#i know the ending of this is quite abrupt but i wrote like two more paragraphs and then i was like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wintrwinchestr · 6 months ago

Text

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

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read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that?

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway?

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about.

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol.

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has.

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night.

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out.

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought.

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you.

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away.

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge.

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears.

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need.

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still.

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans.

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue.

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour.

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—”

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.”

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already.

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some.

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise.

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that.

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why.

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything.

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.”

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying.

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now.

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up.

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.”

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers.

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough.

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band.

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight.

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary.

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet.

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

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#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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abstractnaturaldisaster · 8 months ago

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is it over now? (was it over then?)

part one

part two: if she's got blue eyes, i will surmise that you'll probably date her

Eddie had felt completely numb after leaving Steve's apartment. He wasn't really interested in doing anything with his band even though they definitely owed the studio a new album but Eddie wasn't feeling inspired after the abrupt departure of his most recent muse.

He didn't want to be that guy who wrote songs about his exes or aired dirty laundry in public through cryptic lyrics. It worked for other people but his band's vibe was a lot more fantasy and concept albumy and he couldn't quite find the energy to allegorize his current heartbreak. This is where the reality of the music industry really sucked because at some point their label didn't give a shit about Eddie's need to wallow and his manager could only negotiate so many extensions.

Thankfully, all previous qualms he had with writing about his ex and their breakup ended when he saw another fucking TMZ headline about Steve leaving a club with another model. This had to be the thirtieth person Steve had been tied to since their breakup. Eddie's best guess was that his pact with Robin to be each other's whatever to get the media off their back had ended.

Lyrics started flowing out of Eddie as he swiped out of twitter and into his notes app.

Your new girl is my clone And did you think I didn't see you? There were flashing lights At least I had the decency To keep my nights out of sight Only rumors 'bout my hips and thighs And my whispered sighs

Eddie knew it was probably a low blow to flaunt his escapades after he'd worked pretty hard to keep them under wraps. He didn't need the world to know he had pity sex with some random guy he picked up because he really got Eddie's last album. Eddie fucking hated how pretentious some fans were about his lyrics. Like sometimes a sword is just a sword, bestie. Anyways, an NDA and really shitty coffee later, Eddie pretended that mistake hadn't happened but was petty enough to make it clear to Steve that he wasn't the only one finding solace in someone else's bed.

He put together a rough melody on his acoustic and sent it over to his band to see what they thought. He wasn't sure if they'd be into it but it was fucking therapeutic to get the feelings out of his body that were festering there. Gareth was over the moon because he had been anti-Steve from the beginning and was super on board with some pretty boy actor directed snark. Ronnie, Jeff, and Freak were a little harder to bring around as they felt like they should at least sort of protect their darker brand but once Freak laid down a pretty sick base and Ronnie added some haunting piano it was undeniably a Corroded Coffin song. They packaged up a rough draft and sent it over to their producer to work his magic. Before Eddie knew it the song was approved for a sound on TikTok and Eddie and the band were thinking of video ideas to promote the single which would apparently be ready for streaming in the next month. Eddie wasn't quite ready to concede an entire angsty breakup album but it did at least feel good to get a start on producing what the studio was looking for.

Eddie sat back and scrolled through the sound on TikTok and thought about Steve's reaction to the sound or the single a perfectly healthy amount, thank you very much.

@lololol-1234 (it's not quite fixed yet but i hope you don't mind the tag)

part three

#steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie #pls don't be mad at steve #i promise it will all make sense #eddie is not a reliable narrator #don't worry robin will fix it #angst #angst with a happy ending #rockstar eddie #actor steve #was it over then ficlet

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deepspacedukat · 5 months ago

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Praetor's Pride - Part 6

Y'know, at first I was worried that this would turn out to be a filler chapter, but it turned out to be something else entirely thanks to a plot bunny that halfway ties together two ideas I had. This fic will probably end up being around fifteen chapters, so strap idn for a long journey, and enjoy, friends! I know I haven't updated in ages, but life is busy and writer's block is a bitch.

Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here. Part 4 here. Part 5 here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Praetor Hiren (ST:Nemesis) x Reader; Senator Letant (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: This has smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Romulan sex, innuendo, ogling, heavy flirtation, literal sleeping together, dirty talk, implied spanking, mild angst.

~*~

After months of sand swirling around my head, getting in my hair, and nearly blinding me, the cool, climate-controlled environment of Deep Space Nine felt like the height of luxury. The Vulcan heat, I'd discovered, was quite possibly the most stifling climate I'd ever experienced - even Andoria's frigid icy surface was more enjoyable.

When I'd arrived on the former Cardassian station, I'd lowered the temperature in my quarters and practically lived in my bed the first day. It was lazy, it was selfish, but oh stars it felt incredible to not be on the verge of melting for once.

All in all, Vulcan hadn't been completely unpleasant, but the heat was one thing I could definitely do without. Despite feeling as though I was roasting alive every time I walked outside, my spirits during my stay there had been kept rather high by my correspondence with both Letant and Hiren. The letters I received from them were the highlights of my days.

