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[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable. 

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin. 

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’” 

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely–  i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings. 

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.” 

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing. 

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them. 

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up—  his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?” 

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out.  “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move. 

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.” 

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received. 

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers. 

his own dream, now his downfall. 

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl. 

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[pseudowho]

"Kento...can I...can I paint you?"

Kento glanced back over his shoulder, sleepy, to where you sat massaging knots out of his back. He didn't know why he'd bothered perusing his shelves beforehand; your hands had moulded and made him heavy, and he sunk, unbidden, his book forgotten and his eyelids made of lead, groaning in bliss.

Your eyes traced Kento's back...his arms...his hands. All ripped and reformed, broken and made stronger, the scars (both old and new), criss-crossing him, his life-story turned roadmap.

At some points, Kento's body seemed as though it would last centuries and end up in a museum somewhere, with futuristic admirers who did not know him as you did. At other points, he was just a porcelain man, full of cracks, to be handled with care lest he break.

Kento hummed; a cover-all rumble, unsure.

"...paint me?" He teased, a coy half-smile on the corner of his mouth. "Like one of your French girls?"

You laughed, kissing his shoulder blades, still stroking those seams of pink flesh with your fingertips. He shuddered, the hairs on the base of his undercut standing on end.

"Not quite...do you trust me?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Then just...close your eyes."

Kento huffed through his nose, leaning forwards on his elbows and clasped calloused hands. He heard you rattling around behind him, the tap running, the soft dompf of you resettling on the sofa. More rattling, and your quiet voice.

"Stay still..."

Kento jumped, shivering as the tip of a fine, wet brush licked at the skin on his shoulder blade. He hummed again, dubious.

"Oh...you meant paint me."

"Semantics."

"Bless you."

You laughed at his gentle idiocy. "Keep still."

In truth, as your brush traced idle patterns over his shoulder, his arm, and his hand, Kento didn't need to be told to keep his eyes closed even once. He meant it when he said he trusted you; and he meant it when your presence rocked him to sleep. Time lost meaning as he dozed, sat like The Thinker as you finally removed your brush from his hand.

"There. All done."

Kento opened his eyes...to art.

Patches of the back of his hand had been brushed matte with a soft jade green, fading out against peach flesh. Through the jade, where pink seams had once scored the skin, they now ran golden, liquid beauty joining the edges of his pain and history. And it was...lovely.

Kento swallowed thickly, laid bare beneath your eyes. He gently flexed his hand, seeing how the green and gold flexed with him, held together by your very own repairs. He tracked more and more patches up his forearm, his bicep, over his shoulder...

Kento was quiet, stoic, vulnerable. He whispered, as you took lamplit photos of your work. "I adore you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Christmas had come and gone, and still, Kento did not allow you to touch him as he once did.

The air between you was as taut as the flesh of his left side. You washed the dishes, and he dried, kept company only by the hush of the taps and clink of the plates. Kento reached for a mug with his left hand, and, numb-fingered, dropped it with a spitting curse, to where it shattered beyond repair around your feet.

Barefoot, and pausing with an oh!, you lifted your foot as if to move, and Kento berated you, growling, snapping.

"Stay where you are."

"Kento, it's alright, I'll get it--"

"No. It's my mess. My fault. Sit down."

"Really, it's fine--" Your words cut off with a squeak, as one strong arm looped around your waist. Kento grunted as he lifted you out of the shards with ease, to his body, only to drop you to safety the moment your hands began to brush his bare chest.

"Sit down." Kento rumbled, dark and sullen, his one good eye glowering at you beside the patch. You prickled, rejected. You refused to sit. Watching Kento, as he finished vacuuming, your eyes drifted without thought between him, and your paint set in the chest beneath the kitchen cabinet.

On his way over to the sofa, Kento spotted you, and scoffed, hissing with pain as he dropped himself to sit. He sneered, nasty.

"Sorry, my love. Not enough gold in that box to repair me."

You gritted your teeth, your mouth twisted in disgust, tears in your eyes. You pushed your chair away in a tearful rage, and padded over to Kento, fast, determined.

The briefest flicker of alarm crossed his half-burned face as you straddled him, trapping him to the sofa with a hand on each cheek. You spat, forcing him to see you, gripping him down as he writhed to get away.

"Then I'll break into palaces. I'll rob museums. I'll be a thief in the night. Because they don't deserve it, not like you do."

Kento cursed at you, twisting like a rat in a trap, and you held on tighter, sick of being pushed away, and you forced the words out of you as tears spilled over to drop onto his chest.

"And if there's not enough gold there then I'll melt myself down, but you don't need gold because you're not broken--"

"--get off me-- let me go--"

"No." You cried, looping your arms around his neck, your core pressed to his. The air stilled, his rejection rejected.

You panted, your shoulders heaving, weeping into his neck. Kento and you sat this way in silence, the tap still running and forgotten, your sniffles muffled into his neck. You felt him soften, his hands coming to rest on your hips, stroking you.

Kento's voice was thick, agonised. "You...deserve someone whole."

"I don't want them. They're nothing to me. It's you, or no-one."

Kento's teeth bared, his face stinging as it crumpled, salty tears washing away the grief. He gripped onto you, the fracture not breaking under stress; the bond, golden.

And when you finally did paint him, how he shone.

[yawnderu]

Simon’s gut clenched, the pure heartbreak in your eyes lashing at his heart like whips. He choked back tears, swallowing the thick lump in his throat to keep himself from falling at your feet and begging to be forgiven. Deep inside, he knows it’s selfish to keep you with him. 

“‘M sorry.” His first confession is nearly muted by the traumatized, war-hardened soldier deep within his soul. 

“I’m so sorry. I asked for the leave, but bloody Makarov just…” He pauses, realizing that no matter how many excuses he comes up with, his mistake will never be forgiven. It doesn’t deserve any forgiveness, and that’s something he’s fully aware of, gnawing at his conscience from within. 

“I love you. I love both of you. I promise— no, I swear, that I won’t ever leave.” His gaze drifts down to the newborn baby in your arms. A tiny sweet girl, her big brown eyes looking at him with so much curiosity and love. For a second, it takes every ounce of strength for him not to reach out and hold her. 

Simon clenches his fists tightly, as if holding back the tide of emotions surging within him. The last thing he wanted was to be like his father— an absent bloody cunt, yet it seems like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree no matter how much he tries.

The sight of the tears rolling down your cheeks feels like daggers straight to his soul, and yet a part of him thinks he’s not allowed to feel pain. Not when he let you be alone and scared in the delivery room, surrounded by nurses sporting expressions of pure pity for you. A first-time mother who kept insisting her husband was going to show up this one time. 

“I was so scared, Simon.” The first words you’ve told him the entire night hurt more than any bullet he’s ever taken. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.” He swallows the thick lump in his throat, hesitantly reaching out to brush the tears from your cheeks, his hands shaky. His dark eyes fix on your face, soaking you in, wanting to remember even the smallest detail. As exhausted as you are, you’re still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Let me make it right. I promise I’ll do everything to make up for it.” A grim part of his soul knows that this is just one of the many cracks in your marriage that will never be repaired. Still, the sincerity in his voice echoes in the room as he leans forward, pressing your foreheads together. 

“I can’t imagine how you felt, baby. How scared you must’ve been…” He whispers, his chest constricting. His gaze drifts down to your beautiful girl, tears brimming his eyes the moment her tiny hand reaches out to hold one of the straps from his gear. 

“I’m here now. I’ll never leave, I promise.” If finally hanging it up is what it takes to amend your marriage, he’ll do it. A small smile pulls at the corners of his lips, picturing being able to see his little girl grow up with the chances he never had, and despite knowing that he deserves the rawness of the moment, Simon makes it a life goal to be with you at all times. To fix everything he once broke.

From the ex-husband Simon series.

[tinyowlthoughts]

The EC-Theobromine: Chocolate

"Ugh, I would kill for some chocolate right now."

Gorvan fumbled the holopad he'd been typing on, all four hands brushing against the screen as he tried to keep it from hitting the ship floor. He failed and it bounced off the tiles - thankfully neither breaking, nor denting the flooring. Grimacing, he swept it up with his tail and checked over the casing, before the alarming words registered in his head. A glance at the couch showed the human - Max - hadn't moved - still twisted up in their weird, pretzely way, chin in their weird five-fingered hand as they peered at the passing stars with a far-away look in their eyes.

"You, uh, want...chocolate?" He asked, certain he'd misheard.

"Oh my god, yes." Max heaved a sigh, shoulders rising to their weird, inefficient ears before dropping back down. "Jesus, I'd even eat a Hershey's Bar right now."

Gorvan gripped his tablet with two of his hands, hard enough to crack the casing. "Oh, um - what is a 'Hershey'?"

Max didn't look away from the window, still lost gazing into the galaxy. "It's a type of chocolate bar from Earth. Maybe a Mars Bar or a Milky Way would be better..."

Gorvan huffed through his nostrils, tail lashing anxiously behind him. "Oh. Um. I - er, I forgot I have a meeting with Captain! I have to go." Without waiting for an answer he turned and fled the recreation room, hooved feet clattering against the floor, desperate to report what he had heard. He missed the bemused look Max gave him before returning to his star gazing.

🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫

"Max."

The human paused upon entering the meeting room, seeing the rest of the C7H8N4O2 Star Explorer gathered around the table. All eight were tense in their seats, and the moth-like Elaana looked like she'd been crying. (Well, the species equivalent, which appeared as a dusting of pollen along her sharp cheekbones.)

Taurvin, the captain, was sitting in the largest seat at the head of the table, his considerable bulk looming over the rest of them. Oddly, the first-mate seat to his left was empty. Gorvan was instead sitting in Max's own.

"Uh, hey all. We playing musical chairs?" Max glanced between the empty chair and Gorvan, but when nobody asked for an explanation to their odd human reference (a common occurrence), they figured it wasn't the time for jokes.

"Have a seat, Max." Taurvin motioned to the first mate seat and, with a bit of hesitation, Max moved to take it. Luckily Gorvan, despite being bulky himself, wasn't too much larger than a standard human and the chair was comfortable enough. "We have something important to address."

Oh god above, what had they done this time? Max tried to think back to all the interactions he'd had onboard the last few weeks, but couldn't come up with anything too egregious. Sure, there was the whole joke with 'human snot is acidic' thing but that had been more of a gross-out joke for Elaana, the ships medic, who hadn't seemed to upset when he accidentally sneezed on her a few days later and dropped the act. Epitak, the ships engineer, had been pretty pissed when ze found out Max had taken apart the air filtration unit in their quarters to try and understand how it worked, but ze had also walked him through repairing it, so they thought it was all forgiven.

Oh jeeze, had they found the plans to get a kitten onboard under the 'emotional assistance animal' loophole?

"Max." Taurvin's normally jolly voice was grave, and all the crews eyes were on them as he spoke. "It has come to my attention that you have been expressing some...troubling thoughts."

Okay, definitely the kitten thing then. "Look, I can explain," they started, but Taurvin held up a large, three-fingered hand and stopped them.

"I do not want you to feel pressured to speak to us if you do not wish to. As a member of the Intergalactic Exploration Society, you have access to mental health resources at no cost, any time, anywhere. I will be more than happy to assist you in setting up a link to a therapist through HR and, if required, will grant you time off the ship if you need it. You are the best navigator I have ever seen, and I do not want to lose you."

"Well, thanks, but uh, what do you mean?" Max glanced around the table and noticed that their normally upbeat crew were all showing signs of distress (Elaana was brushing away newly fallen pollen from her compound eyes).

"Max, you requested chocolate." Gorvan reminded them. "This morning, you said you would even eat a substance known as a Hershey Bar from your home planet." The human had never heard the first mate sound so distressed. When Max just blinked, Epitak took over, beak clacking anxiously as ze spoke.

"We understand that many planets have government programs in place for self euthanasia," ze explained, technical as always in his word choice, "but we aboard this ship would much rather assist you in healing rather than lose you, despite what you may feel is best for you. Suicide by theobromine is not the way forward."

"...what."

"It's okay, love!" The pollen was flowing freely from Elaana's eyes now, and she blinked it away with her long lashes. If there weren't a table between them, Max was sure she would have bundled them up in a full-wing hug and refused to let them go. "We'll support you through it all, we promise. You're part of our crew - our family, and we never want you to feel otherwise!"

"Well, uh, thanks. I see you all as family too...?" Max glanced at the four remaining crew members. Dhaca and Lenzoill were quiet but obviously upset, Qhals was staring at the ceiling with their fanged muzzle pulled into a tight grimace, and Ir'ith was -

Ir'ith was smirking.

Max narrowed their eyes at the inventory manager who also served as the ships cook (for the simple fact that he was the only one onboard who could cook). The zad merely shrugged when their eyes met, though his grin was growing.

"I think I'm missing something here." Max admitted, looking between Gorvan and Taurvin. "This is all because I got a chocolate craving?"

"A craving?" Elaana almost lunged across the table at the word, the only thing holder her back Ir'ith's hand on her shoulder. "You mean you've had chocolate before?"

"Well, yeah? All the time." Max was not expecting the horrified expressions they received.

"So humans treat theobromine as a drug?" Epitak asked, aghast.

"Noooo...? It's a dessert. Like, a sweet treat." Max had no idea what was going on now, but by the way Ir'ith's shoulders were shaking, he did. "Hershey's is a candy bar."

"Wait," Dhaca finally spoke up, leaning forward and shoving his glasses (well, glass - one lens for one eye and all) to the top of his head, "theobromine is not toxic to humans?"

"I'm assuming that theo-stuff is chocolate?" When Dhaca nodded, Max nodded in return. "Yeah, no, chocolate isn't toxic to humans. I ate it all the time on Earth."

Ir'ith gave up and cackled, sounding a bit like the grackles Max used to watch in their back garden on Earth. The avian's wings flapped a few times as he laughed, having to lean forward and grasp his stomach with taloned claws to keep himself from falling out of his chair. When he finally glanced up at Max, it was to the flattest look the human could manage, which only sent him into another gale of laughter.

Taurvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his boar-like snout. "I believe this has all been a misunderstanding," he spoke over the cooks laughter, which had turned into squeaky gasps. "Dismissed."

A few befuddled glances were thrown Max's way, but the rest of the crew were quick to leave, avoiding Ir'ith's flapping wings as they squeezed out of the room. Soon only the cook, first mate, captain, and navigator were left.

"Sorry, kid." Ir'ith finally came up for breath, wiping at his eyes as he regained his composure. He fished into one of the many pockets that adorned his poncho and produced a bar wrapped in purple foil, which he tossed to Max. The human caught it and felt their whole face light up. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None at all, dude!" Max tore open the wrapping and took a big bite of the Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar, nearly melting at the familiar, sweet flavor exploding on their tongue.

"For the record," Ir'ith said as he stood, cracking his back, "Zad's can eat chocolate to. Let me know next time you have a craving." He sauntered out of the room, humming happily.

The three sat in silence for a moment, other than the crinkle of the chocolate bar wrapper. Finally, Taurvin cleared his throat.

"Max, I apologize for not conferring with you in private beforehand." The captain sighed. "I did not wish to embarrass you, but an intervention was suggested and I believed that comfort from your crew would be the best way to show the seriousness of our support were you truly entertaining the thought of self euthanasia."

The human shrugged. "It was nice to hear you all care about me, even though I've only been on board a few months," they admitted. "And I got chocolate out of it." He wiggled the remains of the bar.

"Still, if you ever feel the need for mental health services, they are available to you. And if there is ever anything I or the rest of the crew can do to assist you in that way, please don't hesitate to ask." Taurvin placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head, a show of sincerity for his people.

"Well," Max tapped the chocolate against their chin in thought, "there may be one thing. Have you ever heard of cats?"

Next: Bluffing

EC Theobromine Character & Worldbuilding Notes

Original Reddit Prompt:

[softshuji]

𝟐𝟐:𝟓𝟎𝐏𝐌 - 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Say Yes

Summary: The first time Rindou asks you on a date, you reject him, thinking he's going to break your heart. Lucky for you, he's willing to prove why you should say yes to him.

cw: fem!reader, some mentions of insecurities, Rin calls you princess, Ran makes an appearance. But that's it! Reblogs appreciated!

You think it’s a joke the first time Haitani Rindou asks you on a date. He’s a Haitani after all, and you’re under no illusions about what that means for you and all the ways he could hurt you if you let him. Creative ways, that you’re convinced you could never recover from in the near future, the pieces of yourself you would spend years putting back together.

So you don’t. You walk away, reject him politely with a smile and an incline of your head, and you can almost imagine that he has a girl lined up the next day to ask as a quick replacement of you because He’s a Haitani after all, and he has a reputation that means more than either of your hurt feelings.

Rindou pretends he isn’t crestfallen, the drop of his small and placid smile that does little to hide the avid redness of his cheeks is all too apparent when you purse your lips. His eyebrows shoot up and he coughs, or rather pretends to, into his hand and steps back, the heat on his neck crawling along the slope of his back.

‘You’re….. You’re saying no?’ He asks, as if he doesn’t quite get it, because he hasn’t prepared for this eventuality, for going home to Ran to break the news, as if he’s a schoolboy with a crush, dragging his feet with dejection.

‘I am, I’m sorry Rin.’ A shake of your head, a feeling of deep nausea and a regret that holds the weight of years of friendship, now potentially wasted. 

‘Oh.’ He kicks at the gravel, the blue silk of his hair falling in waves over the smooth arc of his forehead, and you resist the urge at a time like this, to sweep it back. ‘Can I ask why?’

No, you want to say, the word caught on the wind whipping through your hair. It’ll only make it harder. Harder to look forward, harder to resist, harder to keep at your word. 

‘You’re Rindou Haitani.’ As if it’s an explanation in itself, as if it assuages the guilt and the longing and gets the point across, that he could never not hurt you in any way you could recover from. ‘I don’t think you’d be happy with me.’

You think it’s easier to lie, to pretend that the burden that comes from knowing you is too much for any one person to bear, especially when that person is your best friend, instead of the fact that the uncertainty of his life is too much for you in turn. That there could be a day far or perhaps not so far, into the future where the uncertainty becomes the certainty of his death, where he does not come back at all.

‘You don’t know that,’ he says, fierce determination blazing in his eyes, the slight tremor of his voice. He thinks he could be happy with you, or content at the very least. Maybe you could watch as he climbed to the top with Ran, the Doll at his side, his partner in all things. He’s convinced he has it all planned out perfectly, the house, the marriage, the kids you’ll have, even what colour you’ll paint the walls, because despite himself, Haitani Rindou is meticulous in all things concerning you.

You tilt your head to the side, a knowing smile playing on your lips that you hope hides how much it pains you to break him like this, to break yourself along with him, cracks in the eggshell of your friendship you hope can be repaired in time. ‘I do Rin. You’re a Haitani, you’re used to the life.’

He knows it’s an explanation and he doesn’t begrudge you for it, for the way you step back and keep your distance, your bottom lip pulled back as you bite it nervously, a hand playing with the ends of your hair as he knows you’re prone to doing. He wants to be angry, wants to rage at you, throw all the excuses he thinks will suffice for coming to terms with the rejection, vitriol and jealousy and bitterness all curling together on his tongue. He swallows, the bump of his smooth throat sliding under the blue scarf that kisses at the dip of his chin and pushes it down. Down. Down. Tucks it safely in the pit of his stomach where it can ruminate till he’s let off the steam that prickling at the skin on his neck.

‘I see.’ He pulls back the flowers, scrunching the plastic wrapping in his white knuckles behind his back, the burn of shame and regret licking at his cheeks, hot enough to instantly melt the snow that sits on the cut of his cheekbones. ‘Can we still be friends?’ 

It aches somewhere, when you swallow against the tide of anxiety in your chest, a vice that clamps down on your tongue, hot and heavy and weighted with longing. You wonder how easy it would be to let yourself be swept away by him, the beautiful fullness of his laugh, the smile that’s reserved for you, quick and easy and big, all engulfing even, to let yourself run along with him as he climbed to the top, hand in unlovable hand.

You soften, reach for him with one gloved hand, finding his fiddling with a button on his coat and brush your  thumb across his knuckles, swinging it this way and that, like you have not broken his heart, like you are nothing more than a single passing memory. ‘Of course we can. We’re best friends Rin, nothing will ever change that. If you still want me that is.’

‘I do.’ 

‘Even now?’ 

He takes your hand, as if it’s a response and knowing that despite it all, his big words, he’ll wallow in self pity, the heat of your rejection biting at his chest, he’ll come to terms with it in his own way. It is all his fault, and the wind that cuts across his cold lips seems to chant with shame at him for it, for the fickleness of his feelings, for straying far from what he knows.

But it happens. You swing back into life and the easiness of your friendship that has always permeated the comfort between you remains, albeit hardened now, by what Rindou thinks are his one-sided feelings. He remains as steadfast in his efforts as usual, propelled more so now by the fact that he feels he must win you over, to make up for the duplicity of his feelings.

You think it’s cute that he is less than subtle with his affections now that they are out in the open. The chocolates that sit at the table when you return home, a bar of chocolate orange, a note on a yellow post-it, a heart and a terribly drawn sun that tells you enough, the trinkets and gifts that are somehow discreetly placed around your apartment, necklaces here and there, earrings, new books you hadn’t spoken about to anyone that wasn’t him and it burns you with self-loathing that despite yourself, you cannot let him go without peeling yourself open at the same time.

The regret is acid pooling in your stomach.

The same regret and shame that tickles your throat when you reach for the phone at night, and your thumb finds his name with a moon and a heart, the grainy picture of him sleeping with his mouth parted, blond silken hair clinging to his forehead, to his shirt. He rolls over in bed, hears the first sniffle, cut through by a crack in the signal, and bounds from the door, keys in one hand, his jacket only half-slung, whipping in the wind as he races to your apartment.

'Princess?’ It’s uncertain, halted, hesitant even, as he slides open the bathroom door, the ends of his hair wet with rain, glasses foggy and hands clammy with the chill of the wind. 

‘Rin?’ You look up, eyes red-rimmed, the wad of wet tissue in your hands falling apart.

And Rindou knows, of course he does, what your kind of bravery looks like. You've been sitting on the floor crying, the tears fast and free flowing and salty on your cracked cheeks and he doesn't judge, he knows this is you being brave, he knows he has no right to judge what your kind of brave looks like, the way in which you piece yourself back together.

