#but i'll read through the two fics a bit further and if i find a snippet i like enough i might post it
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
almostempty · 18 days ago
Text
right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one
Tumblr media
wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE
summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel
to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot
tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 
thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.
Tumblr media
The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 
The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 
Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 
But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 
Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 
You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 
The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 
“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 
As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 
“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 
“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 
You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 
“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 
You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 
Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 
You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 
“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 
Tumblr media
The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 
Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 
The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 
You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 
You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 
He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 
You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 
Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 
“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”
Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 
Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 
Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 
“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.
“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 
The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 
“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  
It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 
Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 
“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 
The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 
Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 
He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 
He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 
Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 
He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 
You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 
Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 
“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  
“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  
Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 
“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 
Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 
Tumblr media
You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 
The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 
Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 
Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 
You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 
It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 
He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 
His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 
Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 
The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 
“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 
“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 
“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 
“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 
You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 
Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”
“You compete?”
“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”
You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”
Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 
His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 
Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.
For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 
“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 
“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”
Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 
“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 
His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 
You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 
“You runnin’ from something?” 
You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 
“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 
“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 
Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 
“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 
That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 
Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 
You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 
Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 
The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.
He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 
“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 
“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 
“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 
“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 
“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 
“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 
“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”
His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 
Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 
“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 
“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 
Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 
“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.
Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 
But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 
Tumblr media
Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.
Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.
If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.
Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.
The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.
You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”
He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.
As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.
You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.
“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”
You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.
“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”
“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”
Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”
“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”
Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.
“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 
“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”
You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.
“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.
“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.
Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.
“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”
“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”
They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.
“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”
“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.
“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 
“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.
The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.
Tumblr media
The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 
“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 
His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 
Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 
“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 
Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 
“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 
The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 
“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 
Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 
“That the Hancock gelding?” 
“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 
Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 
You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?
Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 
Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.
Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 
Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 
“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 
“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 
Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 
In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 
Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 
Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 
“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 
Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 
Tumblr media
Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.
One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 
Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 
The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 
He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 
From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.
Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 
Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 
That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 
He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 
He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 
He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 
Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 
Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 
Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 
Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 
Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 
“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 
“That’s the plan.” 
Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 
Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 
Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 
Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 
Tumblr media
The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 
Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 
You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 
He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 
You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 
He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.
You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 
“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 
You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 
His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 
You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 
Tumblr media
You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.
You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.
Tumblr media
The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.
You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 
Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 
You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 
The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.
Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.
Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.
The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 
You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.
Tumblr media
“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 
You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.
It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 
The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 
He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 
Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.
You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.
“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.
Tumblr media
The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.
“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.
Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”
“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.
Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.
Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.
You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 
“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 
The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.
You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 
You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 
“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.
Tumblr media
You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.
“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.
You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 
He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 
Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 
“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 
Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 
You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 
It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 
It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 
You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 
He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 
The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 
The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 
“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 
“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 
“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 
You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 
“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 
“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 
“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 
You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 
The view makes you salivate. 
Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 
“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 
“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 
“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.
“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 
“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 
“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 
“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 
Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.
“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 
“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 
“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 
He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   
“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  
You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  
Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  
His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  
“Joel, please.”  
“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  
“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  
Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 
“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 
“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 
“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  
Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 
Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 
When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 
He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 
You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.
To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 
But it never comes.
You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. 
He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.
Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.
Tumblr media
-> PART TWO
Tumblr media
dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠����
tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:
@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar
@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy
@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist
@94namkooksworld
Tumblr media
250 notes · View notes
xbellaxcarolinax · 1 year ago
Text
Futile Devices
Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader
Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 
Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)
Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!
Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.
Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!
MDNI pls.
...
It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.
Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.
You had to be extra careful. 
You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.
"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go." 
"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly. 
“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”
“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”
“I’m different.”
“I doubt it.” 
He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”
“Me.”
“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly. 
Yeah. Something like that.
You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.
"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above. 
Fuck. That was close.
You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination. 
You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.
"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!" 
Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.
"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood." 
"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"
"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor. 
"That's not gonna work, honey."
"So let me in." 
"Promise to be nice?"
"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?" 
"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel." 
You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.
"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight. 
You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago. 
Life progresses. People change.
“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.
He didn’t answer. 
“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week. 
The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.
“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit. 
You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.
“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind. 
“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person. 
"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"
“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago. 
You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought. 
You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.
“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.
“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.
“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”
“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”
“That's not the point."
“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted. 
"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!" 
"Mhm." 
"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"
"Uh-huh." 
You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."
"I'm listening, HR."
"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”
“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.
He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands. 
“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.
"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.” 
Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”
“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”
“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.
“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.
“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”
“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”
“For food?” 
“Yes, for food. They want options.” 
“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.” 
“Fine.” 
“Anything else?” 
“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.
“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.
“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.
“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.
“What is it?” 
He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.
You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.
“Keep your window unlocked tonight.” 
He loves it when you ride him. 
His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices. 
Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.
"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.
"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?" 
Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.
Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.
You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.
"F-fuck! Miguel!"
"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open. 
"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.
He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim. 
His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.
“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand. 
You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 
Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.
His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know. 
“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets. 
Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.
“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.
Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.
A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally. 
He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.
You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight. 
“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”
“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag. 
"You could've just taken the elevator!"
"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?" 
"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.
“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”
“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”
“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."
You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."
“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.
“What can I do for you, Peter?” 
Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk. 
“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day. 
You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.
”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?” 
“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.” 
"Asked?"
"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.” 
You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”
“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!” 
“He's making you do that?”
“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!” 
You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”
"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you." 
Well, that was true.
You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella. 
Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat. 
But he was never just some guy to you. 
You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.
A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement. 
He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years? 
You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be. 
It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.
“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?” 
“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.
“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”
“And who’s supposed to help you?”
“I don’t need help.” 
“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”
“Very.”
“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.
"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.
"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.
"What?"
“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.
"What?"
"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?" 
You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."
...
"So you think I need help?"
Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove. 
You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.
So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.
"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.  
"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.
"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.
“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.
He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”
“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling. 
“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce. 
You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips. 
His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval. 
"Is it good?" 
“Mhm.”
You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time. 
Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.
Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.
"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin. 
"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats. 
You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse. 
It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.
And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.
The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 
You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.
Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.
"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention. 
It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts. 
You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.
You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.
So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.
He fucked you from behind. 
It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck. 
"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in." 
"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while." 
"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt. 
"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.
"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls. 
"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.
He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.
The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time. 
You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him. 
“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.
It was too much. 
“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”
“Cum for me.” 
That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.
“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”
“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.” 
You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.
You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure. 
Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.
As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you. 
"I have to go."
“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”
"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened. 
You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.
His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed. 
You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.
You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.
...
“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.
“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”
“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.
“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously. 
“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.
“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.” 
Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.
“Fine, boss lady.” 
Satisfied, you handed him a plate.
“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate. 
“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”
“My dad can’t.”
“…why?”
“He’s Irish.”
“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”
“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.
You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again. 
You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.
“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.
“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.
“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers. 
“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt. 
“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white. 
“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.
“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.
Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller. 
“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?” 
“Miguel’s being mopey.”
“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”
“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.
“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”
“What?”
“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”
“How?”
“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”
“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”
“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.
“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”
“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!” 
“You caught him off guard.”
“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”
“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.
“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”
...
You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.
The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.
What were you even doing there? 
You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day. 
Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.
It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must. 
You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits. 
No more keeping your window unlocked.
You took a breath and tried again. No luck. 
Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine. 
“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs. 
Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.
“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”
“Uhh, thanks?”
“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes. 
“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.” 
“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”
“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.
“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.” 
“What? How am I supposed to do that?” 
Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold. 
You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway. 
It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you. 
“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal.  He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.
“What do you need?” 
“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.
“About?” 
“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.
“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, “I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”
“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.
“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”
“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.
“Yeah. I did. Still do.” 
The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.
You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything. 
“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”
“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.
“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”
“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?
“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.” 
“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.
“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes. 
“I’m not.” 
“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 
Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.
“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.
“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.” 
“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.” 
“You’re pissing me off.”
“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation
“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm. 
Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined. 
You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his. 
“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him. 
He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.
“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.
“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips. 
He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate. 
“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”
“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.
“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t even want to think about how high up you were.
“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.” 
“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”
“Y-yeah?” 
“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.
As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.  
He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole. 
“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.
“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.
You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman. 
You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.
“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly. 
“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed. 
With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm. 
“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.
You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste. 
“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows. 
“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.
You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel. 
In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.
“Te amo.”
3K notes · View notes
freakingholland · 11 months ago
Text
"Cold cloths, warm hugs" Jason Todd x gn!reader
Tumblr media
A/N: My first ever Jason x reader fic whaaat! I have such a soft spot for this guy ugh <3 also this is so fluffy and silly, I'll see myself out!
Warnings: not proofread, swear words, Jason is feeling unwell so a mention of headaches? use of painkillers
Summary: You and Jay have a night off, what could possibly go wrong? (fluff, hurt/comfort-ish)
Word count: 850 +
If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland
questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here
masterlist
my AO3 archive is here
-
You were in the middle of watching some kind of lighthearted show on your night off. Jason had a night off as well, the two of you had been sitting on a couch and simply enjoying each other’s presence. Jason had been reading a book curled up next to your tucked figure, as your back was leaning against the opposite arm of the couch. Unexpectedly his reading session got disturbed. At least you thought so since he had gotten up from the couch, tossed his reading glasses aside on the coffee table and went to the kitchen without a word. At least 5 minutes had passed, and he didn’t return.
“Hey- you alright in there?”
-
“-Yup, just a sec.”
He didn’t sound very convincing. His response seemed wavering, and it was enough to make you a bit wary. As you didn’t want to possibly annoy him with your raised voice, not knowing the problem yet, instead of shouting from the sofa, you went to check on him.
His head was hanging low as he was standing with his hands resting on the counter. There was an unscrewed bottle of painkillers and a now empty, wet glass. You went behind him and put your hand on the small of his back.
“What’s going on baby?” Your heart ached at the sight.
“--Headache.” He whispered through gritted teeth. His tone made you uptight.
“I- I- gotta lie down.”
“-can you get me a cold-- towel? Please…” He spoke quietly while turning to go to your bedroom. Your hand dropped to your side.
“Course. You’re nauseous?”
He slightly leaned on the doorframe before going further away from you. He shut his eyes as the light hit his face when leaving the kitchen.
“Yeah…”
He then faltered to rest up.
“Shit.” You cursed under your breath putting your head in your hand when he left.
You were hoping that you’d have a calm evening for once, you deserved to have it. It’s been a while since something bothered Jay to that degree, whether it was a patrol injury or sickness, and the fact that he was hurting on his day off made you genuinely irritated.
On the positive side – at least he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was feeling unwell. He also asked for some help without much frustration. It took months to get to this point, but encouraging Jay to open up and communicate more has been paying off. Grief-stricken conversations still happen every so often. Hell, it would be beyond belief if they weren’t happening considering the extent of past trauma that Jason has suffered through.
But his mental health really did improve over the months of you two dating.
You put on the kettle to make him a nice warm cup of tea. With the help of a stool, you managed to find his old but beloved wonder woman mug. It took some digging in your cabinet that really needed a proper cleanup. When the tea had been made you moved on to rummage through your closet to find a cloth for a cold compress. Placing three cubes of ice in between the layers was enough to make the cloth cold.
“Babe did you drink cof—“ you stopped halfway through your whispered question when you were walking into your shared bedroom.
You suddenly stopped in your tracks realizing your possible mistake. Jay was already dosing off, curled under a blanket. His lips were slightly parted. There was a noticeable change in his posture, there was less tension within his upper body, his arms seemed more relaxed than before. You didn’t think he would be falling asleep this fast, but you figured the headache must have been bad and that the painkillers actually started to kick in.
 The sight made you sigh as you’ve been unnoticeably holding in your breath. You tiptoed to his bed side table and put down his mug of steaming tea. You then carefully kneeled down next to the bed in order to place a compress on his forehead without startling him too much. You gently pressed it onto his skin, making sure to place it slightly over his eyelids.