Each had such a unique voice when putting pen to paper - or, I should say stylus to PADD - that I could tell by the very first line which of the two had written it before I glanced down at the signature. Letant was his usual jovial, jaunty self. We'd corresponded semi-regularly prior to this last trip to Vulcan, but his letters were now an almost daily part of my routine.

He spoke, for the most part, as if nothing had changed between us, but he'd stray into romantic territory near the end of each missive. Judging by his tone and how sentimental he waxed, I could discern his mood. If it had been a long, hard day, he veered further into introspective territory.

'I can't help but wonder,' he wrote in one particular message, 'whether I've been selfish in regards to our relationship. A Romulan Senator has no shortage of enemies, as has been demonstrated to me recently, and I must ask you to be honest with me in your next response. Are you absolutely certain that you know what you're getting into?'

I'd responded to him that whatever hurdles appeared before us, we'd conquer them together. Navigating life together - the good, the bad, and everything in between - was, after all, what relationships were all about. He'd comforted me countless times over the course of our friendship, so why shouldn't I do the same for him now that we were romantically involved?

Letant certainly had no objections to my emotional support, becoming ever more amorous in his subsequent correspondence.

And the Praetor's letters...

Oh, Hiren gave me something utterly priceless: a glimpse into his soul. Quoting romantic poetry from all corners of the galaxy, he made me feel as though he...well, adored me. Letant's letters were extremely intimate and romantic, of course, but this side of Hiren was unexpected. I wasn't surprised that he could be that way with a lover, but I never quite anticipated being on the receiving end of such desire.

A small part of me still expected an abrupt shift from acceptance of my Humanity to outright rejection. Maybe that expectation was just my past experience with intolerance rearing its ugly head, but something taut and nervous fluttered through my chest every time I read one of the Praetor's missives. I already felt so much for him. The thought that he might end up thinking no more of me than some of the others I'd met felt like a vice around my lungs. I hadn't yet confided that to Letant, but I knew it would be wise to do so once he arrived on the station.

He'd know precisely what I was feeling, especially if he made use of that telepathy he'd demonstrated to glance into my thoughts. In fact, that might be easier than trying to express what I felt verbally.

They seemingly had no trouble doing so - a fact that never ceased to surprise me, despite the heavy encryption that protected their words.

Something else their letters shared was the presence of oddly capitalized letters. Both could speak Federation standard, but given how random the capitalized letters were, it seemed as thought they'd begun dictating their letters in Romulan using a translation matrix that wasn't quite calibrated correctly, then switched over to Federation standard dictation halfway through. It was odd. Every letter but one contained these odd linguistic characters; Hiren's most recent correspondence was the only one completely free of typos.

For such exacting men, this struck me as odd, but then again, they were both extremely busy. They could simply have not noticed, especially if their wrote their letters at the end of the day before bed. They did have exhausting jobs, and more than once, Letant had alluded to giving himself a...'relaxing massage' while composing a message to me.

I couldn't help but wonder whether Hiren had ever done the same. I reprimanded myself as soon as the thought crossed my mind. He was the Praetor of the Romulan Empire. I really shouldn't have tried to read more into his words than was intended.

But then, that day in the garden still nudged at the back of my mind, reminding me of how deep and sensual Hiren's voice dropped when he was aroused, and I was gone. There was no dragging my thoughts back from the abyss of dirty imagery it had conjured. Maybe it was all that time spent with the Vulcans and their own mental restraint, but I longed for some of my lovers' expressiveness. Their wit and sarcasm, their gentle smiles and gleeful smirks...my heart ached to be with them again.

A week after I'd arrived on Deep Space Nine, I was rereading Hiren's latest message when it struck me:

It was too late for me to guard my heart. For better or worse, he and Letant already held it in their grasp. I was head over heels for the Senator, and I could tell that the same fate awaited me in regards to Hiren.

Could this really work? Could I really be a lover to two high-class, influential Romulans?

Odo opened a comm channel just as I once again skimmed the poetry excerpt from Hiren's last letter. I was still reeling with shock from the realization of how far I'd already fallen.

"Ambassador, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's someone in security who claims that you're expecting him."

How odd.

"Acknowledged. On my way," I answered as I got to my feet. Reluctantly, I put the PADD containing Hiren's letters back into my luggage with the rest and locked it before starting toward the Promenade.

The entire way there, I was stuck in my own thoughts. Was this a risk I was willing to take? Were Hiren and Letant really willing to accept a mate who was so incredibly different? Did they understand just how much we had to learn about each other?

For that matter, did I?

A pair of doors hissed open in front of me, and I realized I'd reached the security office while I was overanalyzing my situation.

"I know you've been here before, sir, but we all have to take precautions. your government's delegation was altered at the last minute. Ah, there you are, Ambassador," the Constable said, and I blinked, taking in the group of people in the office. There were three Romulans. Two wore military uniforms, and when the third turned around, I froze.

"Speechless already? Oh dear, that doesn't bode well for the conference in a few days, does it?" Letant's usual shit-eating grin awoke the hoard of butterflies hiding in my stomach. He was here early! I hadn't been expecting him for another three days at the very least! "Really, Constable, if you recognize me, surely you don't need confirmation of my identity?"

Odo harumphed as if the Senator's question was the height of stupidity.