So he holds you, one hand on the small of your back, the other tucking the hair behind your ear as you hiccup and the drool slips from your dry lips. He holds you, and holds you and holds you and rocks you with his eyes fluttering shut, and perhaps your hair will get caught on the thin screws of his glasses, but you don't care right now. All that matters is that he makes you feel less pathetic, less like you're falling apart on the cold bathroom tiles of your shabby house.

‘It’s okay,’ he says and you almost believe it, almost believe he can put you back together with his lithe skilled fingers, trace the cuts along your heart with tenderness and paint them gold again. 

You love that he waits it out, waits for it to pass, the cloudy storm that ends with you on his chest, softly snoring, your tears dried on cheeks that feel taut and tightened with the line of silvery drool slipping between your parted lips, mascara tracks, that have found a home on the soft grey of his shirt. 

‘Let’s get you into bed yeah?’ He whispers to the tiles, to you now slumped against him, the creases of your pajamas pressed into his side and carries you to bed, slipping in beside you, curling your hair around his fingers, your ribs under his hands, heartbeat pulsing against his skin. He hardly blames you for it, the rejection that’s weeks in the past. Part of him almost thanks you, for protecting yourself from him, from all the danger and blood and death that comes with him. Like you said, he is used to the life. 

You love that when you wake, he is that much softer with you, a hand on your back as you pad to the bathroom, to the kitchen, the coffee hot, the croissants and pastries fresh, a wordless kiss to your temple, fresh clothes and towels, the bathroom clean of the wads of tissue that bare witness to your moments. He never mentions it, but kisses you again, just shy of your mouth, the dip of your chin soft under his lips when he sees you off for work again.

‘Be safe okay? For me?’ 

Because he knows you’re capable, knows you’re strong, knows you are his weakness in a way nothing else is, knows that if something happened to you, you’d take a bigger part of him than he could ever take of you. Or so he thinks.

‘I will. You should be safe too.’ 

Because you know he’s capable, know he’s strong, know he is your weakness in a way nothing else is, know that if something happened to him, he’d take a bigger part of you than you could ever take of him. Or so you think.

You love that he comes back, time and time again. After every fight, every argument, every word of vitriol spewed back and forth, hateful words thrown with negligence and jealousy, embittered feelings you know deep down come from love, he comes back to you.

‘Princess?’ He says, and waits on the other side of the door in the rain, the film of his glasses now foggy with condensation, ends of his hair clinging to the exposed goosebumps breaking out on his neck, the grey sweatpants now a darker shade of charcoal from where he has slugged through the storm to get to you, his first priority always.

‘What do you want?’ It comes out harsher than intended, the bite of your still-fresh and ripened anger cutting at your tone. It hurts, it always does when it comes from him, the arguments that are wrapped in love, care, the attention he could give to anyone but chooses to give to you, and the regret that boils in your stomach when you realize that fact.

‘I want us to talk.’ Proactive as ever, because the option to find solace anywhere else, with another girl even, has never occurred to him. Because he loves you, and even if the sentiment isn’t shared, he thinks he can love you enough for the both of you. 

‘I don’t want to talk to you right now.’ But you push open the door, hand him a towel, and touch his cold and pallid cheek, because the promise of seeing him, in all your pain and bitterness, hurts less than not.

‘Not an option,’ he says and holds you, cold lips that brush just shy of the hot pulsing pressure point of your neck, warmed by the constancy of you. He smells of petrol, metal, the cold chill of winter, and against what you assume is your better judgement, you find warmth in the crook of his shoulder, the warm swell of his chest and arms that instinctively come around you, pressing your hips to his.

It would be easy, to give into the thrill for a night, to let yourself forget, reach out to him and grab at the promise, however temporary, for the risk of tasting him in all the ways you’ve imagined you can. You know he tastes of strawberries, tastes of the night and the moon, sweet and dangerous and warm, familiar and mysterious at once. 

You tell yourself, you tell Ran, he is just like this, that Rindou for all his brutality, for all the rough edges sharp enough to cut, for all the barricades smoothed down by time, he is just kind, he is just loving, he is just like that.

‘I thought you’d have known him better than that by now.’ And Ran sighs in that way older siblings do, half exhausted, half fond, and all pride in his Brother. ‘Rin doesn’t do things for anyone else.’ 

It changes at some point. 

Some point when you wake before him, nestled into his side, the warm breath from his parted lips lifting the hair now pressed against the pillow, an eyelash dancing on the perfect curve of his cheek. He looks best like this. Unguarded, the frown that usually graces the slope of his forehead now smooth, the bridge of his nose rubbing at the cotton of your shared pillow, and the soft blue of his hair resting on the sharp line of his jaw. 

You press a tiny kiss to his collarbone, trapping him between your legs, his hands resting on your hips that press flush against his. 

‘Watching people sleep is creepy y’know.’ His voice is rough and broken by the sluggishness of sleep and you can hear the smirk in it, the lazy languid curve of his lips that never fails to make the heat rise to your neck. 

‘You do it all the time.’ A whisper that kisses at his clavicle, eliciting a shiver that rolls along his spine, the perfect bones and muscles flexing under your touch.

‘S’different. You’re pretty.’ 

‘So are you. Really pretty Rin.’

‘Think so?’

‘Don’t fish for compliments with me, that’s shameful.’ You jab lightly at his side, the smile threatening to break out across your lips now peaking through with full force. The sun that cuts across his cheek rests on the swell of his bare shoulder, the black ink that whirls along the flexing tendon of his arm soaking up the light. This is him, your Rindou. Soaking up the light as if it belongs to him, because it does, because everything does, because you would hand him the world if he so much as looked at it.

He laughs, a throaty chuckle that reverberates against your chest, dangerously, achingly close, a flimsy t-shirt away. ‘You’re too smart, my smartest girl.’ And buries his lips against the warm juncture of your collarbones. 

‘And Rin?’ You ignore the way your voice wavers, the way it threatens to pull you back into what you know, the safety of your enclosed familiarity, the trapped bird looking out to freedom.

‘Mhm?’ 

A beat, prolonged, heady and weighted with love, years and memories. ‘I think I’m ready.’ 

‘For?’ 

‘To say yes.’ The pressure aches in your chest, the courage is a vibrating pulse in your blood. This is it, this is the deep breath and the plunge.

It’s strangely exhilarating to let go of it, the build-up of weeks of longing, of clutching onto his stomach as you bury your face against the broad swell of his back, muttering his name in your sleep, his lips only a breath away, a singular moment of decision away.

His eyes snap open, his hands pulling back instinctively from your hips to cup at your jaw, eyes narrowed, glowing with anticipatory longing, dull with the shimmer of sleep.  ‘You mean it? That’s not a joke? If it’s a joke-’

You shake your head adamantly, his palms rough against the curl of your cheek. ‘Not a joke. I’m sorry, my indecision hurt you. I think I was afraid.’ This last part is broken, snapped into a whisper that curls along your tongue.

It had been true, it had always been true. Because he’s Haitani Rindou, and you know he could break you, snap you in half, shred the pieces of you and spit you out, that you would have to trust him not to.

‘No, no Princess, don't ever apologise for that. You really mean this though?’ Damn him for the shake of his voice, for the wobble of it as he closes the distance between you. 

‘I do.’

‘You want this? You want …me?’ He knows it’s meticulous, extreme, that he must only bridge the gap to find his answer. But he has spent so long, nights reaching through the darkness for your warmth, a hand moving across the cold bed, looking for the space where he thinks you ought to be, to not do it right this time. 

‘Yes.’ 

He deliberates, searches your eyes, for the genuineness he loves in you, for the openness, for the love he has craved and never asked for, for what you have given to someone like him so freely. 

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks, and his thumb brushes against your lips, against the softened pout, the dip in your chin that slices the sunlight in half as it spills over his shoulder.

Your heart smashes against your ribs, knocks the air from you so completely that your pulse rings in your head. You think this is the point you take the leap, jump into the unknown, knowing you’ll be caught either way by him, knowing he will catch you every time you fall. It's conscious, a decision weeks or months in the making, a step off the edge, the wind rushing at you as you fall.

So you do it.

You say yes.

And he kisses you. And kisses you. And kisses you.

a/n happy birthday to the boy himself, sorry this is a little late I did try to be earlier i've been slumped w work and stuff but I wanted to get this one out there. a kiss for the wonderful boy

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @stargirlstabber @intheafterall

[levilaughlove]

❝T-that's going..in..me?❞ 🔞

→ Authors note: Hey, it's been a while. Sorry for the hiatus.₊ ⊹

⤿Heads up - m!reader x H♯rny tentacle monster || Mentions of dubious consent || Monster is faceless, literally just tentacle| || Very very descriptive terms || Overstimulation & C♯m Kink.

"M/n!" shouted a woman's voice from downstairs. It was your mum. You knew exactly what she wanted. You once offered to go hunting for a rare animal since your family tried and failed. Since you succeeded, your mum has non-stop been begging you to do it again as food was running low.

"I know mom, i'm going." You shouted back, putting on your dark wash jeans and belt, lazily throwing on a black hoodie and running out. Behind your home was a forest, a quiet one. The dirt and leaves crinkle and crack underneath the pressure of your feet. It's also a bit windy out.

Soon, you've gotten deep into the forest, definitely far from home. No sign of the animal but— CRASH.

By your left foot, you are dragged underground. Fuck, you hadn't seen that ditch. Your face once thrashing against sharp branches soon met with slimey, but soft....something? Regaining consciousness, you slowly open your eyes.

A light rosy colored room surrounded you. The walls are squishy, wet, and pulsating. There are humps in the equally squishy floor pulsating under you. You feel naked, you are naked. Noticing your clothing haphazardly tossed around the area.

Soon, the squishy room pulsates faster, stimulating your manhood just a bit. "He's awoken."

Before you could react to the deep, unhuman voice, a powdery gas floods your scent, making your libido rise alarmingly high. You were hard, real hard. Your brain foggy, in desire to be fucked beyond repair. "Hello." A tentacle rises from the squishy floor and hovers over your aroused body. It's big and girthy, not to mention drenched in slick. Soon 6 others rise along with. One of the 6 sneaks under your waist along your stomach and lifts your ass to the air. Hole drenched preparing subconsciously.

"Gnh..." Your groan back. Unable to give any coherent words due to your horny, foggy brain. "Don't worry love, we will take great, great care of you..." The voice says lowly. A tentacle approaching your needy wet dick. The voice turns you on even more. You buck your hips back hoping to catch the closed tentacle into your tight hole.

The wet, thick tentacle jerks off your manhoods slow and hard, pulling as many sinful moans as possible. Each time it works it was up to your glands, it pulls a drop of precum from your dick. Another tentacle can be felt prodding at your tight ass ring, begging for permission. You buck your hips back once again, the tip of the tentacle penetrates. A loud moan is pulled from your throat at the double sensation.

The thick tentacle at your ass shoves itself fully in, easily sliding in due to the slick. It wasted no time in rutting against the inside of your gummy walls, pounding at every go. The tentacle on your dick speeds up the pace, not one to be outdone. Another 2 tentacles lift up each of your legs giving the first tentacle easier access. The last 2 play with your nipples, stimulating the buds and sucking at them.

The sensation were almost to much for you, as you let out a loud, porn-like moan, your mouth drooling & agape, eyes low and lolled back, tears pouring from them. The tentacles however, didn't stop as the fucked you through your rough orgasm. Now, you were gripping the floor underneath, your hot body begging for a break.

"Hnng..." The voice says. Soon unleashing thick, white liquids into your abused hole fucking it back in as all the tentacle begin to slow.

You pass out to the overwhelming pleasure and leave the rest to the monster.

"Now, you are ours." Each tentacle helping to carry you elsewhere. Who knows where? Doesn't matter, anyway.

[falling-endlessly]

The Lesson

Vox x Reader

Summary: Vox comes home to find you lying in a pool of your own blood.

As soon as the security cameras in your shared penthouse went dark, he knew something was very, very wrong.

His screen shut off as he focused on any nearby surveillance cameras, only to find that he couldn't get a good angle no matter which direction he turned them to. With a feral growl of frustration, he sent himself through one of the ground-level cameras, ignoring the startled yelps of unsuspecting pedestrians as he zapped into existence.

A path parted for him as he stormed into the building, flashing into the elevator and rigging it to move four times as fast.

He barely restrained himself from just busting down the door in his terrified fury, instead carefully twisting open the doorknob with a white-knuckled fist.

Silence was the second warning. The apartment was never silent, either with Vark thumping around cheerfully or you humming to yourself as you moved through the hallways or tapped away at your keyboard.

The eerie lack of background noise sent an ice cold chill down his spine. He found that he could barely breathe.

With soundless steps, he crept further into the apartment, afraid of what he might—or might not find waiting for him.

He found Vark first, nearly stepping in the growing puddle of blood if he hadn't pulled his foot back in time. Vox strangled a noise in his throat, hastily dropping to his knees as he shrugged off his jacket and tied it as tightly around the shark's mangled side as he could, trying to staunch the bleeding. A numbing thought surfaced in his mind. If Vark was in this condition, then you...

No longer concerned with being silent or careful, Vox flashed into different rooms in your apartment. The bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room.

He found you in your shared bedroom, slumped against the wall as your hair shielded your face. Vox spasmed and glitched, having to mentally force himself to shove his worries in the back of his mind in order to keep control of his movements.

"Y/n?" He whispered, afraid to approach you. Terrified of what he might discover.

You didn't respond, making the cold ball in his chest expand until it felt like his airways were freezing solid. Like his entire body was shutting down.

No. NonoNONONONO.

He half stumbled, half fell at your feet, clawed hands grasping your soft arms and shaking lightly—then harder, when you stayed unresponsive. His knees were wet, something warm—blood, his mind unhelpfully supplied—and his vision was getting concerningly blurry. His hands slid up your shoulders, ignoring the large oozing gash across your chest, and cupped your limp face, where blood was also dripping down the right side in slow rivulets.

"Y/n?" His voice cracked.

When you didn't stir, he let out a choked sob, hastily divesting himself of his dress shirt and pressing the scrunched up ball into your open wound. You didn't even flinch. Fuck.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't do this to me," he said, voice strained as he desperately checked your vitals. His heart nearly stopped when he discovered that yours had.

"Noo," he moaned, sending bolts of electricity into your chest, fruitlessly trying to restart your failed heart. Cursed his lack of proper lips that made CPR that much more difficult.

It took a while before he stopped trying, tiring himself out until crushing sadness replaced the pulsing adrenaline. Vox leaned against the wall, panting as he cradled your cooling body in his lap. He held you when your lips went blue, stroking your hair tenderly like you were still alive. He held you until the first notes of color started to replenish your cheeks once more, until your chest began to delicately rise and fall as your insides repaired themselves.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, it was to bloodshot, red rimmed ones staring back at you.

"Vox?" You whispered softly, causing your lover to let out a ragged breath. "W-What—?" And then suddenly it all came back to you with a jolt. The demons who broke in and killed you. They didn't want anything you offered them, only to cause as much pain to the TV demon as they possibly could. And what better way to kill him than with his heart? Your bottom lip shook as the horrible memories replayed in your mind, only cut off by the warm chest your face was shoved into.

"Don't," he croaked, shaking his head. "I can see what you're doing, stop it."

Your eyes welled as you let out your own shuddering breath, weak fingers coming up to clutch at the bare skin of his back. He held you as silent tears ran down your face, holding you tighter every time your fingers flexed.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you."

"They didn't want anything," you heaved, burying your face deeper in his shoulder. "Th-they just said they wanted to hurt you and—oh my god, Vark!" You immediately moved to get up, only to be pulled back down again.

"Shh, it's okay," he soothed. "The cameras are back online, I can see him moving around in the kitchen." Internally though, his heart pounded with an incredible rage. So some suicidal fuckers thought they could break into his house and lay their hands on you? Holy fucking shit, when he got his hands on them they were going to wish they'd just stayed in the shadows. That was a promise.

You sagged with relief against him, and he let you stay curled up against him for a few more minutes, before he carried you to the shower. After gently helping you clean off, rubbing your tense muscles when your hands trembled, he dressed you in the fuzziest sleepwear you owned, before depositing you carefully under the silk covers.

"Don't leave," you pleaded, making his heart ache. He acquiesced, staying until he was sure you were asleep, before his screen went dark as he lost himself in the flowing web of information that he'd built himself.

His screen flashed red as a single eye opened. "Found you."

That morning you woke up to lean arms draped over you, a defined chest pressed tightly to your back. A small smile graced your lips.

"Morning," he whispered into your ear.

"Morning," you smiled back. And when you asked the silent question, did you do it? He nodded, pulling you closer.

You leaned your head on his chest, thank you. He squeezed your hand, of course.

***

Art inspiration for the scene “Found you.” HERE (from zerochan, as unfortunately I could not find the direct post)

Artist above (Kwiisha) twitter account HERE

[youcancallmeelle]

Are we on the same side?

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI!!!)

Word count: 8K

Pairing: Separated husband!Joel Miller x wife!reader

Summary: Joel and you are trialling temporary separation due to repeated arguments with one another after nearly twenty years of marriage.

He returns to the marital home to do you a favour, flirting ensues and the sexual tension gets out of hand because of course it does.

You may need some clarification on what you are…

AO3

You put up the hearts, and I'll put up both my aces Not very far apart Still on different pages

Before having kids, you used to take every moment of your life for granted. 

You were just a kid yourself back then, when you had two babies with a boy who shared your class and you were so in love you couldn’t fathom a life without him. For years you were Mama, the person who fed them and changed them, bathed them and rocked them to sleep. You worked night shifts while the love of your life worked in the day, all so food could be put on the table and an apartment could be kept to keep you all warm and safe. It wasn’t until a few years ago when your kids gained their own independence that you slowly started to regain your own life back, now you were nearly forty and working a job that gave you more freedom even if the stress levels have gotten to you more than once and your marriage… well that’s a separate issue on its own. 

You’d spent the morning doing things you wanted to, thanking whoever that your kids were teenagers who could do their own breakfast and helped with chores without coaxing. You’ve been to pilates and the salon and had your infills done, your nails a glossy shade of pillar box red in an almond shape and your toes the same colour. You’d even managed to grab a Starbucks and sipped it languidly as you people watched from the safety of your car, enjoying your chosen playlist on Spotify without the bluetooth getting hijacked. The icing on the cake though? The fact you got to shower at home without someone barging in to ask for foundation or to borrow your strapless bra or your new Adidas Superstars. 

It’s mid way through Saturday afternoon that your relaxation comes skidding to a halt in the form of your jaded lover knocking heavily against the pane of glass on your front door, the irritating noise makes you scowl and you drag your feet to answer it. 

You crack it open, familiar brown eyes stare at you and yours narrow back. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask flatly, the male on the other side picks up on your terse mood and his shoulders rise defensively. If it wasn’t for the little disagreement you’d had a few days prior on the phone over something as mundane as renewing car insurance, you’d have probably been more excited to see him but the way he can sometimes undermine you really grates on your nerves, you hate that he gets so swept up in work that he comes home and talks to you like he’s your foreman. 

The minute he’d started questioning your choice like a fucking know it all, you’d merely hung up in irritation, refusing to answer when he’d called you back twice to apparently try and patch it over. You’d read the I’m sorry and I love you more than you’ll ever know text he sent after over and over, trying to figure out how things had come to this. 

Nearly two decades together, married, with children and a house. You and Joel Miller have been torn apart by too many petty arguments that end with you sobbing and him walking away, you’d had to call it and come up with a possible solution with the marriage counsellor before it was too late. 

He huffs and lifts his hand, showing you the toolbox you’ve seen many times with its contents strewn about somewhere in your house. 

“A little birdie told me that you’re in need of a repair.” Joel’s lip twists at the side when your mood seems to perk just a fraction, there’s multiple things that need a little TLC right now but he can certainly worm his way back into your good books with a good old fashioned repair. You can only assume the little birdie was Sarah or Ellie. 

You open the door fully and step backwards so all six foot something of him can meander through your front door, he wipes his feet on the welcome mat and toes his sneakers off, nudging them into the neat space where a tattered pair of Vans have been kicked off hard enough to scuff the wall and a pair of spotless ankle boots have been nicely placed beside your shoes. 

“Where’s the babies?” He frowns, looking around and noticing the lack of noise. 

You smile as you shut the door behind him as he refers to the girls as his babies, despite Sarah being eighteen and Ellie just turned fourteen. 

With them both being girls, he’s soft anyway but Sarah is his first born who made him a father and Ellie’s still his tiny baby who he’s soaked up every second of when she was a newborn because you both knew you weren’t having any more children.

“At the movies together watching Twisters, Garret backed out on Sarah so Ellie went instead.” You inform him, sneaking an appreciative glance from the corner of your eye. 

Joel makes a noise at the mention of Sarah’s boyfriend, never having liked him for whatever reason, you think it’s because they’re eerily alike so therefore clash. 

“Little prick will be back hangin’ around here next week.” He grumbles, placing his toolbox on the bottom step.  

“She’s just going through the universal thing of falling for a country boy.” You tease. 

“Well as long as he don’t get her pregnant before graduation then we won’t have a problem.”

“She’s smarter than us.” You say. 

“I know.” Joel agrees, you sneak one more glance at the country boy who got you pregnant before graduation. 

He’s wearing slim fitting black sweatpants with a worn grey t-shirt with a faded motif on, the chain of his St Christopher barely noticeable beneath it and his thick rimmed glasses are perched on his nose. 

You miss the hungry look he shoots you when you turn away, chestnut coloured eyes drifting low to the denim shorts you wear that he’s sure you’ve had since you were in your twenties. They fit snug and are contoured perfectly to the shape of your ass, your cheeks barely peeking out. What really makes his dick hard is the fact you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts, an old Dallas Cowboys one that you’ve always been particularly fond of. 

“Nice flowers. Who got ya those?” He nods with a smirk towards the vase on the side table that’s filled with blooming peonies and baby’s breath. 

The beautiful arrangement of flowers had arrived the morning after your petty argument with Joel, a gift from the universe if you will when you needed something bright and blooming to drag you out of the despair you were frantically becoming encased in. 