“That feels so nice.” He muttered.
“Shhh ignore me and go to sleep.”
“I don’t wanna ignore you--, come here.”
You stood up and walked around the bed. Before joining Jay, you opened the window to let some fresh air into the room.
“Baby please…”
“’Kay ‘kay I’m coming.”
You carefully crawled under his blanket and big spooned him.
“You know what? I can already feel the headache going away just cause you’re hugging me.” He continued verbilising his loopy thoughts.
“Oh yeah? It must be some kind of magic.”
“Yeah, it’s Y/N’s magic.”
“Just don’t tell on me. Peeps might burn me at the stake.”
“Fuuuuuuck no I wouldn’t let them.”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t big guy. ” you said running your hand through his hair.  
Jay rolled to his side to embrace you in a hug. He nuzzled his face into your chest and sighed with relief.
“JACE that’s cold! Stop it!” you winced and laughed as the compress touched your warm skin.
“It wouldn’t feel so cold if you weren’t so hot.”
“I think we gotta check your temperature…”
-
Stay whelmed xx
Tori
575 notes · View notes
lamentationsofalonelypotato · 11 months ago
Text
Meet Cute
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).
Era: Hershel farm era.
Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.
Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.
Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)
Note: There is minimal use of (y/n).  Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!
Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.
ENJOY!
Main Masterlist
Future Fic "Your Fault"
******************************************
It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.
You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.
By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.
But after two months it was home.
You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.
You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.
Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.
The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.
The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.
You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.
You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.
Shit.
As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.
Okay. I can do this. I can do this-
You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-
You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.
SHIT.
"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"
Why did I just call him sir?
The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.
SHIT.
You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.
He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.
Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.
You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.
You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.
You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-
You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.
Great.
*******************************************
Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.
Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.
If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.
Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.
If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.
He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.
He must really care about it.
You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.
You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.
I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.
You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.
Great.
"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.
Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.
"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground  and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."
"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.
This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.
"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."
He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.
"Wait please. I feel really bad-"
The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.
"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.
 "Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."
"You shot me?"
"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."
"What?"
"It felt wrong to leave you there.”
“I don’t need your help.” He spits.
“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.
Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.
"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.
"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."
His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”
The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.
“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.
He shakes his head.
You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”
The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”
“Fine."
He makes no move to lower the crossbow.
"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.
The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.
What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.
You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”
He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.
You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.
He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.
You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.
“How long have I been here?”
“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.
“Are you really a doctor?”
“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.
“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No. You're just-“
You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.
Okay.
“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.
He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.
“I’m y/n by the way.”
He waits a beat. “Daryl.”
You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.
“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.
“Yeah. How about you?”
“No.”
Guess he doesn’t say a lot.
When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.
“It’s okay." You smile at him.  "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"
“No.”
“But I have to see it-“
He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.
You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?
He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.
“You might need to lie down for this one.”
Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.
Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?
“What happened?”
“Fell.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.
Or not.
As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.
“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."
"No."
"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.
Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.
"Here." You hold out a bandage.
"Don't need it."
"Are you sure?"
Daryl nods once.
"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him. 
As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.
He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.
"You're welcome. Be careful out there."
And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.
********************************************
The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.
That last bit seemed the most in character.
You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.
However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.
What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.
You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.
What?
You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.
Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.
Definitely didn't dream that.
A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.
"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.
"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.
"We have to go."
"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead  followed by the pounding of hands against the door.
Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.
"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.
In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.
“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.
You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.
He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.
Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.
“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.
“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.
You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.
He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.
You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.
As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.
"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.
Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."
"After I shot you."
"You missed." He shrugs.
You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"
Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.
"What?"
"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.
"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.
"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.
"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."
"We're even."
"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."
Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."
"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.
I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
***********************************
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"
304 notes · View notes
mydarlingclaudia · 3 months ago
Text
ENTER THE SURVIVAL HORROR…
OCTOBER FIC PLANS 𓉸
Tumblr media
some fics I will be posting in October will contain dark content or will be dead dove (given I’ve never really written for either subject so this is new territory for me) but two of the fics I’m going to write are based on or inspired by horror movies and I’ll be writing both Chris and Leon!
also post dates and descriptions may change a tiny bit (though not likely!!) because I have actually only finished one of these fics, but if I do change anything I'll reblog this post!!
coming soon ⟢
taste no evil inspired by… THE VVITCH (10/30/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you.
established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon
how much blood would you shed to survive? based on… SAW (10/18/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader
cheating doesn't make you a bad person, it's not like you were even married to the guy, Chris didn't even try to stop you from hitting on him, anyway. maybe getting romantically involved with your coworker wasn't the best decision you've made, but why should anyone else care? you don't let your relationship with him get in the way of your work, all you really do is help each other try to track down the murderer running through Raccoon City, how were you supposed to know said murderer would be your boss? and how were you supposed to know that you'd wake up in one of these traps one morning with Chris getting there surprisingly fast to help you escape?
established relationship, gore, mentions of infidelity, au, fem!reader, re5!Chris
she’s demonic and bloody, but she holds me tight inspired by… IN MY ROOM (10/10/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
a college kid with a social life that's almost non-existent figures the dead girl that comes to his room every night is his girlfriend, some say that's a bad thing, he says it's everything he could wish for. who cares, anyway? it's not hurting anyone! well, not yet, at least. there's an endless list of things he'd do for you, you don't even have to ask. but why won't you come back after he takes care of a problem that would have torn you away from him? you love him, right?
not-really established relationship (idk how to explain it), a bit suggestive, Leon is kinda gross, necrophilia, gore, au, fem!reader, re2r!Leon
mouthful of love (10/2/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader
mission gone wrong, the rest of your team had already been killed, so when you end up dying in that same mission it only makes things worse. but Chris can’t just leave you, right? no, that would be cruel, but he can’t really drag around a dead body with him either. who’s gonna know if he took a few bites out of you just to keep you with him? the place had already been crawling with monsters, it wouldn’t be a totally crazy thing to find on a corpse.
established relationship, major character death, gore, cannibalism, fem!reader, anywhere post re1 Chris
I will be using dark content and dead dove for tags so you’ll be able to filter out these fics. I don’t really expect anyone to give a shit about this but for those of you who do wanna read these thank you and happy halloween <3 I might also be posting extras if I find the time and feel like it, those are also probably going to be more cutesy fall fics sooooo
Tumblr media
61 notes · View notes
ask-spiderpool · 2 years ago
Note
Ngl ,i love your work,but it rubs me wrong how Peter's discomfort w venom doing sexual things without Peter's consent or knowledge is treated as a joke,or just generally kind of dismissed. Also- I'm autistic and love love love autistic peter parker hc,but the fact he was called 'on the spectrum' soley because he got upset at venom for this and 'couldn't put himself in venoms shoes' also kind of felt really bad.
ough, bless you anon! I really appreciate you vocalising your thoughts and concerns in a really sincere respectful way. I want to respond so you don't feel unheard!
I'd also like to take this chance to say that the actions of one Wade W. Wilson do not reflect the thoughts of the ask-spiderpool moderator. The ask-spiderpool moderator does not condone his words or actions. He is a bad man. The words he's saying are bad.
Deadpool is definitely playing the role of a villain here, and he's kind of intentionally choosing his words with the intention of punishing Peter and invalidating him. He knows what he's doing. And Spider-man knows it too.
Tumblr media
I know it's something a lot of people don't like to see from Wade – but it's a part of his character that I find interesting to explore and to see him eventually overcome. His ability to weaponise everything, and his instinct of self-sabotage. It becomes dangerous territory to write sometimes because people generally want to side with Deadpool and believe he'll do no wrong, but - I don't know, to strip him of all his ugliness would be untrue to him. Similarly with Peter – I guess I'm just really interested in parts of Wade and Peter that you don't really get to see explored in fanon very often.
It's kind of a problem though that yeah - when you write this sort of a thing there's the risk of people who don't look at it critically - so you get people idolising or siding with Deadpool when what he's doing is really bad actually. It's kind of a miracle, the sorts of things Wade gets away with, while Peter's attacked for it - and that's something I kind of like to examine, too.
I think I do have a responsibility to make this blog feel safe, but also challenging and interesting - and I think I'll be working hard to kind of find a balance between the two. I'm still trying to figure it out - to write what I find interesting, knowing my own intentions but knowing it probably will be misinterpreted – or writing something else that is easy and pleasing to everyone (not really my bag, and also near impossible!), or just not write at all (also impossible for me! Got a brain-itch to scratch...)
I really appreciate when people read my writing and see what I'm getting at – but it doesn't always happen, and it isn't really anyone's fault. I kind of like to offer explanations and further meta, and the fics, because I love to be understood - and the server where I love to have discussions with people about how they receive these posts. The reason I love running this blog is the discussions I have with people about it. The back-and-forth, and so I really do love people to look at Wade and Peter a little deeper.
I have a genuine interest in autistic Peter and it's something I want to explore further in a sincere light, this is kind of just the first tease of something I want to explore more later, if the asks permit. I think every Peter Parker is autistic-coded - I've written a little bit about it here! I'm no expert on diagnosis - but as fantastical as ask-spiderpool can get sometimes - I kind of always want what Wade and Peter are going through in their heads to feel real and tangible and understandable, and come from a place of sincerity.
The consent issue is a complicated one – (as is the way with applying real-world-logic to the realm of alien sex with what you thought was just a slick space-age onesie...) Peter's relationship with the symbiote occupies more of a realm of metaphor than anything - and I don't think there's any sort of 1-to-1 comparison to the real world. (Has your sex-toy ever gained sentience and passed judgement upon you? Peter Parker's worst nightmare!)
There is a running theme of Peter kind of having his boundaries crossed - and the symbiote is sort of tied to that theme. The symbiote was entirely responsive to Peter's thoughts and didn't do anything Peter didn't will it to do - the real issue is the mortifying ordeal of being perceived. And it's a running theme with Peter - he hides so much and very often his privacy is violated.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
It's often played for laughs, because Deadpool doesn't always take Spider-man's boundaries seriously and likes to push him – but it's something that will come to a head, and Peter will be laying down the law very soon.
I'm really thankful for your message anon, and I really hope this response reaches you with similar sincerity that you reached out to me with and that I'm understood! - I love you so much anon! My DMs over on @sciderman are also open if you'd like to talk to me more!
602 notes · View notes
bitethedevil · 4 months ago
Text
Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 17
Tumblr media
Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen
Read this fic on AO3 (Link)
Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.
…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.
Chapter Summary: The epilogue.
(AN: And here we are at the very end. I want to thank each and every one of you for reading, for comments and reblogs <3 It means the world to me. I started writing this fic with little to no plans for plot and somehow it became this. I've gotten so invested in these two and I'm going to miss writing about them. As I've said before, maybe (maybe) I'll write a sequel or something at some point, but I won't promise anything. Thank you all so much! <3 Also: there are additional notes on AO3)
Tav was sitting on the edge of the bed. She was reading the card that had somehow appeared on her bedside table while she had slept. It was an invitation from Withers. Her eyes ran over the letters, squinting at the handwriting with her tired eyes. She felt an arm snake around her waist. It pulled her back until she was laying over Raphael’s stomach.
“What is that in your hand?” he asked and looked at the card.
“An invitation to some sort of celebration from Withers,” she answered and flipped over the invitation to see if there was anymore information on it. “How did he even send this to the Hells?”
“’Withers’?” Raphael asked.
“Oh right,” she said and explained. “It’s a bit difficult to explain. We found him in a crypt. He has the power to bring some people back from the dead. It’s a long story.”
“You call him Withers?” Raphael asked with an amused smile. “Don’t you know who he is?”
“What do you mean?”
“I will not spoil it for you then,” he said and took the invitation from her hands to look it over. “Your friends will be there too it seems. In the same location where you kept camp all those months ago. How sentimental of the old scribe.”
