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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 7 months ago

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours.

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

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azzibuckets · 7 months ago

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now that we don’t talk part 1 [paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige break up and neither of you know how to move on properly with your life

a/n: decided to go for some angst again…didn’t really have an aim or a direction when writing this so not sure if i should turn this into a series or not ? lmk what yall think

word count: 1.5k

masterlist | next

The First Week

In the first week, Paige had fallen into her daily routine. Her moments of forgetfulness were instinctual; she’d laid a dollop of minty Crest toothpaste on her blue toothbrush before doing the same thing to your red one, leaving it hanging over the edge of the counter.

The first time she did it, she’d hadn’t even noticed. It was only when she’d turned her mouth to catch the water under the faucet that she’d spotted your toothbrush that she’d set up, ready with Crest, as if you’d pop in any moment to stick it in your mouth and start scrubbing. Paige had almost choked on the water she’d been gurgling, grief worming its way up her throat and making it hard to breathe.

Heaving, she’d stood over the sink, hand gripping both sides of the counter to support herself until her knuckles turned white. It took all her strength not to buckle over from the precipitous wave of agony that had collided into her with gut-wrenching speed.

But for some reason, Paige had stuck your toothbrush under the stream of water then placed it carefully back in its cup. And so she’d made the same mistake the day after. This time, when she realized what she’d done, it wasn’t the weight of sadness that compressed her lungs, but a brewing storm of fury. Her vision had gone red, and she’d grabbed the toothbrush and hurled it against the wall as hard as she could, with a strength that she didn’t even know that she’d still had. And this time, when Paige stared at the toothpaste dripping slowly down the wall, mocking her as it made a mess on the floor, the counter couldn’t save her. She’d succumbed to the force of her fury dragging her down, and had crumpled to the floor, sobs racking her body.

The First Month

Your room was dark, in almost sub-freezing temperatures with the windows wide open to welcome in the frosty, bone-chilling winter air that Connecticut was known for. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of your laptop screen, opened live to the UConn women’s basketball game playing live on ESPN.

At first, you’d attempted to be nonchalant whenever Paige sunk yet another basket with ease, making the crowd and commentators going feral as she celebrated with her signature moves. But as the game between UConn and Stanford got closer and closer, you couldn’t help but smile when Paige crossed over her defense, sending them flying to the floor and leaving her wide open to score yet another 3. It reminded you all too well of the Paige you’d met and fallen in love with, whose confidence on the court had made you start viewing her as more than just your teammate.

But any trace of smile on your face quickly vanished once you watched Paige’s post-game interview during the livestream. “You’ve had quite a run this season despite being out for most of your sophomore and junior year due to injury. Who would you like to thank for your unpredented comeback?”

“I’d like to thank God. He’s been with me through everything, given me trials to test my resilience. In fact, he’s made me stronger than ever.” Paige had paused. You’d recognized her hesitance; the way she nibbled her bottom lip, her mouth half open as she debated a response, the uncertainty in her eyes as they flickered. But she seemed to recover from any reluctance, and what she said next made your heart drop. “I’d also like to thank my girlfriend, Leslie.” She motioned to someone off camera, and soon the frame was filled with tousled brown hair and soft green eyes.

Paige pulled her in close, and your world spun as you watched Paige, your Paige, press her lips against the brunette. Your hands had reached up to tear your headphones off your head, unable to further listen to the claps and hoots of the crowd along with the cooing of the commentators without feeling the need to throw up. But before you could, Paige had started speaking again. Your hands froze. You hated yourself for it, but you had to listen.

“She’s been with me through everything, from freshman year to now. She was my number one supporter when I got injured.” She wrapped her arm around Leslie’s waist, staring intently at the camera, and never before had you been this sickened staring at the blue eyes you’d once adored, could’ve spent hours getting lost in. “But even outside of my injury, Les has been on my side. Especially with all the immature drama that happened on the court last year, she was really a clear voice in all of that. So I’m pretty grateful for her.”

Leslie’s mouth split into a grin, and she turned to pull Paige in for another kiss, and that was when you slammed your laptop so hard that when you opened it the next morning, you were surprised to see that the screen hadn’t shattered.

You were not someone who cried. Your family members, your friends, Paige could all attest to that. But the torment that was clawing its way through your body, threatening to suffocate you, finally exploded. Tears had surged from your eyes, seemingly never ending, and you’d cried so much that night that it suddenly made sense why you’d almost never cried before; it was like all the tears in your life had been pent up, waiting for this moment, for when the pin fell.

That night was the lowest you’d ever felt in your life, and possibly even the lowest you’ve ever acted - blinded by a jealous rage over the girl that Paige had always promised you not to worry about, the girl Paige was basically making out with on live television just one month after you guys had broken up (and when it’d taken her two years to show PDA with you), you’d gone on all your social media accounts and blocked Paige on every single one of them.

Then an idea came to you. An act of retaliation that would hurt Paige as much as she hurt you. So you’d reopened Twitter, unblocked Paige. You’d scrolled until you found the perfect tweet. Your thumb had hovered for a split second over the like button, haunted by images of Paige’s hand trailing your stomach, her hair brushing your eyes, her mouth on your neck, before it was violently replaced by the image of Paige locking lips with the brunette flooding your mind, causing you to jam your thumb down with ferocity on the like button. You’d slammed the final nail in the coffin by deleting the app so that you couldn’t go back and undo your action before word got around to Paige.

The First Year

You thought you knew grief. You thought you’d familiarized yourself with every aspect of mourning: the realization in the morning, when your eyes open and you lose the blissful state of dreaming and you’re confronted with the harsh truths of the world. Or the late nights, when you’re restless and can’t sleep because of jealousy plaguing your mind. Even the deep longing of missing someone’s touch so bad that you swear that you can almost almost smell their perfume.

So you thought you knew grief - until your grandma died. It had been a matter of time. She’d had breast cancer, and for years now the doctors had been saying any time. But that still didn’t prepare you for the overwhelming pain that consumed all your senses, making it hard to think or eat or sleep or even breathe.

The first few nights after you received the news, you stared at the ceiling, unblinking until the early hours of the morning when the sun started creeping up through your windows. But you couldn’t even cry; you felt like a broken faucet. What the fuck was wrong with you? Sobbing over your stupid ex that you’d broken up with an entire year ago, but unable to shed a tear for your grandma, the woman who had single-handedly raised you. You were exhausted to the point of no return. When would everything stop hurting?

You’d only torn your eyes from your ceiling when your phone had lit up. It was 4 AM, and you wondered who it could be. You checked your phone, and every part of your body froze when you read the notifications.

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

I’m so sorry

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

I just heard the news

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

Don’t know if you’re even active on here anymore but it’s the only way I could reach you. If you see this, I just want to ask you to not keep your grief to yourself. Isolating yourself won’t make the pain go away. Make sure to talk to someone

Your heart had ached, your phone trembling in your hand. Because Paige had cared enough to send you a message, on the same app where you’d given the tabloids a wet dream and caused the UConn fandom to go into a spiral by liking a hate tweet about Paige. She’d cared enough to disregard all that to make sure you were okay. But she still hadn’t cared enough to offer to be that someone that she wanted you to talk to so bad.

So you’d left her on read, without responding. Had slipped back into your sheets, your head pounding and your lungs aching. This time the tears fell out easily.

#paige bueckers #uconnwbb #wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers x you #angst

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vivwritesfics · 7 months ago

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Fake It Till You Make It

Chapter Eight - What About The Party Princess?

The Princess of Monaco is wild and out of control. She needs to stop being in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Charles Leclerc has had a spot of bad press since his very public break up. He needs some good PR. What better way to fix their problems than to pair them up?

1.5K

The final chapter has arrived!! I can't believe we turned this from a long oneshot into a whole ass series

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There was a knock at her door.

The Princess of Monaco stood from her sofa (which, like the rest of her apartment, had been tidy two days ago. But she'd fallen apart all over again after that) and strode towards it. She didn't check through the peep hole as she pulled open the door.

Immediately she shut it in his face.

He knocked again. "Come on, Princess! Open up!"

But she returned to her sofa and turned up the volume on her television. Tucking her legs beneath her, she ignored it as he continued to knock.

But Charles wouldn't stop. "What the fuck have I done?" He shouted as his fist kept pounding away.

Her building had security. She could have called the security guard to have him taken from the building, but she didn't. He could knock all he wanted, but she wasn't going to answer

It hadn't even been a fight, had it? You can't have a lovers quarrel when you're not lovers.

Had they really been dating, they probably would have made up. She would have let Charles into her apartment had he would have given her flowers. Still, she would have pouted at him as he took her into his arms, apologising as he kissed all over her face.

But they weren't really dating.

As far as Charles was aware, she had disappeared, hidden herself away from him. There were no new news articles on her or what she was doing. She'd dropped off the face of the earth.

The news, of course, was based on the king. Staff gave updates when they could, but there wasn't a lot that they could say. He was dying, that much was clear, and nothing could fix it.

The Princess of Monaco hadn't visited her father yet. She was aware of his health condition, but she couldn't bring herself to see him in that condition. No matter what Henri tried to get her to come to the palace, she wouldn't, couldn't.

She'd stopped answering her phone. Between Henri and Charles, it was constantly going off. So, she switched it off, placed it in the drawers beside her bed, and forgot about it.

And then the black car came to pick it up. She knew the black car with the royal crest on it, had been picked up several times in it from strangers houses. When it came, she had no choice but to climb into the back, sitting silently as they drover her to the place she had grown up.

Henri greeted her at the door. "Took you long enough," he said with something like a kind smile.

One she didn't return. The fact that she was there, that somebody had come to get her from her apartment, it had to mean something. Had to mean he was at the end of his life.

"How is he?" She asked, but she knew the answer already.

Henri had his hand on her shoulder as he guided her towards their fathers room. "Before we go in there, I need you to ready yourself," he said. "It's not a pretty sight, but he wanted to see you before he died."

She swallowed and nodded her head. She was ready.

He was small and frail, a shell of the man he once was. Seeing him hooked up to so many machines, she wasn't sure if she could do this. Before he could open his eyes, she turned on her heel to walk out of the room.

"There you are," her father said through a cough.

Sucking in a breath she turned back towards him and took a seat in the chair next to his bed. "Hey, dad," she said.

He reached for her hand and she took his. "Your brother tells me you're getting married," he said and turned away to cough into his other hand. "I'm glad. You've always worried me and I'm glad you're finally settling down with that driver."

Her face fell. Charles. He was talking about Charles. Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. But she sucked in a breath. If this was what her father needed to her before he died, she would tell him.

"Yeah, dad," she said, voice squeaking a little. "Yeah, I'm marrying him."

A sad smile passed over her fathers face. "Your brother is going to make a wonderful king," he said, eyes shutting. "I never wanted that burden for you, but Henri can handle it. He was born for this."

She squeezed his hand, but he didn't squeeze back. "What was I born for, papa?"

His hand was shaking as he raised it to her cheek. "To be my perfect little girl."

She couldn't stop herself from crying as she stood from the chair and ran out of the room. As soon as she was out in the hall, Henri had a hold of her, pulling her into his chest. "Why did you tell him about Charles?" She sobbed against his shoulder.

Henri shushed her, his fingers moving through her hair. "He needed to hear it," he said softly as he pulled her towards his office.

"No," she said as she got to the doors. "No, Henri, I don't want one of your fucking meetings," she cried and went to storm away.

Henri let her go.

She hadn't expected to go to her own room. But there she sat, on her bed, stuffed toys on the end of it facing her.

Why did her dad have to mention Charles? She had loved him. Even if she was bad at showing it, she had fallen for him. And now he wasn't even in her life. She hadn't thought about marrying him. No, it had been too early for that. They weren't even together, so how was she supposed to marry him?

Maybe that was why she searching up his name.

The Monaco Press was the first thing to show up on her phone. She should have known better than to click on anything written by The Monaco Press but the headline caught her attention.

What About The Party Princess?

Formula One driver Charles Leclerc hasn't exactly been shy about showing off his relationship with the party princess. Expensive dinners where they book out entire restaurants, taking her across the world and back with him, having her attend races.

It seemed as though the world was happy for them. Princess Y/N was finally thriving.

At least, according to what the couple let us see.

It had been a while since anybody saw Monaco's couple out and about together. This didn't seem like too big of a deal. They were busy people with their own lives still. We at The Monaco Press didn't think much of it.

Which is why we were all shock and a little heartbroken to see Charles Leclerc out to dinner with...

There was a knock at the door, pulling her attention away from her old laptop. Henri leaned against the door frame, eyes red with unshed tears. "Uh, the doctor said it should only be a matter of days," he said and wiped at his eyes. "I think you should stay here until he... goes."

"Hen-"

"Please," he begging, joining her on the bed. "For me."

Those few days at the palace were the worst of her life. Just waiting for death to come for her father. And it did. Three days after she'd told him she was marrying Charles Leclerc, he passed away.

His family had been gathered by his bedside. His wife was crying, his son crying with her. But not his daughter. She stared down at him as he took his final breath, hands shoved into her pockets.

A bitter and twisted feeling filled her. She'd lied to him. The last thing she'd said to her father was a lie, and she'd never get a chance to fix it. He'd been so proud when he thought she was going to marry Charles, but it hadn't been real. Pride born of a lie isn't really pride at all.

She went back to her apartment that night and cried. How could she be in the palace when her fathers body was there, when the staff was rushing around to make a statement and funeral arrangements?

She cried so hard that she threw up.

And, when she was finished, she pulled her phone out of the drawer and looked at her messages.

Only the ones from Charles, she couldn't looking at what Henri had sent to her before their father died.

Charles had sent her so many messages, given her so many chances. And she'd ignored all of them. But that final message. Oh, she was going to be sick all over again.

I can't do this when I love you, princess

All of this over something so fucking stupid. If she'd just let him in that night, she'd have him here now, comforting her as she cried. She'd be able to kiss him when she wanted, wouldn't have to read articles about him on dates with other girls.

Desperately she typed, sending several messages all at once, begging him for something. Forgiveness. Another chance. Something.

All of them were left undelivered.

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penvisions · 1 month ago

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 23}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to heal in the safety of the Crest, as you travel alongside Din once again.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, kissing, descriptions of the male body, din djarin y'all. those are the ones i can think of, i'm so sleepy

A/N: been recovering from a tooth extraction and needed a little comfort / happiness. so please enjoy this baby chapter that doubles as an interlude before the series picks back up. love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

The hum of your lightsaber is a quiet one as you practice smooth movements to illuminate the grove of tall trees you’re in the midst of, slicing through the open air of the field to allow you to see in every direction. The sun had set hours ago, the fire crackling still as Din and ad’ika are settled on the other side of the clearing. Both nodded off, as they sit around it with remnants of a giant bird that had been hunted and roasted over it for dinner. Eyes follow the white of your blade, the energy flowing strongly so much so that it lifts the fine hairs on the back of your neck and prickles your skin.

But there’s no one around, even if you think of the shuffling sound that alerted your senses from your own idle relaxation.

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” The deep rumble of Din’s voice calls, still quiet though enough volume to trickle into your ears even as you strain to hear anything out of the ordinary. “I’m not picking up any heat signatures.”

