to you. Only ever wanted to be your friend. “I can’t believe we’re about to have another baby around here. You’ll have to help me set up the nursery for Feyre again, y/n!”

“Of course!”

Elain’s hand rested on Azriel’s bicep and the sight made the dinner you had just eaten churn in your stomach. You needed to get away from them. It hadn’t been long enough. You hadn’t been away long enough to get rid of these stupid feelings. You glanced back at Azriel to find him still looking at you. You mustered up the will to give them a parting smile before dipping away.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Feyre and Rhysand had called it a night after some time celebrating but Mor had declared the night wasn’t over. At least not for you two. You hadn’t hesitated to agree to go to Rita’s—ready to let loose after having to deal with the heartache of being near Azriel and Elain.

Cassian and Nesta decided to come as well. And then to everyone’s surprise, Azriel had also said he’d come which made Elain shyly say she’d come as well. Just when you’d thought you’d have a moment of relief, the Mother had decided to spite you again. Perhaps she was just trying to drill home the point that Azriel would never be yours.

Mor passed you another shot glass and you chugged it before even asking what was in it. All you knew was you wanted to be drunk—and fast. You were squeezed between Nesta and Mor in the large booth your group occupied.

Your eyes flicked to the other side of the table. Azriel and Elain sat there, both sipping on their drinks. Neither of them looked comfortable and you wondered why they even bothered to come.

“I wanna dance,” you slurred, pouting at Mor. You shoved at your cousin to let you out of the booth and she chuckled, moving out of the way.

“Take Mor with you, sweetheart.”

Nesta elbowed Cassian in his side. “She’s not a little girl, Cass.”

“She’s fine on her own,” Mor bit, backing up Nesta. “Besides, we can still see her from here.”

You missed the disapproving glare Azriel threw at Mor who rolled her eyes at him. The alcohol had finally taken effect, making you feel carefree. You let the music take over as you pushed your way into the dancing crowd.

For once you basked in the attention you were receiving and when you felt large hands wrap around your waist from behind, you didn’t falter like you might’ve before. You glanced up to see a high fae male smirking down at you. He was handsome with brown eyes and shaggy blonde hair.

You gave him your family’s signature feline grin and decided to just go with it—anything to get the shadowsinger out of your mind.

“Don’t,” Mor growled at Azriel as he went to stand up, his eyes locked on you and the male. Cassian watched with an annoyed frown. “Let her have fun. She knows how to handle herself.”

You were oblivious to the two disgruntled bats at the table though. A few more songs passed before the male grabbed your hand and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Come. Let me buy you a drink.”

You smiled and let him drag you to the bar. His hand slid to your lower back as you watched him place an order for both of you. He turned to hand you the drink the bartender made and his eyes widened as he looked at something over your shoulder.

Your brows furrowed until that familiar scent hit you.

“Leave us,” Azriel growled at him from behind you.

The male glanced between the two of you. “Sorry, I didn’t know she was here with someone.”

“I’m not here with him.” You crossed your arms, annoyed. The male’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement, looking back at Azriel.

“Well, it seems like the lady doesn’t want you here, pal,” he said. “So why don’t you leave us?”

A sliver of fear crossed his eyes as Azriel took a step forward, his hard chest pressing into your back. “Get lost,” he snarled, his voice pure ice. “Now.”

Your mouth dropped open as the male scurried off this time, evidently not wanting a confrontation with the shadowsinger. You whirled around to see Azriel glaring down at you. You pushed him away with a hand to his chest.

“What is your problem?!”

“My problem?” he snapped back at you. “That male was clearly going to take advantage of you. You should be thanking me for scaring him off.”

“Why the hell should I thank you! He wasn’t taking advantage of me. I wanted to be with that guy.”

“And he probably just wanted to use you to get close to Rhys for power or money—who knows.”

You felt a dagger pierce your heart at his words, at his unflinching cold stare. “Right. Because no one would ever want me for anything else. No one might ever just be interested in me and not my connection to Rhys.”

“Oh don’t be naive, y/n,” Azriel said, coldly. Your mouth dropped open, tears started building in your eyes at his cruelty. But then anger finally started to rise, overpowering the hurt.

“Just because you don’t desire me like that, doesn’t mean other males don’t as well! I am not a child anymore, Azriel. I know exactly what males want from me and I also know what I want from them. So do me a favor and leave me alone.”

You chugged the drink in your hand before slamming the glass on the counter.

“Y/n, that’s not what I—”

You turned away, not wanting to hear anything else he said. You couldn’t bear anymore hurt. All you wanted to do was go somewhere else. Somewhere he wasn't so you could unleash the tears stinging your eyes.

His cold hand grabbed your wrist and whirled you back around. “This conversation isn’t over,” he bit out but you shrugged yourself out of his grip.

“Yes it is,” you ground out through your teeth. “In fact, instead of sticking your nose in my business, why don’t you worry about your girlfriend’s.”

“My what—”

Azriel turned his head to follow your line of sight back to the booth you had all been sitting at before. Elain sat there alone, Mor likely dancing and Nesta and Cassian probably off making out somewhere. Some guy was leaning against the table talking to Elain, who looked incredibly uncomfortable.

You didn’t wait to hear Azriel’s response, using the distraction to storm off and disappear in the crowd—your first night had officially been ruined.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The last place you wanted to be today was the House of Wind, but you had promised Cassian and Nesta you’d show up for Valkyrie training and you knew one of them would come looking for you if you hadn’t. You could feel Azriel’s eyes on you from across the training ring but ignored him, keeping your focus on Cass.

“Alright,” Cass said, clapping his hands together. He had just led you guys through a series of exercises and you could already feel some sweat dripping down your back. “Let’s move on to sparring. Pair up and get started. Y/n, you’re with me today! Got to get you back up to speed.”

You made your way to Cassian but were intercepted by Azriel stepping in between you two. “I’ll take over her training. The new girls need more help.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow at him but shrugged and walked off, leaving you alone with the shadowsinger. You clenched your fists, not at all happy with having to work with Azriel today when you wanted to avoid him. You were still upset with the way he talked to you last night.

“Come,” he barked, not even looking at you. “We’ll take the back corner.”

He strode off without even making sure you were following. You let out a puff of air. Great, he was in that sort of mood.