She snatched back the invitation from him to look at it again. The invitation made her stomach churn. She had been back on the Material Plane a few dozen times since she signed her contract with Raphael. Mostly to feel the fresh air and to get away from Avernus for a little while.
She had also been back to leave a message to her friends, though she had not seen them since she signed the contract. The message she left at her house simply said that she was ‘away’ with no further explanation.  
No further explanation was really needed. She had just spent time in the Hells, kidnapped and held prisoner by a devil against her will, so it must have seemed natural to her friends that she wanted to get away for a while. What she had not told them was that her going ‘away’ meant to go back to said devil out of her own free will.
“You should attend,” Raphael said and ran his fingers through her hair. “It is long overdue that they are told, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled and sat up on the edge of the bed to get dressed.
Raphael had been very adamant about her telling her friends about everything. He wanted them to know that she was his, and he had been slightly disappointed when she told him that she had avoided the subject completely in her message to them.
Raphael got off the bed behind her and got dressed as well.
“I might go,” she said. “But I don’t want to sour the occasion by telling them about all of this. It’s half a year since we defeated the Elderbrain. It’s not really the time where you want to hear that the leader of your group has decided to live their life with one of the villains, or whatever you want to call it, from our journey.”
Raphael chuckled.
“A villain? Really?” he said. “If I recall correctly, and I do, I was nothing but helpful in your endeavor. You forget that you were the ones who betrayed me.”
“You know what I mean,” she mumbled and pulled a dress over her head. “They will ask me about where I’ve been, and I don’t want to lie to them. I don’t want to tell them either. It’s easier if I just don’t go.”
She adjusted her dress and turned around to face him. He was buttoning his doublet and looking at her.
“It will make them more suspicious if you stay away,” he reminded her. “You will go, and you will tell them the truth.”
He walked slowly towards her until he was right in front of her. He wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You will tell them that you live here with me now,” he said in a low voice. “That you are mine, and that neither the Heavens or the Hells can help them if they are foolish enough to try and change that.”
“Why are you so insistent on this?” she asked with a hint of annoyance in her tone. “What are you hoping to achieve? They might as decide that I’ve gone mad and try to come here to save me.”
He smiled at her.
“I simply want them to know,” he said.
He kissed the top of her head. She sighed and brushed him off. Her thoughts were too loud, and she needed to go somewhere quiet. He caught her hand before she could walk off.
“I could go with you, you know,” he said. “To the celebration. It would get the unpleasantries out of the way immediately and they would not dare to throw a tantrum while I am there.”
Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. She turned around and crossed her arms.
“You…going with me?” she said as if it was the stupidest suggestion she had ever heard. “Last time you saw them, you nearly killed all of them.”
“Nearly…” he emphasized with a smile as if that made any difference.
“You are not invited,” she said. “If Withers knows that I live in the Hells, he probably also knows that I am with you. If he wanted you there, you would be invited. You are just itching to create more drama than necessary, love. Forget it.”
Raphael pulled her closer again by her hand.
“You don’t think it would be nice for your dear friends to see us together?” he asked in that voice of his that he always used when trying to persuade her. “To see that we are indeed happy, and that I am not just pulling your strings from Avernus, or that you have not in fact ‘gone mad’ as you so eloquently put it?”
She pulled her hand to herself and looked at him with a small frown. He smiled. They both knew each other too well. Raphael knew that she did not like the suggestion, but her silence along with that small frown showed him that she would be thinking twice about it.
She was working in her library. Raphael had made a whole new library for her. He had used impressive magic to create a whole grand new room in the House of Hope. One could enter it through a door in the archive as a sort of pocket dimension. He had moved all of his own books there along with the ones he brought home to her every now and again from wherever in the Realms he went.
She was sorting and categorizing the books. She also kept an inventory of all of them and moved them to their respective places when she was bored. Old habits die hard, she supposed. She was not a librarian anymore and she never had to work another day in her life, but still she found it relaxing to do so.
She constantly felt the need to do something productive, like she was a working dog that had been turned into a lapdog. Especially after the constant anxiety she felt when she had been here against her will had disappeared. Him gifting her the library was meant as just that: stimulation so she had something to do. A sense of control in a world that was entirely Raphael’s.
She was moving books through the air with her magic. They floated to their places on the shelves while she crossed them off on the inventory list. The door to the library clicked and her deep concentration was broken. She managed to catch the book that fell from the air with her hand.
“There you are,” Raphael said and walked towards her. He took a look at the shelves she had just got done arranging. “If you keep going like this, I might just be tempted to fire my archivist and have you take his place instead.”
She put the tome in her hands on the shelf. She looked at the piece of fabric he had slung over his arm.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Raphael held out the fabric between his hands in a soft grip and presented it to her. She could see that it was a dress. He had gifted her plenty of those. This one was a red dress with dark blue and gold detailing. His colors.
“For the celebration,” he said and looked from the dress to her.
He held it out to her. She took it and held it up to her body.
“Pretty,” she noted and looked down at it. “Though not exactly subtle, is it?”
He smiled at her before starting to slowly walk around the library.
“It’s in two days,” he reminded her. “I also have some jewelry for you that you can look at later. You will attend, won’t you?”
“I suppose I will,” she sighed. “I will go there alone and tell them though. You might be right that it would be good for them to see us, but I want to ease them into it. They won’t be happy. If they don’t chew me out too much, I can always call on you after I’ve told them.”
“Hm,” he hummed. It was a dissatisfied hum.
She glanced at him through the corner of her eye while she was putting the last couple of books in their place. He was doing his version of pouting which consisted of that hard, cold look washing over his face.
“But thank you for the dress,” she said. “It really is beautiful. I can’t wait to wear it.”
That softened him up a bit. His arm snaked around her waist, and he kissed the top of her head.
“You are welcome, my dear,” he purred.
She appeared some distance away from her old camp in a flash of fire. She stood still and closed her eyes. She could hear faint music in the distance and the smell of the woods was exactly how she remembered it. This was the only other place except the House of Hope that had ever felt like home to her.
The feeling of nostalgia won over her nervousness for only a moment, because she was incredibly nervous. She tried to calm down and remind herself that these people were her friends. That they might not be thrilled with the news, but that if they really cared about her, they would forgive her eventually.
Besides, it was only going to be Gale, Astarion and Shadowheart as the rest was elsewhere doing their own thing. Perhaps Minsc, Halsin and Jaheira too at most, though they also often seemed to be busy most of the time after the defeat of the Netherbrain.
It’ll be fine, she told herself and started following the sound of music. She saw the lights getting closer and closer. When she stepped into the clearing, she felt herself be lifted up from the ground by two strong arms.
“Soldier!”
Tav froze in her arms.
“Karlach?” her voice almost cracked a little, both in surprise and happiness. She hugged her back tightly. “How did you…?”
She saw Wyll smiling warmly at her and giving her a little wave from behind Karlach. She put her down again.
“Withers did his thing,” Karlach said excitedly. “We are on a little vacation away from the Hells. I’ve missed you! All of you, really.”
Tav nodded. The smile on her face that faltered a little bit when she realized that this would most definitely complicate things. She hugged Wyll too. She realized that they were all there, even Lae’zel who she had not seen since she took off to bring freedom to her people. Her heart started beating faster and her hands got clammy at the realization.
“What’s this I hear about you and Raphael?” Karlach asked.
“Mm…what?” Tav asked nervously, her heart rate going up even further.
“That you got kidnapped and all of that,” Karlach clarified. “Hells, if we had known, we might have figured out a way to sneak in and rescue you. Are you alright?”
“Yes, yeah,” Tav said hurriedly and gave her a weak smile. “I’m fine, I’ll explain later. Just…want to say hi to everyone first.”
Karlach nodded.
Tav quickly went on to greet the others. She expertly avoided talking to much in detail about what she had been doing. Surprisingly, it was Astarion who looked through her charade. His eyes went over the dress she was wearing, and he recognized the colors immediately. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Tav…” he said very quietly to her and moved closer. “You went back, didn’t you?”
“Shhh,” she shushed. “I…”
“I can smell him on you,” he whispered. “I knew there was something odd about you just suddenly deciding to leave the Gate. Honestly, the dress isn’t exactly subtle either, darling.”
“It’s complicated,” she whispered back.
“Oh, I am sure it is,” he whispered. “Poor thing.”
Tav jumped when Shadowheart was suddenly behind her.
“What are you two gossiping about over here?” Shadowheart asked and looked between the two of them.
Astarion looked pointedly over Tav’s dress and then at Shadowheart. It took her a moment to get what he was hinting at. Her eyes widened and then she joined their little whispering circle.
“What?” Shadowheart whispered. “Tell me that this doesn’t mean what I think it means. You went back? Why?”
“This fucking dress…” Tav mumbled to herself. “Look, I’ll explain…”
They were interrupted when they were called to sit down at the table to eat together. They all took a seat. Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s eyes did not leave her as they did. Withers said a few words before they started eating. The atmosphere was pleasant except for the few pointed and expectant looks she got from the other side of the table.
It was such an annoying situation. She felt like she just wanted to forget all of it. This was not a celebration that she wanted to make about herself. This was for all of them. She knew that if she told them, it would turn into something else, and she did not want that. On the other hand, Raphael had been annoyingly persistent about everything, and she would hear for it if she did not.
As people began to talk and a few began holding brief speeches about their time together, the pressure on her to say something rose. Screw it, she thought. She had been living in Raphael’s world for too long. This night belonged to her companions and her. She would find another time to break the news.
As the speeches came to an end, she was gathering up the courage to make hers. She wanted to thank them all for everything they had done, and ways to do so was buzzing around in her mind. Her train of thought was only broken when she realized that everyone had gone completely quiet. She looked up from her food to look around. They were all looking in one direction. Karlach and a few others got up from their seats when they saw him. Her heart was suddenly in her throat.
“Please,” Raphael said with a smirk and a hand gesture as he slowly walked closer to the end of the table. “Don’t feel the need to get up on my account. I will make this brief.”
Tav looked at him with pleading eyes for him to stop. He smiled back at her and walked to stand at the end of the long table they were sitting at.
“I merely wanted to congratulate you all,” Raphael began. “The threat vanquished, the monsters slain, and a powerful artifact handed to an already powerful god. You truly have achieved much and gone beyond the expectations of everyone. Myself included. You must all be pleased.”
“Not all monsters,” Karlach mumbled. She received a glance from Raphael before he continued.
“Of course, as impressive as this all is,” he said. “None of you would be here if it was not for the immense help you received from elsewhere.” Raphael looked at Astarion. “Had it not been for me, Astarion would not know the role he played in the plans of his old master,” he said and then turned to look at Lae’zel’s projection. “And you, Lae’zel of K’liir, would not have been able to free Orpheus from his chains and bring freedom to your people.”
Raphael took a moment to look each and everyone of them in the eye.
“And yet,” he said with a raised finger in the air. “I have found little gratitude from any of you. No one, except your dear leader, has made amends for what you stole from me. You all sat idly by as she handed her soul to me, by not giving me the Crown as we had agreed upon.”
Tav got up from her chair to stop the circus what was going on. She looked at Raphael who only smiled at her and gave her space to talk, or more rope to hang herself with, depending on how one looked at the situation.
“I was kidnapped by Raphael a few months ago,” she started, her hands were shaking a bit. “Despite my better judgement I…grew to like him. Some of you came to save me, because you thought that was what I needed. I thought that too at that time…”
She looked at Shadowheart and Astarion who was just listening intently, there was still a hint of disbelief at the whole thing in their eyes. It was nothing compared to Gale though, who she could barely get herself to look in the eye. He looked both worried and defeated, sad even. Tav took a deep breath before she continued.
“But I…missed him so I went back,” she admitted quietly and the people around her started murmuring, some protested. “I know how it sounds. This won’t involve any of you. I know what I’ve signed up for. I just need you to trust me when I say that I will be alright...and I love him. This is my choice and I have taken it.”
“You love him?” Karlach piped up, furious and in disbelief at her words. “Have you listened to nothing of what Wyll, and I have told you through our time with you? He’s a devil. He is incapable of love.”