"It's not your identity I'm concerned with, it's your behavior," he stated bluntly before turning his attention to me. "I wouldn't normally do this, but the last I heard, the two of you were close friends. Can you vouch for him?"

Mischief bubbled swiftly up from within me as I turned to my mate with a serious expression.

"Hm, I don't know. He can be quite the troublemaker. Drinking too much ale...flirting with the Dabo girls...picking fights with Klingon officers..." I trailed off and took two slow steps toward him as my eyes drank him in from head to toe and back again. "Do you promise to be a good boy for me, Senator?"

Letant's eyes darkened with hunger, and his grin transformed from a light, easy, roguish smile to a smirk that promised I'd regret teasing him in front of his officers.

"For you, Ambassador, yes. I do," he murmured, and I turned to the Constable.

"Yes, Odo, I'll vouch for him."

The Security Chief started tapping away at his console.

"Very well. Senator, as you've arrived early, I'm afraid the quarters we were going to have prepared for you are not yet empty–"

"There is no need for a separate set of quarters. I'll be staying with the Ambassador," Letant said, and before Odo could protest, the Senator guided me out with a large, warm hand placed firmly on my back. His guards took up protective positions behind us as we walked, effectively multiplying the amount of people staring at us. "My, separation has made you quite bold indeed, e'lev. Did your stay on Vulcan truly bore you so severely that you would challenge a Romulan Senator in public?"

"Oh please, you dramatic man, there was no challenge. I was teasing you, and you damn well know it."

Letant let out a quiet laugh as his eyebrows rose.

"You don't call publicly asking if I'm going to be a 'good boy' a challenge of my authority?" I started to reply, but he cut me off. "Or were you, perhaps, trying to coax a particular reaction from me, hm?"

The abrupt closure of my mouth told him all that he needed to know.

"Ah, I see. I knew arriving early was a prudent plan. You've been alone for far too long," he murmured as we got into the turbolift. Heedless of his guards' gazes, Letant turned me to face him and backed me up against one of the lift walls. Grasping my waist with one hand and my jaw with the other, my Senator spoke in a raspy whisper. "Congratulations, e'lev. You were entirely successful."

His lips met mine for a moment, tantalizingly rough and sweet at the same time, before pulling back and leaving me dazed as the turbolift continued on its path. From what I'd been told, such displays in front of others, including personal guards, were usually avoided like the plague.

I must've teased him more than I realized after our time apart.

When we reached the doors to my quarters, we were both short of patience. I was stunned that we made it all the way inside before Letant had me up against a wall. And just like that, the fullness of the three months that we'd been separated forced our composure to take a backseat. We became a mess of grasping hands and searing kisses, fumbling our way toward the bedroom.

"Three months is too long to be away from you," he breathed as the sound of tearing fabric heralded the death of yet another uniform top.

Sated and lounging in bed that evening, I'd relaxed into an almost trance-like state atop my lover's chest. The hypnotic sensation of Letant's fingertips skimming up and down the length of my back coupled with the rhythmic steadiness of his breathing comforted me in a way that I'd severely missed since I set out for my trip to Vulcan.

"He'll be here tomorrow," he said just above a whisper.

"Hm? Who?" I dragged myself back to full consciousness and looked up at Letant.

"Hiren, of course. He's talked of little else since your departure from Romulus," he murmured brushing his lips against my forehead. "I would ask if he's been writing to you if not for the fact that he practically glowed every time you responded to him."

"How could I not? The Praetor is a charming man with a romantic streak. His knowledge of love poetry is rather extensive - or, at least, I assume that it is, given the vast selection of excerpts that he's been sending me." Tracing my fingers along the column of Letant's throat, I couldn't help but smile at the thought that I'd gotten incredibly lucky.

"How did you like his latest prose, if I may ask?"

"That was my favorite set of lines yet! Oh, that reminds me, he forgot to include the poet's name. I'll have to ask him about that when he gets here. Unless you know, of course?"

With a rumbling laugh, Letant gripped my hips and slipped one of his legs between mine.

"Now, now, have patience, e'lev. I promise you'll have your answers, but not from me. The name was left off deliberately, and Hiren swore me to secrecy. Friend though he might be, I dare not disobey my Praetor. You should have seen him when he was preparing for this trip, though. He must've pulled every set of robes from his bot-unsubstantial wardrobe to ask my opinion on whether you'd find them attractive."

"No," I scoffed in disbelief, but Letant was entirely serious.

"Yes, my girl. It's ridiculous. The man has been married before. He certainly knows how to flirt and has plenty of experience in seduction. There's no reason for him to be this nervous - he's had his head between your pretty legs, for goodness sake - yet he's behaving as if he's not even had his first encounter."

"Bullshit. Hiren would never go to pieces over someone like me. You're exaggerating."

"I most certainly am not. You have reduced the Praetor of the entire Romulan Empire to no more than an anxious suitor. He lured me to the palace, plied me with kali-fal, then proceeded to try on everything he owned in front of a mirror to ask for my opinion. You should've seen him. He struck poses, e'lev," Letant said flexing his biceps as someone might in front of a mirror, and I dissolved in a fit of giggles at the mental image he conjured. "I have told you many times that you are a remarkable woman. Perhaps you'll realize that I spoke the truth before you give the poor man a coronary."