As soon as you were within range, he tossed you a training sword. You barely caught it, taken off guard.

“Let’s see how much you’ve regressed while galavanting on the continent.” His tone was cold, clearly as upset with you as you were with him. Before you could even get into a starting position, he came at you. You let out a startled noise, blocking his attack.

You narrowed your eyes at him. Fine, if this was how he wanted to play, you weren’t going to be the one to back down.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You could barely catch your breath, evading another one of his attacks. Class had already wrapped up, most Priestesses packing up their things to go back to the library. But Azriel hadn’t let up one bit.

“Class is over, Az,” you panted, side stepping another attack. “Can we stop?”

“Class is over when I say it is,” he growled at you. He lifted his sword above his head and came down with an overhead attack. You had to roll out of the way to avoid it.

“What’s gotten into you?” You snapped, putting some distance between you and him, trying to steady yourself. Azriel had never treated you like this before.

“You’re the one who declared you’re not a child anymore last night,” he snapped back at you. “So I’m not treating you like one. Suck it up, princess, and either disarm me or surrender.”

You gritted your teeth together, annoyed that he was acting like such a prick. Why the hell was he so upset with you? You had done nothing to him.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Shut up and fight me,” he growled. “Or surrender and go back to being coddled by your brother like always.”

Fury sparked a fire in your gut. Since when did you ever ask to be coddled by Rhys? He had been the one that was overprotective, to the point of being paranoid. All you ever did was try to be the person your brother expected you to be, to not have him worry over you. You attacked him this time but he was quick to parry. You felt frustrated tears start to build in your eyes.

“Oh don’t start crying now,” Azriel snarled. “You asked for this.”

“I never asked for anything from you!” You could hardly keep your sword in your hand, your body shaking from the anger you felt.

“Because your brother caters to your every need.” He spat out the word brother like it was a curse and that only fueled the fire building in you. “He gives you everything you want, takes care of you, and still you decide to go run off to the continent, causing him to constantly worry about you.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped. “And keep my brother out of this. You know nothing about our relationship!”

He maneuvered behind you, using his free arm to wrap around your neck and pull you flush against his body. You were both panting, both sweating. You could faintly hear Cassian yelling at you guys to stop but you ignored him, too lost in your own anger.

Azriel leaned down, his breath dancing against your ear. “I know you’re just a burden to him. Just another responsibility that fell on his shoulders.”

The breath was expelled from your lungs, your stomach twisted into a knot. A burden? Is that how Rhys truly saw you? Just something he was being forced to take care of?

You elbowed Azriel in the stomach and kicked him in the chest away from you. He slid to a stop in the sand but then came back twice as hard. You tried to evade, tried to parry his attacks, but it was no use. You were not close to being the warrior Azriel was.

A knock to your wrist had your sword flying from you hand and you fell on your backside, scooting away from him. He didn’t seem to notice he had unarmed you and raised his sword to slash at you again. You let out a whimper of fear and lifted your hands up to block your face.

The sword sliced down the middle of your palm and you let out a pained cry. Azriel immediately froze, towering over your much smaller form on the ground. His eyes widened, the sword slipped out of his hand and suddenly Cassian was in between you two, his wings flaring out to block you as he shoved Azriel in the chest—hard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian screamed at him. He shoved him again but Azriel paid him no mind, his eyes stuck on you still sitting on the floor, now cradling your hand to your chest as blood dripped down your skin.

“Y/n…” Your name came from his lips, pure anguish in his voice as he stared at you in horror, as if now realizing he had gone way too far. You scrambled to your feet, fighting to rein in your tears.

Azriel stepped towards you but Cassian grabbed him by the shoulder roughly. “No, leave her alone. Why don’t you tell me what the hell that was?!”

Nesta was glancing between you and Azriel in shock and when she started to make her way towards you, you magick your wings, unfurled them, and took off into the sky as agony ripped through you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You had hoped to make it to your bedroom before running into anyone, but as per usual, the Mother decided to spite you. You nearly crashed into Rhys as you hurried down the hall. He caught you by your shoulders, his nostrils flaring as he smelt blood, before he looked down at you in surprise.

"Are you okay?" he asked before taking in the tears still pouring down your face. "Y/n, what happened? Why are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," you mumbled, trying to skirt around him but he yanked you into his office.

"It's not nothing," he said through clenched teeth, "You're bleeding and crying. Who hurt you?"

"It was just an accident during training this morning. I'm fine."

"Dove, please, I've seen you hurt worse than this and you never shed a tear then," he said, stroking your hair. "What happened?"

You couldn't hold it in anymore, looking up at him with tears in your eyes. "Am...am I a b-burden to you?"

"What?" he gasped in surprise. "Where did you get that idea?"

You shook your head, sniffling. Rhys sighed and pulled you into a hug. "Dove, you are not a burden to me. I don't know why you'd ever think that. I love you so much, too much perhaps. If anything, I'm the one who's burdened you with my incessant worrying."

You wished you felt relief but it just made you cry even more. Your brother continued to stroke your hair, holding you close. "Who caused you to think that?"

"No one," you mumbled into his chest. "It's nothing. I just thought—I don't know."

Rhys pulled back to hold you at arm's length. You tried to avoid eye contact with him but he gripped your chin and forced you to look up at him. Anger was swirling in his eyes. "Tell me who hurt you. Tell me who caused this."

You shook your head, not wanting to cause a fight between your brother and Azriel. His eyes glazed over for a second and you knew he was communicating with someone in his head. You felt yourself tense up. When his focus came back to you, that anger had grown into rage. You knew he had probably asked Cassian what happened at training and you cursed at the General for snitching.

He stepped around you and stalked towards the door just as Feyre entered his office. She gasped in surprise as she caught sight of the two of you. "Gods, what happened?"

Rhys brushed past her. "Stay here with her."

Feyre's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. "Rhys, what's going on? Where are you going?"

He glanced at her over her shoulder, his teeth bared in a snarl. "I'm going to go kick Azriel's ass."