“I could’ve sworn…” With the push of a button, the saber retracts, and you turn around to face the man where he’s sitting and leaning up against a fallen trunk. Endor was alight with so much energy, left over from many battles of wartime that ravaged the world at one point in time. It had been a simple ask, from your lips to Din’s hears. The last sight of battle against the Empire. The last place you one of your own had been rumored to be. Though that was years ago, the energy still lingered. Strong and sparkling all around. It was hard to focus on what was real and what was whispers from the past.

Everything was all so much, you took a deep breath as you engaged your saber again. The white of it glows brightly even as you made your way a few steps into the tree line and ensured that your trio was truly safe. You trusted Din, you had faith in him to keep you safe but there was an underlying feeling of unease on this planet. If for no reason other than your own connection to the force and how it practically bathes everything in sheen here. The planet was one in a long list of those to visit, to search.

“The glow seems…brighter.” Din’s voice was a low velvet caress as you as you fit yourself beside him, close enough to feel the coolness of the beskar that protects his body. But he’s removed the left pauldron, that same arm wrapping around your shoulders and gently pulls you to rest your head against the thick flight suit he dons underneath. His questions are still more statements made that imply his curiosity, though he does outright ask you things in some instances.

But it’s never serious, not since that day he stood beside you as you buried your mother. You appreciate his caution, almost, but you feel…okay. For the most part, more connected with yourself. Despite taking her life, you don’t feel the pull of dark tendrils around your limbs and mind in the quiet darkness of the light or the moments when your brain recalls the ordeal that led to it.

“It’s the energy, it’s so concentrated here.”

“Is…there a reason for that? Beyond the battle taking place here.”

“It’s because he died here. Anakin.” You say his actual name, not the one you know he has taken on in his journey into the dark side. “He brought balance to the force after all the wreckage he caused, all the destruction he caused. It’s not…it’s not common knowledge but he a good man once. Tried to do good, but the Jedi, the teachings and disciplines….they were constricting. Open to interpretation that went against human nature.”

“You trained under him.” He knows that, from the confession you made the first time you headed toward Nevarro with him, at the request of a pleading Greef Karga.

“Yes, him and his master wanted me to train to take over eventually. But not when he was a Jedi, I had only glimpsed him over the couple years I was at the temple. There was a war going on, so many people in and out of those doors. So many Jedi all fighting and more training, more providing guidance and protection. A lost of masters and skilled individuals were lost. But only one Sith can be in power at a time, at full power. To kill your master gains you the title. Anakin…he was struggling even with the best medical aid. If he wasn’t in a bacta tank, he was…hooked up to a respirator and all kinds of support. I never asked what happened to him, but I always wondered if it happened during the attack on the temple. The one that he led.”

“But you didn’t kill him.” Din moves slightly, leaning back into the trunk of the tree he was sitting against more firmly before he helps to situate your legs across his lap. Fingers hidden in gloves trace down the length of your legs, swirling over your knees and down to where you ankles flashed as the fabric bunched up around the tops of your boots. He pulled everything back to cover you, hand tracing back up hooking around your left thigh to hold you to him. Safe, content, even as the conversation gains weight.

“No, when I found out their plans to begin the destruction of Mandalore, I intercepted the first few deployments. The first they chocked up to a mistake on the droids. The second, a judgement in error.”

A breeze picks up and makes its way through the small clearing, Din notices the way you tense and pulls you closer into his body. The beskar captures your heat from leaning against it and it warms you to feel the give of his sides in between the plates.

“Akiz, he fought alongside me. Once he was well enough, we tried our best to do what we could. But the last ship we took down, it was…too much for us to handle alone. Storm troopers managed to get a distress signal out and Moff Gideon came after us. He was lost in the crash, too injured to move without causing more damage. He…he gave me his helmet and told me to run. I barely made it out myself. The gunfire alone, the smoke, the fire, all of it was too much. But it gave some people time to get out, to relocate.”

“Is that when you fled to Tatooine?” The deep tone of his voice washed over you, the attentiveness he exhibited and the questions he had begun to seek answers to soothing your heart, your mind. He was engaging in a way he hadn’t been previously, had said he was unaccustomed to. It made you giddy, that he was willing to ask and converse with you more freely, little jokes sneaking in here and there during the lighter moments. Care and concern cloaking the darker moments.

“Figured the desert was the easiest place to get lost in. They wouldn’t send droves of people to search the sands for one person. Resources were abundant, but not enough for that. I was considered a ‘calculated loss’ at that point. The damage I did outweighing the worth I was to them.”

“I was there a few years before the Empire fell. Once I got the news, I fled home and well, you know how that turned out…”

“But you did good, took out what you could. Helped my people to get to safety, to flee.”

“I could’ve done more, I should’ve done more.” You can’t help the heat that tinges your words, emotions strong on the matter, on the memories. There was so much, so many small things that couldn’t been done or done differently. A dangerous free fall that would once awaken the dark tendrils that lay dormant in the corners of your mind. But since Maldovan, you hadn’t felt the pull of them, the motion of them slithering about and biding their time. They were gone, or at least, they didn’t seem to bother you as much.

“You did what you could, that is enough.” He assures you, his voice holding so much emotion even through the modulator. Soothing you and making sure you understand that what you did do was enough, that it was more than enough. Forsaking what could’ve been done was a dirty business and he knew it all too well.

“You and your space sword.” He jostles you a bit, hand running up and down your arm to keep you warm as another breeze flits by. He thinks he’s funny, you know this because the same rumbling chuckle sounds in his chest as when he had first used the term. There’s no use fighting the smile that pulls at your lips, affection blooming in your chest.

“Wish I had one of those pulse rifles, like you.” You can’t help the slight whine that coats your voice, it was always a lavish thought, to purchase one of your own. “Could cause some good damage with one of those.”

“I’m sure you could, mesh’la.” His laughter echoes around the small clearing and your heart skips a beat, he’s so carefree right now. So at ease and it makes you wish for more moments exactly like it.

“Your laughter makes me happy.” Voice dipping, you reach up to plant both of your hands atop his shoulders and shift to straddle his lap. There’s a twitch against the inside of your thighs that sparks flames across your skin despite the chill of the night air. “It’s such a good sound, ikaad.”

Baby.

“Is that a new nick name?” His big hands wrap around your hips, keeping you steady in his lap, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. He presses his forehead to yours, the coolness of the helmet causing a shudder to race down your spine. He pulls you flush against him, his rough action hitches your breath and it fogs up the front of the helmet.

“Do you like it?” You ask, hesitancy underlying your words even as you press your hands to the sides of his helmet and begin to lift it. Eyes closed, you can hear the compression hiss as you pull it away from him. His hands reach up, helping to guide yours to set it down beside you both. There’s a rustle of fabric, the hiss of leather and then you feel his bare fingers cradle one side of your face while the other spreads across your lower back.

He chuckles once again at the hitch of your breath, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and tighten your eyes against the sensation of his skin against yours. His nose brushes yours, his lips a hairsbreadth away, the feel of them so close making you dizzy.

“Moan it into my mouth and we’ll find out.”

And then his lips are on yours.

You take a seat at the makeshift table, fingers trailing over the cabinets and side paneling that have been left open to reveal the caf maker on your way over to it. There's steam rising from the back of it, from the mechanics inside that heat up the water and transform the condensed grounds into caf. Scenting the air and making your heart calm. you hadn't loaded it up nor pressed the button to it up, but Din had.

The hush of water sounding from the fresher tells you where the man in question had disappeared to. The warmth of his body and the comfort of it pressed to had disappeared from the bed and woken you up from your deep slumber.

The helmet he dons is sitting there in the middle of the table, the beskar glowing in the low light it catches. You take a sip of your steaming drink, just a little sip before you reach for it and cradle it in your hands.

The artistry of it is immaculate. Beautiful. You see him in the visor even if he's not behind it. Feel the energy of him in it even if it's not secure over his head. It's a part of him, it's the first thing you had seen of him. It was him, in a way.

Peering inside as you tip it slightly, the panels lining the inside of it glow as the power coursing through them picks up on the energy tingling your entire body. Gentle fingers trace them, feeling the delicate and careful positioning. You didn't dare lift one up to explore underneath, not wanting to activate anything or disrupt anything on accident.

The sound of the shower shutting off barely registers as you continue to look over the precious thing in your hands. You don't know how long you do nor do you register the figure that steps out of the fresher. Eyes focused and mind at peace as your thoughts wander over the skills that went into the creation and forming of the helmet, of the man who wears it.

You wonder if...the Creed is something you would be willing to take, if given the chance.

If it had been offered to you before your master's had found you in the marketplace that fateful day of your childhood. If your mother would have been just as willing to send you away if it meant you'd give up your purchase on what little your family name had and let you go with those who sought you out. She had been hesitant with the Jedi, mulling it over for weeks before she had made the decision to let you go in search of something greater than what she could offer you on K'ath. A blacksmith's daughter, an armorer in training from her own shaping. But that didn't deter you from holding onto your adoration for the skills, the handiwork and devotion it took. You had cultivated it even amidst the jedi, their lack of need for armor or weapons at odds with the interest you held.

You had been so young, it had been a rare instance of intense interest. The man who had seen the power of the Force flowing strongly through you, the easy direction of such casual in the way you had been idly playing with shells laid out before you and the tools of your trade. And then the journey to where you are now had begun. Taken away on a long travel, the first time you had ever been in hyperspace had been something mesmerizing. You hadn’t asked many questions on the way to Coruscant, you had merely followed closely behind the Jedi Master that had seen the potential in your younger self. Even younger than those around you once you were placed amidst a group of six or seven other children. An age gap of four to five years separating you. You had only been six at the time, far too young for the world you had been taken to be a part of.

But despite that, you can recall so clearly the trainings and the meetings, endless conversations about your life and past. The attachments you may have had beyond your mother and if you had any other family they might be able to trace to see how the concentration of your blood was so strongly suited for the life that had become your own.

It had been dizzying, going from a humble life as a blacksmith’s daughter on the mostly oceanic world of K’ath.

But the Mandalorian's....they prided themselves in the armor they dressed in, created rituals around it. The metal it's comprised of was revered, respected, a culmination of everything you felt with the artistry and creation of even the most basic of metal and armor. The man that Din was, the values he held and tried his best to let guide his life...even if the bounty hunting was a little more black and white, a simple way to provide means for his remaining people, his covert...they were admirable. He was admirable. A good man. At the very core of who he was.

The Creed he had sworn...it was something you had been thinking over a lot. Asking him gentle questions here and there as you mulled over specifics and recalled memories of doing the same with Akiz. The man whose last name you had adapted while on the run with him. He hadn't offered you to take his religion, but he had taught it to you, allowed you any knowledge you had sought after to the best of his ability. But there was a clear distinction between the faction he and Din practiced and that prominent on Mandalore. That had been prominent on Mandalore. Even so...the itch was there, to explore it and consider it as an option to truly become more like the person you thought yourself to be.

There was no reason for you to seek a new identity, not now with the royalty of what was almost your life vouching for you with the New Republic and clearing whatever record you had accumulated. Din too, they had vouched for, in regards to the connection with the job you had both worked for his old crew that seemed to be ages ago now...

He's been going without it more, the helmet. When ad'ika is asleep or occupied in the upstairs cabin, his penchant for meditation picked up from you despite his smaller attention span. You had conveyed to him the feeling of the Force and calmly let it flow through your mind, pushing the feeling into his own carefully and showing him some of the faces you recall. Hoping he could practice reaching out, because you had questions too. There didn't seem to be...anyone and it was a rather lonely realization. You had knowledge, but very little from the time you had trained as a girl to the time you had spent with Moff Gideon in his base, with those who were building you up to learn the darker path...

"You look so beautiful, ner kar'ta." Din's deep, unmodulated voice breaks your silent reverie. You don't look up from the helmet in your hands, the scented steam from his wash wafting into the open space of the hold now that he's leaned up against the doorway. Heat floods your face, his unabashed compliment spurring butterflies in your stomach and tingles in your chest.

You ache for him, you had done it back on Maldovan and every day since. Even as he lays beside you each night and cares for you and adi'ka in the ways he knows how. A quiet job he's determined to keep up even in the hard moments, the low moments, the ones where your aversion to touch and conversation flares and your memory fizzles. Actual jobs were slow right now, more focused on beginning the search for other Jedi, others who had been able to devote their life to the ways you had only been beginning to.

You still hadn't looked upon his face, doubt still lingering despite everything you've been through together in nearly a year.

It is a big step, it is a big decision. Monumental, in more ways than one. Words that meant so much shared between you both, for each other. The vows he had written down in your notebook for you to look over, what he recalled from listening to his fellow people in the covert. Spoken word the only way they persevered as they did. He had wanted to share them with you, have you look over them and contemplate them. He wasn’t asking, he wasn’t pushing, it was simply a way for him to express himself and let you come to him slowly in your own time.

But you look up now and you see the shock wash over his features as your eyes take him in.

Tension fills the hold, thickening the air and the tingling in your chest grows as you greedily take in his features.

His skin is bronze all over, you've seen it before. Flashes of it about the cuffs and neckline of his suit, full swaths of it as he lay in bed beside you in his underclothes or sleepwear he’s begun to walk around in on a regular basis. Seen all of it bared, in that one instance he had indulged you in booking a stay instead of returning to the ship… Felt it before with your wandering hands, against your own skin. Both in innocent settings and some that spark thick, syrupy desire low in your middle…

Stray droplets from his wash catch the dull light as he's in nothing but a pair of flight pants, slung low on his narrow hips. Strong arms that are crossed over his chest make your stomach flip. His neck is thick, shoulders broad, skin littered with silvery scars that tell of his past. A strong jaw you only glimpsed at before is now traced by your eyes adorned with dark scruff, his plush lips parted slightly as he almost freezes in his spot. You had felt those lips on your own, the way they moved desperately against you. Conveying so much in a moment when nothing felt like it would be right ever again.

"You're beautiful too." The words are barely a whisper, but they spur him into movement. He's pushing off from the door frame and crossing the space in three long strides. His hands reach and you don't flinch as they wrap around your ribs and help to pull you up from your seat. He simply holds you as you gaze up at him, eyes taking him in and his own roving over your steadily growing smile.

He’s so beautiful, the man standing before you. The man who, when you first met, never anticipating meaning anything to you. But he’s all you want, all you need, he’s…he’s home for you. The reason behind no place ever feeling quite right, the hiding spots you created for yourself just shy of being accommodating. Off kilter in the way that the space inside his ship isn’t. He’s given you so much with his simple disregard for a bounty out on you so long ago, his own actions allowing this feeling to flourish into what it is now. He’s safety, he’s protection, he’s…he’s your heart.

“Ner kar’ta, you’re so beautiful.” You feel the rough palms of his hands rove up to cup your face, his wide eyes so brown and sparkling in a way that you were sure was reserved just for you. Thoughtful in a way most people wouldn’t expect of the man, the Mandalorian – a feared and renowned bounty hunter.

But right now he wasn’t that man, right now he was Din Djarin. The one who had helped you to reclaim your life back, to give you options when there didn’t seem to be anymore to consider. He was the one who had helped you to reclaim so much that you had lost, even things you hadn’t realized.

“You’re too kind, mesh’la,” His head ducks a bit, gaze focused on the pulse he could surely see jumping in the column of your neck. Thick curls tumble, the water still soaked into the tresses smelling so sweet and exactly like you. You can’t help the urge to reach up and run your fingers through them, delighting in the flutter of his long lashes as his eyes close. A deep hum sounds from within his chest, almost vibrating through you with now you’re held so close to him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” And oh it’s so beautiful the way you see the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as his face breaks into an almost shy smile. Eyes wide and earnest as they flutter open in response to your whispered sentiment. The hitch of his breath visible as his chest rises with it and the way his lips nearly tremble as he dips down to capture your own. The words repeated and breathed into you as his strong nose brushes against yours and his hands curling around face. “Gar're ner yaim.”