"But surely...? I mean, he must realize that I'm not superficial enough to judge him for his outfit. He'd look good in anything, just like you."

With a mere flick of his hands, Letant maneuvered me atop him so that I was straddling his hips. I braced my hands on his chest, taking in the sight of the beautiful man beneath me. his normally pristinely-groomed black hair was tousled from our exertions, and the smirk stretching his lips brought to mind smug gods from ancient mythology. In such a comparison, I was more than content to be the unwitting mortal who'd fallen so willingly into his bed.

"You think I'd look good in anything?" He asked as a faux innocent expression made its home on his face.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments–"

"Of course I am. You love me. Who better for me to ask than you, my lovely mate?" His hands slid up my sides and caressed the swell of my breasts. "Tell me, what is it like to be in bed with someone so devilishly handsome?"

Scoffing playfully, I started to move off of him, but Letant's renewed grip on my hips kept me firmly in place as he sat up beneath me. With his lips a mere hair's breadth away, I stubbornly kept my hands to myself and my mouth shut.

"Now, now...no need for petulance," the Senator breathed. It was so obscenely easy for him to get what he wanted from me. His arms wound around my torso, holding me close as he spoke. "Just because your partner is almost equal to you in beauty doesn't mean you need to pout."

How was it he always managed to compliment both himself and me in one breath?

"You don't play fair." I just barely managed to hold back a grin, fixing him with a glare instead. Letant laughed, his warm breath ghosting over my skin.

"No, but you've known that for quite some time. Besides..." he said laying kisses slowly down the length of my jaw, "you know I'm right."

The Senator's hands slid farther down my back.

"Now, about that little challenge earlier..."

Hiren found the T'Met's commanding officer in his Ready Room, skimming through reports with a look of deep concentration etching his face seemingly in stone. The Riov glanced up as the Praetor entered, and he smiled that same charming smile he'd worn for years.

"Well, well, I was wondering when you'd come see me, old friend. Please, have a seat," S'Talon said shutting off his console and leaning back in his own chair. "I've heard a little rumor, lhhai, concerning you, Letant, and a certain Federation Ambassador. Is that why I've been honored with the task of transporting you to this conference, my Lord Praetor?"

"You know such formalities aren't necessary, Tal," Hiren said as he sank down into one of the plush chairs. "As for the rumors...I don't know what you've heard, so it's a bit difficult to give you an honest answer."

The Riov smirked and tapped the top of his desk in an absentminded sort of way.

"I've heard that you and Letant intend to make a proper triad with her...that the two of you love her."

Hiren lifted his chin. He wasn't sure how the Riov knew that, but he was not ashamed of how he felt or who he felt it for.

"Yes. She and Letant were together to begin with, and I am fortunate enough to be a candidate for the position of their third. I won't be so rude as to presume to speak for her, but for my part, I do love her, yes."

S'Talon practically beamed at him.

"I have no doubt she adores you. I remember how smitten you were with T'Shara. I see just as much light in your eyes...just as much pride as there was when you spoke of her." The Romulan Captain stood and walked around his desk. "She must truly be a marvel to have caught your attention so fully. I look forward to meeting her when we arrive at the station."

"Don't go getting any ideas. I know how charming you can be toward women you find exceptional," Hiren chastised playfully, but S'Talon placed a solemn hand over his heart.

"I am fond of the fairer sex, but you know I would never abscond with a friend's lover. She's yours, you are hers, and I would never dream of coming between you. I'll be on my best behavior, I swear it," the Riov vowed. "I would, however, like to befriend her, if you're comfortable with that."

"I do not choose my lover's companions for her. If she wishes to count you among her friends, I would never stand in your way."

A moment's comfortable silenced passed between the two, and as he leaned back against the desk, S'Talon smiled.

"Have you imagined it? What you'll do once you marry her, I mean?"

"She might not have me–"

"Oh, she'll have you, old friend, I'm certain of it. Now, tell me," the Riov continued, "where have your daydreams taken you when you think of her? You will undoubtedly be the most powerful triad in the entirety of the Empire, but have you given any thought to where you'll live? Your family estate is quite large, as is Letant's, but the Praetor's Palace would obviously have enough space, should you choose to reside there..."

Hiren couldn't help but laugh at his friend's enthusiasm, allowing his infectious joy to flow through him.

"You give me far too much credit, Tal. She's Human. She may not...well, it might be that she is not made for a triad. Who knows? I might make some monumental mistake that costs me her love, or I might simply be too old once she stops to consider the age difference." Hiren gave voice to the fears that had rolled around in his head since her departure from their home planet. He'd told Letant his concerns and had received reassurance in return, but Hiren wanted S'Talon's counsel, as well.

"I cannot pretend to know her mind," the Riov began, "but I do know yours. You are an excellent judge of character. You would not have chosen someone so fickle. I would wager my best bottle of kali-fal that your fears - while completely valid and normal - lack real foundation. She will have you, my dear old friend, and she will not let you go once she does."

Hiren nodded his head, rolling his shoulders as if to banish some of his tension from his frame.