Tav shot a glance at Raphael who was still just looking at her.
“Maybe...” Tav said in a tone that was too weak for her own liking. “Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love him.”
“What did you sign, Tav?” Wyll asked in a gentle though wary tone.
She looked at Raphael again.
“She has signed a contract that hands her life, in addition to her soul, to me,” Raphael explained in a rather cold and collected tone. “She will live in the House of Hope until her death, where I will collect her soul, as stated in her original contract. The contract that you all were responsible in not fulfilling.”
They all spoke up in a chorus of protests. Some of them yelling at Raphael, others were asking Tav how she could do this. A few were grasping for weapons to simply kill him then and there. Tav tried to restore order and bid them to calm down, however there was only one voice that was able to cut through.
“You were not invited here, Raphael, son of Mephistopheles,” Withers said, calm as death itself.
Everyone went quiet. Raphael and Withers faced each other from opposite ends of the table.
“Here you stand,” Withers continued. “How curious it is to see you of all people admit your weakness so openly, cambion. You have taken more than what you were promised, and you are disturbing the balance in doing so.”
Raphael narrowed his eyes at him. Tav looked between the two of them. She was missing something.
“I will not be spoken to about weakness from you who so freely gave away your powers for others to misuse, Jergal,” Raphael retorted with a laugh. “Lest we forget that this little get-together celebrates the end of a mess that would not have been, had you simply done as you were bid.”
“You will never have her soul,” Withers said. “You are clinging to her just like you clung to the promise of power. How very mortal of you.”
Tav’s brow furrowed, and she looked at Raphael. His eyes were ablaze in anger at the comment, but he still managed to keep his composure.
“What is he talking about?” she asked.
When no answer came, she looked to Withers.
“You will never age,” Withers said to her. “You will never grow old, and you will never die. He has made sure of it. It is etched into your very being. An action done out of love, though the man and the devil seem to love two different things entirely.”
Tav did not understand. Her mind went through what stood in the contract she signed. One particularly difficult clause popped up in her mind: She was unable to remove the effects of any spells or conditions that Raphael put on her for whatever reason. He had somehow made her immortal. The contract between them was in effect until she died, and she never would. She was his for eternity and she would never know peace.
“What does he mean, Raphael?” she asked him in disbelief. “Is this true?”
His rage died down and he was quiet for a moment before looking at her with a small smile.
“I am truly sorry, if it is any consolation, my dearest,” he said and readying his fingers to snap. “But I did once warn you that you were only delaying the inevitable.”
He snapped his fingers and Tav disappeared back to the House of Hope in a flash of fire. His eyes hardened and went back to Withers.
“You call it weakness,” Raphael said with a dangerous smile. “I call it resourcefulness.”
Raphael turned to address all of them. It was dead quiet.
“In another six months it will be a year since you defeated the Netherbrain and gave away the Crown of Karsus,” he explained calmly. “Steal it back and bring it to me before then and I will annul both of her contracts. She can stay or walk freely, but her soul and her life will be her own. I care little about how you will achieve it. You have conquered gods before, so I am certain that no one is more capable for the task…You all owe her, so I would suggest you use the time wisely.”
He readied his hand to snap, and flames danced around him.
“Tick tock…” he said with a smile.
Snap.
61 notes · View notes
oakenshieldbaggins · 6 months ago
Text
xedgin fic rec list
so because i binge read a ton of fics these last two months, i thought why not make a rec list if it can help people find out great fics.
i just wanted to say i came across so many good fics, like comparing to other fandoms i find the overall quality to be quite high. so what i'm trying to say is you guys are really talented and we're lucky to have you in this fandom. and thank you for sharing your work.
now the recs:
Post-Movie:
Three words everybody knows by violet_pencil
Speaking the words of an oath isn't what makes you a good paladin, and knowing how to tell lies is only part of what makes a great con man. Where do they find common ground? Well, turns out they both know how to commit to the bit.
Sunlight is a Kind of Burning by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Ed's excited to get his life back on track in the wake of saving Neverwinter. He's less excited at how a certain paladin keeps popping up everywhere he goes. Except for how he's starting to miss the guy when he's not around. Yeah, let's not think about that too hard.
a ballad from a reverie by forsworn
On a cold evening, the party stop to drink at a crowded tavern. Xenk tries to ignore the way his chest tightens when Edgin squeezes close to him. But that gets much harder when the tavern's bard starts singing a love song. About a paladin. And Edgin seems to recognise it…
tys hard to be a seinte in the cytie by indigostohelit
“The Material Planes are not realms of punishment,” said Xenk. “The gods no more deny us the warmth of physical pleasure than they would the warmth of the sun. They only warn us, through each, of the dangers that lie in excess.” “…Huh,” said Ed again, and, lacking further retort, grabbed up the new tankard and swigged deeply. Then he spat it across the bar. “This is water, though,” said Xenk peacefully. “You are going to have a hangover in the morning.”
Universal Glue by Korwwa
Edgin and Xenk get stuck in a glue trap. The close-quarters situation forces Edgin to decide if succumbing to the charms of certain overpowered paladin is more likely to ruin, or elevate, the plan of his life.
Polyphonic by Geese_In_Flight
Ed can’t stand Xenk. Xenk keeps showing up anyway. It’s not entirely clear how that became everyone else’s problem.
Muses lost and found anew by Mikhail
Edgin Darvis never considered himself to be a hero. Of course, he was full of dreams and ideals back when he was still young. He wanted to save the world. But the world, as it turned out, didn’t really want to be saved. Instead, it barged into Edgin’s life uninvited and made him a widower, a thief, and an escaped convict. As he was looking back at his life and naivete, he couldn’t feel but contempt and bitterness. That is until he crossed paths with Xenk Yendar, a paladin whose sword was only nearly as strong as his righteousness. Confronted with Xenk’s tragic past, the bard realized they were both touched by the same evil. Before he could dwell on some uncomfortable truths, however, Xenk disappeared from his life just as suddenly as he first appeared. When they meet for the second time, it’s clear the two of them have much more in common than they first thought. Well, it’s clear to everyone except for them. The question is, are they going to realize this before it’s too late?
in the absence of truth by floralprintshark
Five times Ed says that he hates Xenk and one time he doesn't.
Perception Check (Roll for Romance) by kaydeefalls
"I bet Xenk fucks like a metronome, too. You know." Holga makes a highly suggestive, repetitive gesture. "In, out. In, out. No variation. Same exact rhythm every time. Boring." Edgin stares at her, torn between horror and fascination. "You've really thought about this, huh?" (So has he. Unfortunately.)
give me two damn minutes (and I'll be fine) by PH03N1X_360
Xenk Yendar is a hero. It’s his job, his identity, his [life]. It comes as easily as breathing. Saving children, fighting hordes of undead, it’s always come naturally to him. As each new challenge arises, people look to him to protect them. The warmth of their gazes never fail to fill him with pride. No matter how many scars he acquires, how many nights the horrors of his past rouse him from sleep, or how many people he fails to save in the process, it is always worth the price. Yet sometimes, when the darkness around him feels too oppressive and tight bandages make his bones ache, he wonders how much more he can take before he cracks under the pressure. Or: Xenk sees the Beckoning Death spell from afar. Even upon realizing the party took care of it, it still fucks him over severely... not that he would show it. Edgin knows a mask when he sees one.
Falling For The First Time by Powderpuff
In retrospect, falling in love with Edgin was inevitable. There was no recourse for Xenk; no guild nor court to appeal to, and even Ilmater could not return his property to him, nor Ed himself; for you cannot return something you do not know you have.
O happy dagger! This is thy sheath by Kabbal (Aledane)
"Ed wants to bash his face in with his lute, just to shatter that perfect, flawless skin, see if there’s flesh and blood running under that pristine marble. He wants to flee to the end of the world, to never be reminded of the existence of a being who seems to never have failed at anything, ever. He also wants to crush his lips against his, cling to that steady neck and feel the weight of all that perfection over him, spearing him like it could make him holy‒ Hm. Strange thought to have. Let’s forget it ever existed."
Affection and Love by AkataLily
Edgin is affectionate towards Xenk. Not love, affectionate, because those are two very different things! Xenk is oblivious and uninterested, that is, until Edgin fucks up and the cat is suddenly out of the bag. Things get akward, then they get complicated, but eventually, we all have to admit what goes on in our hearts.
Winning Prizes for Rotten Judgment by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
In which Ed admits he's in love with Xenk, woos Xenk, and sleeps with Xenk, all in completely the wrong order. To be fair, it's only half his fault.
keystone by weatheredlaw
key·stone noun | a central stone at the summit of an arch, locking the pieces together. or: edgin dies, but there's magic for that. holga and xenk make good on a thirty-five year old favor to bring him back from the other side.
So Deep As the Love I'm In by Geese_In_Flight
Holga takes a step forward and claps Ed on the shoulder sympathetically, which is a terrible sign. “Swept you right off your feet, did he?” she asks, with a grin. Five times Xenk courted Ed, and one time Ed decided to take matters into his own hands.
the weight of fingers pressing deep by forsworn
When Xenk slips his fingers into Edgin's mouth during sex, they're both surprised by how good it feels.
you'll find us in the meadowland by audenrain
He was standing at Xenk’s desk, tucked into the corner and lined by shelves stacked with holy texts. Not his most valuable, of course - he wouldn’t be so careless as to keep the most precious of his collection here - but any one of them would feed a hungry man for a few days, at least. And yet this man wasn’t hungry, and he was no ordinary thief. Xenk judged this not only by the strong slope of his shoulders and broad back and the fine weave of his coat but also by the fact that he had recently been awarded the highest honours the Lord of Neverwinter could bestow. No, Edgin could want for nothing; even he could not have spent his rewards so quickly. There was only one explanation. This was an affliction of the soul.
To Touch The Divine by New1Romantic
Xenk asks for Edgin's help to retrieve an evil artefact from a cult. The fact that the cult is definitely just a front for the elite of Waterdeep to have kinky sex is, presumably, just happenstance.
Freely given (Wanted) by sb_essebi
Ed can’t. He can’t anymore. Can’t take the fervour in Xenk’s words, the shine in his eyes, the way the light of the sunset plays across his skin. He’s just so beautiful at sunset, Xenk. He is. To the point of unfairness, to the point it makes Ed almost angry, makes him want to cry, to scream. Ed kisses him. Or: Ed steals a kiss. Xenk shows him why he needn't have.
Edgin Needs to Get Laid and Edgin Gets Laid by Isoltan
There was a pause. "And that's when you started the one night stands," Holga said, only a hint of a question in her voice. Xenk raised his tankard in her direction and took a long swig. "You have sexual desire?" Simon asked. Doric turned to him and exploded, "Jesus, do you ever think before you speak?" "Tell the truth, you thought he was celibate too. Edgin sure did!" Simon said, gesturing to Edgin. "Hey, leave me out of this," Edgin said. "Exactly!" Simon continued. "Tell me, out of the two of them, you'd have pegged Edgin as the celibate and XENK as the whore!" -----------‐ Very loose f*ck-or-die fic. Basically, Edgin's magic needs to improve and the group decides he needs to get laid. But he reveals he's demi and can only be intimate with people he trusts. This was meant to be a one-off but I got caught up with the group's banter.
this distance between us by forsworn
Xenk and Edgin have to share a bed. It’s not even a big bed. The perfect time for Xenk to have a nightmare…
Origin Point series by Neyiea
“It wasn’t a risk. I knew that if I jumped you would catch me.” Xenk’s pinched expression becomes thoughtful, then turns serious. “I see,” he intones solemnly. “I am honored to have earned your trust.”
close to the skin by forsworn
Edgin's going undercover; Xenk's determined to make him look respectable. But Edgin finds submitting to a flat-razor shaving at those steady hands to be far more intense than he expected.