And then he disappeared in a swirl of darkness.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Tag List: @kalulakunundrum @going-through-shit @thelov3lybookworm @tinystarfishgalaxy @cat-or-kitten @abysshaven @vhjlucky13 @polli05927 @nightcourtwritings @wicked-mind @mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

#acotar #azriel #fanfic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #shadowsinger x reader #angst #azriel fic

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eyecan02 · 15 days

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WARNING: MAJOR BEETLEBABES SPOILERS

I had fun watching this film. It was great seeing the OGs again, it was funny and it had a good script BUT I have to give this movie 7/10 because the pacing was off for the first half of the film and because of the two unnecessary Babyjuice scenes (We'll get to more of that in a bit.)

It just felt rushed and Beetlejuice and Lydia's scenes were limited. Yes, we knew from the get go that Keaton's scenes would be confined because that's how he wanted it but I just like complaining. lol

Before Lydia and Beetlejuice officially reunite, he starts spamming her phone with the Day O song playing with Beetlejuice's name in bold pops ups coming up nonstop. This happens when Rory is trying to talk about their wedding and Lydia just isn't in the mood to talk about it.

The first Beetlebabes scene is the "therapy scene" and its also the first Babyjuice scene. Lydia's belly grows quickly, her water breaks and out pops out Babyjuice. It starts crawling around and soon starts biting on Lydia's ankle. You do actually see bloody teethmarks on Lydia's ankle to which Beetlejuice says, "Takes after his dad." and he starts drooling exaggeratingly.

I don't remember the exact wording but Lydia called Beetlejuice "Demented." To which Beetlejuice replies with something like "Well, if me wanting to be with the love of my life is demented then fine I'm demented. Come here, honey." Yes, he actually calls her the love of his life!

He tries to do the gliding thing he did with Lydia during the first movie when he says this. Before Lydia is pulled to his side, she yells, "Home! Home! Home!"

That's when Lydia tries to hurry to get everyone out of the house and out of Winter River but Astrid tells her she has a date and somehow convinces Lydia to drive her to the boy's house. So Delia and Lydia board up the attic door and decide no one goes in and that they'll leave that same night right after Lydia gets married at midnight.

Now as most of us have heard- Astrid's crush has a secret. That secret is...that he's a ghost. Which, I feel so dumb about not guessing it. I should've figured it out when they showed "The Recently Deceased" book thar he claimed he bought at a "yard sale". The boy (can't remember his name) says Lydia can help him come back to life (not through marriage) and says if she travels with him to the Neitherworld, she'll help her see her dad again.

Lydia soon finds out that the boy (I think his name was Jeremy) was not only someone who killed his parents but is also a ghost (through info from Jane the realtor) so she rushes to rescue Astrid but gets there seconds too late. With no other choice she goes back to the Maitlands home and summons Beetlejuice.

The minute Beetlejuice gets Lydia into the afterlife...they're immediately separated right after the "Bonnie and Clyde line. The excuse? Beetlejuice had to "visit the little boy's room" as a plot device so that Lydia and Astrid could reunite with Astrid's deceased father. He's the one that saves them from the sandworm and helps them make up.

It turns out that Jeremy was gonna swap places with Astrid. She would've gone on the Soul Train that takes you to the "Great Beyond" and he would've resurrected as a living person. This takes place at an immigration office. Beetlejuice has kind of a heroic moment where he switched places with the person behind the glass that gives the "stamp of living approval."

When Jeremy looks at the paper that Beetlejuice gives him, it reads "Shit Out of Luck Fucker". XD This part had everyone howling with laughter. Beetlejuice stamps on the paper and that instantly opens the floor beneath Jeremy and sends him to hell.

Astrid's father helped Lydia and Astrid leave the Neitherworld through a portal in a mausoleum that is conveniantlly across from the church that Lydia is supposed to getting married at. Even though she doesn't really want to marry Rory, she decides to do it anyway. Tells Rory she won't change into her wedding dress- that they should just proceed as they are.

That's when Beetlejuice arrives with Delia, pushes her aside and tells her to "Scram!" lol (Earlier in the film, Delia tried to perform a strange love ritual with a pair of snakes that she was told were defanged. Spoiler: they weren't defanged so she died and got sent to the Waiting Room so since she doesn't want to wait there for ages, she summons Beetlejuice who agrees to help her if he can help her find his "runaway bride".)

Beetlejuice proceeds to drug Rory by stabbing his neck with a syringe and this somehow makes Rory confess whata scumbag he is and how he was just using Lydia for money. Another interesting moment where Beetlejuice is being "helpful" in his own way."

So the next five minutes are just as chaotic as Jenna Ortega described. And remember how we all had speculated that Beetlejuice wouldn't waste time with a song and dance and would try to get through the vows as fast as he could? We were wrong. Beetlejuice apparently thought he had all the time in the world as he starts to lip sync "MacArthur Park" and even had Lydia lip syncing the song to him. His make up got all runny as he wept at his own wedding.

They dance and then Wolf and his SWAT team crash the wedding followed by Delores storming in and Beetlejuice tells her, "It's not you. It's me. I'm just looking for a more soul mate type. You should be with a guy that is more into you."

He magically rips off Rory's shirt to reveal a shirt underneath that says "I Love Delores". Delores is not impressed. And I honestly forgot what happens to Delores but then the Sandworm scene happens and then everything calms down. Lydia, Astrid and Delia try to leave the church but Beetlejuice stops them, reminding Lydia that they have a contract. He pulls out the contract.

But then Astrid remembers something Wolf had mentioned earlier about Beetlejuice violating "Code 669" by bringing a living person to the Neitherword so she states that that means his contract with Lydia is null and void. Beetlejuice's contract proceeds to burst into flame.

Lydia steps forward and says "I'm sorry it didn't work out between us." She says something else that I forgot and proceeds to say his name three times and with each call of his name, Beetlejuice's body inflates more and more until he pops.

Delia promises she'll haunt Lydia and Astrid until they're sick of her. Wolf takes her back to the Neitherworld where Delia reunites with Charles's mangled corpse. It then skips to Lydia announcing the last episode of her show so that she can "start living".

Then it shows Lydia and Astrid traveling together. It looks like they're in Romania/Transylvania where Astrid locks eyes with a cute guy. Then a time skip where Astrid is marrying the guy. Another time skip where Astrid is giving birth. This is where it gets weird. She gives birth to Babyjuice that proceeds to start crawling on the walls. That's when Lydia wakes up, relieved that that was a nightmare when suddenly Beetlejuice leans over her in bed and says, "I just had the strangest dream." Lydia gasps and she wakes up again and slowly looks over to her left to see an empty space and no Beetlejuice.