"Would you do me a small favor once we reach the station?" The Praetor has no doubt that he was about to sound even more ridiculous, but he was beyond caring. "Would you...sketch her for me? I'd be happy to pay you. Nothing too elaborate, and she doesn't have to know, it's just..."

He trailed off, unable to think how best to describe his emotions, but Tal just smiled.

"Of course. It would be my honor." The Riov murmured, but he frowned a little. "You know I'd never charge you for that. I would, however, like to know how you met her."

A smile stretched the Praetor's lips as he thought back to that night.

Letant lay in bed that night content to hold his mate close as his thoughts whirled in his head behind a carefully constructed barrier. He didn't want them bleeding across the telepathic bridge between his mind and his lover's. She deserved sleep that wasn't interrupted by his guilt.

Was he doing the right thing keeping this from her? But surely, if it was to keep her safe, she'd understand.

Elements, if this involved anyone but her, he'd have no trouble justifying his actions. He'd been a great strategist - he still was - so why was this causing him so much discomfort? He knew that the pain she'd feel would be temporary...that it would all be resolved in a matter of days once it began and that the three of them would live quite happily afterwards, but...

Damn him, the thought of causing her even a moment's pain made him want to wake her, drop to his knees, and plead for her forgiveness. He wanted to tell her everything, but he knew that doing so would endanger her life.

That he could not abide. Her life was much more valuable to him than his comfort, and though she may rage at him later, he was reasonably certain that they could work through any problems together.

She stretched in his arms and nuzzled even farther into Letant's embrace. Precious girl. She murmured something nonsensical in her sleep, and the Senator held her just a bit tighter as he kissed her forehead.

Allowing his mind to brush against hers, he watched her dreams like a holo-vid until he finally dropped into a mostly-peaceful sleep in her arms.

~*~*~

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@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes

@emilie786 @groovyqueer @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @rookietrek

@slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

#deepspacedukat fic #Praetor Hiren x Reader #Hiren x Reader #Senator Letant x Reader #Letant x Reader

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alygator77 · 4 months ago

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I came back to apologize for my previous ask about the smut in M&M. Not about the question, but the delivery.

Reading it in retrospect, it sounds terribly abrasive, abrupt, and rude. That was not my intention. I’m actually quite embarrassed that I typed it out the way I did. Very disrespectful, and I am sorry.

I’m also a single mother, AND a business owner, who happens to read a lot. And as a matter of fact, I do write my own fics.

When I came across yours, I was immediately enamored by it, especially because I had never seen anything like it. I LOVE the entire concept. Its creative and extremely relatable. Especially for people like me. I realize I should have led with that.

I felt very strongly that you needed to know I truly wasn’t trying to be an asshole when I asked. The delivery was awful though, and since I wrote it in the middle of the night when I was already tired and my brain was looking for smut (lol but not really funny), I projected that in a bad way.🤦🏼‍♀️ I truly regret it.

In an attempt at an explanation, I saw most of what I said as a joke, i.e. “Good God. If they moved any slower, they'd be going backwards ... Sorry ijs...” I remember actually laughing when I typed that.

It wasn’t meant to be an insult, but more rhetoric or hyperbole. I wasn’t careful with my expression, so I apologize for that, too.

All of that being said, I also just happen to be a straightforward person, but I wasn’t angry at all when I wrote it.

When I said “Why not omit the smut altogether?”, I was actually wondering why you didn’t just choose to just make it fluff instead (though you can do what you choose). As I read it, it didn’t feel like it was even mandatory, especially considering the dynamic between them, and how it was clear he had strong feelings for her from the beginning, even when they worked together.

I also admit that with the tags, I had an expectation of more, which is where the mess that came out of me originated, but I was absolutely not expecting it for every chapter.

I don't agree with adding too much, adding it in every chapter, or that the only thing that matters is sex. His character really is objectified a lot, and all of that can dilute a story very quickly or even ruin it.

My question was more geared towards gaining an understanding of why you chose the route you did. Which was a far better way of asking than the way I did, and there’s no excuse for that.

I hope you continue to write great stories, and again, I SINCERELY apologize for my insensitivity.

Firstly, I would like to say I really appreciate you reaching back out to me — I was pleasantly surprised to read this and it makes me SO happy to know that there are people like you on the internet, capable of addressing a misunderstanding in a respectful and thoughtful way. You being willing to send me this says a lot about who you are as a person, so seriously, thank you.

No hard feelings on my end, all is forgiven. I can completely see where you were coming from and I also relate — there have been many times in my life where I’ve said something and it came out different than what I intended. It happens love.

I will happily go ahead and answer this question! There are two answers to it.

The first answer is that I will not omit the smut altogether simply because… I like sex? 🤷‍♀️ Idk, it’s a simple answer really, lol 😅 But I think to put it in perspective, I like sex in a different way most people consume on this platform. I am demisexual — so I have to have that close emotional bond with someone before I find them remotely attractive. When it comes to writing smut (and sometimes even reading it), this really plays a big part to both my inspiration and my comfort level.

Secondly, I’ll address what you said regarding the characters in the story, specifically relating to the comment about how the smut wasn’t mandatory.