Solitary Burdens by cupiscent
Edgin's wife died years ago, but he's only just now letting go. He can't talk about it with any of the others, but Xenk - aggravatingly - understands. Perhaps neither of them need to carry these burdens alone.
in for a silver by weatheredlaw
Edgin was, at the very least, two things: a great kisser, and a phenomenal liar. or: xenk gets hit by something weird in the jungle. edgin lends a hand.
Canon Divergence (happens during the movie):
We Are So (Not) Breaking Up by murdertrashbabyrat
Edgin isn’t mad because of the idea of a kind Thayan, he’s mad because it’s Xenk Yendar his lightly insufferable not-ex. They didn’t break up because they were never together thank you very much Holga, so Xenk is his…his something that isn’t his anymore. It’s fine he’s not dwelling on it he has to get his wife back and stop thinking about the man he’s been sharing a bed with for years. Denial is a hell of a drug OR they are exes when they meet up again in the movie
AUs:
A Cherry When It's Blooming by Geese_In_Flight
Lord Yendar, once a paladin of Ilmater, has been called back to Waterdeep in the aftermath of his father’s death. Upon his arrival, he discovers he must reckon with an untrustworthy executor, an estate in shambles, and a wholly unexpected stipulation in his father’s will. Edgin Darvis is trying to find the one big score that will let him build back a life that went off the rails years ago. When he hears the rumors that a young and inexperienced Lord Yendar has come back to town, he knows just what he has to do.
Romance in the time of LoveChat by cicia3
What's worse than being a loser writer reduced to releasing third-rate romance novels for Forge Publishing? Being an uninspired writer with three months' back rent to pay. Driven by desperation, Edgin, a single father who's also perhaps juuust a tad too much anchored in the past, signs up on the nation's largest dating site. The goal? To find a character unique enough to inspire him for his new novel. And then Xenk Yendar shows up.
87 notes · View notes
valorant-drabbles · 1 year ago
Note
Hallo! I'm the one who requested the iso x reader from last time (^v^)
I was wondering if you could make a part two showing how they slowly progressed with each other if it's alright since I really loved the first part and I'm brain rotting hard about Iso
PS - I'll go by ♠️spade anon from now on
Not me accidentally creating a multi-part slow burn Iso fic!! Oh boy
Could be seen as platonic or romantic… but if people want a part 3, it’ll definitely be more romantic.
Gender neutral reader!
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Mild Cursing, Spoiler for Part 1 of this fic
Tumblr media
Cold Shoulder
Reader x Iso
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |
It had been about three weeks since the incident; since you and Iso had your little quarrel, and inevitably having started to understand one another. It was definitely a challenge for you, since you’d struggled for years when it came to getting along with people outside of work hours. Thankfully, Iso was proving to be extremely patient and courteous towards you and your growth. That wasn’t to say he didn’t get irritated every so often if he noticed you slipping back into your old, cold habits…
But you were making a genuine effort. What more could he ask for?
Despite it only having been a few weeks, you and Iso had started getting along quite quickly. He’d made it clear that you were always welcome to join him if you were feeling lonely- and considering your friend quantity in the Protocol was quite low, you were finding yourself ‘lonely’ often. It was strange- last month, you were completely fine being on your own. And now, if you went a few days without a casual conversation with somebody… you felt an odd emptiness inside your chest. A yearning for connection that you’d thought you’d severed long ago.
There were many days where Iso would return to his room after training to find you sat on his bed, listening to the playlist he’d shared with you. Usually you were reading, or watching movies on your laptop… passing the time until he’d return and possibly join you. Iso knew you had a bit of trouble asking to spend time together, so when you were in his room- it was kind of obvious why you were there. Once he’d shower and change clothes, he’d settle into bed and join you in whatever you were doing.
Overtime, this became routine. On days neither of you had a mission, you’d spend time together in the comfort of Iso’s room… quietly bonding, occasionally starting conversations- though usually it was Iso initiating. After all, even after all this time, he still found you to be absolutely fascinating, and desired to learn more about you.
“What do you think we learn from fighting ourselves?” Iso’s voice cut through the current silence filling the bedroom, causing you to look up from your book, eyebrow raised curiously at the sudden query.
“… what?”
“Ah- sorry. That came from nowhere.” Iso apologized quietly, his gaze sheepishly moving away from where you were watching him. “I was just… thinking about our mirror selves. From Omega Earth. How they look and act almost exactly like us- and our teammates as well.”
“Mhm. What about them, though?” You questioned further, noticing Iso shift in his seat.
“I’ve… had this question on my mind ever since I saw myself on the other team. ‘What do we learn from fighting ourselves?’… I’ve asked a few of the others, but… honestly, none of them had an answer I was looking for.” Iso grimaced softly at the memory of him asking Phoenix this question, only for the Brit to cockily answer ‘How much better I am compared to that fake me!’.
You took a moment to ponder his question. This was something you genuinely appreciated about spending time with Iso- he posed questions that made you think. Nothing too philosophical, usually… but it kept conversations interesting, and additionally helped the two of you learn more about how the other thinks.
“I guess… we learn our weaknesses.” You answer after about a minute of silence. “Though it’s not ideal… there’s certain circumstances where our double will be better than us at something. It’ll reveal a weak point in our abilities… and give us something to work towards improving. Alternatively, we learn the weakness of our double, and how to potentially exploit it if need be.” Your shoulders shrugged slightly, as you bit gently at the end of the pen in your hand. “It can also help us to… uh…”
Your hesitance to speak further piques Iso’s curiosity, and his gaze moves to you. He can’t help but notice your cheeks glowing a faint shade of red. You seldom showed emotion like this… allowing yourself to be embarrassed or even revealing a moment of weakness. Despite his desire to urge you into finishing your thought, he knew pushing you to answer would just make you uncomfortable. And, there was the possibility it could cause you to throw out your walls again, giving him the cold shoulder again- he couldn’t risk that. So, he waited.
As much as you wanted to change the topic or just… leave the thought unfinished, Iso’s eyes on you made it clear that he really wanted to know what you were thinking.
“Y/N?” Iso called out quietly. A sigh escaped you reluctantly, as you turned your body to face away from him slightly- only so that he would have trouble seeing how flushed your face had become.
“It… it also helps us to… see what we couldn’t see before. In our own teammates.” You finally continue, deciding to occupy your twitching hands with twirling your pen between your fingers. “How much our team would do to… to protect us. In the face of danger. The threat of death is always so real when you know the enemy won’t hesitate to kill you… sometimes you forget how dangerous it can be. How quickly you can lose somebody. And… how… if a teammate dies, you might go about the rest of your life… regretting that you never got to know them better. Or you might die with the same regret…” You swallow.
You thought back on the day you nearly died at Pearl almost every day. It all felt so surreal… the rush of emotion you felt when you saw Iso in danger? The searing pain from the bullets that had pierced your body?… the last thing you see being Iso using your Operator to take down the approaching threats…
His words echoing constantly in your mind.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Y/N.”
You’d always been so cold towards him… never giving him any reason to like your company. And yet… Iso risked his own life to save yours. With no hesitation.
“Y/N.” It was only after feeling Iso’s hand on your own that you realized he’d been calling your name. His voice was gentle, worry lacing the elegance he spoke your name with. His gaze on you was equally as concerned. It was only in that moment, seeing your own reflection in his eyes, where you notice you’d started crying.
“Shit.” You pull your hand away from Iso’s, and quickly moved to wipe your face of any tears that may had fallen. This was… new. You never let such fragile emotions show in front of the other agents… you only ever let out your piled up emotions behind closed doors, where nobody could see. Where nobody could know. “Sorry, I don’t… know why I’m crying. Can you just forget I said any of that?” You requested, though your voice wavered as you spoke, making you cringe internally. Were you truly so emotional when you thought back on that day…?
Without another word, you found yourself being pulled into Iso’s lap, his arms wrapped around you comfortingly, yet not intrusively. Physical contact wasn’t something you were used to either, but… in that moment? It felt… incredible. You needed this… so badly. For how long you’d needed it for, you didn’t know. You just knew you never wanted this moment to end- as soft as that sounded.
“I’m… not going to let either of us die with that regret.” Iso promised ever so softly, with his head resting comfortably against your shoulder. “And believe me, I don’t intend on dying anytime soon. So you don’t have to worry to much about missed opportunities to… get to know each other. And stuff.”
You kept your face hidden away from Iso; thankful he wasn’t making an effort to look regardless. You felt incredibly vulnerable in that moment… so you truly appreciated that Iso was making the effort to give you some level of privacy. At least as you attempted to pull yourself together again.
“I… I’m glad that… you didn’t give up on me.” You mumble gently against his chest. “… even though I was kind of an asshole to you.”
“Oh, no. You were a total asshole.” Iso chimed. You could just hear the grin on his face through his voice. It made you want to strangle him… not to death, per se.
“… besides. There’s no way I’d give up on someone as… incredible as you.”
Iso’s hand managed to find yours once again, and slowly, gently, you found your fingers intertwining with his without even thinking about it. The previously jarring silence in the room had been replaced with an air of comfortable quiet, as the two of you sat in each other’s company.
You never thought you’d have this thought towards another agent… but…
You really did enjoy Iso’s company. To what extent?… You were unsure.
Yet you enjoyed it regardless.
162 notes · View notes
falling-star-cygnus · 5 months ago
Note
I need Billy comfort after the one where he got trapped under a building, can you please make him be saved?
well since you asked so nicely, how could i refuse?
continuation of this fic‼️ you don’t have to read it, of course, but it will make this whole thing make more sense :D @starguardianniom [your request is on the way, i just thought you might also like to be tagged in the part two :D]
without further ado~
"BILLY!"
She doesn't know which one of them screams it, maybe it was all three, but Anby lunges for the android's jacket- lunges really for any part of him she might be able to grab- until her hands close on red leather. The inevitable weight of his metal body doesn't cross her mind until she's being tugged down with him.
The feeble floor cracks further under Anby’s feet as she digs her heels in. That damned, annoying Ethereal shrieks- probably much louder than what she can hear through her headphones- and stomps like a spoiled child being told no for the first time. She'll put it out of it’s misery once she gets Billy- too still, too unresponsive- back onto safer ground.
Only ...Anby never gets the chance.
The ground jumps under her feet, and the tight grip she had on his jacket futzs.
Billy falls.
Hands and arms wrap around her waist before she can do something stupid like leap down after him. An action she knows is irrational but all she can hear is the way the android hits each level of the building and she needs to get him back-
"ANBY-! WE NEED TO GO."
Of course. Right. Clarity washes over her like cold water; Anby can't save Billy if she's dead too. And he would just feel bad if she got hurt trying to save him, because he had no regard for himself-
The remaining members of the Cunning Hares' fumble out of building just in time to see it topple like a house of cards- with their former client pinned in front of them by a slab of concrete.
It flails a little bit- kinda like a bug does when you grab it's leg- and they're privy to a front row seat as a metal support beam crashes into the weird orb of it's head. The thing splatters like a paintball.
None of them feel much remorse.
A few seconds of silence go by, passed by the girls simply.. staring.
"Well…. alright, Hares," Nicole starts, dusting her hands off, "Divide and conquer. Billy has to be around here somewhere."
'Hopefully.' goes unsaid, but painfully heard.
"R-Right!" Nekomata pipes up, her tails lashing with nervous energy, "I’m sure we’ll find him in no time! He can’t really keep quiet, anyway, y- you know?"
Anby doesn’t say anything at all.
They split up, taking turns calling the android's name and pouncing on any slight glimpse of white or red or yellow. Even greenish black would be better than nothing. Each empty nook, each second of silence, grated on their nerves until they were like frayed live wires.
Usually, Billy kept track of how long the Cunning Hares' stayed in a Hollow. It kept them all from lingering too long, unless they got stuck, and it kept them safe. Why couldn't they keep Billy safe- Now they had no idea how long they'd been searching.
Nicole had moved on to bargaining with empty air.
"Billy," she calls, heaving a heavy pillar to the side with a huff, "Come on, answer already! I won't yell at you anymore, or whack you or- or anything. Just answer us, please!"