I love you. You’re my home.

He kisses you, again and again. His lips a soft pressure that makes your heartbeat fast in your chest and you can’t help but tangle your fingers in his damp hair, returning them with as much fever. His own hands, his warm palms trail over the column of your neck to your shoulders. Stirring tingles to dance across the bare skin exposed in your sleepwear of a tank top and shorts.

“Bal gar cuyir pal'vut.” He pulls back just enough to trail his soft lips along your jaw breathing words into the skin there. You can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck as he begins to nip and lave his tongue down your neck, seeking and praising you in the most intimate way. Your muscles shake as you resist the urge to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, resist the urge to lean in and use your own teeth along the golden planes of his chest. As if reading your thoughts, his arms loop down below your arms, your waist and grab at the back of your thighs. Large hands so secure against the give of them he hauls you up into his hold and begins to walk you towards the open door.

Lips meet lips in deepening kisses, almost desperate and urgent as heat begins to swirl in your belly and arousal tingles brightly across every inch of skin that touches his. Small groans and panting breath bubbling up and are swallowed as his words echo in your head.

And you are mine.

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@moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @feral-ferrule

@bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77

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lovely graphics provided by @/saradika-graphics and @/cafekitsune

#dev writes #fic: of beskar and kyber #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfic #din djarin series #star wars #star wars fanfiction #jedi culture #mandalorain culture #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fandom

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aerynwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Send Me an Angel - Chapter 1

Halsin x Fem!Angel!Reader

A/N: So so so excited to reveal this little series to you guys! Had this idea and with some wonderful brainstorming help from @thedreamlessnights it is finally coming together! Hope you all enjoy <3

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Reader is described using she/her pronouns in this part, female reader, canon typical gore/injuries, hurt/comfort.

Halsin's POV

The night, as all of them have been since arriving here, is cold.

The Shadow-Cursed Lands are just as he remembers them, if not worse. And, despite having saved Thaniel and reunited him with Oliver, his mind still feels heavy with the burden of this place.

That’s why he stands here now, at the edge of the protective barrier of Last Light, eyes turned up towards the stars. Here, they are the only things of nature that are not corrupted by the shadows, and perhaps in these times of need, Halsin is silently seeking guidance from the celestial beings.

He’s been outside for some time, lost in his own thoughts, and is just about to turn back towards the inn when a faint, flashing light in the sky gives him pause.

It looks like a star, at first, shining brighter in the blanket of night, winking at him as he gazes upwards. But as he continues to watch, Halsin realizes that the star is moving - and it’s moving faster as each moment passes. It seems to tumble from the heavens, leaving a trail of starlight in its wake as it travels westward, towards the mountain pass.

Without much thought, Halsin’s feet carry him in the direction of the falling star, stopping only to grab a torch as he leaves the inn’s protection to head further into the Shadowlands. He tries his best to follow the star, but as it hurtles across the sky and gets closer and closer to the towering trees, he starts to lose sight of it. The only evidence that it makes it to earth are the sudden tremors beneath his feet.

The star has landed.

Halsin’s heart races in his chest as he travels toward the last place he’d seen it. And for reasons he can’t describe, he can feel something calling to him. A power like he’s never felt before seems to reach out and wrap around him as it pulls him through the decaying landscape.

Rocks crunch beneath his feet, dead tree branches rustle, and the only other sound he can hear is his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. These lands have always given him a sense of unease - a feeling that seems tenfold now as he wanders them alone.

He walks for much longer than he’d anticipated, and he’s worried for a moment that he has somehow passed by the impact site when an otherworldly glow starts to break through the trees as he crests a small hill. He follows the light, and the feeling tugs at his chest until he reaches the top, his eyes widening as his breath stutters in his chest.

The crater in the ground is larger than he expected and the sight before him is like nothing he’s ever seen. Dust floats in the air around the site, still unsettled from its misplacement among the earth. An acrid, burnt tang makes Halsin’s nose tingle unpleasantly, the smell settling on his tongue.

But it’s not these things that bring Halsin pause. No. What makes the old druid stop is what sits in the crater itself–for it is not simply a star he witnessed fall from the sky, but an angel.

He can see their form, illuminated by the ethereal pale white light they seem to give off, and as he walks closer, torch held high to warn off any shadows who may dare to venture close, he realizes that they are actually a she.

He’s struck first by her beauty.

It’s nothing as extravagant as he remembers from the tales of fallen angels as a child, where those who looked upon them would be blinded by the otherworldly allure. This angel is in fact beautiful, but in a more natural way. Still striking to Halsin, but perhaps appearing more subdued to others.

It’s only when he’s at the edge of the crater does Halsin’s mind finally shift from surprise, to utter concern. The acrid smell he first noticed must have come from the way the angel burned as she fell from the sky. He can see now that the great white wings extending from her back are heavily injured, the white feathers majority singed gray and black, and some even falling away from her wings completely. One of the appendages even seems to be bent at an odd angle - broken, if Halsin had to guess from this distance.

Her person is in much the same condition. Her pearl-white dress is torn, ragged, and stained a dingy gray. Blackened smudges cover most of the skin he is able to see - soot, dirt, and what he assumes must be blood, if the various injuries have anything to say. For a moment, Halsin fears she may not have survived the fall. But as he inches closer, kneeling by her side, he is able to see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. This closeness also reveals another problem. Her breathing is erratic, and each breath comes out with a faint wheeze, as if something is flooding her lungs.

Before Halsin can truly think, he is already acting. He plants the torch in the ground beside him, moving to gather the angel in his arms. First, he softly tucks the being’s wings behind her back, careful not to jostle the broken one more than needed. Then, when he is confident that he can gather her into his arms, he does just that. He worries she may wake as he moves her, the pain stirring her from her unconscious state, but she stays under, not so much as twitching as Halsin stands with her gathered to his chest.

For a moment, as he fully remembers his surroundings, an icy fear clings to him. How will he traverse the curse with no hand to hold a light source? But when he steps from the crater, he is surprised to find that the pale white glow is emitting from the angel herself. As if protected by pure moonlight.

Haslin hasn’t been sure of much as of late, but he knows deep within his being, that he must save her.

No matter what it takes.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The walk to camp is uneventful, but Halsin’s arrival with a woman in his arms, is not.

He hears Astarion scoff before he sees the vampire, the sound echoing across camp.

“Another one?” Astarion sighs. “I mean, really? The camp is crowded enough already.”

Halsin, usually one slow to anger or frustration, pulls the angel closer to him as he bites back. “I will not stand by when another creature requires my help, even if you might, Astarion.”

He doesn’t stay around to listen to the man’s reply, but thinks he hears Astarion mutter something about a bear and claws.

Halsin makes for his tent, and the only other person to inquire about the being in his arms is Tav. They are kind enough to only ask if he needs anything rather than prying, which Halsin appreciates but declines nonetheless.

He can’t help the sudden possessiveness that overcomes him, as if this angel is his to protect and his alone. Only Thaniel is by his side when he enters his small, secluded part of camp, the small boy eyeing the creature curiously.

“An angel?” he asks as Halsin moves to set the woman gently on his bedroll just inside his tent.

Halsin nods. “I saw her fall from the sky myself,” he says, now fully taking in her injuries. “She has been gravely injured. I only hope I am able to help.”

Thaniel is quiet for a moment before he crouches beside the Druid and reaches out to run a soft hand along the angel’s wings, careful not to injure her further.

“She is here for a reason,” he says cryptically, eyes turning up towards Halsin. “You were meant to find her. I can feel it as clearly as if the forest itself is speaking to me.”

Halsin pauses his work to look at the child, always one to know more than he may appear.

He knows at a fundamental level that Thaniel’s words are true. Nature does not continue without due cause, it was fate that allowed him to find this angel.

What he can’t figure out…is why?

Halsin shakes his head, ridding himself of these thoughts for now as he sends the boy away. He can worry about fate and reasoning later. Right now, he must try to keep her alive.

Although he is powerful, he has only a limited supply of healing magic, a supply he chooses to use on her internal injuries, those he cannot fix without its aid.

He focuses his attention inward, drawing on the power he has as he hovers his hands over the angel’s ribs, that familiar yellow glow pulsing from his hands and into her body.

It takes longer than usual, telling Halsin her injuries must have been worse than he thought. But, after a few moments, her labored breathing eases, no longer a bubbling wheeze but a slow and smooth rhythm.

The last of his magic, he uses to heal her wing, wincing as it snaps back into place under his hands. Only then does the magic glow ebb away.

He reaches out to run tender hands along the main structure of her wings, checking for any other abnormalities. He’s just reached the tip of her newly-healed appendage when the woman jerks beneath him, her hand shooting up to grip his wrist with an unnatural strength.

The cry that falls from his lips is one of surprise more than pain, but he can’t help but be aware of the ache settling deep in his bones as they seem to grind together beneath her supernatural grip.

He glances down at her face, his lips falling open when he’s met with eyes glowing pure gold, complete power coming off the being in waves. She gasps in pain as she moves, and Halsin watches in complete and utter shock as the light slowly drains from her eyes, the strength in her grip waning as it does so. Only when the regular eyes of a human meet his own does the angel finally speak.

“Halsin…”

His name is but a whisper from her lips before her eyes roll back and she slumps unconscious onto his bedroll once more. For a moment, Halsin is worried that she has passed on, her form eerily still once again. But the steady rise and fall of her chest assures him she still lives.

Only when he is sure she still breathes does his mind jump back to what had just occurred.

How did she know his name?

#halsin x reader #halsin #bg3 x reader #bg3 halsin #bg3

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 year ago

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toni's fanfic masterlist

a collection of all of my fic, mostly ft. Din Djarin and Joel Miller

Key: 🏴 = dark, 💕 = fluff, ⛓ = bdsm, 💀 = dead dove do not eat

18+ ONLY, minors DNI. All fics on this list are explicit and f!reader unless otherwise stated.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

last updated: 10/25/2024

Din Djarin

Series

⛓💕 well it's love, make it hurt

(Complete, dom!Din Djarin x f!reader)

summary: After The Mandalorian begrudgingly teamed up with you for a big-ticket bounty, you find you work surprisingly well together, and you propose a short-term partnership. Weeks become months, and your hunting partnership becomes muddled as you explore a new dynamic onboard the Razor Crest.

🏴 live to rise

(complete; gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader)

summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.

No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?

One Shots

don't let me get carried away

summary: Mando finds the toy you use when he's gone and makes you demonstrate.

for Manda'yaim (Din Djarin x f!reader x Paz Vizsla)

summary: Now that they have reclaimed their homeworld, the Children of the Watch resurrect an ancient ritual to secure the future of their people. Reader is one of the volunteers chosen to bear the next generation of Mando'ade.

🏴💀 worry not

summary: Mand'alor Din Djarin is haunted by the Darksaber, and you suffer the consequences.

💕 mhi ba'juri verde

summary: After Din is crowned Mand'alor, you make good on your promise to fulfill the rest of your vows.

🏴 ori'skraan

summary: The Mand'alor needs to feed to regain his strength, so you are called upon to fulfill the most sacred of your duties.

🏴💀I'll take care of you

summary: Din takes care of you after a head injury leaves you helpless.

stuck in a lonely loop

summary: Din can't let go of the feeling that something's wrong, even if you deny it.

🏴nobody is coming to save you

summary: You get caught by a Mandalorian bounty hunter after fleeing your marriage.

something worse

summary: you're an imperial officer loyal to moff gideon — until a run in with the mandalorian and his weird magic baby.

💕 fine

summary: din takes care of you when you get sick.

Din Djarin x reader x Boba Fett

copaani gaan? (Din Djarin x f!reader x Boba Fett)

summary: Din catches you blushing after Boba Fett flirts with you. He instigates and encourages you to fuck Fett while he watches.

mhi me'dinui an and prequel (Din Djarin x f!reader x Boba Fett x Cobb Vanth)

summary: After the events of The Book of Boba Fett, you get railed by Din Djarin, Boba Fett, and Cobb Vanth.

Joel Miller

Series

🏴💀 all I did was what I had to (complete; dark!Joel x f!reader)

summary: this is a series of snapshots following dark!raider/hunter!Joel Miller and f!reader, who he saves from her abusive spouse for a slightly better situation. It's very dark and so far all the parts involve watersports, if that's your kind of thing.

you know you never stood a chance (complete; qz!Joel x f!reader)

summary: When your neighbor Joel finds out you've resorted to prostitution to make ends meet, he makes sure he's your first client, and proposes a different deal.

ain't no rest for the wicked (complete; tess x f!reader x joel)

summary: Joel would never complain about what he and Tess have. The only thing is that, sometimes, he’d like to be the one in control. Tess has a proposition: she’ll find a sub for Joel that they can both enjoy. It’s not an easy feat... until they stumble upon you in a dark alley.

🏴💀 the art of breaking (mini-series)

summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

🏴of rage and ruin (ongoing; werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader)

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

fall, with you (mini-series)

summary: to love fall. to fall in love. to fall, with you. a burgeoning romance with joel miller. a collection of autumns long past. the end of the world. falling, falling, falling, with you.

One Shots

🏴💀 the devil you don't know (or however it goes)

summary: When Joel's men bring back the (adult) daughter of a rival group of hunters, he sees an opportunity. This is VERY dark.

-- the aftermath (by demand; my thoughts on the possible endings. i stand by the original though.)

💕 a home amongst the stars

summary: Joel gets home after a late patrol and finds solace in your warm body.

💕 to know that you're mine

summary: Joel Miller is a pussy eating king with a praise kink. That's it, that's the fic. sub!Joel if you squint.

remember what you're staring at is me

summary: A videotape is left on your porch one morning, and it changes everything about your budding relationship with Joel Miller.

drabbles/ficlets

🏴💀 too much

summary: you never know when to shut up.

🏴 not enough

summary: a companion to "too much;" it's rough sex and choking with Joel. that's it, that's the fic.

🏴💀no one could save me but you

summary: You're under the care of Dr. Miller at an inpatient mental health facility. He has a vested interest in your "recovery."

🏴💀seasons don't

summary: Your husband dies a hero, but it's no comfort to you.

🏴💀no loyalty in the apocalypse

summary: Your group falls victim to Joel Miller's hunters.

🏴💀better run

summary: You should have never tried to run from Joel.

💕 let's all go to the lobby

summary: a date night with joel miller

💕 could be

summary: jackson is not your home. joel miller is not your boyfriend. but they could be.

💀 get some on my love

summary: you visit Joel Miller to get what you need.

Honorable Mentions: Events

(most of these are in the other sections but if you want to read through in order, there's this.)

Kinktober 2023

Febuwhump 2024

#joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #dom din djarin #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfic #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #joel miller x f!reader

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intriq · 1 year ago

Note

hotch being jealous heheehehehe

HEHEHEHEHE YOU GOT IT POOKS

i also request that you all go check them out because their writing is just MMM CHEFS KISS

they also joined my beta reading team recently so >:)

Character: Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner

Theme: ??? Fluff???