So I'm guessing that's what that one interviewer guy meant when he told Winona "You sorta got your wish at the end." I guess it means Beetlejuice will always be haunting her and playing the long game of waiting for her. I need to discuss this with someone! What do you think of the spoilers? The ending in particular?

#beetlebabes #beetlebabe #beetlelyds #beetlejuice x lydia #huge beetlejuice beetlejuice spoilers #beetlejuice beetlejuice spoilers

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her. “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

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ericshoney · 2 days

Text

Mini Matt in a grump ~ Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Mini Matt gets her period resulting in her being grumpy to the guys.

Warnings: possible swearing, nicknames, period, mention of bleeding, crying, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had woken up in your own bed with major cramps. You went to your bathroom and realised it was that time of the month. You sighed and jumped in the shower, the hot water helping you relax, before getting dressed for the day. You weren't sure what the guys had planned, but a pair of sweatpants were your best friend at this time. You also slipped on a hoodie, which you think belongs to Matt.

You then grabbed your phone and saw it was two in the afternoon. As you walked into the living room, you saw the triplets awake and chatting.

"Morning Mini Matt!" Chris shouted from his seat on the sofa.

"Hmm." You just grumbled as you rummaged through the cupboards for some food.

Chris just laughed, as that was your usual morning response. Much like your male counterpart, neither of you had a way of words after waking up first thing.

After grabbing something you wanted to eat, you went and sat down on the end of the sofa, closest to where Nick was sat. It was all calm and chill, making you feel a bit better.

"Let's make a TikTok." Nick suddenly blurted out.

"I'm good." You muttered, scrolling through your phone.

"Oh come on grumpy pants! Have some fun!" Chris joked.

"Fuck off." You growled.

You then got up, heading to the bathroom to take care of your business. As you were gone, the three brothers shared a look.

"Okay she's grumpier than usual." Matt mentioned.

"Really? I thought that was regular Mini Mattitude." Chris responded sarcastically.

"I'm sure it's just a morning thing." Nick said.

You then came out and returned to your spot on the sofa. You curled up, feeling some cramps but didn't want to bother the guys with your monthly problem.

"Bub, we were thinking of going to the mall later, you down?" Chris asked.

"Not really." You answered honestly.

"What's wrong? You love to shop." Nick said.

"Just not in the mood, kay?" You snapped.

"Alright, miss moody." He sassed.

"Can you fucking stop with the moody comments! If I'm not in the mood can you fucking respect that!" You shouted, before storming off to your room.

The three shared a look as your bedroom door slammed shut with a bang. They each looked concerned.

"That's new." Chris mumbled.

Matt silently stood up from his seat and walked to your room. As he got to the door and heard you crying, he walked in without knocking.

"Hey sweetheart, talk to me, what's going on?" He asked softly.

"You'll laugh." You grumbled.

Matt came and sat next to you as you laid on your bed, he rubbed your back.

"I won't laugh, kid." He replied.

"My period." You answered.

"Oooh, is that why you're a little bit grumpy." He responded.

"I don't mean to! I'm just cramping, it fucking hurts and I feel like I'm bleeding a river. I started this morning." You cried.

"Shh, it's okay, petal. You can't help it happening, it's part of being a girl. But talk to us okay, we're not going to freak out. You want a hot water bottle?" He asked.

You nodded as he grabbed one from your side and walked into the kitchen, where Nick and Chris were. Matt put the hot water bottle in the microwave.

"Period." Was all Matt said, making the other two realise.

They both nodded as Nick opened the cupboard and grabbed some chocolates. Chris grabbed a couple blankets as the microwaved pinged.

The three then entered your room, making you smile as they started to make you feel more comfortable.

"Sorry for snapping." You apologised.

"Don't be sorry sweetheart, it's okay. Let's watch some movies and eat chocolate." Nick said.

You smiled as the four of you laid in your bed, watching Disney movies and easing your mind from the cramps you were having.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

@lgbtq-girl @mattsfavbigtitties @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @sturniolo-fann @mrvlxgrl @melaniesturniolo @cl1tlover3000 @lottieluhvs @lovesturni0l0s @blahbel668 @emely9274 @nicksloverrr @emely9274 @nicksloverrr @pancjfrjb @sturniolosweetheart33 @luvr4miya @artloo123 @n0aa @sturn-rose @ivysturnss

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marvelfanfics1 · 15 days

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So! How about daddy!john b who is gone for some errandd which lead to little!reader being alone with papa!jj but she keeps whining because she misses her daddy :((

JJ was at his wits end, you keep pouting and whining for John B who left to help out on the Cameron boat for some extra money before you even woke up which has you grumpy to begin with.

It's not that you are mad because you are with JJ alone, it's just that you feel particularly needy today and the fact that John B left without telling you.

With your arms crossed over your chest you sit pouting on the couch while JJ is in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for anything edible.

"When-" You start but he quickly cuts you off by shutting the fridge with a sigh.

"I don't know when JB comes back, okay? But I'm sure he'll be here soon...hopefully with something to eat." He mumbles the last part, slumping into the free spot beside you and wraps an arm around you.

You quickly shrug his hand off, not in the mood for anything right now. JJ grins, leaning closer to blow some air against your ear. "C'mon...don't be like that."

You whine for like the hundred time today, pushing his face away. "Stop."

He chuckles and suddenly starts to tickle your sides, pushing your squirming body onto the couch cushions to hover over you.

At first you try not give any reaction but couldn't help but start to squeal and giggle. "Papa!"

JJ continues for a moment longer, pulling his hands away he leans closer to kiss you over your face as you calm down from his tickle attack. "There we go. All better now?"

He pulls away again when he suddenly hears you sniffle quietly. "Hey, hey. What happened? Did I go too far?" He asks, cupping your face in his hands and wiping your tears away with his thumb.

You shake your head. "Miss daddy..."

That makes him visibly relax, glad he didn't do anything to upset you, his expression softening again. "Oh baby, c'mere." He coos, sitting up he pulls you with him to maneuver you to sit on his lap sideways, wrapping his arms around you. "Shh, I know, I know. He's such a meanie for being gone so long, huh?"