Personally, I do think the smut scene in ch 3 was relevant to the story bc it gave readers an insight into Satoru’s feelings/perspective. While yes, Satoru was drawn to reader in the beginning, he didn’t understand his own feelings, and there were walls he built up around his heart (you get a glimpse of this when he talks to reader about how he never wanted to get married; it was after their courthouse ceremony in ch 2).

Also, most of the interactions between him and reader were subtly intimate in chs 1-2… he really did not start acting more bold until after the smut scene in ch 3 (ie, he tries to kiss her in the supply room and in the kitchen). Basically, his walls did not come down until they shared that first kiss, because it solidified his own feelings for her. He mentions this to reader when they share their second kiss in ch 6.

If you listen to the song on my playlist for mhm called “Cardiac Arrest” by Bad Suns, it really speaks to the image I had of Satoru while writing the scene during/after their kiss in ch 2.

The moving too fast thing plays into readers character. She was cheated on by naoya (also naoya is just a prick lol), so of course trust is not something she is going to give lightly. I did not feel comfortable having the smut continue in ch 6 bc it felt like their relationship would regress — reader wasn’t honest with satoru yet yk? It would’ve felt super hypocritical for her to preach about how important trust is to her, but then not deliver it herself. putting myself in satoru’s position, I would feel pretty hurt if immediately after I fucked someone for the first time, they suddenly decide to tell me a secret they were hiding from me? 🙂‍↕️ Again... idk, that could be just me though, bc as I said, emotional bonds are big when it comes to physical intimacy for me.

Anyways, I hope this gave you some perspective to my own thought process and answered your question love.

As a fellow mom myself, just wanna say, you single moms are literal super heroes 🥺 Sending you love bc it is NOT easy. Thanks for reading my story and apologizing 🫶🏻

-aly💕

#alys mail #aly anon #mhm #motherhood and matrimony

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izayoichan · 1 year ago

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The future of this blog.

It’s taken me a long time to come to this decision, but now that I finally came to it, it’s felt incredibly good to finally come to it, even if I in some ways wish it wasn’t where I ended. It’s basically a full backtrack on the decision to rewrite, and an end to writing the way I have been in general. The story will still post as is until what I have written is done posting, after that, I want to return to what once made me happy, random screenshots of my sims that I just love, sometimes with a small/large written blurb on them because it comes to mind, and sometimes just screenshots with a small comment on them. So in some ways the story will continue, I don’t know just how yet, but I can see it being more random, screenshots, small blurbs, explanations, and just generally I want to just enjoy them more. Okay, so to the reason behind this sudden and abrupt change in my plans. It is two fold, but in a way interlinked. It's also very much linked with what I wrote in my new years resolution earlier, where I will well, like tradition, break some of the resolutions I wrote down, but there is one I won’t break, and that is the “I will not quit”. So, reason number 1: Right now, it's not fun.

It's the thing I always ask myself when I do something, and struggle with motivation, are you having fun? Earlier the answer was yes, but that’s no longer the answer I get from myself. So why is it not fun, it's a long complicated answer, and for those that want to, I will do what I normally don’t and put that answer under the line. For the ones that just want the quick answer: Reason number 2: My health is shit and I have found a level of tiredness I didn't know existed.

So my plans, before I go into more detail under the famous line, to take a step back, merge the FFXIV and any other games I love into one blog. And post what screenshots freely from any game, not just sims, but as I have an addiction to screenshots there will be sims too. Perhaps someday in the future, the desire to write the story comes back, but for now, I am not forcing it. Maybe it never will, and that is okay too. I’ll still hang around here, and show off my babies and poke about the story that's still in my head. Screenshots with random little “blurbs” under them like what happens with some poses I use are likely to still happen.

In conclusion: I’m sorry to those who might feel let down, if my new content is not for you I am sorry for that too but I need to do this for me. To those that have looked forward to my rewrite I am sorry for failing on that idea/promise(I will post what I have written on the wordpress blog I have for it but it’s not much. Who knows, maybe something changes and I go back to the idea). For those that will still hang around this silly blog of mine: Thank you!

If you want to read the rest, as tumblr is being its usually shitty self, you can do so here. (googledoc, because tumblr refused to let me post it all, and I have no energy to fight it)

#simblr #or no longer a pure simblr #more a gameblr I guess #personal stuff #none sims #but I found I have to do this #for me #so I am

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valandhirwriter · 7 months ago

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Snippet fresh from last night

Usually I don't share snippets that I just wrote, but as a certain someone is going around whining again, I decided to put out something that is actually fun. @tigerlyla-of-metinna and @laurikarauchscat, this is especially for you, as you were impacted by the latest wave of nastiness. @regis-favorite-raven knows the story idea already, because we talk story ideas every chance we get. This is a story beginning, who knows where it will lead.

Watchers and Hunters

Hello, hello, is there

Someone there who cares

For godforsaken souls

And godforsaken men?

Is there someone there who cares?