Word Count: 658

Title: French Marigold

french marigold; jealousy

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

The case that the team had just finished took days. Took them days just to find and apprehend the suspect. A series of headaches and hours of lost sleep, pouring over file after file over what had been discovered to be a reawakening serial killer that had done a disgustingly good job at staying under the radar for years.

And what better way to celebrate apprehending the culprit other than going out for a few drinks the moment they landed back in Quantico? What better way to relieve the stress that had accumulated other than going out for a night on the town, drinking shitty liquor at a shitty bar?

Hotch had certainly thought it wouldn't be that bad of an idea. He wasn't the type to drink, not often at least. But he figured you could use the break, so he stuck around just for you. He figured he'd just stay sober and be the one to drive you both home.

What Hotch hadn't taken into account for, however, was that just an hour into this precious bit of time of freedom away from stress and catching killers, was one thing. Other people hitting on you, doting on you. Buying you drink after drink.

Hotch stares from where he sits with the others, drinking a water he was now wishing was something stronger as you wait for the next round of drinks. Reid is spouting some fact in his ear he can't be bothered to listen to, or it's something about his regular games of chess with Gideon. Morgan and Garcia are also talking, but it's nothing but mindless buzzing in Hotch's ear.

His focus is on you, entirely and utterly you. On the man that had the nerve to scoot a few seats down from where he originally was, body language displaying disgusting over-confidence. A narcissist, he thinks. Hotch can read him like an open-book from here, and he only has a view of him from behind.

Hotch watches as you push away what is probably the fifth drink that guy has ordered and offered you in the past thirty minutes. He doesn't understand what is taking so fucking long for the drinks you're waiting on to be done.

Narcissist. Over-confident. Die-hard momma's boy whose never been told no in his damn life.

Those are all things Hotch reads within seconds.

"Hotch, you okay?" Morgan asks, nudging him. But Hotch only responds with a curt "yeah, I'm fine" while his eyes remain locked on you. Not even glancing away to answer Morgan when he speaks. He says something to Hotch after that, but it's just white-noise. Hotch doesn't care enough to pay attention; not right at least.

Hotch is on his feet in seconds when he notices the slightest change in the guy's body language. That subtle shift that screams confidence that is soaring far too high for Hotch's liking.

By the time the guy's opening his mouth to ask for your number, Hotch is there. He's not one for PDA, but in this situation he'd give a whole fucking show if it meant he backed off. Which is why Hotch brings just one arm around your waist.

"I think it's time we go home," Hotch speaks, keeping his eyes focused on you. He's not gonna give the pathetic guy behind you even an ounce of his time, especially not when he seems so crest-fallen at how easily your attention is immediately on him. How enraptured you are by him.

You open your mouth to protest, but quickly have your words die in your throat when you see the look on Hotch's face. It's one you've never seen before, if you could correctly recall.

So you just agree with a quick nod, letting Hotch lead you out of the bar with a hand resting on your lower back. You let him drive you both home.

"What about everyone's drinks?"

"Someone else can handle that, I'm sure."

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n

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joelalorian · 1 year ago

Text

Tides of Desire - Chapter Seven: From Stem to Stern

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, fluff, angst, smut (eventual), unprotected p in v (though Joel had the best of intentions), little bit of fingering and oral (f receiving). Reader is a badass. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). No use of y/n, though reader is of British descent and has the nickname Brit (occasionally used).

AN: New mood board courtesy of the wonderful @janaispunk! Thank you so much, love!

The fun nakey times are finally here! Took them long enough, but Joel finally got his head out of his ass. Hope you enjoy!

Series masterlist

Chapter Seven: From Stem to Stern

A subtle ding sounded as the elevator reached Joel’s floor, jolting the two of you to awareness of your surroundings before the doors opened. The tingle from the merest brushing of Joel’s lips against yours had you floating on air as you followed him to his room, your mind a flurry of wonder. If that simple act was so damn good, what would if feel like to really kiss him, to run your fingers through his hair, to brush your hand over his hardening cock, to slip each other’s clothes off and climb into bed, to feel your bodies come together…

Jesus Christ, you were already hot and bothered as Joel swept you up toward another crest on the roller coaster you were on.

Once inside the room, you froze, wide eyes sweeping over the open concept, oversized room with a king size bed, a chaise lounge, glass exposing the large shower and garden tub to the rest of the room. It was a room for lovers, where nothing was hidden but the toilet. Joel booked this room with specific intent, or at least hope, that much was clear. He said you didn’t have to do anything, but clearly, this room was made for exactly what you wanted to do. The butterflies fluttering in your stomach became a flurry of activity equivalent to CAT 3 hurricane-force winds.

Holy shit.

Soft, cautious puppy eyes met yours, a hint of worry visible behind his glasses at your reaction to all this. A lock of dark curls had fallen over Joel’s forehead, giving him a youthful look. Your heart clenched. You wanted this. You wanted it so bad. Had he finally given in?

Your thoughts scanned through recent interactions, recalling Frank’s cryptic chat with you and the insight from Donna before her charter departed. Did they all know something you didn’t? See something you couldn’t?

Joel’s hand started to twitch waiting for your response to his silent question. Smiling brightly, you reached for him with urgency. “Are you sure you want to do this?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It will shatter me if you change your mind halfway through or regret this, us, tomorrow.”

Those dark chocolate eyes seared into yours, etching his words into your soul as he spoke. “I want this. I want you. I’m tired of sacrificing the things I want because I’m afraid of history repeating itself. Everyone has told me I deserve to be happy, it’s about time I believe it myself. And you… you make me happy.”

He kissed you then, hard, tongue running along the seam of your lips until you opened them to let him in. Your tongues tangled in a mix between gentle exploration and heated passion. It was the kiss of someone starved of intimacy, seeking to feel, to consume, yet not quite devour., not yet. That would come later, you hoped.

Face cradled in the palms of his hands; Joel caressed your cheekbones with his thumbs as the kiss continued. Your senses were consumed with him – his scent, taste, touch, the sounds of his subtle groans and whines at the feel, taste of you in return. It was all encompassing and you wondered how you survived those five weeks being close to him without doing this…

Wait, had it only been five weeks? That seemed so short in the grand span of things, but everything about yacht life was exaggerated, more intense. Time stretched differently when you lived and worked in a confined space with the same people. Feelings developed faster, more deeply during ‘boatmances’. And they burned out quicker, too, if you weren’t careful. Almost everyone who worked on a yacht learned that one the hard way.

Still, the five weeks of dancing around each other, your feelings, only made you realize how much you wanted this, wanted him. It wasn’t just a fling. It could, would be so much more than a boatmance. You had been willing to wait the entirety of the season to be with him. That was evident of something real, something sustainable, something that could so easily become… love.

Part of you wondered what really happened to change Joel’s mind. He had been so adamant about not pursuing something on the yacht and now here you were, wrapped up in his arms, in the hottest kiss you ever experienced – granted you were in a hotel room and not aboard the yacht, but still, it was still season. What changed his mind, exactly?

Equally, another part of you wondered what happened in his past to make Joel so rigid and sacrificial about the rules to begin with.

The moment one of Joel’s hands slipped down from your face to skillfully paw at your breast, all thought left your head. The moan that emanated from the depths of your belly was sinful and you could feel Joel’s lips twitch toward a smirk against your own.

Minutes – hours? – later, Joel forced himself back with a deep-seated sigh. “We need to go, or we’ll miss dinner.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” you asked, raking in the sight of him looking so thoroughly snogged. You were not ready to let him go yet.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest as he speared his fingers through his hair, attempting to collect himself. “No, not as such. But I know we’ll need the energy later, sweetheart, so we better get to dinner.”

Now that you’d kissed, Joel calling you sweetheart hit a bit different, leaving you weak in the knees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lanterns filled with fairy lights were placed along the middle of the dark wooden table, elegant place settings in front of each seat. By the time Joel and you arrived, there were only two seats left, one across the table from the other. You slipped into the seat between Tess and Sarah when they waved you over and Joel sat next to his brother and Jake. Your eyes met across the table before Joel dipped his head toward his brother, a hushed conversation taking place. Tommy’s gaze shot to you with a leering grin before he turned back to nod at Joel, the movement of their arms indicating something was being passed between them beneath the table. You searched Joel’s face for a clue by he gave nothing away, simply taking a sip from the glass of ice water and continuing to talk to his brother.

“Soooo…” Tess drew your attention, “Where’s your room? Sarah and I are on the third floor.”

Willing the heat rushing your cheeks away, you forced yourself not to glance in Joel’s direction. “I’m on the sixth floor.”

“Ohhh reeealllyy?” Sarah chimed in, drawing out the words. “My dad is on the sixth floor, too. Quite the coincidence, don’t you think, Tess?”

The pair of them leaned across you, broad grins on their pretty faces as they teased you. “Definitely a coincidence. I heard the sixth floor only has a few, larger rooms… special ones. You know the kind, right, Sarah?”

You expected this ridiculousness from someone Sarah’s age, but Tess was almost worst in how much enjoyment she was finding in it. “Will you two quit it,” you hissed, though the inability to stop smiling lessened the effect.

“I’m just glad he’s manning up, honestly,” Sarah admitted once the laughter settled. “I know it’s probably weird to be concerned about my dad’s, you know, sex life, but I’m just really happy he’s loosening up.” After a beat, she added, “But I DO NOT want any details. None. Ever. Got it?”

Nearly choking on a sip of water, you nodded emphatically. “I have no interest in sharing any. Ever. Promise.” You hesitated a moment, graciously offering Tess a chance to add her two pence, but she only winked in return, broad grin gracing her face. “Can we, please, change the fucking subject now?”

As drink and dinner orders were placed, you glanced across the table to see that Joel hadn’t fared much better than you, his attention torn between his brother’s teasing and relentless questions from Jake. Your gazes met briefly, taking a moment to acknowledge each other, the hint of what was to come after dinner sparkling behind both your eyes.

Dinner could not be over soon enough. It was torture sitting across from Joel, sharing glances yet not really speaking, while also dodging Jake’s flirtatious attempts at conversation. You wanted so badly to temper your nerves with alcohol but didn’t want to risk drinking too much. Nothing could get in the way of a whole night alone with Joel. Instead, you sipped at a glass of cabernet and focused on chatting with Sarah and Tess.

Mid-way through dinner, a commotion sounded at the far end of the table, and you looked up to see Connor walking toward the group, one arm in a cast held tight to his torso with a sling. He looked a little worse for wear, but his young face was lit up with happiness at seeing everyone again. Emmy was nearly in tears as she jumped out of her seat to rush toward him, only calming when she glanced at his arm and pulled him into a tight side hug.

The rest of the evening past more quickly as everyone caught up with Connor. He was heading home the following morning and happily accepted Joel’s offer to join them for one last dinner.

When dessert was served, you excused yourself from the table with the excuse of wanting to relax in a bubble bath rather than hit the outdoor bar with the group. You accepted a fair amount of ribbing from the group for being an old lady, though two of the Millers and Tess teased you with knowing looks. The third Miller tilted his lips into a half smile, longing in his chocolate puppy eyes.

“Good night, mates!” you called over your shoulder, slipping through the tables to the lobby where you waited for the next elevator.

The resort was busy, it was near peak tourist season in the tropics with plenty of northerners seeking respite from the cold, and the elevator was packed. You squeezed between bodies and rolling luggage to reach the back corner of the elevator, knowing you were in for a few stops before you reached the top floor. The elevator slowly emptied floor-by-floor until you were the only one left going to the sixth floor.

Entering the extravagant room and kicking your strappy sandals off with a sigh of relief, you let the sundress you wore slip to the floor not far from the door. Dark blue lace panties and a matching bra were next to fall from your body, creating a trail leading to the tub. The thought of Joel spotting it all as soon as he walked through the door thrilled you as the large garden tub was filling with steaming water and the scented bubble bath provided by the resort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel tried to escape as promptly as he could, the thought of you waiting – hopefully naked – in his room calling to him like a siren, but Tommy insisted that he join them for at least one shot at the pool bar before calling it a night.

“Big night, huh, brother?” Tommy teased, gulping heavily from the beer in his hand. Swiping the back of his free hand across his mouth, he grinned madly at Joel. “Ya sure ya remember how everything works? What parts go where and what not?”

“Asshole,” Joel grumbled, pink tinging his tanned face. “Let’s just do this shot already. I have somewhere much better to be.”

“Alright, alright. Here,” Tommy handed him the small glass full of amber liquid. “Cheers to your dick seeing some action finally.”

“Jesus Christ.” Joel rolled his eyes, tossing back the shot to let the liquid burn down his throat. “Behave tonight. Stay away from the married ladies. I’ll be too busy to bail your ass out of anything.” Clasping his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, Joel nodded to himself before turning to walk away.

“Enjoy yourself and make sure she comes first!” Tommy called after him much to Joel’s chagrin, the nervous captain glancing around to make sure none of the other crew heard. He didn’t necessarily want to advertise that he was about to sleep with a member of his crew.

His brother was such a little shit, but Joel was grateful that Tommy always had an extra condom on him. It had been so long, Joel forgot all about the importance of protection and asked his brother for one at dinner in a panic. Having come prepared for his own night of potential fun, Tommy had extras and passed Joel two beneath the table. It occurred to him now that he probably could have tracked some down for purchase in this huge resort, but whatever.

A man on a mission, Joel stalked through the lobby to the elevators, not so patiently waiting for the next available one to take him up to the sixth floor. He wondered what you were doing, his mind swirling with possible images – you draped across the oversized bed, naked and waiting for him, or neck deep in the garden tub, equally naked with bubbles hiding all your delectable bits from his view as you waited for him to join you.

God dammit, his pants were already becoming uncomfortable, his cock swelling at his thoughts alone. He would be fit to burst when he finally set eyes on you.

A nervous tick settled into his hands, thick fingers flexing as the elevator ascended. Part of him could not believe he was doing this – what the fuck was he thinking?! But another part of him overflowed with virility, eager to prove to himself that he was ready and able to feel something again.

Right then and there, in that boxy elevator surrounded by Muzak, Joel made a promise to himself to allow happiness and love back into his life without regard to past hurts or failures.

Small beads of sweat gathered beneath his glasses when he stepped into the hallway of his floor. Removing the frames, Joel wiped his face and shook the nerves out of his shoulders. It was go time!

Heart beating heavily in his chest, cock still half hard, he entered the room, the trail of your clothes visible in the dim lighting. He followed them like a homing beacon to find you in the large tub, instrumental music playing softly from your phone as you relaxed, immersed in fragrant bubbles. The sight stole the breath from his lungs, glasses fogging up from the heat emanating from his body and the humidity of the bath. He tore them from his face, tossing them toward the vanity with a careless flick of his hand.

Neither of you uttered a word, gazes clashing as you stared at each other in a haze of need and want. He was already stripping out of his clothes before words finally fell from his lips. “Mind if I join you?”

You stared back at him, flawless skin dewy from the water and eyes wide, the curve of an inviting smile upon your lips as you took in every inch of his broad form as it was bared before you. “I’ve been waiting,” you murmured, sliding forward to allow him to slip into the tub behind you.

Joel’s confidence soared as your gaze roved over his now bare body, lingering for long moments on his cock, now fully hard and glistening with pre-come. He felt like a man reborn, giving into something he wanted, needed for the first time in far too long. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

The tops of your breasts peeked above the suds as you sat up in the water, eyes alight with playfulness. “Mmhmm, I like everything I’m seeing. Get in here, please.”