“Oh.” You hum and feign ignorance, reaching out to gently touch the edge of a baby pink peony. “Just a friend.” You smile vaguely, Joel rolls his eyes. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“A guy sent them?” He presses, shifting his weight, your grin turns devious. 

“Mmm.” You coo, feeling thrilled when that lick of annoyance flickers across your husband’s face at your flippant tone. 

“Who?” He grins back.

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Come on, I just wanna talk to him, I wanna know why he thinks it’s okay to send my wife flowers.” 

“Ex wife.” You snort, Joel glares at you. 

“We’re separated, not divorced. Y’know what, we’re barely even separated.” He disagrees, you bite the inside of your cheek in amusement. 

“Apparently you’re here to fix my shelves and you’re doing a whole lot of yapping, very unprofessional of you.” You goad, stepping backwards when he begins to saunter towards you with a certain look in his eyes. 

“I’ll fix your shelves, I’ll fix anythin’ you want.” Joel mumbles, stalking you. 

“Big promises.” You taunt, lifting your chin defiantly. His hands grasp your waist, pulling you to him and you let him, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

You love this, the playful behaviour and flirting since you decided to live apart for a while. It feels new and exciting, a rush that you felt when you first got together as youngsters just before your world flipped and you were pregnant before your frontal lobe had developed. 

He smells delectable, you can’t stop yourself from nosing at his bearded jaw where his cologne is the strongest. Joel’s throat bobs, his fingers drift upwards under your borrowed sweatshirt to feel the bare skin between your shorts and bra. 

As his structured jaw slides across yours and his nose just barely brushes your own, you feel his breath hit your lips and you know he really wants to kiss you but is waiting for you to make the first move. 

You want to, you really do but you’re scared of falling into a false sense of security when you haven’t even scratched the surface of your underlying problems that the marriage counsellor suggested needed to be covered before you could get back on track. 

Joel enjoys the way your head fits against his collarbone, loves the sweet smell of your hair and skin. 

“Fix my shelf.” You huff into his skin as you retreat, he sighs deeply but picks up his toolbox and begins to follow you up the stairs with his eyes glued to your backside. 

It almost feels strange for Joel to be back in your shared bedroom after three weeks away, he hasn’t been back for any extra clothes or personal items. If he’s come over to see the kids, then he’s stayed downstairs or in the garden with them. 

Everything looks the same which is a strange observation given that really you’ve barely been apart for any time at all but it’s comforting to be back. 

The bed is made in its usual dress up of plain white sheets with useless throw pillows stacked neatly, there’s a pile of clean laundry resting on your vanity chair but also clothes tossed on the floor where you’ve been indecisive. 

Joel whistles when he sees the closet door open and the fallen shelf leaning against the door, there’s a scrape on the inside wall where it’s collided and taken the paint off. It looks like a fairly simple job, the wall plugs have probably come loose over time and needed replacing, it’s not as if IKEA is known for making indestructible furniture. 

“You want the step ladder?” You question as he surveys the situation, rubbing the wall with his fingertips to see if the scrape will alleviate some. 

“I think so.” He replies. “They in the garage?” 

“No, Ellie’s room, she was trying to hang some fairy lights earlier but only got halfway before she threw a fit about the command hooks.” You chuckle, wandering off to go retrieve them for him, already certain he’s made a note to finish the job for her before he leaves. 

When you get back, he’s got some tools ready, his drill in hand already. He steps onto the bottom rung of the step ladder, groaning as he stretches. 

You observe for a moment, knowing it irks him, he hates being watched on a job.

“Jesus, it’s fuckin’ dusty up here. You’re a terrible housewife, neglectin’ your duties.” Joel pokes, knowing you won’t take a blind bit of notice. 

“You wanna know why we really separated? Because you neglected your duties as a husband to satisfy your wife.” You reply easily, Joel chuckles and looks down at you. 

“Oh spare me the dramatics, you’ve never been unsatisfied by me in your whole entire life.” He sings, infuriatingly he isn’t wrong. 

“I’m telling the kids you were being sexist to me.” You threaten, chewing on a sinister smile. “Ellie will beat you up.” 

“She won’t.” Joel grins, you mumble out a complaint. “She’s a daddy’s girl, maybe try your luck with Sarah, I’m sure she’d give me a lecture.” Not that you think he needs one, he’s the biggest supporter of you and his girls. 

“They’re both Daddy’s girls, the little traitors. Nine whole months carrying them and giving birth after what felt like days and days with no fucking pain relief and this is the thanks I get? Not to mention my nipples being sucked raw.” You grumble to yourself, kicking some laundry into a pile at the side of the wall, Joel makes you jump when he groans suddenly.

“Just sayin’ but your tits were amazin’ when you were breastfeedin’ - shit, they’re still fucking phenomenal.” He sighs dreamily, closing his eyes. “Fuck, you were so hot carryin’ my babies, I’d have kept you pregnant if I had my way.” 

You bite your cheeks to hide the satisfaction that your husband still wants you. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore.” 

“Why? We separated or somethin’?” Your husband frowns comically. “Show me your tits.” 

“No.” 

“Come on, just one.” He grins boyishly. “The right one is my favourite.” You stick your middle finger up at him.

“Asshole.” You sniff, walking back to lay on the end of your bed. 

You pick up your phone, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook posts made by the PTA at the girls school while Joel complains about wall fixings or something equally as dull. 

In the end, you get bored and toss it away, instead opting to enjoy the eye candy in the form of a senior (essentially) gentleman on a stepladder cussing about how IKEA can suck his balls. 

“Piece of fuckin’ shit!” He complains when the shelf slips again in your closet, he takes a calming breath and contains his frustration, you snicker at him. “How did this even break, sweetheart?” Joel huffs, changing out for a larger wall plug. 

“Dunno, it just did.” You answer vaguely, looking at your ceiling.

“Bullshit.” He quips. “Did you put too much shit on it?” 

“No.” You hum, shaking your head. 

“You’re a liar.” He states plainly, equally unamused. “What did you put on here that was so heavy it collapsed?” 

“Nothing, maybe it was just your shoddy workmanship to begin with.” You quip, not looking at him though you desperately want to because you can imagine the outrage on his face but you won’t be able to not laugh. 

“It wasn’t me that put it up.” He glares. 

“Sure, whatever you say.” You smile sweetly at him. It’s quiet for a minute, then Joel speaks again. 

“You put filled shoeboxes up here, didn’t you? After I told you nothin’ heavier than a few sweaters? ” He asks knowingly. 

Silence and then… 

“Yeah.” You nod, he sighs loudly and turns back to drill in a screw now that he seems happy with the stability. 

You watch him as he works, angling himself to see better and be able to use his drill at the correct angle. 

The muscles in his back move and his shoulders look unbelievably broad beneath his t-shirt, it hugs his biceps and rides up when he shifts to show a slither of his boxers and bare back. 

Your mouth almost waters and you press your thighs together but it obscures your view so you part them again to peek at him through the gap in your knees. 

It’s well known that your husband is an attractive man, he always has been. You’ve watched him grow from the gangly teenager with a backwards baseball cap practically glued to his head you were first besotted with to the almost middle aged and greying man that now works before you. 

Most nights when it’s dark, quiet and the house is still, you pleasure yourself beneath the duvet thinking of him, hips moving frantically against the whir of your vibrator. It can be any scenario of the long time you’ve been together, two decades holds enough memories to fill books upon books with pictures and anecdotes, some that you keep stored away just for you. 

Sometimes you dream about the three day honeymoon in Nashville you had when your parents forced you to get married before Sarah was born, back when you first lived in Arlington in a shitty apartment you could barely afford with you both working instead of attending college. Then there was that night just under four years later with sex so explosive that you’d had the fleeting thought you’d immediately gotten pregnant again, only to actually find out you’d been right two weeks later when you’d presented Joel with yet another positive pregnancy test before twenty five. 

You chew your lip, lashes fluttering and you’re sure he notices you ogling him in the mirror that puts your reflection in his eye line by the smirk you see. 

God, he pisses you off so much sometimes. He makes your cunt wet and your teeth grind all at once, you never knew that was possible. 

Rolling off the bed and onto your feet, you casually turn so that your back is to him on the ladder but you’re in the perfect position in the reflection of the mirror in front of him. He doesn’t notice at first over the sound of the drilling but when it stops and he goes to test the stability of the shelf, he freezes and the arm holding his drill drops limply to his side. 

He sees you begin to strip down in the mirror, shimmying your shorts down and then yanking off your oversized sweater. Joel freezes, gulping when you turn away to unclip your bra, the expanse of your back is smooth and if he thought your backside looked good in those shorts, the high cut panties you’re wearing hit on a whole other level. 

“What are you doin’?” He asks when your fingers hook into the sides of your panties, they flex within the material and you peer over your shoulder at him, big doe eyes the opposite of fucking innocence. 

“Just taking a shower, I’m filthy.” You titter, holding his piercing gaze through the mirror. 

“Funny, you’ve done nothin’ but sit on your pretty little ass and watch me inhale dust that’s been here for the last fifteen years.” 

“Well, you could always join me.” You shrug, finally slipping your underwear down your thighs, Joel’s mouth goes dry. “Only if you want to, of course.” You beam at him and then sashay away into the en suite, Joel’s resolve breaks very quickly (immediately actually) and he’s yanking off his glasses and tossing them onto the dresser and plucking his t-shirt over his head in an instant. 

Maybe the solution is to fuck it out and he’ll gladly go as many times as needed, you always did need to be fucked hard when your attitude started to test him. 

The shower has been switched on and you’re naked under the stream as he finishes yanking both his socks, sweatpants and boxers off. He admires you through the glass, kicking his clothes into a messy pile before climbing in there with you, the air tight and hot. 

His big hands enrobe you from behind, long dexterous fingers gripping at your waist and pawing at all the exposed skin it’s been weeks since he’s seen. 

You tilt your head back from the water, resting it against his shoulder and pushing back into him, holding onto his forearms and digging your nails into his flesh. 

“Look who couldn’t resist, you bad boy. Whatever will the therapist say?” You mock, pouting those pretty lips. 

“You’re a goddamn tease, you know that?” He growls, nipping at your jaw and earlobe, holding the weight of your breasts in his hands. 

“If you say so.” You breathe sexily, dragging him by the back of his neck to meet your lips in a hungry kiss. 

His cock is trapped between his soft stomach and your lower back, smearing a pearlescent gleam as he anchors himself to you.

You moan into his mouth when he teases your nipples into tight peaks, plucking them and roughly cupping your tits. 

“I want to lick your pretty little pussy until you cum on my face.” He admits into your mouth, barely letting you breathe past the fierce kisses. Your clit throbs at his confession and you grab hold of his hand, guiding it down your body to between your legs where he teases your lips.

Your back arches prettily into him, the free hand holding your breast now grips your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back. 

“Ah.” You whine when the roughened pads of his fingers stroke your clit. “Mmm, there.” You hum, pushing into his fingers. He entertains you, dipping his fingertips to your honey slick hole and back up again, dragging the gooey wetness to smother on your clit until it’s hardened and desperate to be sucked on like candy. 

“Bet you could cum like this.” He says gruffly, beard scratching at your shoulders and neck, wherever he greedily kisses your dewy wet skin. 

“Wanna cum on you, Joel.” You whine, reaching behind you to grasp his thickness. He ruts into your hand, smearing more stickiness that you want to lick away from his tip. 

You absorb him similarly to a plant and the sun, the bulk of his form plastered against your back so big and strong, skin sun kissed and warm. He’s safety to you, every single thing about him, everything familiar that you know. 

“Needy little slut.” He whispers, your core becomes aflame at the debauchery, you nod in confirmation. “Oh, you agree? You just need a cock to sit on and your shitty attitude will be right as rain?” 

“Only your cock.” You whine, flicking your thumb against the underside of him, tracing out a vein you’re very familiar with. 

“Yeah, baby. Only mine, I know, I know.” His sweet breath is hot against your cheek as he pants, fingers strumming your clit faster. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Show me how good you can be?” You hum and nod, knees almost buckling, this is the fastest you’ve approached orgasm since being separated. 

“Gonna cum, Joel.” You say huskily, hips bucking into his hand until it’s only been two seconds since your revelation and you’re cumming - wet and sticky - into the palm of his hand. His mouth is on yours, you’re moaning and moving erratically, Joel’s cock is dribbling a steady stream of pre cum into your hand where you’re gripping his shaft. 

“Sexy little thing.” Joel husks into your ear, biting the lob as you heave for air, slowly undulating your hips as you ride the last wave of your peak against his hand. “Good girl.” He praises, taking his hand away when you weakly push at his wrist. He lifts it in front of you, fingers webbed with your cum, runny and clear. You catch his hand, slipping his index and middle finger into your mouth, sucking them clean as he groans and ruts into the hand still around him, the cool palladium of his wedding ring bumps against your cupids bow as you suckle. 

You slip his fingers out of your mouth, letting them drag down your chin and back to your tits. “Fuck me.” You demand haughtily, eyeing him. 

“I’ll fuck you, baby.” He confirms, softer than you were expecting, he meets you for a kiss and you suck on the plumpness of his bottom lip before turning away. Joel slicks his hair back under the spray and then begins to trace out the curve of your waist and the fullness of your ass, you feel his hand bump you knuckle first where he fists himself to complete mast and then he runs the length of himself through your pussy, hissing at the wet heat that awaits him but he pauses, retracting back unsure. 

“You want me to wear a condom?” And you freeze, looking over your shoulder in distress. 

“Have you been with other people?” You frown, your heart suddenly sinking into your stomach, making your guts twist with nausea. Joel frowns down at you, blinking away the water clinging to his lashes. 

“Course not.” He answers, you relax. “…Have you?” Joel presses.

“Absolutely not.” You state firmly. “So get inside me.” You demand, turning away to place your hands on the tiles. You feel him press kisses to your shoulders as the tip of his cock brushes your ass again, you sigh and push back into him. “Please, baby.” You beg, feeling him smile into your skin. 

“I think you’re tryin’ to baby trap me.” Joel says playfully, pulling your hips against him so that your back arches just so. 

“You had a vasectomy after Ellie, idiot.” Your hips press insistently against him and you reach back to tug at his length, your fingers barely wrapping around the girth. “Now get your dick inside me, Joel.” You demand. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He leans down a fraction and slicks himself up, the entire length of him slipping against your pussy lips once more and nudging your clit. “Fuuuuck.” Joel groans when he does it again and the head of him catches on your hole, slipping inside just a fraction. 

“Oh my god.” You pant, your forehead dropping to rest against the cool tiled as he fills you completely. It’s a tight fit, after over three weeks of no sex with him your body is near to combustion.

You wonder if the lack of sex has attributed to the arguments, both working long hours at your respective jobs and not having the time for the normal intimacy you usually share. 

This is exactly what you’ve been wanting in the weeks you’ve been apart; a carnal desire to have your husband close. 

His grunt in your ear sets something off in you, the relief he feels directly felt by you. 

You whimper at the first thrust after he’s settled within your velvet lined canal, body pressed between him and the wall. 

It won’t ever be like this with anyone else, you think to yourself - the way Joel fits within you, around you and alongside you. 

“Like that.” You pant, pressing back. He grunts into your ear in such a manly way that you reach back to yank on his hair, he growls into your neck and fucks into you harder. 

He’s so strong it makes your head spin, this gorgeous man with a heart of gold that loved you when you were young, married you and gave you two babies, helped you create a comfortable life for your family. 

It’s overwhelming; that sensation of being full and enveloped within the heat of his radius. 

You’ve missed everything about him; his smell, his voice, the way he tastes. You’ve ached for the things you’ve harmlessly bickered about before, such as underwear outside of the hamper, smudges of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror after a deep clean, crumbs on the island. 

You don’t mean to let your emotions get the best of you but your eyes well and your throat tightens, your chest constricts something fierce. 

The sob that erupts out of your chest can’t be disguised by the noise of the water hitting the floor at your feet or the soft groans of Joel, not the breathless whines from yourself either. 

It’s a raw noise, jagged at the edges so much that it hurts leaving your throat. 

“Honey?” Immediately Joel has stopped moving and withdrawn, spinning you around to cup your cheeks. “Why are you cryin’?” He presses insistently, thumbs trying to swipe away your tears. Your cheeks are aflame, embarrassed to have spoilt such an intimate moment after so long. 

“I just - I just missed you.” You whimper, tucking your nose into his bicep. He cradles you to him softly beneath the spray, hushing you gently. This makes you cry more, thinking about how he’s held your babies like this; tenderly like they’re the most fragile  beings made entirely of glass. “Everything feels wrong! And… and…” You sniffle wetly. “And I can’t sleep properly without you and your dumb old man snoring!” 

“Oh, baby.” He chuckles into your hair. 

“I don’t like the whole limited contact stuff either.” You mumble. 

“Neither do I but it’s what was suggested and I think we need to try it, if we don’t like it then that’s a good sign.” He tries to pick your mood up, you pout and nod, leaning into his touch. 

“I’m scared we won’t fix this and I’ll have to watch you start dating someone else.” 

“I’m not gonna date anyone else, lady. I only want you, I’ve only ever wanted you.” He tells you. 

“That’s not true.” You hiccup. “Brandi Neil wanted you and you were going to go to Homecoming with her.” 

“Fuckin’ - that was literally over twenty somethin’ years ago and I went with you in the end!” He huffs indignantly. “Come on, let’s get dry and we can talk some more.” Joel guides you out of the shower with a gentle hand, turning off the water and handing you a towel. He leans over on more than one occasion to peck your lips, he smooths his thumbs beneath your eyes to wipe away the mascara that’s ran in the shower from the steam. 

Once you’re both relatively dry, there’s an awkward shift in the air as you’re both naked still and Joel looks very much aroused, half hard cock swaying as he moves. 

You saunter back to the bed, peering over your shoulder to see that you’ve captured his attention intently and he gulps as you climb onto the mattress, briefly resting on all fours for a split second, wet pussy drooling and exposed before turning onto your back. 

You stretch out against the sheets not dissimilar to a renaissance painting, skin dewy with a look on your face that Joel wants to savour. 

He climbs atop the mattress with you, pushing your thighs apart to settle between them. His warm mouth finds your nipples, sucking them and biting gently, you stretch and arch into him like a puppet on strings, the weight of your breasts fitting in each of his roughened palms. You feel the brush of his cock sway against your inner thigh and you buck against it, trying to encourage him closer, you huff when he ignores you in favour of worshiping your breasts. 

“Calm down.” He murmurs. “We’ll get there.” He promises in that deep baritone which makes your purr. Joel shimmies down your body, palm dragging along your sternum and settling on your stomach where your fingers find his in a desperate squeeze. 

The broadness of him fits between your thighs, one tossed over his shoulder to open you up. It’s erotic how he looks with his mouth on you, silver streaked hair visible and it’s not long before you’re clutching at it, writhing and moaning something pretty. 

He parts your labia and licks slowly, using only the tip of his tongue, flicking over your clit and coaxing it from beneath the hood, sucking it between his lips and running his tongue repeatedly over it as you gasp and pull his hair, he suckles and there’s a lewd slurp thrown in there. 

You purr like a kitten when his fingers enter you, moving steadily and brushing your G spot with such expertise that your eyes water. He knows what you like, having learnt your body and its responses for the better part of twenty years. A gush of slick aids the smooth movement of his ring and middle finger, stroking you from the inside until it proves too much to feel so far from him. 

“Up, Joel.” You whine, tugging his tresses with more force than necessary which causes him to bite your inner thigh in retaliation but he allows himself to be malleable at the hands of you, kneeling between your legs and wiping the slick of you from his moustache and beard. 

Rocking back onto his haunches, he fists his cock at the sight of you looking wrecked, that deep possessive part of him that’s smug because it’s him that makes you look like that; flushed and desperate. 

“I won’t last long, honey.” He warns as he gets into position, wrapping both legs around his waist. 

“Don’t care.” You state, reaching down to grab hold of him and guiding the blunt head of him through your lips, teasing yourself before you notch him just right. He eases himself in gentler than before in the shower, savouring that slow stretch as he feeds you himself until the wiry coarse hairs at the base are dampened by your wetness. 

He drops onto his forearms beside your head, caging you in as he begins to move, the pendant from his St Christopher bumps your chin. You make pretty noises, clawing at his back in a way that leaves diagonal lines in various shades of pink and red. Chests pressed together, heart to heart, a rhythmic beat perfectly in sync. 

“Tell me you love me.” You gasp.

Sitting up, Joel guides your leg over his shoulder, kissing your ankle bone, toying with the dainty gold anklet there that was an anniversary present some years ago. Your back arches against the sheets and you whimper sweetly at the new sensation of his hips fitting snuggly between your thighs and the weeping head of him nudging against the sponged wall of your cervix. 

“I love you.” He groans, hands grappling your hip bones, forcing you closer like he can’t get enough, he looms over you. “I love you so fuckin’ much.” 

“I love you.” You pant back. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” His nose nudges yours, lips hungrily searching to slot against yours, puffy and wet. “You remember night one of our honeymoon?” You press, exhaling hot and tone wanting. 

“Fuck yeah I do, fuck - “ His hips snap harder and you keen. “Pretty as a fuckin picture, still in your weddin’ dress on the floor.” 

“Fuck.” You sigh, fisting at his biceps with slippery fingers. “Barely made it through the motel door.” 

“You looked so fuckin good, honey. Havin’ my baby and ridin’ me on the floor.” His mouth slackens and his eyes slip closed, clearly deep in thought. 

“I wanna do it again, Joel.” You gasp, fingers shakily circling your clit, hard and slippery. 

“Yeah, baby. We’ll have another honeymoon, renew our vows first and everythin’.” He grunts. 

“Baby.” You whimper in his ear. “I’m cumming, fuck me harder.” You say it breathlessly and all his carnal instincts take over, he fucks you that hard the headboard slams into the wall and takes a layer of sage green paint off. You’re loud through your climax, hips jumping and blood rushing through every vein like accelerant and fire. 

“Jesus, I’m gonna cum. Fuck!” He groans, fingers moulding into the mattress, orgasm hitting so hard it makes the edges of his vision blacken. “Fuckin’ Christ.” You kiss his throat from your place beneath him, licking his jugular like the fucking minx you are, biting a tendon. 