(MonoINC: Across the Waves)

Duny stumbled through the forest, hand pressed against his wounded flank, trying to duck behind bushes and boulders. Behind him, he could hear the baying of the hounds and the creaking of branches as the hunters followed him deeper and deeper into the forest. His three months of relative safety, hidden on an almost abandoned estate just south of the Amell Mountains had found their abrupt end through betrayal. Of the very few loyalists remaining another had decided that it was time to buy himself influence by betraying him to the Usurper. Duny had been warned, Ardal aep Dahy had again learned about the threat and warned him, but also letting him know that it was too dangerous to do anything more for him. Early in his flight, he had helped another man, saved him in fact, but had been forced to move on, once he had tended to his wounds. He was on his own, his feet carrying him further north, hopefully away from the hunters, hopefully, he would reach Cintran territory just soon enough for them to pull back or run into a Cintran border patrol. No such luck was forthcoming at the moment.

The baying came closer and he could hear the sound of hooves, the hunters were catching up to him. Desperately he leaped across a boulder, racing uphill, deeper into the mountain forest. The huge trees offered little cover, and the underbrush wasn’t yet fully green, so he could not hide. The air burned in his lungs, as he reached the hillcrest, and looked panicked for a way down, the hillside was steep, and the woods stretching ahead of him, like an endless sea. Carefully he stepped downwards, maybe he could find an overhang, to hide under.

The soft wet earth gave way under him and Duny lost his footing skidding downhill, his body thrown against rocks and bushes, unable to stop the tumbled until landing hard inside a mountain stream, the icy water soaking his clothes. The greater shock although was the head of a horse, standing beside the water to quite obviously drink, with a second horse only a few steps away. Beside the horses stood two warriors, one of them seemingly ready to go for his weapon, while the other had his blade already in hand, both of their eyes were trained on Duny.

His stomach lurched, they had found him. The man with the sword was of medium height, appearing still tall to Duny’s eyes, with short dark hair and a short cropped beard, eyes hard and distrustful. Duny would have been frightened of him already, had his companion not been even scarier. Seven foot tall, broad shoulders, packing heavy muscle, with long slightly unkempt brown hair, and hands like paws. He didn’t need a sword to be scary. In broad daylight, Duny had no hope they could not see what monstrosity had just fallen into the stream, even if they were not with the hunters, who seemed to be on the other side of the hill at the moment.

Duny scrambled backwards, falling over his own feet and landing in the water again, panic rising inside him. “Make it swift, please,” he whispered. He had been in a torture chamber once, he had no wish to repeat the experience.

Strangely the warriors did not attack him, nor did they show any fear or shock. The tall one looked up, his chin pointing towards the hill. “They after you?” he asked in Northern Common.

Duny had learned the language as a boy, a Prince had to understand the tongue of the neighbouring countries, but he had never had reason to use the language so far. “Tá, ceapaim… yes,” Duny struggled to use the correct tongue.

The tall warrior suddenly advanced, faster than Duny could see, grabbing his arm, and pulling him out of the water, pulling him to their side of the stream. “Get behind me,” he said, his voice a deep resonant baritone.

The next moment Duny saw why: hooves thundering came their way, the riders had moved around the hill and came towards them. Their hounds first baying, but then falling back and whining in fear. Surprised Duny watched as the huge hunting hounds slunk back behind the riders, who halted their horses in a few steps distance of the two warriors. He searched their ranks and his heart sank. They were led by Islwyn of Betws-y-Coed, and he hated Emhyr’s family with a vengeance.

Still Islwyn stopped his horse and raised his to signall the other riders to follow suit. “I have no quarrel with you strangers,” he said in Northern Common, “that one,” he gestured distainfully towards Duny, “is a fugitive from Nilfgaard, with a high price on his head. Let us have him, and the coin will be yours. How do 5000 Florens sound?”

Duny bit his lip, the sum was large enough to entice much wealthier people, and these two warriors were most likely mercenaries, who wouldn’t say no to easy pay. He peered around, assessing where to run, when the tall one spoke. “Fuck off,” he didn’t waste any more words on the riders.

“Look around you,” Islwyn replied, seemingly unfazed, “we are a dozen men, and you are two. Why seek a fight with us, over a boy you just found?”

The smaller one gave him a sardonic smile. “Forgive my comrade here, for not being a man of many words,” he said, in almost cultured tones. “What he meant to say is: Go fuck yourselves. There is a cave a mile east of here, that we can recommend for such activities.”

Duny felt his mouth fall agape, when he heard the rude recommondation spoken in perfectly calm tones. Islwyn’s eyes widened, he obviously was shocked by the rudeness too, but he reigned his temper in, with visible effort. “This is my last offer, give us the boy and live, resist and you will die.”

The tall warrior slowly drew a long dagger, flipping it around in his hand. “Why don’t you come here, and we insert this into your pert little ass, see if you can take it like a man?” he asked, and Duny shuddered, was it possible that the warrior was spoiling for a fight?

Islwyn certainly was, because he spurred his horse forward with a scream, into attack. The dagger left the warrior’s hand, hitting the horses’ neck, making it fall, colliding with a second rider, pulling him down, a third horse falling over the corpses. The tall warrior sprinted towards them, drawing his blade, Islwyn never came back to his feet, he died from an almost casual hit to the neck, a second rider followed. The tall warrior moved with a speed and strength that seemed impossible, he whirled between his attackers, weeding them out faster than Duny could count. One, another, a third…

It was over before Duny could truly process all that had happened. The last hunter was brought to his knees and beheaded with one clean strike. The tall warrior stood, his breath even, he wasn’t even panting and his eyes went to his comrade. “I know, you are still hibernating, Ivo, but why don’t you wake up and give me a hand here?” he asked.