"And I won't make fun of how you like to listen to classical music to fall asleep!" Nekomata joins in, from somewhere to Anby's left, "I'll even go to Random Play with you to find more, meow!"
"I'll watch Starlight Knights with you," It couldn't hurt to join in after all, Anby decides, "We could all go to the restaurant, and invite the Phaethon siblings, and-"
It was like something out of one of her movies. The second Anby pushes aside a new piece of rubble, she sees it. A tattered piece of the android's jacket- connected to tattered sleeves and sparking metal arms and a big fluffy head of white hair.
The relief almost sends the smaller Demara to her knees.
Time and place, she reminds herself fiercely, quickly signaling the other two closer to better excavate their friend. He's not in any form of good condition. It doesn't even look like he's conscious.
One of his video sensors is cracked, infected with a galactic black sludge that glows a mixture of pinkish blue red purple. The rest of his plating was pulsating green, and severe corruption was blooming anywhere it could take root.
It even looked like his audio processers were damaged. Anby couldn't even imagine how that must felt for her hyperactive friend- stuck in a silent, cramped space while Ether ate at his mind. Trapped without knowing that they were looking for him.
She hoped he would know anyway, that he wouldn't be wondering if he'd die alone under the weight of a building. Billy wasn't exactly insecure, but...
Anby shakes herself out of thinking about it. They'd found him, that was all that mattered at the moment. Now the Hares' just had to get him back home and back in working order.
"Both of you, stand back!" Nicole orders, aiming her briefcase above the wreckage pinning the android's lower torso.
The smaller girls are quick to comply, and out of the corner of her eye she can see the thiren swipe something golden off the ground. Nekomata shows it to her in silent explanation before shoving it deep into her sleeve for safekeeping.
Billy's little sheriff star.
A shot goes off before the smaller Demara can dwell on it, and suddenly the rubble atop their friend is being vacuumed up into the blackhole that Nicole manifests. They each grab a metal limb and tug him out of range.
One problem taken care of, another appears. The corruption blooming from his joints is excessive. If they take him out of the Hollow like this...
"We don't have time to think about it," Nicole reminds them all, voice tight with the weight of the android's life, "Anby, cut off as many of these... things as you can without hurting him. We'll see what we can do from there."
Anby nods once, and readies her sword.
One, two, four, eight turns to sixteen and sixteen turns to the very last one being cut down without mercy. With each bud removed, the sickly green light between his plates fades until it's barely there at all. There's not much to be done about the crack over his eye until they make it to a mechanic, but even that seems to lose it's glitchy appearance.
The Cunning Hares' don't bother with fighting the Ethereals they pass- there's no time- so it's mad dash to the exit that jostles the android's already crushed legs.
....Billy really was all limbs and pizazz.
It's only once the reunited Hares' make it a good deal from the Hollow that they stop running, doubled over and desperate for a full breath. Anby takes a quick survey of their surroundings as she gently lowers Billy to the ground, propped up on her lap to at least provide a little comfort.
It looks they ended up in Belobog territory, around where that eccentric mechanic liked to linger around. Gary-? Grail? Whatever...
Nekomata crouches down next to them and fishes the little star out of her sleeve. It's battered, and kind of dented around the points, but it still clips onto the leather like it never left.
Anby can vaguely hear Nicole tap away at her phone behind her, the curses muttered almost like a soothing balm of normalcy as the last of the corruption finally leaves Billy. His cracked eye returns to it's familiar shade of yellow- if painfully dull compared to his normal vibrancy.
But he's still unresponsive.
Still so hauntingly quiet and still. It's unnatural, and it isn't right. And none of them know if the android's going to last until tomorrow. Or even until the next hour.
Unbidden, Anby can feel her lower lip tremble- can feel stinging behind her eyes as she continues to run her hand through dusty white hair. It held none of the softness it did before this whole... job. Before her stupid grip had fumbled.
Anby hadn't cried in years, yet now she finds she can only helplessly watch as the salt splatters against the android's face plate. Like a mimicry of tears he wasn't built to shed.
"AhHh- Anby, don't cry," Nekomata frets, clearly freaked out by the uncharacteristic display, "He'll be okay! Bil- Billy's tough as nails, remember? I haven't known him for as long as you two.. but even I can tell that!"
Her puffy sleeves gently pat at the smaller Demara's face, trying to clear away the stupid liquid that was blurring her vision. Soft mantras of 'he'll be ok' are whispered, even as the thiren herself starts to cry.
Anby hunches over, would be curling into her knees if it wasn't for the weight of the unmoving android on her lap, and Nekomata clutches onto the lapels of his jacket and stifles a hiccup by biting down on her lip.
He wasn't coming back to them this time.
He wouldn't be there in the morning to braid her hair, or entertain her movie references, or lighten the mood with his silly Starlight Knight quips. He wouldn't be there to help them reach tall shelves, or distract their clients while Nicole emptied their bank accounts, or flail about with his lanky limbs.
Billy wouldn't be there.
...
..creak...
...Creak..
Creak.
Cool metal fingers brush past Anby's face, and then Nekomata's, and then fall limply back to the hard concrete.
"...don't... cry.."
...
...!
Billy!
Warm light finally flickers to life behind the android's video sensors, dimmer than normal but there.
Anby feels as though her heart's been restarted. Like the world had suddenly been bleached of color only for it to be a really badly timed greyscale shot.
Billy was alive, and whirring back into gear under their hands.
"You guys... really came for me..?"
"You big dummy!" Nekomata sniffs, ears and tails poofed like she'd been startled, "of course we did!"
"Have more faith in us," Anby echoes the thiren, resting her forehead against the android's with one final sniff. Nekomata rests her's against the diamond on his chest.
He can't hear them, his audio processers are still busted, but Anby hopes he can feel their care for him. Hopes he can feel how much they love him, and that they were here to stay no matter what happened. Just like he was for them.
Billy Kid was the heart of the Cunning Hares', after all.
51 notes · View notes
sleepymccoy · 10 days ago
Text
2024 fics
I didn't realise how many I'd posted this year! I'd've thought it was two lol. So, have a list. They're all spones <3
An Intimacy, A Surprise
This follows a FWB relationship that morphs into proper dating and then marriage. Very TOS compliant. Skips along through time with each chapter being one scene that either moves the plot forward, or that I just wanted to write. The chapters end when they kiss, but I still managed to sneak some sex scenes in (sometimes they argue instead of kissing lol)
A long, complicated path
This is a direct follow on from the previous fic. That one ends with Bones following Spock to the aos universe, so then I was like, well, how would the aos guys handle that. Well, I think one person commented asking that and I was like... oh no now I have to think about it and write it! And the answer is by weaponising a marraige certificate that has their names, and then falling for each other. My main memory in writing this one is that I was finishing my masters in the same month and this was a total stress relief fic that I can barely recall lol. I should read it some time, it's probably quite good
Nice and Vague
Very short a cute fic to get me writing. Established married spones with Spock using McCoy to further his diplomatic work. Ends with long distance phone sex fade to black
Two Thirds of a Whole
I completely forgot this fic exists, but now that I've reread the summary omg I spent so much energy on it. This was in response to a lot of people on tumblr who talk about Bones like he's third wheel that doesn't really matter to Spock and Kirk, which rankles me. So I wrote Bones going to a parallel universe where he never joined the Enterprise. I think the main point of the fic kinda got away from me halfway through tho and it really just ends up being a spones fic, with parallel Spock hitting on him, then Bones going back home and hitting on his Spock. But yeah, I think if I did this again I'd pay more attention to the Bones is important message
Oh Commander Mine
This one is all fun. Intended to be a dubcon fic, but I ended up shying from that a little. There's still some dubconny elements, so read the tags and feel free to ask me specifics if you're concerned but wanna try reading. Bones has to be Spock's vulcan sex slave, and he kinda gets into it in a way he didn't expect. They get together afterwards, with some bad communication skills, but overall it's a healthy sorta ending. It was me trying to write my kinks without shame, but unfortunately I did pull my punches a bit. Maybe I'll write my kinks properly in 2025!
On that, writing aims in 2025
I'm iffy on the trying my kinks again really, but I do have a vague nugget of an idea so if that fills out in a way I find interesting I will. I think writing dubcon is really hard to do honestly without the story getting overwhelmed with shame, which I don't feel about my kinks! So, it's hard to write a solid, genuine story that actually reflects what I wanna read. Commander Mine is a pretty good approximation really
I really wanna redo An Even Number of Souls. It's a great premise but I wrote myself into a bit of a corner and didn't know where to go so it's sitting there unfinished. But I think the story is really strong and I wanna do it. I've restructured and rewritten some scenes, so it's got a good chance. Just need to get the buzz for it again and really settle back into it. Unfortunately for Souls, tis the season of plot bunnies for me rn and I keep having new ideas that are so fun to write instead
I won't have too much trouble writing and posting the odd fic here and there. I've got three active wips rn, one is Spock getting bullied, one is mcspirk, one is a christmas fic I'm probably gonna let stay unfinished tbh. However, I am keen to write some more og fiction than I have been lately. I've got some great stuff in the works!!
I've got a poly story about a cyborg, a doctor, and an engineer. It's kind of about ownership of your own body. It's also about being trans. It's about showing the difference between aromantic and asexual people. It's mostly about writing insanely kinky sex, though. Cyborg guy is gonna get a bluetooth connected detachable dick eventually!
Also got a great story that's always on my mind, it's got two swapping povs. The world is very catholic, set far in the future. One of the povs is a plumber on a spaceship who start to secretly fuck a priest (secret gay style, secret cos it's catholic). The other is a cop on an asteroid investigating the murder of an important church guy. She loses her job around halfway, which is when you realise the priest the plumber is fucking is definitely the murderer. She then jumps in a lil ship with some guy willing to give her the lift, to try and arrest the murderer and get her job back, but instead is just stuck in a tin can with a hot guy (who turns out to be trans) and wants to fuck him (but she has to drop her bigotry before she can)(cos he's trans and has a vagina, theres literally no other barrier for her). At that point the plumber's pov picks up the murder mystery story. So it's kinda like there's two stories, one romance and one murder investigation, and they swap half way who is living which. The characters are very fucked up and fun to write. The murder, btw, is morally okay imo. The gays get a happy ending. Not sure the cop will, we'll see if she's willing to let go of her expectations in the second half of the book. I've written like 2/3s of the first half already!
Anyway that's me on my stories. I'm procrastinating writing the Spock getting bullied story rn by posting this post! So maybe feel free to ask me questions and I can respond instead of writing lol
14 notes · View notes
sitp-recs · 5 months ago
Note
Heyyy Liv!!! I check your blog everyday btw it's a beautiful distraction from studying. Anyway, I also read the most he's ever said and maybe not with a situationship, but do you know fics that have similar issues - them having some kind of toxic relationship, unresolved issues (that get resolved heh) or maybe miscommunication? Doesn't necessarily have to be fwb. Thank youuuuu xxxxx
Hi anon! I’m so happy to hear you enjoy the blog 💜 I’m a bit picky about toxic relationships but I think these are a good fit for your ask. Most of them are friends with benefits tbh, love that trope. Enjoy! 😊
Between Two Fires of Beltane by secretsalex (E, 5k)
As the war drags on, Draco becomes a spy for Voldemort and works his way into Harry’s good graces—and his bed. When the Order prepares to invade Malfoy Manor, Draco is forced to examine his loyalties.
Clear As Mud by scoradh (M, 10k)
Set post-war and post-Harry's-conscience...
Kissed by Pie (M, 12k)
Draco Malfoy was attacked by a rogue Dementor on the night of his Azkaban release. He self-exiled to Muggle London and opened a late-night chocolate shop called Kissed.
I'll never be your chosen one by Andithiel (E, 15k)
Draco doesn't know what exactly he’s doing with Potter, he doesn't know how their unspoken agreement even started, and doesn't know where it will end. The only thing he knows is: he's not in love.