The white of his teeth is blinding as his lip curls into a near snarl, the pulse of warmth as he orgasms spreads within you and you pant, flushed from head to toe. 

You kiss him as he grunts to completion, teeth clashing. 

“You’re so good - so good.” You murmur into his mouth, frantically pushing his hair from his damp forehead. “You’re perfect.” You hum, enraptured. 

“That’s you.” He smiles, lip curving against yours. “My pretty little wife.” 

He strokes your hair and traces your features, eyes searching yours for something; hope maybe and you smile gently at him, pulling him down beside you once he’s withdrawn from the warmth of your body. 

You rest against him, cheek to his chest to listen to the thrum below. You count his freckles and you trace his knuckles, you kiss his exposed skin over and over, you absorb as much of him as you can, feeling fulfilled for the first time in weeks. 

Joel quietly observes you, you lean up on your elbow, dragging your manicured nails down the centre of his chest, he watches you with his arm behind his head. You pause and lean down to rest your chin on his sternum, blinking with those fluttery lashes that cast a shadow high on your cheekbones. 

“Thank you for my flowers.” You say, he smiles softly and reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb. 

“You’re welcome.” He whispers. “Wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, Ellie messaged me and said you’d had a tough week at work before that dumb fucking argument we had.” His long fingers comb through your hair, you rest easily on his stomach now, letting your eyes slip shut. “Wanna talk about it, baby?” 

“Not really.” You huff. “I don’t want to unload my problems on you.” Joel sighs in exasperation at your vague answer. 

“You can tell me anythin’, you know that.” 

“We’re supposed to be taking time apart to stop the fighting, me unloading everything onto you isn’t going to help that.” You tell him. 

“I think communication is exactly what we need.” He disagrees. 

“You’re starting an argument now.” You chuckle with an eye roll, resting your cheek against his warm skin. He rolls his eyes back but doesn’t reply, continuing to stroke your hair, twirling some around his finger. “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

“Hmm?” 

“What if we can’t fix this?” 

“We can.” He replies determinedly. “Nearly twenty years together and two kids later, I’m still so in love with you, whether we’re fighting or not.” 

“I love you.” You murmur. 

“I love you more.” He replies. “And I love our girls.” Joel adds. 

“Me too.” You shift and snuggle into him, resting your head beneath his chin. 

He holds you quietly, his touch a major comfort. You think back over the almost month it’s been since the marriage counsellor had suggested Joel move out of the martial house for awhile and stay with his brother, just so you could see if distance would be beneficial after the amalgamation of late working nights, the stress of parenting two teenage girls and life itself along with naturally getting older, you already dancing that line of perimenopause. 

The space had made you realise you didn’t want to be without him and you’d both seemed to realise that you didn’t want to split up, you just needed to figure out a way to make things work. 

“I think we should trial the time apart for another week and keep seeing the counsellor for a few more months.” You begin. “I’m gonna figure something out at work and reduce my hours, no more bringing it home with me.” 

“That sounds good.” Joel murmurs, twisting a piece of your hair. “I’m goin’ to cut my days down to four, I think the finances will be fine and I want to be around here more for you and the girls.” He tells you, you nod slowly and blink away the tears that have suddenly come at the softness of his voice. 

“I don’t care if we have to give up any extra luxuries, I just need you and our kids here happy.” You emphasise. 

“That’s what I want too, baby. No more arguments over stupid shit, I’m sorry for bein’ so fuckin’ horrible lately.” 

“I was horrible too, Joel.” You say. “We just need to keep working on things and if we feel an argument brewing then we should take a step back and reassess what’s caused it and find a solution just like the therapist says.” You advise. “Also we should make time for a date night every week.” 

“Sounds good to me, baby.” Joel agrees, tugging you forward. “Kiss me, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He murmurs sweetly and you go easily, moulding yourself over him to meet him for a deep kiss that speaks a thousand words and apologies. 

“Hey.” You say suddenly, eyes flitting over to the vanity where multiple photo frames sit. “You remember that trip we took to Seattle when the kids were little?” Joel follows your line of sight where they’re focused on one of the smaller frames holding two polaroids, one of Sarah and Ellie when they were eight and four, then another you’d taken of Joel on the pier with the wheel behind him you’d taken. 

“Yeah.” He says fondly. “That was a great trip, the kids loved it.” 

“What was that girl called that Ellie made friends with at the aquarium?” You smile as you think of a rambunctious Ellie, stomping around holding her Daddy’s hand in her tiny overalls, pointing at every fish she saw swimming ahead in the glass tunnels. 

“Oh er… fuck. What was it? Little blonde girl with a braid.” He recites, thinking back almost a decade. “Abby!” He suddenly exclaims and you hum, nodding. 

“That was it, they were so cute together watching the sea lion show, remember how jealous Sarah was that she thought all Ellie’s love was being stolen away.” You giggle, nuzzling his shoulder. “We should go again now they’re grown up.” 

There’s a comfortable silence as you bask in the evening sun coming through the window behind the bed, coating you in warmth while you lazily make out with your husband like you used to as teenagers in his beat up truck. 

You moan into his mouth when a hand sneakily skims your back and moulds to the fleshiest part of your backside. Sitting back to take a breath, you begin to kiss at his stubbled jaw, focusing intently on the grey patches and working yourself down his throat, to his clavicle and down his chest where he has yours, Sarah’s and Ellie’s name tattooed over his heart. 

He props himself up in interest on his elbows when you make it to his sternum, nipping near his navel and dragging your nails through the smattering of hair below it until you reach his groin. 

“You think you can go again?” You smirk at him, nipping his hip, sucking a small bruise into the skin above his pubic area.

“Keep doin’ that and I’ll be rarin’ to go.” He huffs, cradling the back of your head when you lick above his pubic area.

You move lower and his cock begins to swell against his thigh, his thighs tense when your hot breath drifts over his length. 

Just as you’re about to drag your tongue over the flushed head of him, you hear a car skim across the gravel driveway and you both freeze. 

“Shit, that’s the kids.” You panic, sitting up and swinging your legs off the bed to gather up something to wear. “Quick!” You urge Joel who looks equally as panicked as he yanks up his boxers. You find a long floral dress to throw on from the corner and manage to yank up the panties you were wearing earlier, the crotch becomes sodden with the semen but you ignore the uncomfortable wet feeling and try to fan away the flush on your cheeks as you watch your husband get dressed. 

You’re both barrelling down the stairs just as the front door opens and you bump into Joel as you skid on foyer tiles, he steadies you as your kids stare back. 

You and Joel try to act casual despite the feral things you’ve just done.

“You’re back early.” You squeak, very aware of your damp hair and smudged makeup. 

It’s a mere second before your daughter’s come barrelling full force towards the apple of their eyes, pregnancy and labour be damned. 

“Dad!” The girls squeal in unison, rushing to hug him. He wraps an arm around each of them, eyes slipping shut with contentment. 

“Hi, my girls.” He sighs happily, nosing Ellie’s hairline and then Sarah’s. 

“Missed you.” You hear Ellie tell him. 

“Hi, mom.” You mock unseriously, crossing your arms. 

“Hey, mom.” Ellie mocks devilishly, tilting her head back with the same teasing look her father possesses more often than not. She’s her father’s daughter, a carbon copy of him whereas Sarah is more like you. 

“You have a good afternoon?” You ask when Sarah meanders her way into your orbit, wrapping her arms around your waist. She nods against you and you tuck some hair out of her face, she nuzzles into you. 

“The movie was packed so we got frozen yoghurt and walked around Target instead, we got you some candy.” She says sweetly, rubbing her cheek into your collar whilst Ellie is resting her chin against Joel’s chest with her arms wound around his waist, whispering something that makes him chuckle and sway her from side to side tenderly. 

She stares up at him like he’s hung the stars and the moon just for you, you’re certain she’d crawl into his rib cage and stay there if she could and you don’t blame her.

“Thank you, sweet girls.” You beam. “Hey, are you both in for dinner tonight?” You suddenly wonder. 

“Yes, sir.” Ellie replies. 

“I’ve got no plans.” Sarah shrugs. 

“How about we Doordash something? Could eat it on the patio?” You suggest and Ellie cheers, Joel chuckles into her hair. 

“Even Dad?” Sarah hesitates as she asks, looking at you hopefully. Your heart breaks, Joel staying away had some serious effects in the first week even though they knew you weren’t going through a divorce and trying to fix things. Ellie acted out at school and Sarah shut herself away, both missing their father’s presence at home even though they saw him most days after school and on weekends if they weren’t out with friends. 

You’d never stopped them seeing him and wouldn’t dare to even if things were irreparable between you. 

“Of course.” You answer Sarah, Ellie looks between you and Joel curiously, her eyes narrow when she sees him smiling softly at you and clocks you blushing. 

“Whatcha both been doing?” Ellie asks slyly. 

“Hanging out, your Dad fixed the shelf for me.” You tell her nonchalantly over Sarah’s head. “So uh.. which one of you ratted on me for breaking it?” 

“Dunno what you’re talking about, man.” Ellie sniffs, you tug the end of her ponytail.

“Mmm.” You murmur, unconvinced. “Go get changed into something comfy and have a think about what you fancy for dinner.” You order, nodding towards the stairs. 

“Race ya!” Ellie bellows suddenly, pushing Sarah into you to get a head start. 

“Hey!” Her older sister shouts, barrelling after her while you sigh and head towards the kitchen, the peace and quiet officially gone. 

Joel gives you a flirtatious look and your heart jumps, your chest warms as do your cheeks. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You demand, pushing his face away in the opposite direction. He chuckles and grabs your wrist, using it as leverage to pull you to him.  

“What? Like I want to eat you?” He murmurs lowly, you hum affirmatively. “Maybe I do.” 

“That could be arranged.” You whisper, he takes you back into his arms, walking with you until you hit the edge of the kitchen island. You pull him into a kiss, dragging your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

He growls lowly and hoists you up onto the surface, stepping between your legs, running his hands up and down your parted thighs. 

“The kids are listenin’ to us.” Joel whispers into your ear when he pulls away, nodding outside of the kitchen entryway where you realise you didn’t hear them run all the way to the top of the stairs. 

“No, we’re not!” Sarah has the audacity to yell with offence, you giggle into Joel’s t-shirt.

“Get changed before I make your Dad cook his famous spaghetti surprise dinner tonight instead of getting take out!” You holler back. 

“That was one time.” Joel complains under his breath. 

“Make us a sister.” Ellie shouts from halfway upstairs. 

“No chance! Dad got snipped after you anyway, he said you were more than enough trouble and you were barely out the womb!” You shout back, cackling when you hear both her and Sarah gag fiercely. 

“It’s true!” Joel adds. “I had frozen peas on my crotch for days!”

“Gross!” They both exclaim. 

That night, you sit on the patio furniture, with your husband and children, your feet cradled in his lap with glasses of wine and takeout with quiet music playing from Alexa, giggling and telling them stories of your teenage years and some of a time they’re too young to remember, planning a trip to Seattle they’re ecstatic over. 

You’re certain that everything will be okay. 

[familyvideostevie]

a kind of hunger | chapter 2

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

an offer from your employer sets your life on track and throws it into a new kind of chaos at the same time. where does joel miller fit into it all?

length: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, heavy petting, joel having a moment with r's tits, hand stuff, dirty talk, painful sex for a second, riding (p in v sex), like a really small smidge of breeding kink, emotional turmoil from r cause what else is she gonna do, some plot! wow! a/n: finally! another chapter. it’s short but i think we’re getting somewhere. Let me know what you think! huge thank you to @macfrog for your eyes and for keeping my sanity in check and @bageldaddy for teaching me how to use commas, letting me borrow your bar, and telling me to just “slutty hallmark it.” this is for you guys. 

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

---

Bill’s offer costs you one night of sleep and that’s all.

Taking over the bar goes against every rule you've had for yourself up until now, everything that’s kept you going and on your feet.

You lose when you stick around. You get hurt when you get attached. Always keep moving. 

But your night with Joel seems to have shaken something loose. You’ve got a pit in your stomach, a hunger set alight by his eyes and his hands and his attention. It’s like he reminded you how to want, how to stop letting the world turn under your feet and dig in your heels instead.

And there’s what Bill said, the thing that won't leave you alone. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice.

It’s easy to lie to yourself about a lot of things: that you don’t mind this life, its constant movement and instability. That it’s made you crafty. That if you picked up and left right now, you’d be fine. No one would miss you, no one would notice. The names and faces you’ve learned would fade as soon as you found new ones somewhere else. 

You’ve been a tight fist your whole life, only hanging onto what can fit into your rough and weathered palm, half-moon crescents bleeding that damn desperate hope you can never seem to scrub off. It means a whole lot of avoiding things that could matter so you can’t lose them, can’t let them slip through your fingers. A family who saw your need for space and control and turned it into isolation and disinterest, who drove you away as soon as you were able to leave. College was a bust. Relationships gone sour have taught you not to rely on anyone. Failed experiment after failed experiment, just looking for something to stick. It’s better to be alone, right?

That tight fist keeps anyone out, anyway. It’s carefully rolled bills in plastic bags in the toe of a pair of sneakers just in case. It’s talking just enough to get you a place to stay, a job, a ride, but not enough that anyone remembers your face, even if you wish they would. 

It’s not one big thing. It’s a million small ones. And nothing ever lasts. You never last; always cutting and running before it can get real, before they can see the truth of you and find it lacking.

You’ve been looking for the missing piece for years now, the thing that will make you feel like you’ve finally made it somewhere where you’re needed enough to stick around. Where you can stop quitting, where you can put down roots. Where you can be wanted.

You just aren’t sure it’s possible. You’ve done so many things, seen so much, that you feel like it’s too late to be anything other than this.

It’s easy to believe all of that until someone like Joel sees through it – until someone like Bill tells you none of it is true. 

Fuck it. 

You call Bill the next morning and tell him you'll take over Frank's. 

According to him, the turnaround will be quick. He'll have someone "official" draw up the paperwork. You tell him you won't change the name. You tell him you will make some repairs, fix the cracked vinyl booths, and give the floors a refinish, and –

"Do whatever the fuck you want," he grumbles over the phone. "It's your bar."

It sure is. 

You own something, now. You belong somewhere – even if it’s just because you have payslips to sign and counters to clean. But maybe this time, if you try hard enough, you can get it right.

You have a meeting to tell the staff that you’re taking over. There are only five of you – two college kids from a town over, the guy who works part-time at the garage by the highway, and an old butch called Pat you find vaguely frightening who’s been working here longer than you care to ask. 

It’s probably the first time all five of you have been in the same room. None of them seem disappointed in Bill’s retirement, and they’re on board with your plan for renovations. Especially after you assure them they’ll be paid even if you close for a bit to get it all done.

Joel doesn't come in. You notice, but don’t spare it too much thought. You can’t because the bar is a fucking nightmare all week.

The keg lines keep blocking, the jukebox dies a sudden staticky death, and some asshole scratches the pool table hard enough to tear up the felt. Everyone and everything is pissing you off. It’s an effort not to spend all of your breaks on that milk crate in the alley with your head in your hands. 

It feels like Frank’s is hazing you. After all you’ve done for it, you feel a little betrayed.

“Why the hell do you think I’m retiring?” Bill says when you call to bitch about it. “This shit is a fuck ton of work.” 

By Friday, you're at your wit's end. 

The rush has come and gone, and now it’s slow. Slow enough that you might be worried, but Pat has told you before that this is just how it is in small towns, sometimes. 

That, or maybe your bad mood scared everyone off. Maybe they're tired of the shitty atmosphere, of the cloudy glasses and squeaking stools, maybe they –

You pop an olive into your mouth.

“Chill the fuck out,” you mutter to yourself. No one is around to hear.

The only patrons left are some bikers at one of the back tables playing cards. Their laughter is too loud without the music going. The mats behind the bar are sticky under your boots, and your temple has started to throb. You feel like locking yourself in the office just for the silence.

The air shifts when Joel steps inside.

The hunger you feel is a familiar fire, coals that stoke themselves and never go out. Lust, infatuation as you take in his broad shoulders and grey-streaked hair. You’re strung out and a fuck might help.

But there’s also a weight in your chest at the sight of him, one you haven’t felt in a while. It sits heavy above that smoldering flame in your belly, a bruise you can’t stop yourself from pressing on.

Maybe part of you expected him to stop coming in after you fucked. Regardless of how it made you feel, you’re just some woman who serves him two fingers of liquor when he wants to run away from his life. Just someone who gave him one good night and nothing more.

But this weight – this big, thorny emotion that looks like affection and attachment and something real – you don’t know what to do with it. 

It’s never been this way with a one-night stand. Yeah, you know the weight of him above you, inside you. You know the taste of his sweat on your tongue, the feel of his head between your thighs. That kind of shit usually doesn’t change anything with you, but Joel is…different. 

Careful, that voice inside you says. 

Joel peels off his jacket and tosses it on the otherwise empty bar, pushing up his sleeves to reveal his tanned forearms. The stool creaks under him and his gaze is heated as it travels over you. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s looking. 

He shakes his head when you hold up the bottle of whiskey. 

"Water's fine," he says.

You blink. If he’s not here to drink then what is he here for?

He seems like he always does. Relaxed, like the room was made to have him in it. But you look a little closer, now that you figure you can. The deep scar on the bridge of his nose stands out and his cheeks are a little pink. The temperature must have dropped once the sun went down. His jaw isn’t tense so much as set, determined. He rubs his chin with a flat palm as you fill a glass using the soda gun.

“Whatever you want,” you say. 

He looks around the bar. You figure he's taking in the out-of-order signs on the beer pulls, the flickering light pointing to the restroom, maybe even the goddamn ruined pool table. 

You pick up a rag and start to clean to keep your hands busy. 

 “Quiet for a Friday,” he says. "Things goin’ alright?”

You bristle at the implication. It’s been a shitty week, and you don’t need anyone reminding you that you’re probably not cut out for this.

“Fucking peachy,” you snap.

Joel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t rise to it. "Seems like things are a little tense.”

You swallow a flash of genuine annoyance. 

"All it takes is a roll in the sack and now you're a talker?"

Joel isn't phased. He takes a small sip of his drink, rolls the glass between his hands. Nice hands, you think. Hands that felt so good between your --

"Just makin’ conversation," he says lightly.

You’ve always thought you were hard to read – hell, you’ve been told that many times. One of your flaws, people always say, but it makes it easier to slide in and out of places without too much damage. And yet, Joel, a man who has been in your bed once and sits at your bar when it suits him, sees right through you.

Your shoulders slump.

“I’m just tired,” you tell him.

Joel rubs his beard with one wide palm. He moves his jaw back and forth like he's giving you the chance to shut him down, like he’s chewing on the silence.

"Heard somethin'," he says. "Wondered if it was true. Thought I'd ask." 

"Are you asking?"

He eyes you, takes another sip of his water like it's a tumbler of amber liquid instead. Like anything you pour him is something to be savored.

"Guess so." 

You set the glass down and put your hands on the wood, leaning towards him with your head cocked. 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Joel Miller?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flashing before they slide down to your lips. “Ran into Frank in the frozen aisle at the store.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. "Known him and Bill a long time." 

That explains why he looks like he belongs here. He's probably been in this room more times than you have. All of the things you don't know about Joel hang in the air between you.

"Does Bill...?" 

Does your buddy know you fucked me in the apartment I rent from him?

Joel shakes his head. "Frank told me Bill was giving the place to one of his employees. Figured it was you."

And that’s that. But it sounds like a compliment.

“Well, it’s me alright,” you sigh, slumping a bit. “And there's a lot of shit to do.”

Joel puts a hand on your forearm. It's a light touch, a quick one, but it sends sparks along your skin. A moth to a flame.

“Ain’t no small thing. Ownin’ a bar. Big deal, if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes but pride swells in your chest. He’s right. It is a big deal. 

And here you are in your bar.

With Joel, who fits into all of this somehow. You just don’t know where yet.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you,” you say with a smirk.

You want to draw it out of him, make him flirt with you for the answers he seems to want. You want something to sink your teeth into after this week, something to play with.

Something to make you feel in control. And that’s what Joel gave you, last time you saw him. He pushed when you pulled, met your touches and your quips with attitude and hands of his own. You felt alive, you felt present. You felt wanted. And it was fun.

If you’re not careful, you might forget what sex was like without that – his attention, his touch. Your name in his mouth. But now that you’re giving staying here a shot, maybe it’s time to indulge. To reach out and take.

Joel snorts. He leans forward and raps his knuckles on the wood. “Should we toast to it?”

You laugh. “I don’t drink on the job.”

He raises his water glass.

“Alright,” you scoff. “Fine.” 

You pour yourself some water and clink your glasses together. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, not when he takes a long sip, not when he sets the glass down. He keeps looking at you with that heavy, unshakable gaze. 

It’s unnerving, the way he makes you feel. You’re still tired, still annoyed, but there's electricity at the base of your spine, the embers in your belly. You want to talk to him. 

You clench your hands around your glass. You want to touch him, too.

“So,” you say. He’s wearing a henley this time, the buttons at the top undone just enough to give you a glimpse of a peak of chest hair. You swallow and flick your eyes back to his. He’s smirking. 

“So,” Joel echoes. “Why’d you take it? The bar.”

You shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”

“Bill ain’t in the habit of good deals,” he huffs. “He must like you.”

It’s an effort to squash your smile. “I don’t think Bill likes anyone much.”

“Real asshole, ain’t he?” 

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well, he’s your friend.”

“Not much choice in a small town.”

You hum.

The noisy group from the back stumble their way to the door, waving at you as they file out into the night.

“Those idiots ruined my pool table on Tuesday,” you hiss, though you smile at them.

“Gotta be pretty fuckin’ bad at pool to do that.” He looks around and realizes he’s the last one in the bar. “You closin’?”

“It’s only eleven, Joel.” 

His eyes rake up and down your body. Is he thinking about how he touched you, how you fell apart under him? Heat curls lazily in your belly. He runs his finger around the rim of his glass.

“Damn shame,” he says. 

Normally you wouldn’t shut for a few hours, but it’s pretty dead for a Friday and…

And Joel is looking at you like that and you want to touch him.

You don’t mess around with regulars.

You’re already breaking your rules by taking over Frank’s. What’s one more?