He followed your order at once, slipping into the tub with careful movements, and pulled you back against his chest once settled, the hard press of him against your lower back. Momentarily disappointed that he hadn’t gotten the chance to see all of you yet, Joel wrapped his arms around you, eager hands already roaming your skin beneath the water, which was dangerously high with the addition of his broad frame.

“You feel amazing in my arms.” Joel’s voice rumbled from his chest, and he could feel the gooseflesh spread across your skin as his breath washed over you. “I could so easily fall for you, ya know?” He felt you nod against him.

“Me, too, Joel” you breathed. Your hands wandered over every bit of him you could reach, both of you explored each other until the desire for more became too much and the water began to cool. “Take me to bed, Joel.”

He could refuse you nothing. Helping you from the tub, Joel gently wrapped you up in a bath sheet before drying himself off. When you dropped the towel to the floor, Joel pounced, sealing his lips to yours in an intimate kiss, a mere precursor to what more was to come as his own towel fell to the floor.

Stepping back, Joel bent down and fished around in the pocket of his pants for the condoms. A wave of lightheadedness washed over him as he stood up again, the sight of you naked and waiting for him too much for his senses. He grasped your hand, quickly bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss on your knuckles before leading you to the bed.

He you laid down on the bed, skin chilled from the air conditioning and Joel peppered your body with soft, wet kisses as his worked his way up to meet your lips. The kiss started as a gentle press of your mouths but quickly turned into a passionate tangling of your tongues and shared breaths. Joel could not keep his hands still, callused fingers caressing from the soft nook of your neck to the swell of your ass and everywhere in between. He could not get enough of you.

Your fingers tangled in his thick curls, tugging experimentally until he groaned with a deep rumble. One hand continued working through his hair as the other roamed, short nails scraping over his broad shoulders and back, along the softness of his belly and love handles, grabbing a handful of the ass you had spent many a moment admiring in his uniform pants. Finally, your hand moved between you to feel the heft of his cock in your grip, and watched Joel’s eyes roll back.

Loving the feel of your hands on him, Joel rolled until he was hovering over you, cock pressed against your lower belly. “Hi,” he whispered with a boyish grin, his left hand wandering down between your thighs, fingertips exploring your folds.

“Hi,” you giggled in return, squirming slightly at the intimate touch.

��You are mesmerizing, did you know that? I am completely under your spell, and I can’t fight it anymore. I don’t want to fight it anymore.” Settling more of his weight down on you, pressing his hardened cock further against you, Joel added, “Do you feel what you do to me, sweetheart?”

He watched your eyelids flutter shut as you nodded, his finger slipping inside you with a sigh. You were soaked and he murmured as much in your ear, adding a second thick finger, hitting depths he knew you couldn’t reach on your own. Joel used his thumb to pluck at your clit until you were a writhing mess beneath him.

“You gonna come for me, gorgeous? Lemme hear those delightful sounds, yeah?” He worked you faster, harder, watching as your eyes rolled back with pleasure. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show me how fucking good it feels.” His cock swelled impossibly harder at your moans as you tipped headlong over the edge into an abyss of pleasure. “You are fucking beautiful.”

Still high on your orgasm, you clawed at him, pulling him closer until his full body weight was on you, mouths meeting with sloppy kisses. A quick reach down and he was notched at your entrance, pushing into you with precision.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, the breath swept from your lungs as you were filled to the brim with the enormity of Joel fucking Miller. Your arms clutched him, left hand coming up to tangle your fingers into the thick hair on the back of his head, and your legs wrapped around his hips.

Whispering your name like a prayer against your skin as he pressed open mouth kisses down your neck, Joel moved his hips in a steady rhythm, increasing the intensity as the tension in your bellies built and built.

“You feel so fucking good. Your pretty pussy is like heaven, I never want to leave. It’s so tight, gripping me like a fucking vice.” Words of appreciation and praise tumbled from Joel’s lips as he surrounded you, working you both toward that beautiful peak.

His thrusts lost their rhythm as you came, your walls squeezing him until he exploded, emptying himself inside you, moans and sighs echoing off the walls of the oversized room. You remained tangled together, chests heaving and sweaty, until Joel’s weight became too much. His softening cock slipped out of you as he rolled to the side, eyes catching the unopened condoms packets on the nightstand once he was on his back.

“Oh fuck!”

The sudden exclamation in the quiet room startled you and you sat up. “What? What’s wrong?”

Eyes squeezed closed, Joel’s hand curled into a fist, bumping against his forehead in frustration. “I forgot to put on a fucking condom. I’m so sorry.” Figured, the first intimate moment he had in a long while and he forgot protection.

Your small hand ran over his belly, curling yourself into his side, chin resting on his chest. “Joel, it’s ok, I promise. I’m on birth control and clean. I always stay on it, regulates the monthlies, yeah? Besides, it’s been a bit since I was with anyone.”

Arm falling to his side, Joel’s head raised to meet your eyes, relief flooding his veins. “You sure? I mean, I’m clean, too, and it’s been… a long while since I was with someone.”

“It’s settled then. We’re clean and protected against pregnancy. When can we go for round two?” You burst into laughter at the expression on his face.

“Sweetheart, I’m forty. Gimme a bit of recovery time. I can go all night with a little recovery,” Joel promised, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, then your forehead, before pulling you up for a soft kiss on the mouth.

Cuddled together, you filled the time talking, and you finally got some context on why he refused you initially. There was history with Sarah’s mom, whom he met on a yacht in the early stages of his career, and it was a disaster, nearly sidelining his captaincy. He didn’t share the gritty details, not yet at least, but it burned him, badly, and left him avoiding intimacy on or off the boat for a long time. He focused, instead, on Sarah and his career, having a few dalliances and short-term relationships over the years, but nothing he ever committed himself to. Until you. He could see himself in a life with you.

“You make me happy,” Joel said, kissing his way down your body.

“You make me happy, too, Joel Miller,” you squeaked as his tongue delved between your folds, licking upwards to tease that little bundle of nerves.

Round two, three, and four carried well into the early morning hours, leaving you both satiated and exhausted. You slept in, missing the crew breakfast and half the day at the beach club, though neither of you cared. You knew Sarah, Tess, and Tommy would make excuses for you if anyone noticed.

The thought of going back to the yacht, where you’d have to resume your professional relationship again – at least in front of the crew and guests – left you both feeling empty and sad, but you agreed to enjoy every single moment you had left together at the resort. Everything else could be figured out as the season winded down.

TBC

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel x female reader #yacht captain!joel miller #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller story

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anitabyars · 1 month ago

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Tijan has revealed the gorgeous covers for Kade!

Releasing: December 17, 2024

Photography (male model): Regina Wamba

Special Edition Paperback Illustrator: Milena Rives Illustrations

I have fought.

I have bled.

I have wreaked havoc for my family.

Anyone who threatened us, tried to break us, I broke them instead.

Then, there was peace.

Marriage.

Children.

Life was good.

Life was 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡.

Until my phone rang one night.

Retired, I was no longer in the NFL.

We'd recently moved back to Fallen Crest.

So I should've known.

I should've remembered.

There is no peace in Fallen Crest.

War wasn't coming.

𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

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Kade is the last novel in the Fallen Crest universe featuring Mason and Samantha, and is written mostly from Mason's point of view. It is not a standalone and is best read in series order. It will be available on wide retailers (not in Kindle Unlimited) on release day.

Meet Tijan

Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing after college and once she started, she was hooked. She's written multi-bestsellers including the Fallen Crest series, Ryan's Bed, Enemies and others.

She is currently writing many new books and series with an English Cocker she adores.

Connect with Tijan

Website: http://www.tijansbooks.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4851199.Tijan

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tijan/e/B00DJG52QE

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malum-forev · 1 year ago

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"Who did this to you?" For the bingo plz & thank you!💕

Bby girl, ask and you shall receive! This is a Mafia!40's!Bucky x MobBossDaughter!Reader. Think the godfather style when you read this! I think this is one of my favorite things I've written, and I hope you like it too!

You were running, your heightened senses making everything around you feel like a series of photographs. Snapshots taken to reduce space in your mind after your fight or flight response.

You weren’t supposed to be here, if you’d only listened to your father’s overprotective words or at least listened to his nagging nanny- your father had scolded you many times telling you not to call Bucky that but whenever the two of you were behind closed doors he would laugh, calling you the funniest woman he'd ever met- you wouldn’t be in this position.

Your feet ached, blisters were sure to form, your heels were definitely not made for this kind of activity. You looked down at the shiny leather shoes, gromets now vacant where a bow used to be tied. It must have fallen off somewhere on the way, your fleeing movements loosening the knot.

You turned the corner and finally saw your house, the four-story Brownstone had only two lights turned on. You looked down at your broken watch, your first attempt to flee your “date” if you could even call him that, it marked ten past eleven and that was hours ago. It pained you to admit that Bucky was right, he’d warned you thousands of times that the Walker family was not to be trusted.

“Even though there is peace today, it doesn’t assure you it will be that way tomorrow.” Bucky had told you once after you’d said you were considering accepting a date from the family’s oldest son. “Remember your position in this family and in this world, then consider their true intentions.”

But you’d only rolled your eyes at his remarks. “I believe you are the one who should remember his position in this family and in this world.” You came closer to him, his towering height did not intimidate you. The two of you had virtually grown up together. He was ten years your senior, making everyone around you think you were as close as siblings but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. A brother should never think of his sister the way Bucky thought of you whenever he let his mind roam to that place he shouldn't. You smoothed the lapels on his three-piece dark wool suit, you flattened your palms on his firm chest and dragged them down slowly. He took in a sharp breath as your hands inched down below his belt and stopped parallel to where he desired you the most. Your fingers twitched as if they had a mind of their own, wanting to get closer to him, closer to the part of him that made him masculine.

You ripped your hands from his hips and took his right hand, you rested it on your palm and your other hand toyed with the signet ring on his pinky finger. The gold shone against his skin, your family’s crest forever imprinted on it. Your father’s wish to have had a male heir would linger as long as the ring lived. There was no amount of duties you could complete that would let your father pass his empire down to you. A stinging truth that made you curse having been born as a woman.

“Did you make a vow of chastity when my father picked you up from the streets?” Your voice was calm as you rubbed your finger on the gold ring. “Or is it just your terrible personality that forbids you from making a woman climax?”

Bucky chuckled, low and throaty. “The only vow I made your father, was to never fuck his darling little girl.”

“Hm.” Was the only thing you said, dropping his hand and leaving the room.

You climbed up the steps to your home almost having to drag your body, the exhaustion of sprinting what felt like hours catching up to you. You slowly turned your key, trying to make the smallest amount of noise and stepped inside. There was the faint sound of a record playing and light chatter coming from your father’s study. But as you were about to walk up the stairs to your bedroom and finally put an end to this abhorrent night, the door opened. In a panic, you quickly hid in the coat closet.

“That’s it for tonight, James.” You heard your father say. “I better get upstairs before I’m sent to the doghouse.”

“Good night, Sir.” Bucky responded.

You leaned back on the plush fur coats, trying to steady your breath. This was the first time you caught a glimpse of your garments. The silk dress you’d saved up over a month’s allowance for, was now gashed down the middle. You were lucky no one had seen you run around at this time of night, one bad move and you’d be revealed. Your chest was starting to purple, finger sized hues of blue and violet started to appear where John had tried to force you down. You wouldn’t be surprised if your aching neck was covered in these bruises.

Your shoes were filled with mud and scratches and your tights that once had a seam going up the back were ripped, holes everywhere. Your eyes started to burn as you remembered the crazed look in his eyes as he tried to rip your clothes off but you swallowed down your tears.

Once you made sure your father had retreated to his bedroom, you wrapped yourself in one of your mother’s fur coats and quietly left your hiding spot. But once again, as soon as you stepped foot on the staircase another creak came from the study. This time you weren’t quick enough.

“Is it past three am already? Done with a hard night’s work of terrorizing young children?” Your back was to Bucky but you were sure his face was adorned with a smug smile.

Your shoulders dropped with a sigh. “Not today, please.”

The first alarm rang when he heard your tone. His eyes trailed from the top of your head, noticing your usual pinned up hair was awry, to your muddy shoes. He heard his heartbeat in his ears as he zeroed on the small patch of skin being revealed from a hole in your tights. You had more than enough money to buy a pair each day of your life if you wished that so, why were you wearing a ripped pair?

“Turn around.” Bucky said quietly at first but as you stood glued to your spot he became more and more desperate, his voice becoming louder. “Turn around and look at me now!”

Bucky had no care for your parents sleeping two floors up. He just wanted you to turn around and tell him you had been carelessly running through a field or whatever you decided to do whenever you weren’t with him. He wished, even though it would fill his being with madness, that you would tell him some man had wooed you with enough love that you’d followed him to bed. Taking you for the night of your life. But as you slowly shifted and he looked at your reddening eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong. You kept your head low, something your usual gutsy nature would never allow.

Bucky took you into the study, the light illuminated the bruises that were peeking out of the fur collar.

“Take it off.” Bucky demanded with a gruff tone he’d never before used with you.

You shook your head, one single tear fell from your eye. “I can’t”

“Please, darling.” Bucky closed his eyes and steadied his breaths, trying to keep his anger at bay but it was proving to be impossible. Impossible because your courageous personality was something he loved and seeing you like this could only mean one thing, impossible because his blood boiled when you flinched as he raised his hand to caress your cheek.

With a gulp you let the coat drop to the floor, pooling around your feet.

Bucky gasped, his trembling hand traced from your jaw down the valley of your breasts. His touch ghosted the ripped fabric, slipping the scraps of what used to be the sleeves down your arms, making the dress join your discarded coat.

His jaw ticked as he took you in, your once smooth skin he’d so often wish he could kiss had been dishonored. Your body was a temple only few had the privilege to access and someone’s corrupted mind had tainted it. His fingers circled every single bruise on your body, counting thirty-five.

Bucky sat you down on your fathers couch and took your heels off, carefully checking for any sign of swelling or injury there.

“Who did this to you?” Bucky whispered, looking at you for the first time since he’d discovered you on the staircase.

“It was my fault, I should have listened-“

Bucky’s jaw twitched again. “Who did this to you?” He asked through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t answer him, the embarrassment and pain of the events becoming too much to bare. Your tears fell freely.

“I’m only going to ask you this one more time.” He raised his voice, frustratedly running a hand through his hair. “Who did this to you!”

“John- John Walker.” You whispered through sobs.

Bucky got up and paced the study, his fists curling and uncurling at his side.

“Bucky- don’t-“ you tried but he interrupted.

“Go to your room!” He barked, you’d never seen such fire in his eyes before. Bucky took off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, covering your body. He gently led you to the staircase, his hands were careful, like he was scared of hurting you.

“Where are you going?” You worried.

Bucky ran his hand over his face, he was trying to calm himself but all he could see was red.

“Go to your room.” He repeated, this time calmer, opening the front door. “And don’t come out until I knock on your door.”

He didn’t wait for your reply as he slammed the door shut.

At first, you paced your room and gnawed on your lower lip. Then you showered, trying to clear your mind but each time the soap disappeared and your bruises showed, you were reminded of what happened.

Around three hours later, there was a soft knock on your door.

You tugged your robe close to your body as you opened the door. Bucky had a gash on the bridge of his nose and a reddish mark on his jaw. You let him in, closing the door with your back.

As soon as he was inside your bedroom, Bucky dropped to his knees. “Please forgive me.”