Vanishing Cabinets by @romaine2424 (E, 18k)
Take one Wizarding Family Values politician who has a secret life, and add one Auror who detests discrimination of any type, but becomes a bit obsessed with said politician, and you have enough sparks to ignite a Beltane fire.
In His Nature by Create_Serenity (E, 20k)
Harry agreed to have sex with Draco once a month in order to keep him alive, what he didn’t agree to was Draco popping up all over the place and disrupting his life in more ways than one.
The Matchmaker's Spell by @kbrick (E, 21k)
Thanks to a spell cast over all of wizarding Britain, Draco is forced to marry Harry Potter, who still hates him. But Draco refuses to live a cold, sexless existence, choosing to fill the emptiness in his life and his bed with a parade of lovers. And while Harry may not be able to stand Draco, he despises seeing him with anyone else.
Famous by @fw00shy (E, 24k)
It's a couple of years after the war, and Harry's bored of models now, the same way he's bored of Ron's constant nagging, bored of his Weasley monogram knitwear, bored of the same fucking grin that greets him when he hands his fire-truck red Bugatti over to the valet every night. He wants to find—well, he isn't sure what he wants. Anything but models. Harry is in the mood for...messy. And Draco Malfoy's looking like a walking disaster in the making.
Stain of Silence by brummell (E, 28k)
After the war, Draco serves out his sentence in Harry Potter's house.
He Who Must Not Be Normal by lettered (E, 41k)
Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life. Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life. Which makes you think this story has something exciting like body-swapping, but it doesn’t. Instead it has Indian takeaway and a blue jumper and people wanting a whole lot of what they can’t have, discovering themselves as they discover each other.
Harry Potter Gives a Shit by talithan (E, 58k)
“Where are you headed?” “No place special,” Draco fumbled, and flushed further. But then: “I can change that,” said Harry Potter.
Another Mask Behind You by lettered (E, 116k)
Draco is a high-end prostitute who hides his identity. Harry unknowingly hires him. And then there is porn, questions about identity, domestic bliss, more porn, and truth as seen through a web of lies.
24 notes · View notes
salemshotspot · 6 months ago
Note
i’m gonna need drew dominating punker
MILLION DOLLAR BODY TEN CENT BRAIN
Drew McIntyre x CM Punk
WORD COUNT: 1.8k
DESC: After 2024's Money In The Bank, Phil needs reminding exactly who he belongs to [based on a clip of Drew speaking to Punk; 'don't lower those eyes, look me in the eyes when you speak to me please']
WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ MDNI//Not Proof Read//Characters Acting Out Of Character//A Bit Of Canon Type Asshole Punk//Swearing//Implied Ownership//Generic Pet Names//Choking With A Belt//Collaring With A Belt//Spitting//Masturbation//Dirty Talk//Degrading//Praise//Basically Mutual Masturbation//Punishment//Leg Humping//Brief Descriptions Of Aftercare//Reassurance
RED >> Quote
A/N >> Drop writing requests in my inbox and let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged in future fics
TAGS: anon @jobikinn @maskedhydra @lea22hp @xxrabiesxx
Enjoy!
——————————————————————————
Drew knew that Phil was cocky by nature, he always has been and most likely always will be and Drew couldn't help but find it embarrassingly attractive; however, since their on screen feud began Phil's ego, his cockiness, had been getting out of hand. The two men had just arrived home after their segments in money in the bank, it had gone just as they had planned; Drew won his money in the bank briefcase and Phil turned up to ensure his partners win meant nothing by the time he was finished with him. Drew would never openly admit it but he loved their on screen dynamic, seeing Phil take charge on their on screen relationship knowing full well when the cameras stop rolling and it's just the two of them Phil was nowhere close to taking charge and Drew needed to remind him of that.
'Don't push it' Drew's voice echoed in a warning tone to which Phil chuckled; 'I'm just saying' Phil began, 'I don't think you'd be getting as much screentime if it wasn't for me.' Drew's eyebrow instinctively rose as he turned to Phil who had a smirk plastered across his face, 'it makes sense you know? Obviously you're great in the ring but no one can compete with me, they love me' Phil beamed. Drew knew Phil was just being an asshole, he was just stroking his own ego, but that didn't stop a light anger from growing in Drew's chest, he needed to remind Phil exactly who he was speaking to right now, exactly whose presence he was in.
Standing up from the chair he was sat in, Drew silently walked over to Phil, causing his eyes to widen at the sight of Drew walking over to him with an unreadable expression. As Phil fell silent as Drew grew closer Drew mockingly laughed 'no no carry on, keep telling how you are God's one and only gift to earth.' Phil stayed silent, feeling himself grow subtly aroused by Drew's presence now looming over his shrinking form. Grabbing Phil's chin and gently tilting it upwards, Drew suggested in a whisper, 'I think somebody needs to remember who he belongs to.' A light blush covered Phil's face which caused Drew to smirk, he could never grow tired of how innocent Phil's desperate eyes looked up at him.
Sitting down, Drew unbuckled his pants as he instructed Phil to sit on the floor, he needed his beautiful boyfriend at his mercy, he needed him clinging to his leg as if it was his one and only lifeline. As Phil settled on the floor, Drew's seated body towering over him making him feel ever so small, Drew slid his belt out of the hooks of his jeans before sliding the warm leather through his hands, his eyes agonisingly slowly darting between the belt and Phil's pale throat. 'So you want to use that pretty mouth to stroke your fragile little ego?' Drew mockingly questioned as he squoze the leather belt with his left hand, causing Phil to gulp in anticipation. 'No, I don't think that's the best use of that mouth darling, I think I'll be controlling what that mouth does until you learn how to use it properly' Drew muttered as he leant forward, effortlessly tightening the belt around Phil's throat. Before Drew moved any further he got his pointer and index finger and slid them between Phil's throat and the belt, ensuring that the man had enough space to breathe comfortably. Sensing Drew's subtle worry Phil ensured him that it wasn't too tight against his throat, causing Drew to hum happily, his fear leaving him.
Suddenly, Drew placed his free hand in front of Phil's face before commandingly uttering the word 'spit' to which Phil mindlessly obliged. Drew lightly chuckled at how desperate Phil was to obey him as he took his spit covered hand and slowly wrapped it around the base of his cock. Drew let out a breathy groan as he slowly slid his hand up and down the length of his cock; 'see how much good that mouth of yours can do sweetheart' Drew stuttered out as precum began to leak from his cock causing Phil to whimper, desperation rapidly taking over his senses.
Refusing to relent on his chase for his own pleasure Drew chuckled at how pathetic Phil looked at his feet; 'would you look at yourself, so desperate, I bet you don't even know what for do you? You see my cock and suddenly you can't even form a thought can you?' A deep blush covered Phil's face as Drew spoke, he couldn't argue with Drew, he knew he was right; feeling his own cock strain against his pants Phil desperately moaned out 'p-please.' 'Please what? Use your words sweetheart' Drew mocked. A wave of embarrassment washed over Phil, causing him to lower his head, feeling as if he hid his face Drew wouldn't hear the desperation in his voice
'Please Drew I nee-' Phil's plea was abruptly cut off by Drew who, with his free hand, yanked on the belt which encased Phil's neck, not letting up on his grip as he spoke, lightly choking Phil as well as forcing his eyes to meet his; 'don't lower those eyes' he commanded, 'look me in the eyes when you speak to me please' Drew 's gruff voice echoed throughout the room. Unable to look away from Drew due to Drew using his belt to force eye contact Phil swallowed his pride and choked out a string of desperate pleas; 'please Drew I need to feel you, I-I need you.' Drew gently pulled on his belt, bringing Phil's face mere centimetres from his own; 'how pathetic' Drew cooed, 'now after today I don't really think that desperate body of yours deserves this cock, seeming as though you're so much better than me you won't want it will you? You must be so great you can get yourself off all by yourself right?' Drew mocked as Phil mentally kicked himself for his earlier bragging which didn't seem worth it it now, his ego was boosted for a mere matter of minutes but for what? Just for him to end up practically groaning from the pain of his erection as his boyfriend, instead of helping him, uses it as a learning opportunity; Phil quietly cursed to himself under his breathe, he'd do anything to have his boyfriend right now in any capacity.
Seeing Phil mentally deconstruct himself was something Drew took sick pleasure in in moments like these, it was almost to have him falling apart himself. Gently pushing Phil back to the ground, momentarily releasing his hand from the belt a menacing smile grew on Drew's face before sighing; 'even now I bet you're far too focused on the blood rushing to your cock to think straight, so hungry for my cock', Drew's voice grew lower, 'but you don't deserve my cock, you can work your way up to that honour starting down there like a good, cock hungry slut.' Blushing, Phil cocked his head to the side like a curious dog, desperate to comprehend exactly what Drew was permitting him to do.
Drew meanly chuckled, 'are you so desperate to feel me you can't even understand when I'm giving your needy, sorry self a chance to prove to me you deserve to ever even see this cock you're so desperate for again.' The empty threat which fell from Drew's lips caused Phil's heart to momentarily drop before Drew finally revealed to Phil exactly what he was getting at; 'you need me so bad huh? Well you can use my leg to fuck your little brain out.' A deep blush covered Phil's face as his desperation clouded his senses, instinctively grinding his throbbing cock against Drew's leg as Drew chuckled, throwing his head back as he continued to stroke himself as Phil desperately rutted against him. As Phil let out a low string of whines, grunting, Drew mocked; 'does that feel good? Are you so needy all it takes is my leg to make you fall apart? You better get used to it pet because it's going to take you a long time to work your way back up to be allowed this cock.'
Blush deepening, Phil buried his face in Drew's lap, 'please, p-please' he desperately whined, with a light chuckle Drew responded, a brief softness washing over the man; 'you're doing so good baby, tell Drew what you want hmm?' With his senses becoming overwhelmed all Phil could do was whine as he frantically attempted to relieve himself against Drew, Drew comfortingly shushing Phil's whines were enough to send Phil over the edge; tightly gripping at Drew's leg as his orgasm finally hit, debilitating pleasure washing over the man as Drew instinctively ran his fingers through Phil's hair.
Once Phil had come down from his high he looked up at Drew, his eyes still clouded by lust, who was still gliding his hand up and down his cock in an attempt to chase his own high. Once sure Phil was ok, Drew lightly pulled on the belt around his throat, once again pleasantly choking him before speaking; 'you were that desperate to cum for me huh?' To which Phil quickly nodded, still pulling on the belt Drew continued, 'tell me how much you need me, tell me that you belong to me' Drew stuttered out. 'I'm nothing without you Drew' Phil began, 'you're the only person that can make me feel this good.' Close to his climax Drew moaned out, 'oh fuck- that's right baby you're all mine.' Phil watched as Drew's strokes grew more sporadic, watched as his eyes began to roll back into his head, he knew Drew was painfully close to his climax. Gently placing his head on Drew's lap, Phil softly whispered 'I love you'; those three words were more than enough to finally push Drew over the edge, all of a sudden his head was fully thrown back as his cock began to pulsate, coating itself in its own thick, white seed. His muscles tightening causing him to inadvertently begin pulling on the belt fashioned around Phil's throat once more, Drew stuttered out a string of curses, his breathing rapidly becoming more shallow.
Once his breathing had returned to normal Drew effortless pulled Phil from the floor onto his lap as he began undoing the belt around his throat before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead, his eyes scanning his body as he noticed the large, quickly drying stain on Phil's crotch. As Phil averted his eyes due to a subtle embarrassment Drew gently used his thumb to bring Phil's gaze back to his own; 'how about we go get you cleaned up darling?'
——————————————————————————
A/N >> Sorry this has taken so long to get out I hope it was worth the wait! If you've requested any fics I haven't forgotten about them, I've just got a lot waiting to be written
47 notes · View notes
gimlilithegreat · 2 months ago
Text
One of the weirdest interactions I’ve ever had with a commenter happened today.
A couple of days ago someone started commenting on my HP/Twilight fic, innocuous things, it’s always fun when someone comments when they reach the end of every chapter because I can kind of see their progress through the fic.