The pulse between your legs agrees with you.

“Colin,” you call over your shoulder, stepping back from Joel’s hot gaze. The barback appears immediately.

“Yeah?”

“I’m shutting early. Go home. Tonight’s tips are yours.”

He sputters. “Are you sure?” His gaze flicks to the stacks of glasses behind the bar, the tables that still need wiping down.

“I’ll take care of it. See you next week.” 

He just shrugs and turns on his heel. A minute later the back door slams and you know the kid is gone.

You lift the bridge and slide out from behind the bar. Your boots are loud on the shitty floors with no one in here and each step to the door feels longer than it should because of his damn stare. You feel Joel’s eyes on you as you lock the door and flick off the neon BAR sign that hangs outside.

When you turn around, his eyes are dark.

Joel stays on his stool, one foot on the ground so that his knees are spread wide, watching you. One hand rests on his thigh, thick fingers tapping to a tune only he hears. His other arm is on the wood of the bar, stretching his shirt across his broad chest. 

When Joel looks at you, sometimes it feels like he’s the first person to ever see you.

“Gotta settle up,” he drawls.

“What, you gonna tip me for water?”

“Not exactly,” he says, words dragging in his mouth. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”

The air in the bar sparks and crackles like one of those long Texas summer days when a thunderstorm looms like a threat. The electricity of it crackles down your spine, turns it molten, turns you dangerous. It’s never felt like this before with someone you’ve slept with. Just being close to him is enough to kick your pulse into gear. You feel hyper aware of every part of your body as he looks at you like you’re offering him something better than what you can pour.

Which, you guess, you are. 

“And what would that be?” 

He hums.

“C’mere.”

You can see his cock straining against the front of his jeans. 

“Bossy,” you say. “That for me?” You jerk your chin towards his lap and take your time walking back to him.

He smirks. “You wanna go upstairs?”

As soon as you step between his knees, the hand on his leg moves to your hip. Two fingers sneak under the waistband of your jeans to find bare skin. You brace yourself with one palm on his thigh, another on his neck, and thread his soft hair through your fingers.

“I don’t see why we have to,” you say slowly, watching him carefully. “No one’s here. And I know the owner. She won’t mind.”

The hand on your hip slides further back and his fingers press hard into the swell of your ass. 

“Oh, that right?” he chuckles. “Well, as long as we ain’t breakin’ any rules.”

You’re not sure who moves first. You’ve got a few inches on him by being on your feet so you pull him towards you just as he surges up and your mouths meet sloppily, hungrily. Joel tugs you closer and you dig your fingers into his thigh as he swallows your giddy laugh, his beard scratching your skin deliciously.

You’re going to fuck him. In your bar. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, lips trailing over your jaw. He’s got both hands on you now, one on your ass and the other on your hip, holding you like he expects you to disappear.

“No, not really–” You cut yourself off with a gasp when he nips your pulse point. “Joel.”

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You remember the sounds he made in your apartment and tug on his hair. Joel’s moan is your reward. You press close and grind your hips against the hardness in his jeans and he growls.

“Hard as a rock the second I step in this damn place,” he says, holding you there. You pull back to see his lips spit-slick, his pupils blown. Seeing him undone like this by your touch is just as thrilling as it was last time. His teeth scrape down your neck and he unbuttons your jeans.

“Sounds like a – ah – you problem.”

Joel’s fingers drag through the curls above your cunt before he goes where you really want him. You gasp against his temple when he circles your clit.

“Seems to me I’m not the only one,” he rasps.

The fingertips on his thigh become nails digging in even harder when he slips one finger inside you.

“Gonna leave bruises, sweetheart,” Joel says. Your cunt clenches around him. “You like that? Markin’ me?”

“Maybe I do,” you groan. “You left some last time.”

The angle can’t be ideal but Joel fucks you as best as he can with one finger, then two. You drag his face back to yours and suck on his bottom lip, tugging his hair all the while. Every part of you feels like it’s on fire, like you’re burning up from the inside. 

His other hand rucks up your shirt until you tug it all the way off. He pulls down the cup of your bra with one hand and rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

You could come like this, Joel’s hands everywhere. 

Gripping him through his clothes isn’t enough. You scramble to undo his belt and get your hand in his jeans, button popped and fly down. 

He grunts your name when you spit into your palm and take him in hand, velvety soft and tip leaking. 

“Careful,” he hisses. “Don’t want to stop this before it starts.”

“I’ll be gentle,” you say. He thumbs your clit in response and you gasp.

Time blurs with his fingers inside you. Your strokes are lazy but he hisses each time you drag your thumb over his tip. Is it going to be this, you two pawing at each other against the bar until someone bursts?

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I want –”

He finally returns to your clit with a strained smirk. The veins in his neck are visible, telling you it’s getting to him, too. 

“You remember what I said last time?”

Ask for what you want, you hear me? You ask and I'll do my damn best.

You could have him bend you over the bar. You imagine it, quick and dirty, the wood digging into your waist as he slams into you, flesh on flesh. It would be better than last time, you know it. But you want to see him.

You want Joel’s face in your neck, your hands in his hair as he fills you up. You want to watch him fall apart under you.

You dig your nails into him again and he hisses. You lean forward so your lips drag along the shell of his ear.

“I want to ride you, Joel,” you say. 

His eyes flash. He kisses you hard, swirls your clit one more time, and pulls his hand from your cunt. Your knees feel a little weak so you keep your hands on his shoulders. 

Joel brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Gotta get at least a taste,” he says. “Just as sweet as I remember.” You surge forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he groans into your mouth.

“Alright, baby,” he says, breath a little ragged. He thumbs your nipple again. “Where’re you gonna ride me?”

“Booth,” you manage. “Over there.” You jerk your head back towards the cracked vinyl seats he’s never once sat in since you met him. He pats your hips and you step back. The stool scrapes loudly on the floor as he stands. 

He cups your cheek with one callused palm and just looks. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. And yet he’s looking at you like you’re the answer to all his problems. 

“So damn pretty,” he says.

Somehow you make it to the booth, a tangle of lips and hands, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. Your bra, his shirt, his belt. Shoes toed off and left in a pile, Joel shoves the table between the vinyl benches to the other side so there’s enough room for him to sit, for him to drag down his jeans and boxers and take his cock in one hand. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of it. God, he’s thicker than you remember. One of these days you’re going to take him apart with your tongue.

You could just stand there and admire him but you’re so wet you think you’re going to drip onto the floor. His solid thighs, the dark hair gathered into curls at the base of him trailing up to his navel. If you were a painter you’d put him to a canvas.

Joel spreads his legs wide, and you run a hand down his bare chest before balancing on his shoulder as you step out of your bottoms. It’s almost funny – the two of you naked but for your socks, Joel’s pants around his ankles.

You want him too badly to spare a thought for laughter.

A condom comes from somewhere – his wallet, maybe, or his pocket, you don’t much care – and he slides it on with a hiss. 

It’s different than last time. More desperate but in a fun way – and you know this won’t be the last time. You know each other’s bodies, now, and this can be quick, can be dirty, because you’ll be doing it again.

So you don’t waste any time straddling him. Joel lines his cock up with your entrance, his other hand on your hip.

“You ready?” he asks. You lean in to kiss him and sink down at the same time in response.

You moan in tandem as he fills you, the angle different from when you were on your back, so different. The stretch is deeper, and somehow you feel fuller than last time. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-consuming, it’s a little painful.

“Fuck,” Joel groans. “So tight. I ain’t gonna last long.” 

It really is a tight fit, so tight you think maybe he was right to ask if you could take him without at least one orgasm to prepare you. The girth of him is splitting you in half, stretching you so much you whimper against his mouth.

Joel’s hands cup your face. “Y’okay?” he says, strained. “Hey, talk to me.”

Your eyes are shut tight, knees pressing hard into his solid thighs as you breathe.

“Need a sec,” you say. “It’s different like this, it’s –”

“I know, baby,” Joel murmurs. “Doin’ so good so far.” 

He shifts his hold on you just a little and you whine. The vinyl cracks underneath his shifted weight as he whispers an apology into your shoulder.

The pain of the stretch dulls to an ache and you know what’s just on the other side. You roll your hips and the head of his cock presses exactly where you want it. It sends a shock wave of pleasure through you so intense that you fall forward a little, Joel’s face pressed to your chest.

He presses a kiss to your breastbone, so light you almost miss it as you start to ride him in earnest. Your knees press into the rough vinyl and Joel’s lips find your nipple. 

“Didn’t give these ‘nough attention last time,” he says. “My mistake.”

His tongue laves at your breasts, one after the other as you swirl your hips over and over. You tug on his hair as your thighs start to burn but you keep going. 

Joel’s teeth scrape against your nipples, the skin of your chest as he nips and soothes, nips and soothes. You’re going to be covered in marks tomorrow. 

Maybe it’s the thrill of that, of just seeing him again, maybe it’s how bad you want him, who fucking knows – you’re already so close.

Everything fades away but this. Joel is everywhere, on you, around you, inside you…It’s just the two of you, limbs tangled and sweaty, panting each other’s name.

The smoldering in your belly is a fire climbing higher and higher and you’re going to explode with the heat of it.

Firm, rough-skinned hands hold you steady as you lift and sink, gasping every time he hits that spot inside you. 

“Joel, I –”

His grip turns bruising as he starts to fuck you on his own, the wet smack of his balls filling the bar.

“I know, baby,” he pants. “I know. You hear that? You hear me fuckin’ you? You’re takin’ my cock so good.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and try to meet his thrusts.

“Swear I dreamed ‘bout this,” he growls. “How wet you were. Those fuckin’ noises you make when I –” He circles your clit with his thumb and you keen. “There we go. Just like that.”

“Joel –

“Gonna ruin this booth,” he says with a rough chuckle. His forehead is tacky when you press yours against it.

“I – fuck – need new ones anyway, don’t I?” 

Joel grins, all teeth as he pounds into you. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, breath hot on your lips. “Soak my cock. Know you can, so tight and –”

Your orgasm rips through you, a broken litany of Joel and yes and god knows what else torn from your throat as he fucks you through it. His thrusts become erratic and you try to keep your seat as he finishes with a deep groan. 

Joel presses more of those light kisses to your collarbones, the base of your throat, so like the one he left on the back of your hand that first night. You drag your fingers through his slightly sweaty hair.

“I’ll move in a second,” you say, catching your breath. 

“Take your time,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

His grip on you is practically gentle, fingers lazily stroking patterns into your skin. You drag a hand up and down his chest. 

It’s tender. It’s…something it maybe shouldn’t be. Something that doesn’t belong in whatever you’re doing. 

You get out of his lap as carefully as you can and stand in front of him, naked. Fucking with a condom is smart and all, but you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping between your thighs.

He doesn’t hide his stare, though it’s not as charged as before. He’s looking just to look.

“Put your pants on,” you grumble at him. He laughs. 

You scoop your clothes off the floor and head for the bathroom. The tarnished mirror displays your sated smile and bright eyes. You run a hand over the bruises he left on your neck, your hips. Well-fucked is a good look on you. You look exhausted but happy.

Joel is dressed and back at the tabletop when you return. He’s got his usual bottle of whiskey on the wood, two glasses already sporting a pour each. 

“Not workin’ anymore, are you?” he asks you. 

You laugh. “No.”

The soreness starts to settle into your thighs when you take the stool next to him.

The momentary silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is comfortable, which is the strange part. Sitting here with him at your bar after he fucked you a few feet away and sipping at your drinks. 

Joel, for his part, seems unbothered. You can’t figure him out. It makes you feel a little unsteady to know that he sees right through you, but you don’t know what he’s thinking. Would he tell you if you asked?

“So,” he says. “What’re your plans for the place?”

You sigh. A piece of his hair is sticking up and you tuck your hand between your thighs so you don’t smooth it. It’s different with your clothes on.

“There’s a lot to do,” you tell him. “Jukebox is broken. Neon signs need replacing. Plumbing could do with a refresh. I want to refinish the floors, maybe tear off this ugly wallpaper –”

“Make sure you get a good gel for that,” he says. “Shit’s old and won’t come off easy.”

You lean your chin in your hand and shoot him an amused look. 

“Do a lot of wallpaper removal in your spare time?” you ask.

He fiddles with his watch, jaw working around whatever it is he wants to say. 

“I’m a contractor.” 

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles. “You think I sit on my ass all day?”

Honestly, you don’t know. Most of the thoughts you have about Joel aren’t to do with his job. You have no idea what he does when he isn’t here.

You shrug. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Well, I am,” he drawls. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “And I know the folks around here who you’ll need. Materials, all that.” 

“Are you offering to help me, Joel?” You keep your voice neutral.

He looks at you head-on. It feels like he’s seeing through you again. “If you want it.”

“If we do that, it has nothing to do with…” You gesture between you. “With this.”

Joel just looks at you, letting you sort out what you want to say. 

“I mean, I don’t want charity, okay?”

He shakes his head. “Ain’t charity. I owe Bill some favors. This’ll square us up. You’ll cover all the other shit, I guess.”

“It’s not his bar, anymore,” you remind him, but it’s a weak protest. 

Joel knocks back the rest of his drink.

You’ve been working out how to finance the renovations all week. All that cash you’ve squirreled away over the years finally has a purpose, other than a cushion in case something really bad happens. It’s looking tight between paying the staff and sourcing the work. You’d only be able to close a week at a time and any delays will fuck the whole thing. 

But if Joel’s offering discounted labor, materials on the cheap? You could get it all done faster, get it done right.

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask. 

Joel huffs and if you knew him better you’d say it was in offense. 

“Let’s just say I’m invested in the state of this place,” he says. “And you really gotta replace those booths.”

Your face feels hot. “Asshole.”

“So,” he says. “You interested?”

It’s not a bad idea. Hell, it might even be a good one. Money aside, Joel, whatever his story is, is connected in this town, and if you’re staying it would do you some good to start making some connections of your own. Start settling.

The fist in your chest, your heart, your mind – it loosens just a little bit. 

“I’m interested.”

Joel knocks on the bar once, twice, and stands. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and hands you a business card with his phone number. 

“I’ll be here Monday morning,” he says. “We can start goin’ over stuff, figure out when you wanna close. All that. Call me anytime. Sound good?”

You just nod. The fatigue is starting to hit and Joel must be able to tell because he just smiles at you.

“Goodnight, boss lady,” he says. “Put the whiskey on my tab.”

Joel grabs his jacket and unlocks the door, sliding into the cool night with a wave. 

“You don’t have a tab, asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smiling a little. 

It feels like pieces are falling into place.

You know you could get the bar fixed up on your own. But with Joel’s help, it’ll get done faster and you might even have some money left over at the end of it. 

It’s a lot all at once. But for some reason, it feels different this time. It’s not another job about to fall through, not another relationship going south because you got spooked. It’s not you getting bored and cutting your losses. 

You want this. You want it to work. Usually, you’d have left by now, before you got too attached, but it’s too late so you’re going to make it work. 

This thing with Joel, though – you’re going to have to be careful. If you’re not, it’ll run away from you and – well. You don’t want to lose control of it.

You look around the bar and sigh. Unwiped tables, a booth that no one should sit in, floors to clean. A few hours of work before bed. 

You know you’re going to spend them trying not to think about the man who just left. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

[guinea-pig16]

House Call

Harvey x Farmer!Reader

Fic is below the cut! Please enjoy!

Summary: Harvey gets calls from people in Pelican Town who are concerned for the new farmer's health. Harvey goes and pays the new farmer a visit.

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Word Count: 2100+

Warnings: Wounds, bruises, burns

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Harvey walked past the bus stop, medical bag in hand, enjoying the warm breeze. It was late spring, the days getting warmer and longer as summer attempted to take over. He was on his way to the old farm that had been taken over by a newcomer a couple months ago. The new farmer, named Y/N, had already gained the reputation of being incredibly friendly. They would come into town frequently to get tasks from the help board, buy supplies, donate items to the museum, or just to chat with the townsfolk. Harvey personally didn’t talk to them much, not that he avoided them of course, he just tended to stay inside his clinic, oftentimes missing their visits into town. 

He was on his way to the farm because he had gotten a series of calls from his fellow townspeople concerned for Y/N’s health. Apparently, they had gone to the saloon late last night appearing battered and bruised after an adventure to the mines. Harvey was fairly certain that they were fine as he’d heard they frequented the mines quite often, but being a doctor, he couldn’t say they’d be fine if he didn’t at least check on them. 

Harvey entered the farm and looked around in slight awe. The last time he saw the old farm it was overgrown with gnarled trees, weeds, and stones. Now it was nothing but a clear field (with the occasional large stones and logs) with plots of crops growing happily in the soil. Something was off though as he stepped closer. He was no farmer by any means, but the plots didn’t appear to be watered yet. He looked to his left. The mailbox still had its flag up, meaning the mail hadn’t been checked. He furrowed his brow and checked his watch. It was about 15 minutes past 9.

Odd… I thought they were usually up and about by this time. He thought as he climbed the steps to the porch. Their house was quite small, looking more like a cabin than a house. It seemed as though they had attempted to repair some of the cracks and holes on the outside themself. He knocked on the door. 

From inside he heard shuffling and a quiet groan, then a muffled coming. As he heard footsteps approaching the door, he quickly gave himself a once over, smoothing his coat and readjusting his collar. The door swung open and a tired (slightly annoyed) Y/N clad in pajamas greeted him. They stared at him blearily before recognition flashed in their eyes. They quickly straightened and cleared their throat.

“Uh, Dr. Harvey. What a surprise, I didn’t expect to see you.” They said, fixing him with a slightly strained polite smile. Harvey quickly glanced them over, trying to see any injuries. They were wearing a loose long-sleeve shirt and baggy pajama pants with slippers. He didn’t notice any physical ailments.

“Please, just call me Harvey. I came today because I’ve received several phone calls from people in town concerned about your well being.” He said. He watched as their face flushed slightly. They brought a hand to the back of their neck and glanced at the floor, shuffling slightly.

“...Ah, I see… Well, I’m doing fine, just a lil’ worn out from last night. Nothing some rest can’t fix, y’know?” They said sheepishly. Harvey raised a brow at them, causing them to shrink slightly.

“I was told you looked like you had gotten into a fight with a bear last night.” 

“...Oh… well… yeah…” They stared at their feet.

“Have you treated your wounds at least?” He asked.

“Um… yeah…?” They said, sounding unsure.

“May I check?” Harvey asked. He saw them hesitate to answer. “It won’t take long, I just want to make sure your wounds don’t get infected.” He clarified, giving them a small smile. He watched them consider his offer. After a moment, they sighed and stepped to the side.

“Alright, you make a good point. Come in, I’ll make some coffee.” With that, they walked inside letting Harvey follow. He closed the door behind him and looked around. It was fairly small, but cozy. Their bed was pressed into a corner, the sheets a mess. There was a fireplace against the far wall and a box tv sitting next to it with a pillow in front of it to act as a chair. Against the right wall was a small kitchenette, a table with two chairs, and a door which he assumed led to the bathroom. 

Y/N gestured towards the table. “Go ahead and have a seat, make yourself at home.” Harvey walked to the table and set his bag down. He sat and observed them as they rummaged around to find coffee grounds. A slight frown settled on his face as he noticed their movements. If they moved too fast, they’d wince and slow down. There was the slightest limp to their steps as they went to the sink to fill the coffee machine. They sat down in the other chair, moving slowly as if going faster would hurt too much.

They watched Harvey as he shrugged off his coat and opened his bag, pulling out a thermometer. He turned to them. 

“Alright, to start I’m going to take your temperature.” He leans close and places the thermometer against their forehead. “Have you been experiencing any headaches, tiredness, or nausea?” He asks. He doesn’t notice how Y/N begins to flush. 

“Um… no, not that I know of…? I’m just kinda… sore.” They say, letting out a breath as Harvey leans back and checks the thermometer. Their temperatures normal. That’s good, it doesn't seem as though they have an infection. He glances at them. I’d better still check where they’ve been injured though. He places the thermometer back in his bag and rolls up his sleeves.

“Your temperature is normal. Where have you been feeling sore?” He asks. They rest their head in their hand, drumming their fingers, appearing uncomfortable. 

“Um, mostly my back and legs. My arms are pretty sore too.” Harvey nods.

“So, what exactly happened last night?” He asks.

They look at the table, appearing embarrassed. “Well… I went mining and uh, might’ve gotten a bit in over my head… There were a lot more monsters than last time and… I think you can guess the rest…” They traced patterns in the wood of the table. Harvey grimaced. He knew the mines were full of dangerous creatures. Slimes, bats, rock crabs, huge flies, shadow people and more.

“May I see?” They stare at him for a moment.

“...See what?”

“...Your injuries…?” He says, raising a brow. Y/N flushed, eyes widening.

“Um, they’re not that bad! Don’t worry about them, I’m fine! Probably just need some pain pills to be honest…” They say quickly, tugging on their sleeve. Harvey had a feeling that they didn’t want him to see their wounds. Either because they were embarrassed, or they were that bad.

“I just want to make sure you’ve properly dressed them.” They looked down at the table. “I’ll leave as soon as I see you’re okay. That’s the only reason I’m here.” Harvey said. They nervously tapped their fingers on the table and then let out a sigh.

“...Alright…” With that, they began to lift their shirt off. He sees them wince slightly as they raise the shirt off their torso. He grimaces as he sees black and yellow bruises adorning their sides and stomach. They had shoddily wrapped a bandage around their middle and upper right arm, dried blood having bloomed to the surface. 

“May I remove the bandage?” He asked. Y/N nodded slightly, looking to the side, embarrassed. Harvey stood and gently began to remove the bandage from their arm. He stopped when they winced, and then proceeded even slower. 

Harvey winced himself when he fully removed the bandage. There was a large burn on their upper arm, it appeared to be an acid burn. Y/N glanced at him and cleared their throat, looking sheepish.

“Yeah… A slime got me when I wasn’t paying attention. Could’ve been worse, my shirt took most of the hit… Bastard ruined a good shirt…” They trailed off. 

“...I see. And you know how to treat burns like this?” He asked, opening his bag. He pulled out a fresh bandage and some petroleum jelly and a sterile cloth. They tapped their fingers nervously on the table.

“...Wrap it…?” Harvey smiled slightly and went to the sink and ran water over the cloth. 