"Yeah...didn' even say bye..." You mumble, resting your head against his shoulder, your fingers fiddling with his necklace.

JJ gasps dramatically. "He did? That's gonna be illegal or somethin'."

You giggle at that, not noticing John B standing by the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "If I'm so mean I guess you don't want the fries I got from The Wreck?"

With a gasp you turn your head. "Daddy!" You quickly get up from JJ's lap to run into John B's arms. "Missed you..."

"Oh really? Thought I was a meanie?" He teases and you frown at him.

"Papa said you are! Not me." You point at JJ who places a hand on his chest in mock hurt.

"Damn, didn't think you would rat me out like that, sweetcheeks." He smirks.

John B just shakes his head, planting a kiss against yours. "I missed you too, bun."

୨୧︶⊹︶︶🐇︶︶⊹︶୨୧

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For JJ

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

#little!reader #daddy!john b thoughts #daddy!john b drabble #papa!jj thoughts #papa!jj drabble

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novlr · 1 year

Text

How to write the cold

The way we feel cold is universal, but the way we contextualise it is not. Cold has a variety of connotations for readers, so it's important to decide how to use it, and what mood you want to convey in your scene.

While cold is often associated with negative aspects in writing, if there's anything the winter season teaches us, is that it can be a positive thing as well. Rather than just using the word cold, in your next writing project, try to contextualise it. Describe the weather, the light on the snow, the comfort of warmth after an icy swim, or the fear and loneliness of the dark on a cold night.

Here are our quick tips on how to write the cold:

In nature

Clean mountain air

Glittering ice crystals

Unique wildlife, like snow hares or polar bears

Snow muffled sounds

Steam rising from hot springs

Icy water in rivers and lakes

Overcast and rainy

Bright sun on fresh snow

Icebergs, glaciers, and ice floes

Storms and blizzards

Branches moving and creaking

Frozen ponds

Morning frost on grass

Snowdrops pushing through snowdrifts

Crisp and clear night skies

Wolves howling in the dark

Bare branches scraping against windows

Eerie shadows

Foods and objects

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg

Heavy winter coats and scarves

Rich, hot meals with lots of gravy

Tea or coffee left out too long

Ice-cream, sorbets, or ice-lollies

Metal that is cold to the touch (like pots and pans or door handles)

Cold beverages straight out of the fridge

An icy bath

Freezer trucks or walk-in refrigerators

Dry ice

Crisp, fresh sheets on cold nights

Ice sculptures

A tap with a drip that freezes in place

Frozen celebratory drinks (like daiquiris)

A single cube of ice floating in a whisky glass

A cold pack for an injury

Character moods

Isolated

Lonely

Aloof

Sad

Comfortable

Snuggly

Focused

Panicked

Indifferent

A lack of affection

Calm and calculated

Disengaged

Serene

Depressed

Awestruck

Anxious

Reverent

Melancholy

Nostalgic

Impatient

Frustrated

Reflective

Character body language

Hunched shoulders

Crossed arms

Shivering

Snuggling into something warm

Rub hands together for warmth

Tight or strained expression

Biting dry lips

Furrowing brow

Glaring against brightness

Tense and rigid stance

Stand close to others

Slow, deliberate steps

Move quickly to somewhere warm

Sitting relaxed in a warm space

Actions and events

Start a fire or build a shelter

Winter hikes

Outdoor activities like skating, skiing, or sledding

Traffic jams or snowed in cars

Frozen lakes cracking underfoot

Dodging icicles falling from rooftops

Going ice-fishing

Long sea voyages

Frostbite

Suffering from a cold, the flu, or pneumonia

Brainfreeze

Snuggling under a warm duvet

Sipping from a steaming hot drink for comfort

Cold-water swimming

Walking to work in the rain

Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere

Chrismas in July in the Southern Hemisphere

Reading a good book by the fire while it snows outside

Positive aspects

While cold is often associated with negative emotions, using it as a juxtaposition can often help to accentuate the positive feelings you want to convey.

If it's cold outside, a character enjoying a hot chocolate under their duvet will give a much more positive impression than if they were simply staying in bed.

The beauty of the natural world in winter, like snow, ice, and winter foliage can also be used to create a scene of happiness and wonder.

Negative aspects

Cold is often used to describe characters who are emotionally detached, calculating, or generally unfeeling. It's become an easy way to clue your readers in to how they're meant to feel about your character.

There are also more creative ways to use the cold, however, like describing the disappointment of forgetting about a hot drink you put down somewhere and only remembering when it's already gone cold, or the feeling of shock after you first step out of a warm shower.

Helpful synonyms

chilly

frigid

icy

wintry

frosty

cool

nippy

freezing

glacial

brisk

chilled

cool

polar

bitter

snowy

raw

refrigerated

arctic

rimy

draughty

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cowboydisaster · 9 months

Note

I have no idea about the historical accuracy of this but imagine a reader who used to be in a pretty well off family (think like the braithwaites level in society) but she left it all and gave everything up to be with Arthur. It’s her first Christmas away from her family and she misses the Christmas tree back home. Queue Arthur cutting a tree down with his big manly man strength and dragging it back to camp to surprise her🥲

* ˚ ✦ Stardust * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 4k a/n: margo!! This prompt was too cute. I kinda took it and RAN so I hope I did it justice! xx

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: SEVEN days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

If there's one thing you haven't gotten used to in this way of life, it's the elements. Camp is situated in Big Valley along the Upper Montana River. It's beautiful, and more open country than you've ever seen in your life. But damn, is it cold in winter. Snow drifts down from Mount Shann, creating a beautiful flurry of white around camp, albeit a freezing one.

At this moment, though, the cold doesn't bother you. In the safety of your tent, back tucked against Arthur's chest, it's impossible for the cold to reach you. He keeps you warm. Like a furnace, that man. You'd be worried he was running a fever if you weren't so used to his toasty-warm temperature.

You shuffle against Arthur, readjusting in the soft cotton cot. The wind whispers quietly outside, peacefully. Gone is the loud whipping ice storm that had come through a week or so ago. It's been replaced by a quiet falling of snow, the creak of nearby oaks.