Your eyes widened at the sight of the usual stoic man now crying. Your lips parted.

“Forgive me for not protecting you.” Bucky pleaded, opening your robe and placing a chaste kiss on each of your bruises trailing his lips from your ankles to your stomach.

“I sentenced John to thirty-five blows, one for each of the marks his vile hands created on your body.” His usual white shirt was stained with dark red marks, Bucky looked up at you his blue eyes clear. “Until my last breath, I will protect you. That is my vow to you.”

Bucky took your hand, his bloody knuckled hand placed a stained cloth bag in your palm. You gasped as you saw teeth inside of it.

“I have given your father two of his fingers to prove my commitment.” Bucky said before returning his journey up your body, trying to take your pain away. One kiss at a time.

Part 2

0-0

Pleaaaseee be sure to comment, like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Remember, one comment = one kiss on my forehead! <3

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour @hallecarey1 @send-me-styles @jessicaloons @shewhojumps @honeyglee @giftedyoungster3000 @likehonestlysametho @batmanbiersack02-blog @calwitch @im-a-marvel-ous-hoe @soldiersweiner @maggiejackson3 @chelseaslibrary @kittybeansbarnes @ryebr0d @leyannrae @jvanilly

*I have tagged those who commented and reblogged my last Mafia!Bucky story, I hope that's okay! If not, please message me so I can take your @ off the tagged list :)

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jenna-ortega · 1 year ago

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grey november

vertigo act iii

pairing - joel miller x female reader word count - 4.1k warnings - angst, pinv, meanish joel, tommy being a golden retriever, kissing, joel is stupid as always but he redeems himself, also fluffy joel a/n: hello all! hope you like this chapter! it proved to be difficult, since i hate writing fluff but lowkey it's there. let me know how you like it, and if you have any ideas for what you want to see next..i may or may not heed that advice ;)

SUMMARY: you and joel speak about what you saw, and you've decided you need time. needing time being you running and hiding from joel every chance you get. that is...until he catches you at thanksgiving. can you forgive him for what you think he's done? joel sure hopes so.

previous chapter - series masterlist

series playlist by the wonderful @lovers-liability

"Didn't expect to find you here," Joel muttered, crossing his arms. You turned off the faucet, swallowing hard before meeting his gaze. "I needed a moment," you replied, your voice steady but laced with unease. "A moment, huh?" Joel scoffed, his tone cutting through the air. "Funny how you seem to need a moment every time we're in the same room lately." You averted your eyes, the memories of your last conversation with Joel resurfacing. "What are you even doing here, anyway?" Joel continued, his frustration palpable. "Tommy invited me."

You had fallen for Joel Miller, and now you had to deal with that. You had to deal with the suffering only someone who had power over you could cause. Your body aches as you’ve spent countless nights awake, wondering what this suffering was supposed to mean. Does it make you stronger? Does it thicken your skin? Is suffering always meant to be brushed aside as a means of growth? Suffering has no glorious purpose. It only hurts.

It takes courage to lift your bones from your bed, to face the same pain you’ve been feeling through every simmering sun, and every crested moon. A man can do this to a person? You think to yourself. You want to ask him why, you want to shout at him, and beat at his chest. You want to hug him and kiss him all at the same time. Fall to the feet of the one who broke you and look for the healing you desperately needed. You feel yourself changing as the leaves start to change outside…is it November already? Are we bound to repeat the same cycles until even after the end of times?

Your body on autopilot as you walk to your shower, making sure the heat of the water burns to the touch. You need to boil your skin clean. Need to wash away any piece of skin that he once touched. Scrubbing yourself clean of him physically.

You hear cells take 7 years to regenerate.

Would it take that long to be a body Joel has never known?

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across a quiet jackson, you found yourself perched on the edge of your steps. Feeling the cool air hit your cheeks as you try to breathe through your heavy chest. Grappling with a tangle of emotions.

Soft footsteps echoed a few feet from you, your body stilled, and when you lifted your head, there stood Joel, the man who had left a trail of heartache in his wake.

Joel’s eyes reflected a mixture of remorse and determination as he began to speak. The wind seemed to hold its breath as you waited for him to start, too confused and numb to begin to hold the weight of what this conversation meant.

“Hi,” Joel clenched his fists, guilt etched on his face.

You scoffed

“Hey.”

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his gaze unable to meet yours. The air felt charged with tension as you faced Joel, your eyes reflecting the storm within.

“I-I don’t know where to start,”

“Try starting with why the hell you’re at my doorstep. And then end it with you getting the fuck off my doorstep.” your teeth clenched, spitting attitude at Joel.

You began to walk away from him, trying to go back inside. You’re upset. Upset Joel didn’t stay away longer. You needed time to forget this, you needed to tell yourself he wasn’t real. You made him up, and now you’re back to the real world.

Joel stood there, frustration apparent on his face as he tried to reach out to you, who was briskly walking away. Joel grabbed your elbow, pulling you back to him, looking down at you with his eyebrows furrowed,

“Please, just hear me out. I'm trying to apologize."

You glanced up at him, eyes cold, but stopped reluctantly. Pulling your arm from him and crossing them.

"You can't just apologize your way out of this mess."

"I get it, I messed up. But walking away won't solve anything. Can we at least talk about it?"

You sighed, patience wearing thin.

“What is there to say?”, you shook your head in defeat

Joel ran a hand through his disheveled hair, finally not avoiding your gaze.

"I don’t know why she was there. I threw her out as soon as you left." his voice was strained, pleading to you.

A heavy silence settled between you two, until you spoke again, tone cold.

"I need time to think. Leave."

Joel nodded, sighing heavily, and turned to leave. As he reached the bottom step, an unexpected surge of anger consumed him. The weight of his guilt transformed into the Joel who destroys, and he turned back to face you.

"I'm sorry, alright? But you don't get to play the victim here. You have your faults too," he spat.

“Excuse me?” your nostrils flared, eyes flashed with indignation. "My faults?”

You both were about to put on a show for anyone who dared come near you two.

“Don’t act like it’s not normal for her to possibly be in my house. Remember what we did to her. Remember what you asked me for.”

Tears welled in your eyes, not believing what you’re hearing, you raised your hand to Joel, watching his head swing sideways as your palm landed hard across his face.

“Fuck you.”

It happened fast. He rushed your body back into your house, slamming the door shut behind him before he took his place back in your face. Holding both your wrists against the wall behind you, caging you into his body as his nose was practically against yours, looking deeply in your eyes as you’re both panting.

“You were the one that started this.” he picks your wrists up and slams them back against the wall, earning a whimper from you, raising his voice a little louder, “You don’t get to act like a brat when your actions have consequences.”

He lets go of your hands, and you begin to rub them furiously to try and dissipate the pain.

“Listen,” his demeanor is calm again, but you shrivel up against the wall to make yourself as small as possible. Feeling yourself begin to sink to the floor, you remain silent.

You sat on the floor, eyes downcast and silent. The weight of the argument lingered, suffocating the room. Joel took a deep breath, the gravity of his words settling on him like an anchor. He approached you cautiously.

He said your name, his voice low and remorseful, "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

You remained silent, gaze fixed on your hands. Joel sighed, a mix of frustration and guilt gnawing at him.

“I hate that we're both feeling like this," he pleaded.

You nodded slowly, and he lifted you up from the floor, both of you retreating to a quieter corner of the room, away from the remnants of your argument near your front door.

“I’ve been an asshole. Feels like I've said this all before to you,” he breathes out an airy laugh, you don’t budge.

He noticed your unease, your quiet demeanor signaling a vulnerability he had never intended to expose.

“How ‘bout we take a break from all this.”

You yearned for him even after it all. You desire things patterned to always destroy you in the end.

“Yeah, I-, I don’t think I'm ready to talk about us.” you stuttered out, afraid to make eye contact with him. Afraid if you did all your wishes from early to fall at the feet of the thing responsible for the collapse might come true.

Joel nodded, sucking in a breathe,

“Okay.”

—

There was a warm glow casted over the horse stables as you worked diligently, pitchfork in hand, cleaning out the stalls. The familiar sounds of horses neighing and hooves against straw filled the air. Your focus was on Sparkle, a gentle black mare with a shimmering coat that seemed to live up to her name.

As you worked, the rhythmic scraping of the pitchfork against the straw was interrupted by a light voice behind you. "Hey there! How's it going?"

Turning around, you were met with the smiling face of Maria, one of the many important people on Jacksons committee. "Hey, Maria! Just another day in the stables, you know," you replied, wiping a bit of sweat from your brow.

She leaned against the stall door, eyeing Sparkle with admiration. "Sparkle's looking as beautiful as ever. You really have a way with her."

You grinned, patting Sparkle's side gently. "Yeah, she's a sweetheart. Just needs a little extra care, don't you, girl?"

Maria chuckled, then her expression turned curious. "By the way, I haven't seen you at the bar lately. Everything okay?"

You paused, glancing at the pitchfork in your hand. "Oh, you know, just been here. Busy."

Maria tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Busy, or avoiding the usual crowd?"

You chuckled, feeling a hint of embarrassment. "Maybe a bit of both. Sometimes, I think I'm too old to still be working there."

She nodded, understanding. "Fair enough. But you can't escape the social scene forever, you know. We miss having you around."

You sighed, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "I'll make an appearance soon, I promise. Just got a lot on my plate right now."

"Well, whenever you're ready, we'll be at the bar, waiting for you," Maria said with a friendly wink.

She leaves, and you’re left alone. The chatter is constantly getting old for you, you want to be left to your own devices. You want people to stop caring about where you are, where you’ve been, and where you’re going. You need to be invisible. You need to make yourself something Joel forgets.

You were finishing up your early morning stable duties, and a gentle breeze carried the familiar scent of hay and warm animal fur. You found yourself behind the sturdy door of one of the stalls, placing your tools in a bucket filled with lukewarm water. The horses startle when they hear the opening of stable doors before you, and you froze. Turning quickly to see him.

fuck. Shit.

You duck, hoping he hadn’t caught your eye behind the thin door of the stall.

As Joel approached, you couldn't resist the urge to observe him unnoticed. His confident stride and the set of his jaw spoke of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. You crouched down slightly, peering through a small gap in the door, attempting to stay hidden.

Joel, engrossed in the routine of preparing his horse, seemed to sense your presence. His gaze flickered in your direction, and for a moment, you held your breath. However, his expression remained unreadable, and he continued his tasks as if he hadn't noticed.

The rhythmic sounds of grooming and the soft noises of the horses filled the air. You couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervous energy.

After a few moments, Joel finished tending to his horse and turned to leave the stable. As he passed your hiding spot, his eyes met yours for the briefest moment. There was a subtle acknowledgment in his gaze, one of hurt and one of anger.

Joel walked away without a word, and you emerged from your hiding spot, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anguish. If this is how you would now have to live your days in Jackson, you don’t know how much longer you would survive.

—

It’s been 21 days.

The warm aroma of roasted turkey filled the air, and the laughter of friends and miller family fun echoed through the spacious dining room. However, for you, the atmosphere was anything but festive. Being at the miller’s thanksgiving was anything but relaxing.

It’s been 21 days since you’ve had to endure Joel Miller.

You’ve done your best to avoid him, not seeing him at all, wondering if he knew better than to show up. Knowing you had Tommy to protect you, knowing everyone heard what he did to Vanessa, the whole town talked. And Tommy invited everyone to his thanksgiving. Joel would be brave to show his face, but you’ve always known him as anything but someone who’s scared to cause a little bit of trouble.

It’s been 21 days since you’ve been avoiding Joel Miller.

You stopped working at the bar, not for him, but because you knew he’d try and find you there. Knew it wasn’t something you wanted to do long term, and this just gave you an excuse to try something else. Now, you clean the stables bright and early, lucky to also avoid Joel when he picks up his horse every now and again for patrols. Your walks home are filled with a deep set regret for everything. Should you have heard him out? No. You knew better. You knew what kind of man he was, and would continue to be. You fight with yourself on it everyday, and your heart stops as you hear it,

It’s been 21 days since you heard his laugh. You won’t get to call it 22 days, and when you realize it’s him, you don’t look back. Pacing past the living room and to Tommy’s small bathroom. Your eyes bloodshot from too much shitty pinot noir.

—

The sound of the Thanksgiving celebration echoed through the Miller residence, but in the quiet refuge of the bathroom.

You were just splashing some water on your face, attempting to compose yourself amidst the chaos, when the door creaked open, revealing Joel Miller, his eyes narrowing as they met yours in the mirror.

"Didn't expect to find you here," Joel muttered, crossing his arms.

You turned off the faucet, swallowing hard before meeting his gaze. "I needed a moment," you replied, your voice steady but laced with unease.

"A moment, huh?" Joel scoffed, his tone cutting through the air.

"Funny how you seem to need a moment every time we're in the same room lately."

You averted your eyes, the memories of your last conversation with Joel resurfacing. The heated words, the accusations, and the unresolved tension had left a bitter taste that lingered.

"What are you even doing here, anyway?" Joel continued, his frustration palpable.

"Tommy invited me," you said, attempting to keep your voice level. "I'm not here to ruin your family dinner, Joel."

He took a step closer, his gaze intense. "Ruining it? You already did that weeks ago."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. "Joel, can we not do this right now? It's Thanksgiving, for God's sake."

"Thanksgiving?" he scoffed again. "A lot to be thankful for, right? Like the way you disappeared without a word."

You clenched your fists, the guilt and frustration mounting. "It wasn't like that, Joel. You know it's complicated."

"Complicated? You think I don't get it?" he snapped, his voice rising. "But that doesn't excuse shutting me out completely."

Silence hung between you like a heavy fog, the distance growing even in the confined space of the bathroom. The distant laughter and chatter from the dinner table seemed a world away.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant laughter and music from inside. Joel broke the quiet, his voice softer than before.

"I didn't want things to end like this, you know?" he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"Me neither," you replied, avoiding eye contact.

Joel's jaw clenched, and he looked away, frustration etched across his face. The distance between you felt insurmountable,

He stepped closer, his hand finding yours. "I've been a jerk, haven't I?" he took his olive branch moment, hoping you would extend a white flag as well.

And in that moment, his dark eyes caught yours, and your heart dropped. You wanted your Joel back, you wanted to collapse and give up whatever game you were playing. You needed him, you wanted him.

It’s been 21 days too long without Joel Miller,

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Maybe a little."

Joel chuckled, a hint of relief in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things get this far."

"And I should have communicated better," you admitted, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, a sincerity in his gaze. "Can we start over? Forget the fights and just... be us again?"

You smiled, feeling the weight lifting. "I'd like that."

"So, what now?" Joel asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You smirked. "Well, I was thinking we could be lovey-dovey in the bathroom."

He laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet room. "Lovey-dovey, huh?"

"Yeah," you teased, "like in the good old days."

Joel tilted his head, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I wouldn’t call what we do in bathrooms lovey-dovey, darlin’.” his hand wraps in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, gently suckling a bruise there,

“But I’ll warn you,” his warm and wet breath spread throughout your neck as he smiles against your skin,

“I think I need to make this filthy mouth of yours beg, and never talk back to me again.”