“Yes, but you’re supposed to rinse off the burn first with water to clear any harmful residue. Then you wrap it loosely. You wrapped yours too tight. Wrapping it too tightly could cause it to swell.” He sat back down and began to gently wipe the burn. He frowned, the burn had already begun to swell slightly. 

“...Oh…” Y/N’s face was flushed as they stared at the floor. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes as Harvey treated the burn, wiping it down and then spreading petroleum jelly on it.

“...You didn’t think to call me?” He asked quietly, wrapping the burn loosely with the fresh bandage. He waited for a response, not fully expecting one.

“...I didn’t want to bother you…” They said softly. Harvey halted at that. He looked at them incredulously.

“You didn’t want to bother me, a doctor, who’s whole job is to treat people?” Their face blazed red.

“I don’t know! It was late, the clinic was already closed! And I… I thought I could deal with it myself…” They trailed off, brows furrowed.

Harvey sighed and finished wrapping the bandage. He began to unwrap the bandage around their middle, taking care to go slow. 

“Y/N, I am your doctor. Even when the clinic is closed, you can always call me and I’ll take care of you. It’s my job, and I’m happy to do it.” He finished unwrapping the bandage and assessed the wound. It was a decently sized gash. He retrieved some rubbing alcohol from his bag and began cleaning it. Y/N was silent.

“...I know I don’t know you very well, but you can come to me for anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s because you’re sick, or if you’re just in need of some company, I’m here for you, alright? My door’s always open.” He paused. “Well, at least til’ 3, then you’ll need to call me so I can let you in.” Y/N chuckled at that, making him smile. He finished cleaning the gash and put some petroleum jelly on it as well, then wrapped it in new bandages. 

“There, good as new!” He said, leaning back. “Your cut on your side was shallow enough to not need stitches. Your burn should heal in a couple weeks, as well as the cut.” He pulled out some pain medicine from his bag and handed the bottle to Y/N. “Take this once every 4 hours for your soreness. It should help.” 

“...Thanks, Harvey. For checking on me and everything.” They said, a soft smile on their face. Harvey returned the smile.

“Of course. What kind of doctor would I be if I let a member of the town go without treatment?” At that, the coffee machine beeped, making the two of them turn their heads.

“Oh, coffee’s done.” Y/N stood and put their shirt back on. They grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. “Are you able to stay for a cup? I know you still have to run the clinic and everything, but it wouldn’t be long if you’d like to stay.” They asked. Harvey mulled it over in his head. He probably should be getting back by now… But Maru was working today, and he left a note behind explaining where he was. Besides, one cup wouldn’t hurt, right?

He smiled. “That sounds lovely.” Y/N returned his smile and poured him and them a cup as he packed away his supplies and set his bag on the ground. They set his mug in front of him and sat down. He picked it up and took a sip, savoring the warmth and roast.

“So…” He said, catching Y/N’s attention. “What’s it like in the mines?” A grin spread across their face, their eyes lighting up.

“Well, it’s pretty awesome! The caves are beautiful! And there’s tons of ores and minerals, oh! And if you like fighting, that’s the place to go!” They kept talking, Harvey listening, taking occasional sips of his coffee.

One mug, turned into two, then three. And eventually the pot was empty, but they both kept sitting there, talking about any and everything. Eventually, Harvey had to bid them goodbye and head back to the clinic. 

As he walked past the bus stop, enjoying the breeze, he thought back to their smile and laughter as they told him about their adventures to the mines. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see them again.

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Hello hello hellooooo !!! it's been awhile since I last wrote a fic huh?? This is my first time writing a Stardew fic too !! Hope yall liked it !! Ciao !!!

xoxoxoxo

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tagged people:

@dokoni-mo @minnieplier-blog @takashi747 @justsomedirt @kieropal @marvelluvv @0bs1d1ankn1ght @punkghost141

[lunarmoves]

you weren't sure what had woken you up.

you only knew that one moment you had been dreaming—of what, you could not recall—and the next you were staring up at the textured ceiling of your bedroom. your eyes took a moment to adjust. moonlight, dewy and milky, yawned along the walls from the open-curtained window to your right. there was a stillness to the air befitting of the late hour. you blinked once, then twice, your mind hazy with lingering sleep.

that was when you heard it.

scritch scritch scritch.

slowly, you sat up, your blanket pooling around your waist. you rubbed at one of your eyes, groggily trying to piece together some vague understanding of what you were hearing. your room looked no different, honestly. boxes were still lined along the leftmost wall that you had yet to unpack. a desk tucked in the far right corner had your hunting weapons scattered across its surface—your bow and arrows. your silver dagger. the door directly across from you was slightly ajar, just like you'd left it earlier.

faintly, you could see small specks of dust as they floated in the moonlit air. you wrinkled your nose. you had yet to do a deep clean, preoccupied as you were with everything else. you wiggled your toes slightly from where they poked up from underneath your blanket.

it was quiet.

scritch scritch scritch.

you turned around, craning your neck back as you stared at the wall your bed's headboard was propped up against. it was a plain thing, painted a light lavender that looked midnight purple in the darkness of your room. you watched it for a moment, like you were expecting something to reveal itself or change. but nothing did.

you reached up and ran the tips of your fingers along the wall. then, carefully, you stood up. your feet sunk into the plushness of your mattress. it would be easy to lose your balance. you braced one hand on the top of the headboard.

you stared at the wall some more. and slowly, ever so slowly, you leaned forward to press your ear against it.

the plaster of the wall was cool against your skin. you could hear your own breaths, your own heartbeat. a steady rhythm that nearly wiped out all other sound.

you waited, terse and quiet.

scritch. scritch scritch.

it was like it was directly inside your ear. incessant. like someone was scratching a thin nail against concrete.

you huffed and leaned back to eye your wall once again. this house was old, handed down through generations until your grandfather had eventually gifted it to you. and thus you knew the prospect of rodents running inside the walls was not too absurd of an idea.

you rubbed at your eye again, too tired to deal with this at the moment. gently, you banged your fist against the wall—a muffled thump thump thump that echoed throughout your room. and after a few moments of silence, you plopped back down in your bed. hopefully that scared the rodents off.

you'd deal with them in the morning.

the next time you heard the scratching, it was just past sunset.

you were in one of the halls on the first floor of the house, repainting it after having ripped off the old, yellowed wallpaper. the lights flickered for just a brief moment, drawing you from your work as you glanced up at the bulbs on the ceiling. but before you could squint at them for too long, you heard it.

scritch scritch scritch.

right in front of you.

you paused and looked back down at the section of the wall you were painting. your eyes were level with discolored plaster you had yet to cover up. you'd bought rat poison a few days ago at the small town nearby and crammed it into whatever cracks in the walls you could find. you had hoped it would be enough. it was not.

your lips twisted as you frowned at the wall. you really did not want to contact anyone to deal with the rodents. it would cost a pretty penny, and you were trying to save up so you could make additional repairs on the house. you grunted and set your brush down on the top of the paint bucket. then, you stepped back and wiped your hands on your overalls as you scrutinized the wall.

further down the hall, you heard it again. faintly.

scritch scritch. scritch.

your head turned to stare in its direction. and after a short moment of consideration, you trailed after the sound. maybe it would lead you to a hole you'd missed.

the scratching moved down the hall and to the right, trailing all the way up to a peeling, white door with a large lock on it. you grimaced. the basement. you never did find the key to open it—especially with how cluttered everything had gotten once you'd moved in.

you weighed your options in your mind for a bit, then turned around to make your way over to one of the storage closets. rummaging inside for a minute or two, you let out an aha! once you found the perfect tool. a hammer.

gripping it in your hand, you made your way back over to the basement door. and with a few well-placed hits, you broke the lock on it and kicked it off to the side. you tucked the hammer into your overalls and pulled open the door. dust wheezed into the air.

wooden stairs led down to a dark room. it was stifling. musty. you could see the cobwebs that lined the rail and the corners of the staircase. you shivered slightly. this door had not been opened in a very, very long time. you could only imagine the amount of work you'd need to do for restoration.

you tugged the collar of your shirt up so that it covered your nose and mouth. just past the door frame, there was a switch on the wall. you flicked it.

light spluttered to life from a bulb that hung over the middle of the staircase. you peered down and caught a glimpse of a concrete floor. off to the sides of the stairs, you could see more boxes, their shadows stretching languidly towards you. you strained your ears, listening past the deafening roar of the basement's silence.

scritch scritch scritch.

you started your descent.

the stairs creaked and groaned with every step, protesting against your weight. you winced slightly at the sounds and found yourself skipping a few steps so you could reach the bottom faster. your skin crawled as you made your way past all the cobwebs. your shirt slipped off your nose once you stepped further away from the stairs. your eyes trailed around as you took everything in.

the basement was just that: a basement. another room for storage. moonlight from a small, rectangular window on the wall directly across from you filtered through the air. it cast everything in an ethereal glow, illuminating things just enough that you could decipher what you were seeing.

there were more wooden boxes scattered about. old, antique furniture and other miscellaneous items were interspersed between them. a lamp in the shape of a flower with curled petals. a rocking chair with carvings of small animals along its arms and legs. a chest with another lock tucked in a corner.

you marveled at it all as you ventured around the room, stepping between stacks of books and ornate dishware. you wondered why your grandfather never sold any of this stuff. though, you supposed he was a bit of a hoarder.

you kept your eyes and ears peeled as you glanced at the surrounding walls. there was no more scratching. no pattering of tiny feet against the floor. no holes from what you could see either, though you were going off of the limited lighting from the window, so perhaps you missed something.

you frowned. you'd have to come back when it was brighter down here, maybe get a few lamps to chase away all the darkness. mind made up, you turned back to head towards the staircase.

as you did, however, your eyes caught onto an object just under the window. it was covered with a white sheet—stark like a ghost against the shadows that surrounded it. and it was such an odd thing, wasn't it? the only covered thing you could see. curiosity got the better of you.

approaching the object, you took note that it came up to about chest height. your nose wrinkled as you caught sight of the layers of dust upon the cover. you used your arm to shield your nose and mouth. then, with your free hand, you swiftly tore the white sheet off.

you weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't a small, metal cage stacked atop another box. you let the sheet flutter to the ground, waving your hand in front of you in a feeble attempt to disperse the cloud of dust that had burst in the air. on top of the cage was a slim, vertical piece of paper. you picked it up.

you... couldn't tell what you were looking at. there was some pattern of sorts on the paper, drawn in ink that nearly glistened in the dim lighting. squiggles and waves. dots and strange characters. you squinted at it—felt the thick material of the paper itself—then shrugged and let it fall to the floor to join the sheet. your grandfather had been a strange man, particularly in his later years. you'd learned long ago not to question the things you found in his old house.

bending slightly, you peered past the thin bars of the cage. you'd been expecting an animal of sorts, dead or taxidermied or something. what you didn't expect were two dolls.

you straightened up and reached up a hand to the small lock on the cage's door. what was with your grandfather and locks, honestly. you pulled out the hammer from your overalls and quickly disposed of the lock before shoving it back into your pocket. the cage door creaked open. you pushed past it to grab the dolls and tug them into the light.

they were similar yet different, with matching smiles and crescent markings on their faces. one was colored red and gold, with yellow protrusions from its head that you realized mirrored the sun. the other was silver and blue, a hat with gold stars nestled comfortably on top of its head. both the dolls had blank, grey eyes that stared up at you hauntingly. you ignored the goosebumps along your arms.

you squeezed them slightly, one in each hand. your fingers sank into the plush material of their torsos. your thumbs ran across the intricate stitching of their tiny clothes. and you wondered what they were doing down here, locked in a little cage seemingly made for their little bodies. it was strange.

shaking your head, you glanced up at the window to see the moon steadily rising into the sky. it was getting late and you still needed to clean up. you eyed the dolls in your hand and set them atop the cage, propping them up against each other so they were sitting upright. you'd come back for them later. maybe you could sell them to one of the kids in town.

as you turned around to make your way back out of the basement, you failed to notice the way the dolls' eyes suddenly glowed a gentle white. following your figure as you disappeared up the stairs.

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

Hey, remember how during Pride Month the writeblr community has posts circulating where queer authors are encouraged to promote their books with queer representation?

July is disability pride month, Disabled people are at risk of falling below the poverty line especially and i'd love to help those who are published get paid this month if i can, so...

Let's do the same thing but with Disability Pride Month!!!

Disabled Writers feel free to promote your stuff!

I'll start:

Hello, I'm Anna, I'm an Autistic and ADHD author! Here are my canonically disabled characters in books that will come out in like 50 years because I'm a slow writer:

(I noticed most of these are mental disabilities and disorders, probably because that's where most of my personal experience is, BUT i do have quite a few physical disabilities in there, and there's also quite a bit of intersectionality <333)

Prince Kaye (FSF series): Kaye has OCD! He's also mixed latino and bisexual <3 very sweet scrawny peacemaker prince born to a family of warlords <3

Captain Cassandra (FSF series): Cassandra is mute due to trading her voice and tail for human legs, and partially deaf due to an explosion on the seas during a battle. Due to losing her tail for human legs, she also experiences chronic pain in her feet (the original curse of every step feeling like walking on knives if you will). She's also plus sized, pansexual, and gets a pirate girlfriend

Erica (FSF series): Erica is an amputee pirate with a peg leg. She's also lesbian, polynesian, plus sized, and Cassandra's hopeless romantic pirate girlfriend.

Princess Hestia (FSF series): Hestia has an anxiety disorder! She's also plus sized, South Asian mixed (like her brother), and falls in love with a shy blonde bookworm trans boi named Elliot

Raven (FSF series): Raven is Autistic! He's a morally gray knight charged with being the personal bodyguard of a reckless princess. He's so Latino and bisexual <3

Princess Sapphire (FSF series): Sapphire has ADHD! She's the reckless adventure seeking and impulsive princess that Raven has to protect. She's also a redhead, and demisexual <3

Triveya (FSF series): Triveya is autistic and adhd! She's the resident wizard and magic expert in the cast of FSF, and is a little bit feral with a bubbly and nerdy personality

Kylee (TCIO series): Kylee is autistic and non speaking! She's a superhero with super speed and invisibility powers, and she's the youngest of the team while also being a mischievous and outgoing ball of sunshine

Bryson (TCIO series): Bryson is diabetic! I'm still developing his character so i haven't figured out which type he is yet (leaning towards type 2). He's the superhero team medic with healing powers (can't heal himself or emotional injuries with said powers), and he's also a black guy and the token straight of the team that's on thin ice

Chase (TCIO series): Chase has OCD, a bipolar mood disorder, and chronic depression and anxiety to go with it! He's the tech guy on the team of superheroes, and doesn't have any supernatural abilities, but he's really good with computers and tech. He's cynical and sarcastic (because of the ableism he's experienced in the past) but secretly does care, and he's also Romani American and Jewish!

Corie (Galaxy Des. series): Corie is a cyborg and has prosthetic limbs! She has a prosthetic eye, arm, and leg. The eye does come with a small interface and her arm does have a laser gun attachment. She built and repairs all of her robot parts herself, and is a highly feared and valuable assassin in the galactic underworld. She's also mixed brown and is AroAce!

NOVA (Galaxy Des. series): Nova is epileptic! She is an android who was scrapped due to malfunction, and became a smuggler who is good at her trade. Due to faulty wiring she's epileptic. She's a cynical and grumpy android who accidentally falls in love with a loveable human lesbian rogue. She's bisexual and has shiny chrome skin with cyan lighting in the cracks.

Pandora (Galaxy Des. series): Pandora is a part-time wheelchair user, autistic and adhd, and tourettic! He is a biologist that formerly did morally questionable work for the galactic government, and now does that same work in the criminal underworld and sells it to the highest bidder. She also uses he/she pronouns, is mixed brown, and pansexual!

Ethel (unnamed witchy wip): Ethel has one eye and PTSD! She's a witch in a world where magic has just been outlawed, and a witch hunting cult has been hired by the new king and queen to hunt down and eradicate witches. She's also AroAce and very underdeveloped because this is a backburner wip.

Thanks for reading! Links to my wips are in my pinned post! If you are a disabled writer and or have disabled characters, do share!

Happy Disability Pride Month!

[whalesforhands]

the first-years of jujutsu high! (satosugu x reader)

warnings: yuuji just doesn’t understand how relationship dynamics work, fluff, mistaken cheating, teacher! geto and gojo (+haibara)

Itadori Yuuji thinks that he fares quite well with his classmates despite being the new kid within the Jujutsu High campus. He thinks himself someone easy to get along with; and quite the sociable person.

But what does he think of his own classmates?

He thinks Nanako treats him quite well. Boisterous, loud, girly and quite the chatty trend follower. Someone that Kugisaki had clicked with almost immediately.

“That’s what you call style? You gotta be kidding me, Yuu-kun.” Her eyes squint as she stands next to Nobara, the train doors closing behind him as he faces equally unimpressed gazes, their arms crossed over their chests as matching charms on their bags jingle with every movement. “No wonder Nobara-chan thinks you need to go shopping.” He feels arms hook around one of his as he’s dragged forth; the glittering of the streetwear shops suddenly all too much. “Let’s get you that city-boy charm!”

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?!”

He thinks her twin is a little… Odd. Unsettling, a little scary, quiet… But nice. Almost similar to Fushiguro.

“Itadori Yuuji! I hope to get along with you!” A bright grin and polite hand stuck out for a handshake! The shine of his smile and the friendly demeanour of a highschool boy!

He watches as she squeezes the stitch-filled plush closer to her body, stroking its head as blank brown eyes look him up and down, a slightly ominous aura emanating off of her as he feels a certain chill up his spine.

(That’s just the wind… Right? It’s uncharacteristically chilly in here all of a sudden…)

“I… See.” She finally takes his hand as the head of her doll lolls perfectly to the side to meet his surreptitious gaze, causing him to gulp nervously as he feels tingles spidering up his back.. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance…”

Of course, he loves the teachers here! Someone would’ve have needed the coldest, most treacherous of hearts to hate them!

“Haibara-sensei, you’re so cool!” Excited rambling as he laid on the ground, bruises littering his body and watching with glittering eyes as said teacher grins victoriously down at him. “I thought I had you cornered when I was about to kick, but then you grabbed my leg and it went WHOOSH! BAAAAM!”

“Ahaha! Well, train up and eat rice daily! And soon you’ll be just as strong, Itadori-kun!” A resounding laughter from his chest as hands are placed upon his hips, turning his body to face the rest of the groaning first-years. “Lesson 3! Expect the unexpected, even when you think you have the upperhand!”

“Fuck! There’s a crack in my nail…!”

“Take the nail repair kit in my room later, Nobara-chan…” Nanako is absolutely exhausted with her back against an equally fatigued Mimiko groaning in pain. “I can’t believe he took all of us on when we surprised him like that…” A shiver up her spine at the memory of getting humbled so quick…

“Shut up, all of you…” Megumi fares no better as he grits his teeth, hands on his knees as he finally gets back on his feet. “As if a beat-down isn’t bad enough already…”

“Don’t be so rude, Gumi…” Mimiko’s pained moans reach the annoyed boy’s ears as he waves her off.

“I still can’t believe Fushiguro lets you call him Gumi.”

“There, there kids! Enough complaining, time to get yourselves over to Nanami-sensei’s class!”

Itadori Yuuji thinks that his teachers are wonderful people, the best around. But— Something has been weighing heavy on his mind, a trouble that he has issues coming to terms with. He can’t tell Fushiguro, can he? He can’t tell the twins— Or even Kugisaki. A secret that twinges and shrouds him in panic and worry.

“Hmm? Yuuji-kun, you don’t seem to be eating much today.” The happy tilt of your head, the innocent smile on your face as you greet the first-year in the cafeteria.

“Guh!” He nearly chokes on his food in fear when he hears your voice, his heart rate shooting up as his palms clam, fear and guilt flashing in his eyes as he starts to cough.

He feels you start patting his back vigorously with surprising strength. “Yuuji? Yuuji?! Are you okay?!”

How does he tell you, his lovely teacher— That he saw your husband cheating on you with the Geto Suguru?!

“Ehhh? No kaifuku mochi?” There’s a pout on his face, the blindfold sliding down to stare at the man.

He’s never seen Gojo-sensei so… Needy with someone else other than you before.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. They were all out at the store.”An apologetic kiss is planted on Gojo’s cheek to soften the pout on his face. “I’ll get it next time, okay? My spoiled prince.”

“Hmph! I want another kiss to make up for it.”

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no…

He’s seen it before, the matching rings you and Gojo-sensei donned— Shiny circles that glinted every so often when catching against the light. Ah— And with how often the man likes to drop by the class to pick you up. What a lovely gentleman, as expected of someone deserving of you… Had it not been for his serious adultery?!

Oh, how this guilt eats him up every time you smile at him…

——

It all comes crashing down one day. Days of pulling at his hair, pounding at his own chest and nervous biting of his nails all finally comes to an end.

“Itadori.” The classroom is dark, left only with the two as tree branches tap against the windows.

He’s never heard Nobara so serious before, her elbows on her desk and her hands placed together as her eyes glint dangerously, fingers tapping against each other.

“(name)-sensei… Is being two-timed.” She clenches her fists, irate anger coursing through her. Just how dare that slimy, sneaky man cheat on you? Just where did he get that audacity from?!

“Woah, Kugisaki, you noticed too?!” He thought he was doomed, cursed with this knowledge to bear upon his shoulders forever, hands slamming down onto her desk and hopeful eyes finally happy to see a like-minded individual!

“That’s right. And I can’t stand it anymore…”

A knowing look is exchanged between the two as the air tenses, a nod exchanged between them as their throats tightened, finally unveilingtheir cards.

“Gojo-sensei is cheating on her!”

“Geto-sensei is a cheat!”

Silence.

…

…eh?

“WHAT?! HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE RING MATCHING WITH GETO-SENSEI’S NECKLACE?”

“HUH?! THAT RING IS MATCHING WITH THE ONE ON GOJO-SENSEI’S FINGER!”

“HAH? GET SERIOUS ALREADY!” Furious irritation as her eye twitches, flashing her teeth at him. “NO WAY THAT OLD MAN CAN GET SOMEONE LIKE (NAME)-SENSEI!”