“Darlin’? What is it?” Arthur whispers, voice sleepy against your ear. The hand that's hung over your waist squeezes gently, a small act of encouragement to respond. You smirk. You can picture his face, eyes closed, or half-lifted, eyebrows knitting with worry.

“What's wrong?” He whispers again. The hand on your waist flattens against your stomach, gently pulling you back towards him.

Oh, your Arthur. His heart is perfectly in tune with yours, and well, when yours is sunk, he notices. A peculiar little thing you've discovered– he always notices those small details, those small fluctuations in your mood. On top of that, he always addresses them.

Those selfless personality traits are why you left the city in the first place. Arthur is genuine, real. He's caring, and he communicates with you when you're upset. Your mamá and papá were far too concerned with selling you off to the most eligible bachelor in Saint Denis to care about your feelings. The bachelor's characteristics were of no importance, just his wealth and status in society. That life was… a load of shit, as your dear Arthur would say.

You'd started sneaking downtown at night to get away from the chaos of your home. Your parents were always fighting and screaming. Broken dishes and ringing ears became a staple in that house. La Bastille Saloon was a short walk from your house on Flavian Street. And that's where you met Arthur.

Despite his career, you immediately recognized him to be the first honest man that you'd ever met in your life. In a mere thirty seconds of conversation, you'd found a depth to him that your father could never scratch, a kindness that no arranged husband would show you. And so it became a habit. You'd sneak out of your window a few times a week, meeting him at La Bastille– talking, laughing, drinking. Arthur's whiskey burned far more than the French wine you'd sipped on in your life. Where you came from, drinking was for show. To sip on a glass of imported chablis was to assert class, but Arthur taught you how to drink for fun. He'd taught you how to play cards and how to cure a hangover. Your parents would be mortified at your unladylike behavior.

Arthur showed you fun, and kindness, spontaneity and honesty in a world that you thought was without those virtues. When Arthur had asked you to join him, it was an easy yes. He laid it all out. the good, the bad and the ugly. Criminals, you'd be joining. He was afraid that you would turn away, but crime is no stranger to you. Coming from high society, you saw the rich take from the poor time and again. You saw laundering and fraud, servitude, coercion and arranged murder.

All your family does is twist lies for their own benefit. They're all snakes, sinking their teeth into everything they come across. Gluttonous in their pursuit to expel venom. It has drowned the whole city of Saint Denis, sunk into the cobblestone roads and poisoned the entire place.

You see more honesty in the Van der Linde's life of crime than in your family's. At least the Van der Lindes are honest about what they do, and only rob from those who rob from others.

Leaving with Arthur was the most freeing feeling you've ever experienced. You love him with all your heart. You love the gang, and your new life, and yet even with all that you've gained, you still left so much behind. Joining Arthur; it's the best decision you've ever made, and you don't regret it for a moment, but the approaching holiday is bringing out sadness, memories of your childhood, friends that you'd left in the city. Any good memory of the city is recalled through rose tinted glasses, but still, it's beginning to sting now that it's almost Christmas.

“Darlin’?” Arthur says, the grogginess no longer evident in his voice. He pulls you back to the present like a tether. His thumb drags soothingly over your hip bone, and underneath the thick blankets, you lay your hand atop his.

“Hmm?” You offer.

“Where's your head at?” Arthur whispers, breath against your ear.

“Oh, just thinking.” You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's a sad smile, bittersweet. If a candle were lit, and he could see it, Arthur would be much more worried.

His fingertips brush your hair away from your face, gently pulling some strands behind your ear towards the braid they have escaped from.

Arthur lifts his hand from you, adjusting the blankets as you turn over in bed. Once you're facing him, he makes sure that all of the blankets cover your frame.

“It's just that this will be my first Christmas away from home.”

A small silence ensues. One that threatens to let tears slip down your rosy cheeks. Your nose tucks into Arthur's chest as you sniffle, hoping he hasn't taken your words with offense. This is your home now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. But old habits die hard.

“You missin’ home?” Arthur whispers between kisses to your hair. You shake your head quickly

“No-no. I don't want you to think-”

“Baby, I ain't gonna give you a hard time ‘cause you're missin’ home. Hell… my childhood weren’t nothin’ but a world of pain, and sometimes I miss it.”

You should have expected his understanding. Arthur's never made you feel foolish for your feelings. His hand traces along your hip, keeping you warm and coaxing you to settle back into the comfortable space that he’s surrounded you with.

“I’m finding it difficult.” You whisper, “The holidays are coming up, and they’re bringing lots of memories. Fond ones, things I don’t want to forget.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Well…” You crack a small smile, eyes going far away, back to old memories long ago, “Papá would have a Christmas tree shipped from Cumberland forest, only the best for him of course.” You chuckle, and Arthur smiles for the sweet sound.

“And we would decorate it with candles, blown glass, popcorn and cranberries. Oh, it was such a sight Arthur.” You say, a wonder in your voice. The memories are crystal clear in your head. Bright colors, laughter, songs.

Arthur's Christmas memories don't bring much joy. Except for the year his daddy didn't come home. Still, the way your eyes have lit up– Arthur wishes he could have experienced the Christmas that you're describing. He wishes he could see you with that much joy.

“Have you ever seen a Christmas tree?” You ask, rekindling that tether and pulling him back to you.

“Nah, only in the papers. I ain't never lived nowhere so fancy to have a Christmas tree.”

“It was so beautiful…” You whisper, a chill running down your spine. You hardly notice it, but Arthur pulls you closer nonetheless, his body heat wrapping around you like the warmest of blankets.

“It seemed as if when the tree was decorated and we all sat together, maybe it was not so bad.” You murmur, and the wonder dissipates from your eyes, replaced with reality.

Arthur waits for you to collect your thoughts. A whistle of wind breaks the silence before you do.

“Ah, I'm sorry for this show of emotion. It's silly of me.”

He shakes his head, forehead gently meeting yours. Your eyes marvel up at Arthur, making out the deep blue of his eyes from a stretch of moonlight that's infiltrated the room.

“You ain't ever gotta apologize for gettin’ emotional, sweetheart. Not with me.”

All you can do is nod, feeling again like a schoolgirl with butterflies running rampant in your stomach. His breath traces your face, noses just barely lining each other.