You hummed in approval, moaning silently, “Impossible.” you teased,

Joel let go of your hair, hands now sliding down your body and giving your hips a bruising grip to remember,

“Always so mouthy, baby girl. Can’t be now with the town downstairs cutting the stuffing,” he bites his bottom lip, quickly swatting at your ass, a loud smack echoing off the walls as you squeal in surprise,

You shot him a quick glance, your usual sarcastic retort momentarily absent. Instead, you shrugged, feigning innocence.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Joel chuckled,

You shot him a mock glare, finally finding your voice. "Very funny, Joel. I can be quiet if I want to."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. "Sure, but that requires a well-behaved version of yourself."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the back of Joel’s head, your hands locked in his hair–

"I can be well-behaved when I want to be."

Joel smirked, pushing your bodies closer. "And do you want to be right now?"

You giggle slightly, nodding your head “no” slowly,

—

You both have to be really, really quiet. Moving from the bathroom into a room that looks alot like..shit. This is Tommy’s bedroom.

“Really..” you squint, not having much time to speak as Joel is already pushing you back onto the queen sized bed behind you,

“Fucking me in your brothers bed?” you smile into the kisses Joel has been smothering you with, sucking your bottom lip as he pulls away from you, lifting his shirt up and off of his toned body.

“Someones gotta get some in here.” he jokes, smirking down at you as he takes his belt off quickly,

Joel goes back to devouring you, pulling your brown dress up to lay at your waist, exposing your clothed cunt to him. His eyes go darker as he pulls your legs apart so easily, sucking in air as he tilts his head to look at you. His permanent scowl plastered on his face as he focused in on your pussy.

“Baby,” he puts one of your legs down as he uses his thumb to rub against where your clit is beneath your underwear. His palm against your mound as he does so.

You moan out, squirming in his grasp, “Joel, I missed you,” you whine,

Joel leaned over, his bulge met your core as he began kissing you against. Both your moans being captured by each other's mouths. Dry humping each other in the process,

Confidence suddenly burst inside of you, holding his shoulders as you pushed your hips up as hard as you could, moving them in circular motion, hearing a small groan escape from Joel’s lips,

“Fuck” he groans in your ear,

“Gonna take this fuckin’ i give you?” he questioned rhetorically, because you didn’t get a say on whether you were taking it or not.

Pushing himself off of you, he now towered over you. Leaving you on your back with your legs spread open,

“Take these off, now” Joel pulled at the top of your panties, snapping them against your skin harshly.

You obeyed quickly, while watching him release himself, a long thick cock hanging out of his pants, warranting a gasp from you, feeling your own juices flow from you, staining the bedding beneath you,

Your reaction seemed to satisfy Joel, who was watching you as if you were prey,

“I want you. I want you right now.” his voice deep, dripping with lust as he walked back to you, grabbing your legs and dragging you to the edge of the bed, hearing you squeak as he did so.

He flipped you over, and your ass was up in the air, your entrance glistening for him, he couldn’t help himself, and that’s when you jumped forward screaming loudly as you felt a stinging sensation on your cunt. Joel’s hand vibrating off of the skin there,

“Not so quiet after all, honey?” he mocked you, rubbing anything that leaked from you back on your clit, you moaned lowly, soon turning it into a loud moan as you felt the thick head of his cock rub against you, teasing your entrance, dipping the tip in, causing you to grip the navy blue sheets beneath you, moving up with each tease.

“Don’t run from me.” he stated gruffly, and you turned to look at him, his wavy locks falling beside his face, his eyes caught yours, winking as he pushed inside of you, stretching you far enough to feel as if your insides were burning. “F-fuckOH” he was enjoying the way your cunt spazzed around him, feeling his cock enlarge even more at the way you pulsed for him,

Joel began thrusting harder, pushing your body forward with every hard snap of his hips, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Your body was on fire, feeling your heart sink as he bottomed out inside of you. With every thrust he tore into you further. Your body invites him in more as you feel yourself drown him with your cum, his cock becoming adjusted to you, taking advantage of every shake and squeeze.

“Joel–, fuck, faster,--” you felt your feet levitate off he ground, him holding your hold bottom half up as he obeyed your request, laughing at your whimpers. Your feet now dangling as he manhandles your body, fucking down into you as he grunts, his balls hitting against your clit and causing you to spasm even harder around him.

“Take it, baby.” his hips snapped harder into you, the room filled with panting and the loud clapping of your skin against his, moaning into the bed as you felt your release coming closer as he reached around you to rub your clit, moaning with you as you began letting go for him, feeling something inside of you begin to snap, you tried grabbing behind you, but he pulled your hand against your back, pushing your body further into the cushion as your pussy convulsed, and you came on him, shaking as he walked you through you orgasm,

“Cum around me just like that.”

“Darlin’ you feel so good, you’re doing so well.”

“Your cunts meant to take it like this.”

Joel’s low voice barely noticed as your ears rang from how hard you had cum. Joel following after shortly,

“Shit. Shit.”

“S–Shit, so, fucking good.” Screaming your name as he produced enough cum to cover your cunt and your ass entirely.

You were panting heavy as he fell on top of you, completely fucked out as his limp dick sat against your back. Joel is still in bliss, moving your hair away from the back of your neck and kissing along it, slightly humming into your glistening skin.

His lips only leave your skin to whisper to you in his daze,

“ s’ gonna be pissed if he finds out what happened here.”

You both laugh at the uncomfortable reality of this. You both will eventually have to get up and face the crowd. But for just a few more moments, you let yourself feel the comfort of being smothered under Joel’s body.

—

It’s been 21 minutes.

The door creaked open, and you and Joel stepped out of the bedroom, both wearing wide grins that couldn't be contained. The sound of Thanksgiving chatter from downstairs seemed muffled in comparison to the joy that radiated between you two.

As you descended the stairs, hand in hand, Tommy looked up from the crowded living room. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of your shared happiness.

"What's got you two looking so... giddy?" Tommy asked, a curious smile playing on his lips.

Joel chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with you. "Oh, you know, just enjoying some quiet time away from Bill's stories."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's all?"

You couldn't help but giggle, feeling the need to share your newfound joy. "Well, we might've had a little heart-to-heart. It's Thanksgiving, after all."

Tommy's eyes widened, a sly grin forming. "A heart-to-heart, huh?”

Joel laughed, playfully nudging you.

Tommy continued to scrutinize you both, but his teasing demeanor softened. "Well, as long as you're happy." you both smiled at him,

“And as long as it wasn’t in my room.”

You exchanged a glance with Joel, your smiles widening.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller x you #frankie morales #din djarin

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 1 year ago

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Wash Away the Pain #1 - Echo

Returning to Kamino following a string of back-to-back missions after Anaxes, Echo receives the news he never wanted to hear.

Pairing: Echo x gn!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: whump, reference to Fives death, Echo has self-esteem issues, mourning and grief, hurt and comfort, you and the boys rally around Echo, bittersweet ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is part of a mini-series where each of our boys will get their sad/angsty shower time, but they can be read as standalones.

Check out the whole series: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

The sound of falling water drowned out everything else in the fresher, the water temperature so hot it should’ve been uncomfortable, but after years in cryofreeze, Echo welcomed the heat.

He was gone.

He was really gone.

“I’m sorry, Echo. I really am. He should’ve been stunned. I still don’t know why it went down like that.”

Rex’s voice as he’d broken the news still rang in his head. Echo had received a message from him only an hour ago, after you’d all landed on Kamino following a string of back-to-back missions following Anaxes. He’d thought they would just shoot the breeze like old times. He hadn’t expected this.

Echo’s eyes drop, fixating on the metal legs the Techno Union had attached to his body. The scomp on his right arm, the ports littering his body. Self-loathing coils through him.

Why did he get to live? Why was he turned into a machine while Fives died, lost in panic, in a dirty Coruscant street? The only saving grace was that Rex had been there to hold him.

So lost in his thoughts, Echo misses the sound of the fresher door opening, of you slipping inside and shutting it behind you.

Echo might’ve only been with you and the boys for a few weeks, but you’d quickly grown fond of him. So much so that when he’d returned to the barracks 10 minutes ago, crest-fallen, clutching a bucket painted in the colours of the 501st, and then promptly headed for the fresher without so much as a word, you’d known something was wrong. Your datapad had pinged a few moments later, a message from Rex filling you in, asking you to keep an eye on Echo – as if you wouldn’t have done that.

Physically, he was fine, albeit still getting used to his new body. As the squads nat-born medic, called in because of the inability of your boys to get along with regs, it was your job to look after their wellbeing. And now it seemed Echo needed some care.

You step into the shower behind him, not caring that you’re still clothed, and slowly press a hand to his back. Echo jolts at the touch, caught off-guard, turning in place to meet your gaze. With space tight on the Marauder and sharing barracks, seeing the boys in various states of undress had become commonplace. Heck, half the time, they had to be stripped out of their ruined blacks when injured. The nudity no longer bothered any of you. Echo had adapted to it quickly, too.

“Echo…” His name falls from your lips quietly, hand rising to cup his face. His head tilts away from your gaze, taking your hand with him. Thumb smoothing across his gaunt cheek, you watch as a myriad of emotions flit across his face.

Echo’s eyes were now clouded with grief and guilt. The water from the shower mixes with the tears streaming down his face, creating a bittersweet cascade that mirrored the turmoil within him.

“I should’ve been there,” Echo mutters, his voice strained and filled with regret. “I should’ve protected him. He’s gone because of me.”

Your heart aches for him, and you rest your free hand on his waist, pulling him closer. The prosthetic attachments on his body feel cold against your skin – even with the shower’s heat – a stark reminder of his sacrifices for the Republic. “Echo, you couldn’t have known. You’ve been through so much. Don’t blame yourself.”

He shakes his head, a mix of frustration and sorrow in his eyes. “I can’t shake the feeling that I failed him. And now I’m just a machine, a reminder of everything we lost.”

You gently trace the contours of the implants on his arm, your fingers dancing over the hard surface. “You’re not just a machine, Echo. You’re a survivor. You’re still here.”

He finally meets your gaze, and for a moment, he searches your eyes. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but you let him take his time. “I don’t know how to be here without him.” He finally admits.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Grieve, remember, but don’t forget that there are people here who care about you, who want to help you through this.” You tell him softly, the water continuing to pour down around you both.

Echo’s shoulders slump, and he leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence starkly contrasting with the cold metal that now makes up a significant part of him. The weight of loss and survivor’s guilt hangs heavy in the air, but your steady support gives him a small anchor in the storm of his emotions.

“I don’t want to be alone again.” He admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“You never will be.” You assure him, fingers continuing their gentle exploration of the cybernetic enhancements that have become a part of him, wanting to show him that it was okay, that there was nothing wrong with his new body. “We’re all here for you, Echo. The boys, Rex, and I.”

He nods, a silent acknowledgement of your words. The water washes away not just the physical grime but also some of the emotional turmoil that has gripped him since Rex delivered the devastating news.

As the two of you stand in the warmth of the shower, Echo may feel like a machine, a remnant of a past he can’t forget, but your touch, your empathy, reminds him that he’s still human beneath the prosthetics.

Eyes flitting towards the counter just outside the shower cubicle, Echo lets out a small sigh as he looks over his brother’s helmet. Memories of them painting their armour together surface, of the multiple attempts it had taken to get the lines crisp, of Fives dipping his hand in blue paint to reapply the print on Echo’s chestplate.

Following his gaze, a sad smile passes over your lips. “Remembering him doesn’t mean you must carry the weight alone.” You say, voice a gentle murmur. “We’re all here to share the burden. Fives will always be a part of you, and you’ll carry his memory forward.”

Echo's gaze lingers on the helmet. The loss of a brother is a wound that cuts deep, but perhaps, with time and support, the injury could heal into a scar - a testament to the strength it took to endure.

As the water cools, you guide Echo out of the shower. The small space feels intimate and comforting, a refuge from the harsh realities of the galaxy. You hand him a towel, and he begins to dry himself off on autopilot, his mind still processing the emotional whirlwind.

Over the following days, the barracks become a place of healing. The boys rally around Echo, offering support and understanding. When Echo’s new armour is finished – having undergone some modifications courtesy of Tech – they paint it in their colours while you distract Echo in the medbay. You’d also procured some blue paint from Rex, and they make sure to add a small Aurebesh ‘5’ and a fine-line domino to the back of the chestplate.

The tears that had clouded Echo’s gaze as he’d been presented with his new kit and had turned it over to find the hidden tribute were a mixture of sorrow and gratitude. The pain of loss still lingered, but each stroke of the brush, each carefully applied detail, was a silent affirmation that he was not alone.

In the quiet moments, you still find Echo gazing at Five’s helmet, stored securely on the Marauder. But now, there’s a small smile playing on his lips. The pain may never fully fade, but Echo carries the memories of Fives with gratitude for the time they shared, and the squad learns that even in loss, there’s strength in unity.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb x reader #tbb x you #bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #tbb echo x you #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo #arc trooper echo x reader #echo the bad batch #echo x reader #the bad batch echo #arc trooper echo #clone force 99

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bethanythebogwitch · 1 year ago

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Digimon and Mythology: the Seven Great Demon Lords

Of all the many Digimon groups, none are more notorious than the Seven Great Demon Lords. Among the most powerful of all Digimon, they are the epitome of evil in the Digital World, each one representing one of the seven deadly sins. As long as that sin exists in Digimon, the corresponding Demon Lord will exist. It's even stated that they are transdimensional, each one existing in many parallel worlds throughout the multiverse. The power of the associated sin is divided between each version of the Demon Lord in every universe where they exist. Kill one in one universe, and its power will be divided amongst its counterparts in other universes. This means even killing a Demon Lord is a crime, for though you've helped your universe, every other one will now be worse off for it. The Demon Lords are composed of fallen angel Digimon that rebelled against the Digital World's god in ancient times. Their rebellion failed and they were consigned to the Dark Area, the graveyard of deleted data that serves as the Digital World's hell. Now, each works to fulfill its own agenda while staying out of each other's plans. It is possible that, were they to unite in common cause, their attempted destruction of the Digital World would succeed this time.

Each Demon Lord has a crest associated with them and their sin. These crests contain quite a bit of information about their real-life inspirations. Each crest is a concentric circle. Between the two circles is a series of text reading LEVEL:666 SYSTEM:___ CODE:___. CODE (which is listed twice) lists the Demon lord's sin and SYSTEM lists the demon associated with that sin in Christian demonology. In the inner circle at the top is the symbol used in pre-scientific astrology for one of the seven classical planets (which included the sun and moon as planets). In the middle, taking up most of the crest is the sigil of one of the seven olympian spirits, which I will discuss below. At the bottom is text PURGATORY LEVEL:___, which goes from 1 to 7 and correspond to the level of purgatory associated with that sin in the Purgatorio chapter of Dante's Divine Comedy. Each crest is the color of one of the seven colors of the visual light spectrum. Each Demon Lord also has a sword with a unique design that includes their crest, but these swords don't appear is as much media as the crests.

The olympian spirits mentioned above were featured in several renaissance-era occult traditions that mixed together Christian theology with a variety of new ideas. The spirits were said to rule the 196 provinces of heaven, ruled the natural world in secession, and each was associated with one of the classical planets and the teaching of some kind of knowledge. They are often associated with (though are not) archangels. Each also had a seal. The crests of the Demon Lords each bear the seal of one of the olympian spirits and the symbol of their associated planet.