They get to chapter four and there is a moment in that chapter when Harry is making fun of someone and they really didn’t like it. Left a multi paragraph comment with dictionary definitions and a lot of rage.
No problem. I get it. Stuff can be triggering. I get the email notification, go off and do some research to try and see it from their point of view and decide if I’m going to respond, if I want to make any edits, that kind of thing.
They continue to comment. So I’m like hey, that’s nice at least that didn’t ruin the fic for them.
Their next comment is about something completely different and when I go to respond to it I notice that there isn’t a reply button.
I have no idea what that means, but after some googling it looks like they blocked me. Fair, I wrote something, they had a reaction. I can understand blocking someone. But now I’m really confused because they are still reading, I’m still getting an email every two hours that they are commenting.
Positive things. Reactions to parts of the story. Favourite bits or characters. Things I’d usually respond to.
So I make a Reddit post to see if I am alone in thinking that’s weird. Maybe this is normal and I’m alone in finding that strange. I’m relatively new to writing fanfic maybe this is something people do.
Nope. Everyone thinks that’s weird.
Great.
One of the suggestions on a way it could be not weird was if they’d blocked me by accident. People suggest I leave a guest comment to double check.
After basically a day of getting fixated on how weird this is I decide to do just that. Head into incognito and leave this comment:
“Hey! Not sure you're aware but you've actually blocked me (the author) from responding to your comments?
If you have deliberately blocked me, that's obviously fine, you do you, but I'm not massively comfortable having comments I can't respond to in my comment section especially as I get an email notification every time you leave a comment and I just find that really strange. So I will be blocking you from commenting on this fic. And potentially deleting your comments. Unless this was a mistake, I'll leave this up for a bit to check.
I've appreciated you going to the effort of commenting either way.”
A couple of hours later I get this back:
“Not a mistake but don’t see the big deal. Don’t know if you’re really the author or not but if so it’s a little weird to go out of your way to message someone who clearly didn’t want further interaction than leaving a comment.”
Wow.
Just wow.
Now I’m offended BECAUSE I AM NOT THE WEIRD ONE HERE.
2 hours later she’s finished the fic and left another positive comment.
Like a weirdo.
So I blocked her back and deleted her comments.
Obviously this has become a point of fixation here. I am not going to get over how weird I found this for a while.
So that was my day, how was yours? XD
14 notes · View notes
velvetcloxds · 2 years ago
Note
Could I ask for a Part 2 of tipsy? Eli and Reader meeting in the morning 🥰 it’s was such a cute imagine 🥰 can’t get enough of how sweet Derek was in that fic and the little heart to heart with Eli at the end 🥺🥺
SOBER | D.H.
word count: 0.8k
warnings: age gap, reader has a slight hangover, teen wolf the movie storyline- also peep the can you keep a secret gif for the ideal dilfyness- part 1
a/n: stop I got so excited when I saw this because I really loved writing tipsy
Tumblr media
You woke up with a headache, one you had a feeling should've been much worse considering the state of you, you were still wearing your dress from the night before but Derek was kind enough to remove your makeup and save his pillowcase in the process. The night, for the most part, was a bit of a blur, not that you didn't remember what happened, but rather how, how did you end up in Derek's bed drunk, to begin with after you tried to be careful and how did the poor man end up explaining that to his son.
You could hear the two men in the kitchen, it sounded like they were cooking, trying to at least since they probably hadn't done much of that before, their meals consisted mostly of takeout, frozen dinners, and whatever Melissa brought over every now and then. You thought it only fair to give them a bit more time to find their feet and give yourself some time to get over the sheer embarrassment of your current situation by taking a quick shower, hoping that Derek had something that would be at least slightly suitable for you to wear once you were done.
"That's not enough sugar," Eli noted after he'd heard the bathroom door shut, happy he wasn't expected to whisper anymore now that you were awake. Derek wasn't as happy, knowing that Eli would not hold back with the commentary as he continued to sift the sugar into the pancake batter.
"It's enough," he replied even though he wasn't all that sure himself, but he was not about to admit that out loud, so he stirred it through one more time, frowning at the consistency.
"It's not, look, I'll show you" the teenager argued and moved away from the frying bacon to shove his cell phone into his dad's face, the online recipe clearly stating that it needed twice the amount of sugar that Derek used. "Can you read that or should I get your glasses?" he teased, earning a raised brow of disapproval that only made him shrug.
"I can read it just fine, Eli," he groaned and despite his pride, he reached over for some more sugar, ignoring the light laugh that filled the kitchen. "You better not burn that bacon," he added and was about to dish out another order when the bedroom door opened, and barely a second later you came paddling into the room, nervous beyond measure as you pulled the sleeves of Derek's hoodie over your hands, hoping the pair of them wouldn't look too hard at the way his sweats fit you in all the wrong ways. "Morning, honey," Derek cooed and you swore you'd have missed it had he not moved over to you, a sweet kiss placed on your forehead as a gentle hand guided you further into the kitchen.
"How's your head?" Eli asked without a second of prompt, ignoring the warning glare from his father as you smiled, a giggle that sounded more like a breath leaving your lips. "Sorry, I wasn't supposed to mention that," he backtracked but you just shook your head, stealing a quick glance at Derek before looking up at Eli.
"Eli," Derek sighed in faux exasperation but he didn't miss the way your body was starting to calm down, your nerves easing slightly at how casually Eli was trying to talk to you.
"It's fine," you insisted, a gentle hand brushing over his chest paired with the sweetest of smiles as you walked over to Eli, looking over what they were trying to make, gently reaching over to turn the oven down so the bacon doesn't burn. "Can I help?" your question was aimed at Eli, the boy in question smiling brightly at the idea.
"Yes, please," he sighed and showed you the very recipe he was showing his dad, pointing specifically at the part where it shows the sugar. "Dad is severely under sugaring our pancakes," he sounded exasperated like the poor thing was fighting a losing battle to which you giggled softly, dipping a finger in the batter and nodding lightly after tasting it.
"Can he read that without his glasses?" you teased and Eli was very smug at the repetition of his joke, looking to Derek to witness the reaction the comment would receive and his curiosity was satisfied when he narrowed his eyes at him, leaning onto the counter with a sigh.
"I can read it just fine," he argued and when you noticed the tension in the room you looked between the two Hales with a knowing nod, Eli was already laughing softly as he took it upon himself to find the sugar.
"I'm sure you can, bear," you mused and he wasn't at all convincing when he tried to shake his head at you in disapproval, not when his lips were betraying him, a little grin spreading out and tilting into his face. Eli didn't buy it either, turning around with the bowl to have you taste the batter once again, it was slightly sweeter than it should be, showing he wasn't all that fond of the instructions either.
"Too sweet?"
"No, it's perfect," you lied and Derek hummed, standing up to join the two of you at the stove, not even thinking before wrapping his arms around you from behind and squeezing your waist in the process. "It's perfect," you whispered to yourself, watching Eli spoon far too much batter into the pan, not even telling him to do otherwise because he was clearly enjoying it too much.
"It is," Derek agreed and you weren't surprised by the kiss he placed on the back of your head, tightening his hold and forcing you against his chest, knowing that the both of you might've underestimated just how easy this whole thing would be- he loved you and Eli more than anything in the world, so how could it be anything other than perfect.
"Hey, dad, if you could stop fraternizing with my sous chef long enough for us to finish breakfast that would be great," you were quick to jump out Derek's arms, bumping shoulders with Eli as you took your place next to him. "Do you want to pour or flip?"
"Flipping is more fun..."
"Great, so I'll flip then," he was very pleased with himself when you managed a mocking gasp, taking the bowl and spoon from him as he searched for the spatula. "You can just stand there doing nothing, dad, it's safer, don't you think so, Y/n?"
"Definitely," you breathed and your heart soared seeing the sheer size of Derek's smile as he watched the two of you. "You can just stand there looking pretty."
"Yes, chef."
"Sous chef," Eli corrected and the laughter that filled the room was something the Hale house had been missing for quite some time and it was something that Derek hoped would never go away ever again.
352 notes · View notes
divinekangaroo · 1 year ago
Text
Thanks @palmviolet for tagging me!
How many works do you have on AO3? 154
2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 900k
3. What fandoms do you write for? Peaky Blinders, Final Fantasy XII, Final Fantasy VII, Dragon Age II, The Professionals.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Interesting and not straightforward question: I've been writing since 2007 and only rebooted my fics to AO3 in 2023. I backdated them to time of writing rather than posting live into the current update stream. I was vaguely curious to see what *actually* attracts readers through the AO3 search engine. So, my current top five are all Peaky Blinders Tommy/Lizzie fics, and given my small followers list, everyone following me will probably already have read them!
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do, and it’s my vain (both senses of the term) struggle with how to do it appropriately. I am conscious of how comments, particularly on an AO3 "archival" fic, can weight a reader's further interpretation/engagement of or with fic by that author, and that I'll never put so much time into comments as I do into fic.
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? The fics I thought of picking for these two pretty much overlapped. Perhaps this shows just how I approach happiness – it’s moments, it’s never an ending.
8. Do you get hate on fics? Only old Dragon Age fics. Interesting period of time where any fic author that didn't unequivocally support the moral rightness of one particular character's opinions was targeted. Like: ok to write torture/rape fics of this character, but only if it was clear the author thought this character was morally right. Such a destructive troll.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I'll write sex, mostly as part of a larger arc rather than standalone smut; often it is a partial scenario rather than linear start-to-end event written in a rhythm to support a coherent wanking rise-to-climax read. I'm pleased if people find it pushes their buttons, but I'm also not bothered if it doesn't. I do approach smut as one of many possible lenses or frames for a character, however, so smut that detaches from character confuses me.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Sometimes but they have to feel really right. I think I tend more to fusion or pastiche (I think those are the terms?) rather than crossover: I take a particular character concept/theme and port them into a particular environmental context which is not possible in the canon to see what happens. The only one I still have up is a FFXII/Dragonriders of Pern fic (incomplete) which was going to be all about the horrible knowledge of socially accepted and endorsed ritualised rape and forced feminisation of a character.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I'm not that popular to notice.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I have a memory of one in FFXII but can't recall.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! Taught me a lot, including the kind of writer I am - difficult to collaborate as my push to complete within a motivational urge period will always be greater than a long-haul effort, and I struggle to be available for other people. I’m either good at the front end ideas-generation, or a micro detail ‘write this particular thing/scene and fill it with goodness’, and not very good at the middle bit – the long slot of planning and plotting and aiming for consistency etc. I am so grateful fandom exists to support non-traditional prose formats which let me play with writing and thinking and engagement without needing to produce to book-style production standards.
14. What’s your all time favourite ship? I usually fixate on a character, and pairings allow means to explore that character rather than being an end game.
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Oh they all carry this potential. *cries* The issue for me is loss of motivational drive/thinking; because I rarely have good structural notes etc if I lose my immediate thread of 'thinking of everything all at once' I find it hard to pick up again later. I also stop some fics because I realise how ambitious the scope really is, and I feel like I can’t do them justice.
16. What are your writing strengths? Speed-sketcher? Completionist? Tests multiple ideas rapidly and freely and never worries about something 'being wrong' because there's always another fic to try? Intuitive gut level hits on characterisation here and there?
17. What are your writing weaknesses? Editing, pacing, I can't sustain long fic, I frequently move characters around like paper dolls for the sake of the cool and forget they need their own internal motivation.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I prefer the kind of cant-based/dialect-based approach which splices non-English terms fluidly into English dialogue, mostly because as a child of many migrants this has been my world experience. I do suck at writing this, hence my frequent use of cop-outs to say 'language shift here, meanwhile still writing in English'. But when it’s done well it hits so many of my sweet spots.
19. First fandom you wrote for? FFVII.
20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Anything in my Personal Favourites list: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3728710. (I'm still too close to Peaky Blinders to pick a fav, it'll take about five years of distance!)
43 notes · View notes