His lips meet yours, soft and sweet. Your heart soars like it does every time he kisses you. It's something that you're sure you won't ever get used to. But something you're hoping to find familiarity in, because you never want to stop kissing him.

He pulls away all too soon for your liking, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. When he hears your small whine, he huffs.

“I know, get back to sleep baby, I'll still be here in the mornin’.”

It doesn't take long for you to slip back into slumber, not with the soft whisper of the wind, and the cocoon of warmth around you. Arthur practically carries you across the threshold into sleep with the way his arms wrap around you.

In the little tent, deep in the snow, Arthur begins to hatch his plan. He kisses your head, climbing over you and out of bed to light a candle. It provides just enough light to illuminate the pages of his journal. Just enough light for him to illustrate his surprise.

He had promised you– all those months ago, when he'd packed your bags onto his horse and ridden you out of the city– that he would do anything and everything to make you happy. It's a promise that he intends to keep

— — —

a few days later

“This is the one.” Arthur marvels, sparkling eyes cast upwards toward the fullest, greenest evergreen in Cumberland Forest. You deserve nothing but the best, and he’s sure that he’s found it.

Arthur takes a short moment to pull out his journal, dusting some fallen snow from the leather cover. He sketches the tree, a way for him to remember the moment. To remember how the tree had been, perfectly untouched in nature. He takes his time, back propped against the unhitched wagon in the forest, hat covered in a thick dusting of snow. A few flakes even drop onto the page, melting and smudging his charcoal.

When the branches are sketched to his liking, he accompanies them with a quick passage and closes the book.

For the lady. Christmas. 1899.

When the book snaps shut and is stuffed back into his journal, he looks up, finding a questioning look on his trusted stallion’s face.

“What?” Arthur’s brow furrows, “I’ll plant another one.”

The stallion sighs.

Arthur moves around the back of the wagon, pulling an ax from the toolbox, dusting some snow off the handle with gloved hands. The ground is covered in a thick layer of white, the horses too. They press their noses together, whinnying and rumbling, entertaining each other with horse-typical play in the snow.

“Jasper. Sugar. Quit bein’ sweet on one another, we got work to do.” Arthur calls back to the two horses. What a pair, those two.

Jasper is Arthur’s stallion. He’s well behaved. Shy. Obedient. Then there’s Sugar. She was a gift from Arthur to you. White as snow and wild as the wind. She still is, despite all of her training.

Arthur had brought the pair of them with the wagon to pull the tree back to camp. But now, Sugar seems more interested in kicking up snow, and well– Jasper is only interested in following Sugar around, hearts practically emitting from his eyes.

Snow falls in thick flakes, dotting Arthur’s red flannel and melting against the thick material. He pays it no mind. The snowfall silences the forest, save for the rhythmic whack…whack of Arthur’s ax hitting the evergreen, and the softened sound of playful hooves in the snow.

“Don’t tire yourselves out.” Arthur huffs to the horses, “Jesus.”

A few more swings of the ax, and the tree begins to fall. It hits the ground with a thud, not nearly as loud as Arthur imagined it would be. But, the snow softened the fall, he supposes.

In a matter of minutes, the tree is in the wagon. Just a few more, and Jasper and Sugar are pulling it home.

If everything is going according to plan, right now you should be with Marybeth, picking holly. She had taken you out, because she had “wanted to spruce up camp a bit.” Little do you know, the little adventure is a part of Arthur’s plan. With you away from camp, he was able to borrow Sugar, take Jasper, and get the tree. With you away from camp, the final touches can fall into place.

Arthur gently taps the reins over the horse’s backs, urging them into a faster canter along the beaten down snow path back towards camp.

“Hyah! C’mon, we’re pushin’ it.” He calls to the horses. The little golden bells on their harnesses jingle and ring as he pushes them towards camp, massive evergreen in tow. He checks his pocket watch, cursing quietly before putting it away. Sadie should be done by now.

It’s not long before the horses are pulling into camp, large puffs of white billowing out from their noses as they catch their breath. Arthur hops down from the wagon, his hand running along the expanse of it as he reaches the back.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp. He makes his way towards the wagon, “Now this is how we celebrate Christmas!”

The evergreen nearly overtakes the wagon, branches sticking out from all directions, billows of snow still stuck to them. Dutch has no idea how Arthur managed to get it into the wagon. An approaching Hosea is just as flabbergasted.

“You know, I never took you to be much of a romantic, Arthur. But this might just prove me wrong.” Hosea

“Whatever you say. Now, quit gawkin’ and help me get this big bastard up.” Arthur mumbles, grabbing the thick tree by the trunk and pulling it down. Sap sticks to his hands as he begins to drag it out of the wagon. Carrying it into the center of camp is a group effort– much easier than Arthur getting it into the wagon by himself.

“I reckon you two can handle this. I got some other things to check up on.” Arthur steps back, sizing the tree up and down.

“Run along then and leave us the hard work.” Dutch muses, within earshot of Arthur.

“Figured it would do your old bones some good to do real work, Dutch!” Arthur hollers back over his shoulder, chuckling to himself as he makes his way towards the circle of tents.

“Mrs. Adler?” Arthur hollers, approaching the A-frame tent, “You in there?”

Before he can part the white canvas tent, Sadie emerges, and he backs up.

“You get it done?” Arthur asks, cheeks tinged bright pink from the cold. Hat white instead of black. Sadie chuckles for it.

“Did I get it done?” Sadie mocks with a huff, “A’ course I got it done.”

From her tent, she pulls out a Christmas tree garland. A string carefully woven through dried cranberries and popped corn. It's beautiful and long. It must have taken her hours to make. Arthur’s eyes go wide in small wonder as she transfers the garland to him.

“S’perfect, Sadie. She’s gonna love this.”

A wide, bittersweet smile stretches across Sadie’s face, “Jake taught me how,” there is a pause as Arthur nods in understanding, “Now go. Go decorate it for your woman.” Sadie smirks.

“Dear boy! Dear boy, how does it look?” Hosea calls out, and Arthur’s attention shoots towards the tree. They have it standing upright now, perfectly in the center of camp. It stands tall, a real beauty.

“Perfect.” He gapes at it, wishing he could have done something like this when he was younger– hoping that it will live up to your memories. Arthur doesn’t have the money to buy fancy ornaments, but he’s doing everything in his power to make it special for you.