So the Demon Lords are fallen angels, but what is a fallen angel? The common modern idea of a fallen angel is an angel that sided with the devil when he rebelled against god and was cast into hell, where they now seek to spread evil and may be synonymous with demons. This is the idea that Digimon runs with. This idea has not always been the consensus. The origin of the idea of a fallen angel appears to occur in ancient Jewish texts which are now considered apocryphal by most modern Jews and Christians. These books describe angels called watchers who go to earth and fall for human women, whom they mate with and are then rejected by god. Throughout the history of Judaism, the idea of fallen angels being evil beings (and whether or not they even exist) has come in and out of fashion. It appears to have been in fashion when Christianity branched off, since the devil is described as a fallen angel in canonical texts. The text never actually equated fallen angels and demons, but that has become the general consensus since them. There are a surprising amount of very Christian beliefs that are actually not stated in the Bible (cough trinity cough).

The leader of the Seven Great Demon Lords (in that he's the only one who can get them all to work together) and most powerful member is Lucemon Falldown Mode, Demon Lord of pride. As the name suggests, he is based on Lucifer, the original name of the most common version of the devil myth in Christianity. He started out as Lucemon, the first angel Digimon who lived in the early Digital World, a chaotic place, and brought order and harmony. Lucemon was a good and loving being that, despite bing of the low Child/Rookie level, was so powerful that the Ultimate/Mega level Three Great Angels possess its power divided amongst themselves. For reasons never fully stated, Lucemon rebelled against the Digital World's god and became Lucemon Falldown Mode. Normally, a mode change is the Digimon changing itself without actually evolving, but Lucemon treats mode changes as evolutions instead. It skipped a level to become a Perfect/Ultimate level as FM. This is a level below the other Demon Lords, but it is still the most powerful of the group. Lucemon FM is a contradictory being, possessing both angelic and demonic qualities, as evidenced by it having angel wings on one side of its body and bat wings on the other. It is trapped between its original loving self and a demonic desire to destroy that causes it to have the ultimate goal of destroying the world to create a new one.

Lucemon

Lucemon Falldown Mode

Lucemon can further evolve to Lucemon Satan Mode. In this form, he loses all human features to instead become a gigantic, demonic dragon. It is based on the dragon of the book of revelation. While that dragon had seven horns, Lucemon SM does not. Instead, it has the crests of all the Demon Lords on its wings, a reference to said dragon wearing seven crowns. It carries a globe of shadows called Gehenna that absorbs all attacks, making it impossible to actually harm Lucemon SM. Genenna is the name of a valley in Jerusalem whose name as become associated with a place of divine punishment in Judaism. Despite its power, Lucemon Satan Mode is actually just the shadow of the true form of Lucemon, who resides within the Gehenna globe. This true form, the epitome of Lucemon's evil is Lucemon Larva, which takes the from of an utterly pathetic little worm that can barely do anything. The ultimate evil of the Digital World being a pathetic little bug is definitely some sort of statement on behalf of the Digimon creative team. All the Demon Lords have an x-antibody variant. Lucemon X loses the symbolism of being half angel and half demon and explicitly said to have become omnipotent. Yeah, in the x-antibody setting, evil wins. And people say x-antibody Digimon aren't edgelordy as hell. All the Demon Lord x-antibody forms incorporate their crest into their designs, which is a nice touch.

Lucemon Satan Mode

Lucemon Larva

Ok, so Lucemon is the devil, but who exactly is the devil? Well in the oldest Jewish texts, Satan is not a person, but a title meaning "opposer" or "adversary". The satan was a title given to someone acting an an adversary on God's behalf and certainly was no an enemy of God. The idea of the satan being an individual being was God's enemy is one of many features the ancient Hebrews adopted from Zoroastrianism after the Persians conquered Israel out from under the Babylonians. Zoroastrianism features the idea of the world being caught in a struggle between the good god Ahura Mazda and the evil god Ahriman, a struggle where good will eventually win. The Hebrews folded these ideas into their own religion by making their version of Ahriman a fallen angel and attaching the already existing satan title to him. The name Lucifer being attached to the devil comes from Isaiah 14 (which if you read in context is actually condemning the king of Babylon, not talking about the devil) which refers to astrology, referencing the morning star, another name for Venus. Lucifer is the Latin name for Venus as it appears in the morning and was used when the Bible got translated into other languages. Venus being connected to fallen figures also predates Judaism. Both the Sumerians and the Canaanites had gods associated with Venus (Inanna and Attar, respectively) who descended to the underworld. Lucemon's crest is red and references the olympian spirit Och, who was associated with the sun and was a healer.

Leviamon is the Demon Lord of envy, based on leviathan. It is a colossal red crocodile that slumbers in the depth of the ocean and is so large that it could swallow the Digital World in one bite. When it does wake up, its envy of anything it perceives as greater then it lead it to hatred and violence. Even angelic and other demonic Digimon flee before its power. Lucemon provides the foundation for evil to exist in the Digital World and it is said to have no limits. Leviamon X gains the ability to fly and some of the ugliest art in the franchise. Its crest is light blue (which stands in for indigo in the rainbow) and references the olympian spirit Ophiel, a teacher of art that is associated with Mercury.

Leviamon

Leviamon X

The leviathan is a sea monster appearing the the Hebrew bible. While it is described as a fire-breathing monster, multiple scholars believe that the description given in the book of Job is a highly exaggeration and fantastical description of a Nile crocodile, which would have been one of the most terrifying creatures known to people in the middle east and makes Leviamon's depiction very fitting. Leviathan is often used as a symbolic representation of an obstacle to overcome. According to some literature, at the end of the world it and its counterpart behemoth will be killed and the righteous will eat them. Scholars of comparative religion note the similarity of leviathan to monsters in other nearby cultures, such as the Canaanite Lotan and Sumerian Tiamat. Many of these cultures have creation myths that portray the pre-creation chaos as a sea monster that must be killed for the creation of the world to begin. Said scholars suggest that leviathan comes from a pre-Jewish version of this motif.

Demon is the Demon Lord of wrath. He is the only Demon Lord that got a substantial name change in English, or rather he got two. While the dub of Digimon Adventure 02 uses Daemon, most English media uses the name Creepymon. In a fandom that argues over every name change, you will not find any fans sticking up for Creepymon. Tt's probably the most despised name change in the franchise because of how silly it sounds for such an intimidating and evil Digimon. Because Demon is the lord of wrath, you might think he's a mindless rage monster. This would be a mistake, Demon is actually a brilliant schemer who is plotting to find a way to evolve beyond the Ultimate/Mega level and take over the Digital World. All the Demon Lords are fallen angel Digimon and Daemon is a fallen Seraphimon, the most powerful of the angels. It hates the Digital World's god and seeks revenge for its banishment to the Dark Area. In the mange V-Tamer 01, Demon succeeds at evolving beyond the Ultimate/Mega level, becoming Demon Super Ultimate. Demon X can go beyond even that through the power of being really, REALLY angry. Demon's crest is orange and references the olympian spirit Bethor, who had many treasures and was associated with Jupiter.

Demon

Demon Super Ultimate

Demon X

Demon has been confirmed to be based on a cacodaemon. In Greek, the word "daemon" or "daimon" was a generic term for any spirit with no moral implication. Cacodaemons were daemons who were evil. It was after the translation of the old testament to Greek that the word "daemon" came to be associated with evil. Demon also takes design influences from more monstrous depictions of the devil. It was designed before the Demon Lords as a group were introduced and retroactively included in the group, which is why it doesn't have the same depth of references as the rest and its name is so much more generic.

The Demon Lord of sloth is Belphemon Rage mode. While only its Rage Mode is considered a Demon Lord, Belphemon spends most of its time in Sleep Mode. Belphemon was so powerful and destructive that the Digital World's system forcibly placed it in a sleep mode. While in Sleep Mode, Belphemon can't attack, but its snores are so powerful that other Digimon can be killed just by being near it. Belphemon awaked once every thousand yers (though it can also be awaked early), transforming into Rage Mode. Rage mode is the mindless rage monster that you'd Demon would be, rampaging and killing everything around itself until it is forced back to sleep. Belphemon X is even more destructive, but smarter and capable of leading armies of demonic Digimon. Belphemon's crest is dark blue and references the olympian spirit Phaleg, who was a mighty warrior and associated with Mars.

Belphemon Sleep Mode

Belphemon Rage Mode

Belphemon X

Belphemon's namesake is Belphegor, the demon associated with sloth in Christian demonology. He is said to tempt people into being lazy. Visually, Belphemon is based on Baphomet, a goat-headed demon that has become a popular symbol in multiple occult belief systems. While sometimes believed to be part of Christian demonology, Baphomet was most likely completely made up to slander the Knights Templar by telling people it was a god they worshipped.

The Demon Lord of greed is Barbamon. It is the most cunning of the seven and the foremost schemer. It is able to manipulate the extremely powerful Deathmon (who usually tries to remain neutral) into doing its bidding. While Barbamon preferes to manupulate others into doing its dirty work, it is fully capable of fighting by unleshing the flames of the Dark Area. Barbamon is driven by greed and would happily kill another Digimon just to get a new bauble. Not that he needs it or anything, he just wants it. Barbamon X merges his staff with his had to become an even more powerful sorcerer. Barbamon's crest is violet and references the olympic spirit Aratron, an alchemist associated with Saturn. To address the Elephantmon in the room, Yes, Barbamon is a greedy old man with a long nose. Yes, he looks like a Jewish stereotype. I don't know if those stereotypes are well known in Japan of if they have the same kind of negative connotations they do in the west. Japanese media occasionally uses negative stereotypes like this (for example, many anime and manga series have been criticized for using stereotypical depictions of black people) because they just don't have the same negative connotations there. Either way, it does make me uncomfortable.

Barbamon

Barbamon's namesake is Barbatos, a demon listed in the Lesser Key of Solomon who can understand the language of animals and reveal hidden treasures. The demon in Christian demonology normally associated with greed is Mammon. Digimon had to change it because there was already a Mammon (Mammothmon in english). Barbatos does still have the association with treasure that fits greed. visually, he is based on a wicked wizard.

If you ask Digimon fans what their favorite Demon Lord is, most will reply Beelzebumon, largely due to his role in Digimon Tamers, though him being a badass biker sertainly helps. The english dub shortened his name to Beelzemon, which I prefer. It rolls off the tongue easier. Beelzemon is the Demon Lord of gluttony, which is depicted here as an obsessive desire for more power, usually obtained by killing other Digimon and devouring their data. While cruel and merciless, Beelzemon does have a sense of pride and won't attack those who can't defend themselves. It also dislikes other Digimon who do bully the weak. It rides a motorcycle named Behemoth and dual-wields shotguns names Berenjena. Yes, that is the Spanish word for "eggplant", Digimon gives really random names sometimes. It was later established that the Berenjena were bult by the ultimate smith Vulcanusmon, who gives all his creations Spanish food names for whatever reason. Beelzemon can change into a more powerful form: Beelzemon Blast Mode, where he grows wings and swaps out one Berenjena for an arm-mounted ray gun named "Blaster". Leave the names to Volcanusmon, buddy. You're not very good at this. Despite becoming even more powerful, Beelzemon BM is calmer and less violent, possibly even on the path to redemption. Beelzemon Blast Mode is no longer a member of the Demon Lords. Beelzemon X gains the ability to summon El Evangelio, the sentient flames of the Dark Area that attack and punish sinners. While the flames try to attack Beelzemon X, he is so powerful he can forcibly subdue them and use them as his bullets. Beelzemon's crest is yellow and references the olympian spirit Hagith, who was extremely beautiful and associated with Venus.

Beelzemon

Beelzemon Blast Mode

Beelzemon X

Beelzemon's name comes from Beelzebub, a demon in Jewish and Christian demonology. The name comes from ba'al zebub, which means "lord of the flies". Beelzebub is associated with gluttony in Christian demonology, possibly due to flies feeding on feces. If it eats poop it must be gluttonous. One hypothesis about the origin of the character is that he started as a Philistine god names ba'al zebul, which means "lord of the heavenly dwelling". The Hebrews literally demonized the character and corrupted his name into ba'al zebul.

Last but not least is Lilithmon, Demon Lord of lust. She was given the name Laylamon in the English dub of Xros Wars, but otherwise retains her original name in English. She is a master manipulator that bewitches Digimon into falling toward evil and following her every whim. She is known as the dark goddess as she is kind and generous to evil Digimon, but cruel to and outraged by virtuous one. She perfers to fight by using summoning circles to conjure forth monsters, but it capable of fighting on her own. Her breath is corrosive and the claw on her right arm, the Nazar Nail, will corrode anything it scratches into nothing. Her most notable anime appearance was in Xros Wars where this incrdibly powerful mailator and Demon Lord was demoted into the sexy , incompetent, comic relief minion. One of many reasons I don't like Xros Wars. Fortunately, she got an appearance as a monster of the week in Ghost Game, where she was portrayed as much truer to what she should be. Lillithmon X can now turn ofter Digimon into her puppets and will drain them of their life as they work tirelessly following her will. It's worth noting that there's an unwritten rule of Digimon design that if a Digimon looks like a person in a costume, they will have a helmet or mask or something else that keeps you from seeing their full face. Lucemon and Lilithmon are the only exceptions to this rule. Her crest is green and references the olympian spirit Phul, a healer associated with the moon.

Lillithmon

Lilithmon X

Lilithmon's namesake is Lilith, a figure in Hebrew and Mesopotamian mythology. In Jewish folklore (not official sources, she is considered non-canonical by most Jewish authorities), she is the first wife of Adam, who was banished from the garden of eden for wanting to be treated as an equal to Adam instead of being subservient. After being banished from the garden, she became the first succubus and birthed many demons. A woman wanting to be treated as an equal probably would have been weird to a society as misogynistic as most of those in the ancient world. Lilith may have been an attempt to explain one of the contradictions between the genesis 1 and genesis 2 versions of the creation myth. In genesis 1, men and women (unnamed) are created together while in genesis 2, Adam is created before Eve. Lilith was likely used to explain this discrepancy. She was the unnamed woman created alongside Adam and Eve came later. Lilith likely also comes from older Mesopotamian mythology, which contains a race of feminine nocturnal bird demons called the lilitu. A figure that may be a proto-Lilith appears in the stories of Gilgamesh, where she lives in a magic tree. The demon associated with lust in Christian demonology is Asmodeus. Kind of gives the D&D Asmodeus's ruby rod a new meaning doesn't it? The name of the Nazar Nail comes form the nazar, an eye shaped amulet believed to ward off the evil eye. That doesn't have anything to do with a claw that dissolves thing, but, again, Digimon just gives weird names sometimes.

While the Demon Lords are fearsome on their own, when they come together, they create something immeasurably worse. This is Ogudumon, the super demon lord and fusion of all seven. It is the embodiment of all the sins of the Digital World, which makes it the ultimate evil, but also gives it to ability to atone for all sin. Because all sin exists within it, it can counteract any form of malice or evil from others. Because of this, only a being with no malice in their heart can harm Ogudumon. Ogudumon is a very weird creature, looking like some demonic starfish with seven legs. Each leg has an eye and it also has a head with its own eye. Each leg is impaled with a sword associated with one of the Demon Lords and bears that Demon Lord's crest. Ogudumon X tunrs the legs into tentacles with the powers of all the Demon Lords and its mere presence is destroying the world. Again, x-antibody is the edgelord's Digimon. Like Lucemon Satan mode, Ogudumon is based on the dragon of the book of revelation, but instead of having seven heads, it has (or rather, is) seven legs. Yeah, it's a weird one. Its name comes from the ogdoad, the Greek name for a group of 8 Egyptian gods who were considered to be in balance with each other.

Ogudumon

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