“GOJO-SENSEI IS HANDSOME AND RICH! HE BUYS US SUSHI ALL TIME!”

“What does sushi have to do with—?!”

The door is slid open. Mimiko.

“…why are you both yelling?”

——

“You shouldn’t be carrying all those papers yourself.” The weight is immediately lifted off of your arms before you can blink, your senses picking up on a familiar; darker energy.

“Suguru, welcome back.” Your head tilts up to face him, the stack of papers being held in one of his arms as his hand is freed to go up to your cheek.

A thumb slowly grazes over your skin as you smile, happy to see your husband back after one of his missions.

“Hmm,” You watch him as his eyes smile down at you, mischief in the quirked up corners of his lips. “Is that all I’m getting?” He was honestly hoping for more. “I risked my life out there, you know?”

“Of course not.” How overdramatic. There’s the slight tiptoe of your feet, and a quick peck to his jaw before you pull away.

“Oooh, exchanging PDA on school grounds? Scandalous!” A burst of cursed energy invades your senses, blinding hot and white.

You feel long arms settle around both you and the long-haired man, pulling you both closer together towards another, sneaky hand settling themselves on your lower back.

“Hello, darlings! Dinner is still on tonight, by the way! At that restaurant Nanako wanted to go to.”

You hear a sigh.

“Isn’t there a need for you to report using your powers on school grounds, Satoru?” A quirk of his brow as he simply lets it happen, feeling the man play and twirl with a strand of his long hair.

“I hope you don’t get in trouble for doing that…” A pat to your head as you hear a scoff.

“Pfft— Me? In trouble? What are they gonna do? Put me in Satoru jail? Anyway—“ You see his lips pucker up as they lean in towards the both of you, with index fingers pointing at the corner of his lips with a rather cute grin on his face.

“My ‘see-you-later Satoru kiss’, please! I got a meeting with Yaga and needa top up on some energy!”

From behind a wall, three faces peek on.

“See?” Mimiko’s stare is deadpan as she watches the jaw of one of her classmates drop impossibly further to the ground as the other just stares confusedly.

“N-no way! Are you sure she isn’t being hypnotized?! Held hostage?!”

“Please do not speak of Geto-sensei that way. The other one, however—“

“Eh? So (name)-sensei, Geto-sensei and Gojo-sensei are all… Together?”

“For the last time, Yuuji-kun… Yes.”

“Uhh… Eh? Sorry, Mimiko— Could you explain it one more time?”

Sigh.

KOFI bonus scenes!

masterlist

[consistencynevermether]

Ice cold: Astarion x reader

content: ascended Astarion x gn tav, angst, tav is goin through it in this one yall, i give karlach a more hopeful ending in the background bc i just want her to be happy, karlach and tav besties agenda, sfw, cannon typical violence

summary: after breaking it off with ascended Astarion, you meet again at a winter ball

word count: 6k (apparently i cant shut up about this man)

a/n: man i gotta write more happy Astarion content fr i keep putting this man in situations.

How many years had it been since you’d seen Astarion? 3? 5? Maybe more? You try to remember what your last moments with him were like before you decided to break things off. It was definitely after he ascended, but was it before you had gotten rid of the tadpole, or after? Honestly, after a while things had started to blur together really. After so many years, only the painful parts remained clear in your memory. How you, with tears in your eyes, had told him you couldn’t do this anymore. And the look of condescending and uncaring as he stared back. It had shattered you into a million pieces to end things with Astarion, but it would have hurt even more if you had stayed. Whoever he had become after he ascended, it wasn’t your astarion, not really.

Why were you reminiscing about your lost love? Well because after all these years apart, he was now standing about 5 feet away from you. Gods above how did you get yourself in this situation?

Let’s start a few years back after Astarion had left to be the new lord of Baldur’s Gate and you had stayed, shattered. Having to pick up the broken pieces of what you once were, having to figure out who you would be without him. You probably should have taken some time alone, now that you think about it. Processed your emotions, talked to a professional, properly mourned what you had lost before continuing on.

Of course, you had done the opposite and instead had decided to travel with Karlach and Wyll to Avernus. Going to hell is probably not the best way to cope with a breakup, but that was the only option anyone could think of to try and save Karlach from the fate of the engine in her chest. And after what had happened to Astarion you just-

You just couldn’t 

You couldn’t lose someone else, if you did, you felt like you would have been shattered past the point of repair. You couldn’t take losing one of your only friends right after losing your love. So you gathered up the broken pieces of yourself and headed straight into the hells. 

You were down there for a few years probably. 

Maybe? 

Honestly, you didn’t remember. Time became sluggish and foggy after Astarion had left because it kept marching forward, away from your time together with him.

Yet in the end, Karlach had gotten her engine fixed and all 3 of you had climbed out of hell. A few more burn marks and scars, but nothing more than that had changed. Physically at least.

You had somehow managed to put your broken pieces back together, but you weren’t the same as before. You didn’t feel complete, more like a jumble of razor-sharp shards being forcefully welded together trying to imitate what you once were. But now you were jagged, and cracked, and tired

Gods, you were tired. The dark circles under your eyes never left, no matter how much you slept. Or tried to sleep that is.

Sometimes in the dead of night, you would replay Astarion's ascendance in your mind over and over again, wondering what you could have done differently then. Or even before. Where had you gone wrong? Was there another outcome that you failed to make happen? Was there another reality where the two of you were happy together? Gods how that thought hurt. 

 Sometimes, you thought about the what-ifs. You imagined what would have happened if he hadn’t chosen to ascend. What both of you could have been. What you so desperately wanted but could never reach. Eventually, you stopped that line of thought at night. It was too crushing to imagine how things could have been different. What you could have done differently. 

After emerging from hell, you had on and off traveled with some of your previous party. 

You and Wyll had headed to Waterdeep once to help Gale with a sea monster problem 

In an amusing team-up, you had helped Halsin and Lazel find an enchanted bracelet they were both searching for, though they both argued on how to act upon most things during that entire adventure, so you had felt almost like it was a babysitting gig the entire trip. 

There was also that time you helped Minsc dispose of some bandits robbing people near Baldur's gate, but you had dealt with that sorry lot fairly quickly and got far away from Baldur's Gate even quicker. You didn’t want to accidentally run into a certain lord. 

And now you had an entirely new quest, in the bitter cold land of Sossal. A few weeks ago, you met back up with Karlach who apparently had been looking for you.

It’s not that you disliked seeing Karlach at all, in fact, you were both very close, which was part of the problem really. Part of why it stung a little to see her. 

She saw you. She saw how much you hurt even after all this time. Your other friends seemed to have assumed that you had gotten better. That over time you had healed and it had gotten easier for you to come to terms with leaving Astarion. But Karlach knew the truth, She saw right through you, and it was mortifying. That every day the hole inside your heart had just got wider. She feared it would swallow you up one day, and you didn’t blame her. It didn’t help that being around her just made you feel so

Pathetic. 

She had been to literal Hell and back and could still smile and laugh, while you had only lost one person and had cracked and splintered like glass. It hurt to see the light that shined off her while you could only fall deeper into darkness. 

Of course, you knew none of that was her fault, you only had yourself to blame for who you were, so when she came asking for help, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

She was having engine troubles again. It wasn’t as bad as before, thank the gods, but it did have a tendency to overheat ever so slightly whenever she felt a strong emotion, and if you didn’t do something one wrong spook could set her ablaze. Luckily she had gone to Gale first and discovered a gem Called the frostbite tear. He could attune the gem to Karlach and make it so that every time her engine began to overheat, the jewel would immediately cool it down, negating the problem before it became a real issue like when you had first met her. Last anyone had heard of the gem it was with some noble in Sossal. 

So here you were. You, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Gale all together at the midwinters ball held here in the capital. Gale had procured the invites for you all, and every noble in Sossal, plus some from other territories, would be here for this celebration. Gale had even been nice enough to give you a beautiful outfit for the ball, made of silvery-white sparking silk. It reminded you of fresh snowfall on a winter's night. Admittedly it wasn’t very practical, and Gale did make you shower before putting it on. (Rude. You didn’t think you smelled t h a t bad.)

You were so focused on helping find this noble (and robbing him of the frostbite tear) that you hadn’t even considered Astarion might be here. 

Not up until the moment that his vibrant red eyes locked onto yours across the room. 

You couldn’t move. Everything was moving too fast and also in slow motion. Your legs felt like lead and your mouth was bone dry. The numbness that had settled in your chest for years now cracked open with new pain, and you weren’t sure which of the sensations you hated more. 

All all this panic and emotions, and yet in your mind all you could think of was how he looked just the same as the day you left. He hadn’t changed. And that made it all the harder. Because now it was easier to forget all the years between you two. He still looked the same as what you saw when you closed your eyes each night. It was Astarion. But on closer examination, not your Astarion. 

There was a coldness to him now. A certain reservation in his smile that made you feel like you would be a mere annoyance to him if you dared to approach. He seemed sharper somehow as well, like a finely honed blade. And his attire was extravagantly beautiful, the white fur-lined cloak he was wearing was probably more expensive than anything you had ever owned, including your current attire. 

You were so busy taking this all in mentally that when you went to glance at him again he was gone. For a split second, you genuinely wondered if you had finally snapped and just hallucinated all of that when an all too familiar hand took yours. 

You hadn't looked away for more than a second and astarion was right there in front of you, kissing your knuckles. The brush of his lips on your skin was nearly enough to bring you to your knees. All these years, and he still had so much power over you with one little motion.

To any outsider, this looked like quite the cute interaction really. The handsome new lord of Baldur's gate spots an incomparable beauty from across the room and is instantly smitten, so he effortlessly woes them the second he steps into the ballroom. But life is no romantic play. 

“Hello darling, it certainly has been a while. We simply must catch up” 

Before you could even attempt to respond, his hands were around your waist, guiding you to the dancefloor as the orchestra began to play, and other couples began to join the dancefloor as well. 

You’d hoped maybe the dance would save you from the conversation, but it seemed the opposite was what occurred, as Astarion leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “So, 7 years without a trace, and suddenly you show up looking positively exquisite. Do tell me what you’ve been up to.” 

Your mouth opens to respond, but you realize you have no idea what to say. What could you possibly say to him, and why would you even say it? 

Luckily you were spared any more torture when you noticed Astarion staring intently at your neck. The sight reminded you of that night you found out he was a vampire spawn, and you had let him drink from you for the first time. But instead of hunger Astarions brown was furrowed with another emotion. Annoyance? Concern? Worry? You couldn’t tell anymore. It had been years since you could tell what Astarion was thinking

His voice broke the silence once again. 

“Is this new?” His long pale fingers brushed across the burn scar near your collarbone.

Ah. So that’s what he was staring at. 

“Well it’s been there a few years, so I wouldn’t really consider it new but-“ you shrug at the end of your sentence, and you both know what you meant. It was only new to him. He may have stayed unchanged all these years, but you certainly hadn’t. And it seemed Astarion was beginning to notice. 

His eyes raked over you, taking in the changes. You were a bit more muscular now, all that constant fighting no doubt. Your new(er) scars were more visible in this outfit, which admittedly was a little revealing and definitely not meant to withstand the harsh outside winter. And the years now showed in the tired look in your eyes. You imagine that your eyes aged you quite a bit honestly, maybe you should be shocked he even recognized you now. 

“So”, he started, decidedly keeping his hand firmly around your waist so you couldn’t run from the conversation, “when you made my undead heart beat again only to toss it on the ground at my feet again like it was nothing all those years ago, I always imagined how nice it would feel to see you struggle while I thrived as lord of Baldur's Gate.” 

Wow. Impressively bad flirting. Had he gotten worse at this over the years? Or maybe he just detested you so much he didn’t even think there was a point in even pretending to like you anymore. 

“But now that I’m actually here and you look-“

He gestured at you vaguely 

“Well a bit like you’d been the one who got dumped, it doesn’t feel very satisfying.” 

“Mhm,” you responded, in a stroke of pure poetry. 

“Darling, you have to give me more than that. The silent treatment after all this time is just petty, even for me.”

He had a point. And part of you did want to know-

“How have you been, Astarion?” 

His steps faltered a little when you said his name, but he quickly recovered, smoothly continuing the dance 

He smirked, his fangs visible on one side “Well certainly better than you if I had to wager, the stuff under my eyes is eyeliner, not sleep deprivation side effects.”

You close the distance between you two involuntarily to get a closer look at his face. He was wearing some sort of golden liquid as eyeliner on his bottom lids. It was subtle but beautiful, and it shined when the light hit his face just right. On instinct, you began to reach towards his face, but you quickly stopped yourself. You needed to stay focused, damnit. You were here to help Karlach.

Astarion's smooth voice cut in once again. “Still making me do all the talking? Honestly, I don’t ever remember you being this quiet before.” 

You startled and realized you had been staring at his face for a while, and then trying to snap yourself out of it, all while not making a sound

Gods you don’t remember it being this hard to talk to him. But then again, you found it harder to talk to anyone these days. you just-

You just didn’t expect that to also apply to Astarion. Further proof that despite him looking the same, there was distance now. A silent gaping chasm that you had no way to cross. But that is what you wanted, wasn't it? To get away from this Astarion. The one who considered you a pet, or an object to be displayed. Treasured, and loved, but never his equal. Never fully having free will, everything you would have done would have had to be something he approved of. 

You loved him, more than anything. You still did. Deep down you knew you would die for this twisted version of your love, and if he asked you to rip out your own heart and serve it to him, you would. But you couldn’t be with him. Everything else you would do for him, but that was where you drew the line. It hurt too much, to be reminded every day of what you had lost. Of what you have failed to protect. That sweet high elf with a silver tongue and a heart of gold he let so few see. The one who wished for freedom more than anything, but still stuck by your side. Because at some point, he wanted to be free with you. And that was not this Astarion. 

Despite all that, just for this moment, you wanted to forget it all. To be held in his arms once again. Maybe, if the gods blessed you, see a real smile of his. You just wanted this one moment. Then your greedy heart would be satisfied. You could burn this image of the two of you dancing forever in your mind and have it sustain you. You’d gladly take another trip to the hells if it meant just a moment where you could pretend you were with your astarion. The one that lived on in your memories. Though you didn’t dare hope that he was still in there somewhere, you don’t think your heart could take it. 

You inhale deeply and begin to talk. You tell him about the quests you’ve been on, the adventures you’ve had, what you’ve been up to these past years. Including why you were here, and your quest to help Karlach and find the frostbite tear.

Eventually, you get to the point where you tell him why you're here, and what you're looking for. But as you do you see a scowl twist on his face. 

“Astarion?” You question, “What’s bothering you?”

He huffs in reply, and you can’t help but smirk. 

“I’m sorry but I do remember someone just talking about how petty the silent treatment is.” You prod, and lock eyes, a sign for him to tell you what’s on his mind

He rolls his eyes at your persistence, but nonetheless, he begins to speak. 

“Hm. Just seems like you and Karlach are so very happy together. A bit of a downgrade if you ask me, but that’s certainly no fault of hers. I mean, once you’ve had me, all you can do is go down from there.” 

“Karlach and I aren’t dating.” You deadpan. 

She was more like a sister to you than anything, and besides you’re pretty sure she already has eyes for someone. 

“Oh?” Astarions eyebrow raises. “So who have you been shagging all these years then? Wyll? Shadowheart? Surely not Gale. Oh please tell me it’s not Gale, I think that might actually hurt my feelings a little if we both shared being to your tastes.” 

“Be nice. Gales is a good friend. FRIEND. They all are. And to answer your prying question, I’m not with anyone. Not since you.” 

It was true. You hadn’t loved anyone since astarion. It just didn’t feel right. Even the idea of a casual fling didn’t feel at all satisfying. And there was no way you would actually consider dating someone again. Not when Astarion still held your heart. 

You could see a few emotions go across Astarion’s face, but you couldn’t recognize them. You remember when you used to be able to know what he was thinking, when he was lying or not. But not anymore. Maybe it was because he was always putting on some act now. 

As you stared, his hand wrapped around your waist and for a breathless moment, he effortlessly lifted you up into the air, gently twirling you around him. then he put you down and smoothly continued the dance as if that was always part of the steps. 

Your face flushed at the amount of contact, and the smirk once again graced Astarion’s lips.

“So, nobody since me? Seems like someone’s not quite over the Lord of Baldur’s Gate.” He singsonged, taking great pleasure in how momentarily flustered you were. “It's ok if you're not over me darling, I can’t blame you.” 

Clearly, he meant this as a joke, one you were supposed to roll your eyes at and ignore. But there was no point in lying, so you just nodded and continued the steps of the dance. 

Astarion stopped dead in his tracks. 

“I-

Wait what? You're still-

Ah- 

You're not over me?” 

“Astarion, the song isn’t over.” You tried to nudge him back into the dance, but his feet were planted firmly, and he wasn’t going to budge. 

“Answer me.” 

You sigh. He wasn’t going to move. So now you were just standing here. In the middle of a ballroom. With everyone else dancing around you. Great. This was super inconspicuous and undercover. 

“I will only continue to talk if you move your damn feet Astarion. Hells I’m supposed to be blending in not standing out.” You hiss and kick at the side of his shoes to indicate for him to get moving.

He recognizes the determination in your eyes and you can see him deciding mentally that he’ll probably get his answer sooner if he does as you ask, so he picks up the dance once again. His grip on your waist is now like iron though, not painful in any way, but there’s absolutely no way you could get out of his grasp now. Not even if you put all your efforts into trying. 

His eyes never left yours, his intense stare practically commanding you to talk.

Which you did say you would do. 

“I still love you.” You shrug. “Never stopped loving you.”

“Then why did you leave?” The hurt in his voice is evident, and you immediately feel like someone hurled a spear of ice directly into your chest. 

You can barely raise your voice above a whisper without it cracking. “You know why. I already told you when I left.” 

“Bullshit. Because you loved the person that I was? He was pathetic. Only a fool would want the lesser version.” His voice was like ice, you could feel the hatred he held for himself.

And you instantly felt your anger flare up at his words.

“Don’t you ever talk about-

About him like that”

It felt weird referring to past Astarion as someone else. But it was true. They were two completely different people now. And honestly, you didn’t care about the semantics, your blood was practically boiling. 

“He was the love of my life. He was everything to me. So don’t you dare insult him.” You spat, practically seeing red

Astarion's face twisted in rage. 

“Maybe you liked me pathetic, hm? Maybe the only way you could possibly love me was if I was beneath you. A precious pet spawn, entirely dependent on you, living in your shadow to protect me from the sun that I now bask in.” He sneered, meeting your rage with his own.

And just like that, you had shattered all over again. 

It was your turn to stop dancing now, unmoving in the sea of swaying nobles. 

Astarion's rage seemed to have flickered out seeing the look on your face.

What did your face look like? Were you shocked? Were you crying? Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could register the feeling of hot tears down your cheeks, but you paid it no heed. 

Instead, you wrapped your arms around Astarion, putting your face in the crook of his neck. 

Astarion completely froze at the sudden contact, not even taking a breath. Although he probably didn’t need to actually breathe anyways so maybe that was normal.

“I’m sorry. If-

-If you truly believe that I ever thought that way about you, then I messed up beyond repair. I'm so sorry.” 

You tried to continue, to apologize for all the times you had failed him. For making him feel like that. But you realized you couldn’t speak. Your body was silently heaving with sobs, tears flowing down your face and ruining Astarion's nice clothing.

Great. You couldn’t even cry without screwing him over. And this was definitely not inconspicuous. 

You lifted your head, making a move to step away, but as you did you saw a blue glint on one of the lapels of some well-dressed lord.

Holy shit.

The frostbite tear. You had found it. And all it took was sobbing on your ex to spot the damn thing. That didn’t make you feel pathetic at all. Though admittedly this was the perfect distraction from this soul-crushing conversation. Maybe with any luck you wouldn’t even have to address that embarrassing display that no doubt disgusted astarion, he was probably hoping you’d get the hell off him already.

So you did just that, jerking back from the hug and keeping your eyes glued on the gem. 

“Astarion look. It’s the frostbite tear. On that lord.”

But you could tell Astarion’s eyes were firmly glued to your face. 

You tried to slip away, to follow the frostbite tears owner and relieve him from its ownership, whether that be by swiping it, lying, or just straight up threatening the guy. But Astarion held you firmly in place. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered, to not startle your target. “He’s right there. Let go.”

“You can’t just drop that on me and leave” he whisper-yelled back 

“I’m not leaving, I’m just grabbing something real quick. Now let go, it’ll take 5 minutes tops.”

“What if you decide you don’t wanna talk again and run off?” He countered 

“Then you can corner me because you're the vampire ascendant.” 

“What if he catches you and you get arrested?”

“Then you can visit me in jail because you're the vampire ascendant.” 

“What if-“

Oh for fucks sake. 

“Whatever happens, I assure you, you will be able to say whatever you want to me after because you are the vampire ascendant. You made that fact very clear to me when we were together. Now let go.” You cut him off, and then try once again to move towards the target. But his grip remained firm 

You look up at him, now filled with annoyance and desperation. The noble could escape if you didn’t do something now, and yet Astarion seemed insistent on trapping you. 

“Just one more dance, alright?” He bargained.

Unbelievable. That was his priority? You knew it had been a while but you never expected him to disregard a former ally so blatantly. Karlach needed this. 

But upon closer inspection, he almost looked… a little guilty? Worried maybe? That didn’t seem right. What on earth?

Just then, Astarion pushed your face into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, almost protective. Protective but restrictive. You couldn’t move away no matter how much you pushed on his chest or tried to slip out of his hold. 

“Astarion. Let. Go.” You hissed.

But your attempts at breaking free immediately stopped when you heard an ear-piercing screech and the sound of heavy footsteps. 

On instinct, you reached for where your weapon would normally be, but you had nothing on you. Shadowheart had a few small weapons concealed on her in case things got messy, considering her attire was a bit more conservative than yours, but she wasn’t anywhere near you now. 

Damnit. On instinct, you tried to twist around in Astarion's grasp to a more protective stance. Of course, you knew he didn’t need your protection at all, it was just a base instinct kicking in. Unfortunately, he didn’t allow you to move out of his grasp, so all you could do was squirm. 

“What is wrong with you??” You practically shouted. If there was danger, then just standing here like this would leave you both wide open. Had he lost all common sense? 