With the help of the horses and the wagon, everyone manages to wrap the garland the whole way around the tree, even up to the top. The little trail of white and red looks beautiful against the dark green of the pine. Arthur places lit candles in holders on the branches, casting a beautiful hazy glow that lights up the tree. Camp members begin to gather, circling around the tree, watching and helping. Mrs. Grimshaw offers some holly. Karen offers some candy canes that she had bought in town, hanging them from the branches.

The sun begins to set, and Arthur checks his watch, knowing that you’ll be back any minute. A small tug on his pants pulls his attention downwards.

“Uncle Arthur?” Little Jack whispers, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the tree lights, “I made this for you! For you to put it on auntie's tree!”

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he glances quickly up to Abigail, who is smiling warmly. Jack reaches into his little bag and pulls out a beautiful paper star. He has apparently put a lot of time and effort into folding and cutting the paper into a perfect little topper. Jack’s little hands extend the star up to Arthur, the smile on his face brighter than any of the tree’s candles.

“You made this?” Arthur asks.

“Yep, I sure did! Momma even helped me cut the paper!”

Arthur kneels on the ground– eye level with Jack, a smirk on his lips, “I think we better put it on the top then, don't you?”

“Oh yes! It would be perfect on top! I just hope aunt y/n likes it…”

“She’ll love this, buddy.”

With some more help from a very grumpy Sugar, Arthur manages to place the star perfectly on the tree top. And just in time, apparently.

When Arthur steps back, taking in the tree for all its glory, his jaw falls slack, eyes filling up with wonder.

It's beautiful. At dusk, the candles shine brightly. The garland has attracted a few red cardinals, and they rest in the branches, comfortable in the new camp tree. Everyone looks in awe. It’s perfect.

— — —

“No peekin’.” Arthur whispers in your ear from behind, his hands covering your eyes. He slowly walks you forwards towards… something. He hasn’t explained anything to you, just… kidnapped you right outside of camp. You’ve been walking with him, eyes covered for nearly five minutes.

“Oh, Arthur, what is going on!?” You giggle, hands covering the length of his own, a smile plastered on your face.

“S’a surprise, darlin’. That’s why you can’t peek.” Arthur’s voice whispers from behind you, his chest nearly pressed against your back as he inches you forward.

You roll your eyes. Suddenly, his footsteps are still behind you, and you stop in return.

“Is this why I was stuck in the forest picking berries all day?” You ask. Arthur huffs.

“Shhh. We’re here.” He shushes.

Your heart quickens with excitement, bottom lip tight between your teeth with anticipation. As much as you try to listen for any clues, all you can hear is the munching of hay and the crackle of the campfire– typical for camp after dusk.

“Arthur…?” You whisper, almost afraid to break the quiet. Anticipation swirls in your stomach, followed by anxiety tickling up your spine.

His calloused hands pull away from your eyes, and your lashes flutter as you focus on the sight in front of you.

It’s… a christmas tree. Your jaw falls slack, and as unladylike as it may be, you can’t help it. A small gasp escapes your rosy lips.

It must be twelve feet high, and it's thick with branches. Candles, and decor wrap around the tree like a dress tailored to perfection. Color and light burst from the beautiful tree, and before you can control yourself, tears are welling up in your eyes.

“Arthur, I–” Your voice cracks, the tears almost spilling over.

“Darlin’?” Arthur’s thumb softly brushes the inside of your hand. For a moment, he worries that he’s misstepped terribly. The sight of your tears brings forth a small panic, quelled by the outburst of your smile. Tears fall freely from your eyes, but they are of joy– not sadness.

“You got me– You got me a Christmas tree?” You smile, wiping away the tears as he envelopes you into his warm arms. You sniffle, laughs of pure joy escaping into his chest as he holds you tight.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers to you, arms wrapped around your waist. The light from the tree dances in your eyes, almost as beautiful and bright as your smile.

“Oh, Arthur, it’s perfect.” You gasp, eyes glued to the tree, pulling away to glance into Arthur’s eyes, “How ever did you get it here?”

“With a little help.” Arthur nods towards the horse station where Sugar and Jasper are laying in the hay, nuzzling each other sweetly. As if knowing, Sugar whinnies towards you softly, followed by a quiet neigh from Jasper.

Your eyes wander back towards the tree in front of you, and then to Arthur once again. His hands slide down from your waist, thumbs settling into the dimples in your back.

“It's beautiful.” You say.

“It’s all yours.”

In all of your life, Arthur has been the first person to cater to your emotions– to care about them. Your heart fills with love, so much that it overflows and floods the earth at your feet. Soaking into the ground of the camp, touching the hearts of the others around you.

“I love you.” You whisper, head resting on Arthur’s chest, eyes fixed on a cardinal that’s pecking at the popped corn on the tree.

“I-” Arthur pauses, realizing. His brow furrows, eyes flickering down, “Wait, what?”

“I said I love you.” You reiterate, chin propped on his chest to look up at him. Arthur looks nearly blown away by the words. Words he’s not heard from you yet. Words that he’s nearly let slip time and again over the past few months.

Arthur’s lips crack into a smile, crows feet wrinkling for the action. His thumb brushes your cheek before trailing down to your chin, pulling you in towards his lips. You lean on your tiptoes, brushing your lips against his, meeting him with all the love and joy that you never thought would be possible for you. He’s taken you from a bad situation, and given you everything you could have wanted and more. Your lips press against his, pink-tinged noses lining each other. Your eyes flutter shut, snowflakes catching in your thick lashes as you deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the base of his neck, your tongues dance with one another.

When you pull away to breathe, your eyes lock with his, sparkling with light.

“I love you too.” He smirks, hands wrapping under your thighs, eliciting giggles from you as he hoists you into his arms. Fat snowflakes fall into your hair as Arthur turns towards your tent, ready to carry you to bed.

“No- wait!” You grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks, “Please, Arthur- just five more minutes. I’d like to keep looking at the tree.”

Arthur pauses, brushing your cold cheek, “Alright. Five more minutes.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your hair.

The tree shines bright as ever, as if god had sprinkled stardust down from the heavens, painting your tree in beautiful white light.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

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