Unless- 

At that exact point, a guard of the lord of Sossal burst through the doors, covered in blood. 

“Vampire spawn are attacking the gates!” She exclaimed, cradling her arm, which was profusely bleeding. 

“I didn’t know you would be here.” He murmurs, almost as if he’s telling this to himself more than you. 

He wasn’t trying to keep you here, you realize. He was protecting you. None of the spawn would dare come near you if they saw Astarion holding you like this. 

But at this moment you didn’t care. For years you had mourned over the loss of your Astarion. You had tried so hard, attempting to separate him from this ascended Astarion. But you had never been truly able to get over him, to accept he was gone. Because deep, deep down, no matter what you told yourself, you still believed he was in there somewhere. Behind all the silks and sharp gazes.

And you felt that hope die as you heard the hissing of the dozens of spawn outside, mingled with the screams and cries of the guards. He was gone. And your heart was shattered all over again. 

But it was different this time. Before, you had pulled yourself together again, deformed and jagged, but still together. You couldn’t do that this time. There was no coming back from this. You could feel it. This pain wouldn’t fade. But there was something else there that wasn’t there before. Anger.

Astarion was protecting you, yes, but Gale, Shadowheart, and Karlach were here too. If the spawn got into the ballroom, they would be in danger. Not to mention this made procuring the frostbite tear infinitely more difficult. 

Rage burned in your eyes, and for the first time, you saw the great vampire ascendant stumble over his words a little, as he tried to explain something about how the lord of Sossal had insulted him, but you weren’t listening. 

While Astarion was struggling to explain himself, you realized he wasn’t paying as much attention to you. Good.

In one swift movement, you slipped out of his grasp and frantically looked around, searching for your friends. It was nearly impossible to hear anything over the screaming and panic of the nobles. It also wasn’t helping that Astarion was probably going to be right on your heels the second he recovered. Or maybe he’d just leave you to be eaten by his spawn. You didn’t really care. 

After continuing to weave your way past frantic nobles and shouting their names, you were able to see a red hand waving you down from the far left balcony. It was Karlach, and she was with Gale and Shadowheart. Good. With all 3 of them together any spawn that came after them would be screwed. But you still had a mission to complete.

You looked up at Shadowheart and held your hand out for a weapon. You were going to track down that damn gem if it killed you. That noble was about to have a very bad day. Well. A worse day. 

You were focusing all your hurt onto this, all your rage. But you needed to. You needed it because you had no idea what else you could do now. You needed something to focus on. Something to distract you from your shattered heart. 

Shadowheart saw your determination and tossed a short sword down to you. Not your preferred weapon of choice, but it would do.

You whipped around, hand around the short sword at the ready, but also because it felt grounding, to be fighting once again. Now it was time to hunt down your prey.

You quickly ran in the direction you’d last seen, glancing over every lapel for that glowing blue light. It was hard, many of the nobles were dressed in a winter theme, so shades of white, silver, and blue were all too common in the sea of panic. 

You continued to push past nobles, searching for that faint blue glow. You refused to let this go, you would not let Karlach down. You fought for too many years in hell getting the engine in her repaired to go all the way back to square one again. 

You feel yourself tunnel vision on finding a blue light, your head whipping back and forth on the hunt, it felt good to let everything else fade away into numbness as your only thought is tracking down this gem.

A glimmer out of the corner of your eye. A flash of blue. The shine of fine silk. There he was. In a crowd of panicked nobles trying to run into other parts of the castle and hide from Astarion's horde gathering outside. Honestly, it was a pretty understandable reaction, you didn't blame him for running at all, but you needed that gem. You hope he survived honestly.

Survived.

Because Astarion planned to turn this place into a bloodbath. Your Astarion. The one who you had sat under the stars with, and he would teach you all the constellations whose names you didn't know, his silky voice lulling you to sleep when insomnia or worry had hit you. 

You'd rather still be in the hells honestly. 

You took a deep breath, centering yourself back to the present. Get the gem. 

You dashed after the noble, drawing your shortsword and charging at the man. If possible, you'd do this quickly.

Ducking under the other guests, you grab this unfortunate noble by the collar, the moment you do he screeches, clearly fearing the worst. Luckily for him, you were only after his gem, not his blood. With one slice you cut the gem off the cloak, shredding the beautiful white fabric. 

Not even bothering to explain yourself to him, you pocket your prize and turn on your heel, heading back in your friend's direction, when all of a sudden you hear the noble you had just stolen from scream again. But this time it was followed by the screams of a few others 

You look back and that’s when you see her. A vampire spawn. Clearly on her way to the ballroom, but judging by her smile, it was clear she had just found some horderves. 

You could have run. You were the only person with a weapon and the farthest away from her. She definitely wouldn’t pick you as her first target, she’d go for one of the defenseless nobles right next to her. You should have met up with the others and gotten the hells out of this place.

But the noble whose lapel you had just torn apart was so young. They were people. Scared people who got unlucky and were about to die because someone had offended the great vampire ascendant. Maybe you wanted to save them. But more likely, you just wanted something to take your anger out on. Or maybe you were just dumb as a rock.

But regardless you turned around and began to sprint towards the spawn instead of away, angling your weapon so that you would have the perfect angle to go for her collarbone. 

Yet as soon as you locked her on as a target, her eyes went wide with..fear? She was a vampire spawn, surely she’d had a few of her victims fight back yes? Was this her first hunt? 

Soon you realized that wasn’t the case at all as you felt a chill run down your spine. Even now with all his power, it wasn’t hard for you to identify the presence now standing menacingly right behind you. The familiar smell of bergamot filled your senses with the closeness. You could feel his chest pressed against your back. You didn’t know what kind of face Astarion was making right now, but whatever it was, it terrified the vampire spawn, her form now shaking and cowering before her master. 

Funny. Even now after everything, you couldn’t find astarion scary. You probably should, considering how he just appeared behind you. But after everything you still couldn’t. 

There was no point in delaying this any further. You turn around, and as you do his eyes immediately move from the spawn back to you. And his gaze softened. Before this whole ordeal that single action probably would have caused you to melt. But now it was different. You had already resigned yourself to being without him. You couldn’t turn back time. You couldn’t save him. All you could do now was try and find a way forward. And you certainly wouldn’t find that staring into his crimson eyes. 

This felt awful. You felt awful. Walking away from him now didn’t feel like closure, it felt like someone had just stopped writing on the page mid-sentence. But you had to stop. Just stop. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life like this, mourning what you lost. Astarion would have an eternity to forget about you, but you only had this one life. And for the first time in a long time, you finally felt like you wanted to move forward with your life. To start living again. You were still mad. And upset. And it still hurt. But you wanted to get better. 

So you turned around, not looking at Astarion, and left. Walked right past him without saying a word. You didn’t know what he would do. Let you leave and forget you ever existed? Grab your arm and try to talk again? Decide he had had enough and just drain you dry? You honestly had no idea anymore. But you knew one thing.

You wouldn’t be the one to look back.

[the-common-cowgirl]

The Art of Intimacy

Pairings: Aemond x Wife (Reader) x Brothel Madame

Summary: Aemond asks the Madame for help in conceiving an heir

Warnings: Smut (I don’t even know what to tag because it’s like all of it), Religious Guilt, Misogyny, Weird threesome dynamics, Power Dynamics, Eliteism

Word Count: 3462

A/N: Don’t read this. It’s depraved.

“You neglect your wife,” she smirks in a triumphant manner, “and now you ask me to help repair your marriage.”

His frustration is boiling just beneath the surface of his cool exterior, “I wish not for you to repair anything, for nothing is broken. I simply ask you to aid me in my task.”

Her brow raises and a crooked smile plays upon her lips, “In providing you an heir,” thinly veiled amusement on her face threatens to crack as she adds, “finally?”

Back in your chambers, you slowly ready yourself for bed, alone; it is always this way. Aemond has neglected his duty to his house and to you since your wedding night. A rushed consummation resulted in his inability to spill his seed into you but consummation enough that your maidenhead was broken and you found yourself in a strange predicament. Sullied for any other lord but your position within the house of your husband’s not secured due to lack of heir or even, a possibility of an heir. For eight moons, your womb had not quickened and your bed remained cold. For eight moons, the court gossipped about your inability, not knowing it was not for a lack of trying on your part. Eight long moons, you tried to bring your husband to bed and for eight moons, he denied you on the cusp of completion. You grew weary and anxious as the days passed steadily, unsure of when you were to be dismissed from the Red Keep and sent to live as a Septa. Discarded. 

Soon into your marriage you learned of your husband’s depravities. Venturing to a specific brothel in the heart of Flea Bottom and his taste for older women. He would never admit it, not even when you confronted him about his whereabouts on those nights he could not muster the courage to bed you after you pleaded so needy into his ear, rubbing your hand along the hard length straining just beneath his trousers. And, of course, he never admitted his great sin but your harsh confrontation unfortunately led to your inevitable confession that you had him followed by a page boy - you never did see the page boy again.

You thought of all of this into the night, long after you had dismissed your maids and as you were finishing your readings for the night. You flipped the page in your book as you heard the door to your chambers swing open without a knock. Glancing up, you see your husband striding toward you with purpose and an older woman in tow. You do not rise, nor greet him as he enters for over these eight moons, your respect for him diminished slowly until it became completely void of space in your heart. You do not care that he is Prince Regent to the Seven Kingdoms, Heir to the Iron Throne (after poor Jaehaerys’ Death three moons prior), and nor do you care that he is your Lord Husband. He is also a Kinslayer, adulterer, and just simply a sinner, he deserves only to repent at your feet while he begs for the Gods’ and your forgiveness. 

“Wife,” he greets you finally when he is looming over you, casting a shadow over your book, ‘Histories of the Westerlands.’

You look up toward his downcast face which held no emotion or hint to why he might be calling upon you in this hour. Has he finally come to cast you out? Is this older woman here to escort you to a carriage that will bring you to your new life as a Septa? “Husband,” two can play this game and you choose to appear emotionless as well, despite the part of you that wants to scream at him and throw your book at his arrogant eye and curse you for not blessing your womb with security in these precarious times. 

He turns to the woman, gesturing toward her and then looking back toward you with a strange purpose to his stance, “I’ve brought her to help us.”

You peer around Aemond’s legs to the woman. She is plump, mature, with long brown hair cascading over her shoulder. You secretly wonder if this woman is the same type of woman he visits in the brothels and if he’d fuck her given the chance. She’s dressed no more as a maid, though, and Aemond would be stupid to bring a woman like that into your chambers, your space, your sanctuary. “I have no need for a maid tonight,” you speak to the woman directly, “I do not know what need my husband believes I have for you, but you may go.”

The woman simply smirks and looks at Aemond as they share a knowing glance. A shiver runs through your body, not understanding what the ruse is. “Aemond?”

“She is here to help our…marital…situation,” Aemond explains in a prudish and vague manner. 

Your brows furrow as confusion is etched quite clearly across your face, and the woman takes this as her que to step in and explain for Aemond.

“Your husband has explained to me your troubles,” she takes two steps forward and Aemond moves aside for her as if he is not the Prince of the Realm. “The lack of heir-”

You interrupt her, setting your book down harshly as a hateful bile rises in your throat with your words, “‘Tis not for my lack of trying.” Your eyes shoot daggers sideways toward your husband before you turn your glare to her, “but I digress. This is not a matter to discuss with some simple maid. Be out of here, now!” You point toward the doors to your chambers but the woman does not move, instead, she clasps her hands in front of herself and sighs contentedly. 

Aemond sets his warm palm on your shoulder and it takes everything within you to not shrug it off and smack his face with the book you had been reading. Your angry glare and fixed jaw is enough for him to know you will not go into this plan easily. “She is no maid,” he admits, “she is a brothel madam and she is here to help us conceive an heir.”

You feel it. You feel your face blanch. You feel betrayal grasp and twist your heart. How could he vex you so? How could he bring her here? Your vision becomes like a tunnel as your body tenses in shock. “Aemond,” you speak as if a ghost, “Aemond, you did not bring her here.” Disbelief is etched into every fiber of your being as you stare into his lone eye, searching for his lie.

She steps forward again and you’re suddenly aware that she’s too close. Your eyes wield pain as you stand defensively between your husband and his madame. She looks at you with resolve as she speaks her next words of truth, “Darling, this is your last chance to secure your position in this family. You either accept my help or soon enough, you will be replaced.”

Her words strike you where they meant to and you feel a shudder run through your being as you understand that she’s unfortunately correct. You look to Aemond and he only stares down at you, waiting for your answer. “Is this what I must do? Accept the help of your whore?”

His top lip quivers in an irritated manner at your crude question before answering, “You must do what you must to ensure your duty is fulfilled.”

You lean in close, whispering so close as you say, “Must I account for your inability as well?”

He does not answer before he grabs your forearm and leads you swiftly toward your bed, throwing you face first onto the soft covers before turning to the madame, “Prepare her to do her duty to the realm.” He glares sideways toward you before he leaves the room, “I do not want to be waiting when I come back.” With that, the doors to your room shut and you were alone with the madame.

She smiled at you softly as she made her way toward the bed. You righted yourself quickly in her presence as you held onto what little dignity your husband left you with. Sitting on the edge of the bed, glaring at the woman before you. “What must you do to ensure I am to become with child?”

She smiled with a kind, motherly smile as if a child were to ask the most ignorant of questions and it made you feel small, inferior; something that made your stomach turn uneasily. You hate how this woman dominates the space she holds as if she weren’t some common born scum from Flea Bottom. “I am to prepare you, girl.”

You scoff, “I have been thoroughly prepared by my Septas and mine own mother. I know how a child is conceived, yet, the Princes vexes me. ‘Tis his inability, not mine, that leaves us without an heir.”

She laughs, “He worries to corrupt something so pure and ignorant-”

“Do not call me ignorant!”

She holds up her hands in defense, “My apologies Princess, I only mean- he is not enticed by a woman who lies on her back and awaits him to finish. He simply,” she searches for the right phrase before speaking, “has tastes for the finer things.”

You scoff yet again, “And yet he seeks you out.”

She nears the bed and your resolve slowly crumbles, “He seeks me out because I am knowledgeable in the art of intimacy. He’s brought me here to teach you.” Her hand reaches out to play with a stray strand of hair beside your face, “If you heed my lesson, you will secure your position as his wife.”

“Your lesson is?” Trepidation heavy under your thick voice.

She smirks softly, her eyes half-lidded, “It is best to show you, my darling.” She kneels slowly, at your feet as you sit on the edge of the bed, “May I?”

This went against everything you had been taught, everything you had ever believed. The pact between a man and wife was supposed to be sacred, nothing and no one was to come between. Yet here you were, with Aemond’s madame kneeled at your feet, in your chambers and preparing you for your husband in a manner you did not quite yet know. You knew that ‘no’ was the correct answer. You knew what you were meant to, taught to say…yet you nod slowly, “If this- if this is what he wants.” The realm is at war. A war brews inside your husband daily. You need to secure an heir by any means necessary and if this is what little Aemond succor Aemond gives you, you must take it.

She nods before slowly running her fingertips along your ankles, calves, and the outside of your thighs as she bunches up your skirts slowly, keeping her eyes focused on your own. “Were you scared the first time he took you?”

You nodded, gulping down your anxieties, “Yes.”

“And did he make you feel good?”

You shook your head, she didn’t need to know more. You did not have to explain to her the way he breached you without preparation and the tears that streamed down your face and you tried, tried, to do your duty. You were meant to be a good wife, to lie back and accept the offering your husband was to give you on your wedding night; clearly, you were insufficient. 

She pushed you to lie back and your nightgown was bunched around your hips, smallclothes bared to this strange woman and an unfamiliar heat at your core from this precarious situation you found yourself in with her. “Did he touch you at all?”

Before you could answer with a ‘no,” you felt her trailing her fingertips lightly across your core. From your entrance, to your pearl, circling the button lightly, before trailing back down and repeating. “Like this? Princess, did he touch you like this?”

Your breathing elevated. This felt so wrong. It went against everything you had ever been taught but Gods, did it feel so right. “No,” you panted, “he did not.” 

You did not see her smirk as she opened your thighs wider and started rubbing gentle circles on your clothed pearl, hiking your legs up slowly onto the bed for easier access. “Did he use his mouth on you, Princess?”

You raised your head at the lewd and strange question, “Did he what-” but a moan escaped you before you could finish as you felt her tongue lick a broad stripe up your clothed core. Your head tilted back and you moaned at the sensation, having never felt something so crude and so right at the same time.

“A man must thoroughly prepare you, Princess, in order for the act to feel pleasurable.” Her words barely breached your buzzing ears as your body felt aflame. Having never felt a sensation such as this, you felt suspended in midair, like a marionette on display and this woman pulled all your strings. She licked over your clothed entrance while her thumb rubbed over your pearl and a deep want bubbled in your belly, a longing for something more, something deeper.

“Your husband will be pleased with how pliant you’ve become,” she smiles against your small clothes, “and so quickly I might add.”

Your moan turned into a throaty groan, “Do not- do not speak of him.” Your hand came to cover your eyes, trying to wash away the memory as you only wanted to remain here, on this bed, now. 

 Just then, the doors to your chambers opened and you turned your head to catch a glimpse of Aemond striding through. Shame washed over you and you tried to move away from the woman between your legs as he walked toward the both of you as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on; as if he expected it. 

Observed that you were still clothed as he spoke, “I thought I told you to have her ready for me when I returned?” He walked toward your bed, sitting down in a chair behind the madame in his robes, and only then, did you realize that he was no longer dressed in his leathers. In addition to this, as he sat, you saw a glimpse of his hardened length standing proudly between his legs. The sight was so foreign to you despite the fact you thought about it, him, nearly every night. 

“The princess is harder to prepare than you,” she glanced behind herself toward him, “I see that is not the case tonight though, my Prince.”

He sighed in frustration as he motioned back toward you, “Then carry on. I’ll watch.”

She smiled, “A fine idea, my Prince.” She turned back toward you and smiled, “Princess, now I believe it is time to bare yourself to your husband. Might I ask you to remove your smallclothes for me?”

Trepidation crept through your body, for an odd reason, being nude with him watching this act felt more sinful than committing it. Slowly, you pulled your nightgown from over your head. Your nipples began to pebble in the cool night air and the madame yanked your smallclothes from your body as you raised your hips and allowed her to. You were soon nude before your husband, this woman and the Gods who condemned you; oh how they would condemn you. 

“Lie in the middle of the bed Princess, I’ll-”

“No,” your husband protested just above a whisper. You both looked at him, “Stay there. I’d like to see her pretty cunt as you feast upon it.” The madame smiled toward him knowingly as you stared ahead at your husband’s lust blown eye, only broken from your reverie when you felt the madame’s lips upon your bare cunt. Furrowing your brows and releasing a high pitched moan, you threatened to fall back into the bed but you heard, whether in the back of your mind or subconsciously, “No, look at me.” And you struggled, but you tried to keep eye contact with your husband across the room as the woman between your thighs feasted on your dripping core. Every so often, his eye would cast down to where her lips connected with you and every so often, your eye fell down to where his hand stroked his hard leaking length in a slow, tight grip as his mouth hung agape.

Suddenly, you felt a slow fullness breach your core and looked down to the woman’s pretty head to see her easing a finger into you. Your eyes met Aemond’s again and then you looked to his throbbing cock with a hopeful, eager excitement that soon enough, the woman’s delicate finger would be replaced with his masculine length. 

Her fingers slowly massaged a spot within you that had your body aching with a need to burst. Your legs shook and you moaned as she added a second finger. The full ache was polite and experienced, soft yet accurate. Your body reacted to her mistrations quickly and you felt the need either to bury your face into the crook of your arms in shape or beg for this feeling for the rest of your life.

Feeling your legs shake with need and a burning in your belly, you lost all resolve and fell back onto the plush bed as an extreme euphoria burst within you and all tension snapped. Your core pulsed around the madame’s lone finger and she lapped at your release greedily before she was eagerly pushed aside by Aemond who hauled your limp legs up onto his shoulders as he ran the thick head of his cock along your still pulsing core and plunged into your quivering walls eagerly, allowing you no time to adjust before he began chasing his high greedily. 

The pain of his entry was not lost on you however, in the wake of your orgasm and with your excited need, it was welcomed. You felt so alive, so corrupted as he began to thrust into you in earnest, battering his hard member against the spot inside you to which madam had been teasing. You never truly felt as though you had come down from your high as another one built within you quickly. 

You realized that your eyes had been screwed shut since your euphoria and you opened them to see the madame whispering in Aemond’s ear as he leant over you, pulling you by your waist to meet his thrusts with much force. What she was whispering, you did not know but soon, her hand met your ribcage and traveled upward to cup your breasts while speaking dirty nothings into Aemond’s ear as she cupped your bouncing breast, as if showing him your body, as if talking him through his act on your flesh. 

Her fingers pinched your nipple hard and a moan escaped you as you clenched your core in response. Aemond seemed enthralled by that action as his eye went wider and he smiled breathing, “Gods- fuck- yes. Yes, I want to.”

What he was answering was forgotten to you as you lost yourself into another blinding orgasm, clenching your core tightly as you moaned his name and arched your back off of the bed. With two more thrusts, he caught himself with a hand beside your head as his mouth went agape and you buried himself uncomfortably to the hilt before spurting his hot seed deep within you. 

You felt his body shudder as he slowly laid his spent body down atop you and made you bear his broad weight. His head tucked into your neck as his hot panting fanned your artery. You looked to the madame who was kneeling behind him, hand near his nether region, moving in a caressing manner as  before he shuddered and slowly removed himself from you. 

She moved from the bed first as he wrapped himself in a robe and deposited a hefty sack of coins in her palm. “You will never speak of this.” 

She bowed her head with a smile, “Never my prince. No one will know how the future king was created, nor who helped.”

He stared at her for a few seconds in growing agitation before dismissing her.

 Aemond walked to the side of the bed and knelt beside your spent form. His finger reached out to caress the skin above your empty womb in a hopeful way.

“‘Tis sinful, for a child to be created in this way.” You spoke with a deep regret for the act that had just transpired.

Aemond hummed, without looking toward you, “The Gods tell us all intimacy is sinful, how then, is anyone meant to be born?”

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