The smaller man - Ivo - barked a laugh. “You were having fun, Axios, and you are always itchy after a winter. And what do we want with those idiots? They were crow bait now.”

Axios had sheathed his sword and pulled Islwyn’s corpse from under the horse, swiftly searching him. “Mighty fine, cowbait, there’ll be coin, clothes, and boots, at the very least. Look at the mite over there, does he look well geared to you?” he asked.

Duny felt the heat rise in his cheeks, about the offhand comment. “I am not a mite,” he said, pride refusing to swallow mockery. He might be a cursed abomination, but he would not be belittled.

“No, you are a cute little hedgehog,” Axios replied, “and you won’t get far in those rags you are wearing,”

Instinctively Duny touched his chest, the clothes he wore, were still the ones, he had worn three months ago, when he escaped. They were his last link to who he had been, to all that had been washed away in blood. He wanted to dispute the words, but instead he sneezed loudly, as his body began to register the icy wet clothes.

“C’me here,” Axios got up, waving Duny close, as he slid his own cloak, a thick monstrosity made of fur, from his shoulders and wrapped it around Duny. “There, that’ll keep you from freezing, until we have you at a fire. Now Ivo - move it, or I will leave you in some heap of leaves to sleep for another month.”

The two warriors swiftly searched the corpses and saddlebags, collecting gold, a few other items, weapons, clothes, a saddle-roll, working were swiftly, they soon had stashed the haul on one of the horses. “Come,” Axios gently nudged Duny to approach one of the horses, it was a huge hairy animal, with a shaggy mane, shaggy tail and shaggy fur. It huffed, when he came close.

“Horses don’t like me,” Duny said, knowing how this would go. He had tried to steal a horse, twice, and learned that tame animals disliked him with a passion.

“He knows better,” Axios replied. “Get on the horse, let’s be gone when they friends show up, and they are only a mile out.”

Duny mounted the huge animal, and Axios followed suit, mounting behind Duny. One arm wrapped around Duny, securing him, while the other hand took the rains, before he clucked his tongue, and the horse began to walk. Soon both horses were trotting steadily along a winding paths deeper into the mountains, miles and miles falling behind them, as they moved further and further away from where they had found Duny.

Duny had closed his eyes, he was still shivering, but the warm cloak helped a lot, as did the warm arm, securing him. He wanted to sleep, let his exhaustion claim him, but he couldn’t. Since his escaped he could count the moments when someone had honestly helped him on one hand. And that was counting the man who had given his life to allow Duny to escape at all. Those others who had helped him, all had known who he was and hoped for some kind of reward or leverage later. The two warriors, Ivo and Axios, made no sense in that regard.

“Only Nilfgaard after you, or the bitch in Cintra too?” Axios asked after a while.

“Nilfgaard,” Duny replied, his mind racing. “I don’t… I am not sure whether Cintra would count too. I do not know what happened recently, whether they ventured forth with the trade agreement, and what conditions they added. There might be a bounty in Cintra too, depending on that.”

Ivo made a face. “Tell me again, Axios, why we had to rescue this little chatterbox?” he asked with growl, before looking a Duny. “A simple: I don’t know, would suffice.”

“But that’s incorrect,” Duny found himself saying. “There are factors that weight both ways, after the Uprising. Involving Cintra into the hunt for survivors, would yield a valuable ally in the North, but also expose the names of Nilfgaards enemy’s to the Queen of Cintra, which in turn could be used against Nilfgaard. Not sharing that information on the other hand, would guard Nilfgaard’s secrets but would almost certainly open chances for people to escape north.”

“Oh… shut up, will you?” Ivo grumbled, and Axios gently squeezed Duny’s arm with an amused chuckle and Duny fell silent.

They rode for hours, until the sun began to set in the west and the two horses stopped near a small mountain pond. Looking around Duny wondered how far from people they were, it felt like they were deep in the woods. In spite of still feeling cold he began to make himself useful around camp, all too aware that he was dependent on the two warrior’s good graces. When he returned from refilling all waterskins at the stream feeding the pond, a fire was merrily burning, and Ivo was busy throwing something into the small kettle hanging above.

Axios waved Duny closer. “Let’s get you into some decent things, these mountains aren’t as warm as the plains down there,” he said, unrolling the things he had taken from the dead men, or extricated from their saddlebags.

Duny was hesitant to get rid off his damaged clothing, a part of him wanted to hang on to it, to somehow keep that last connection to his home in existence, but he knew it was useless. He needed warmer clothes, and sturdier ones as well. He nodded slowly, and took the things Axios handed him. The black tunic must have belonged to the elf among the hunters, because it fit Duny’s fine-bonded frame well enough, the breeches were a tad too long, but otherwise serviceable and the boots Axios handed him, surprisingly worked too.

A sudden wave of pain hit Duny, and he crashed to his knees, as he felt his body convulse and his human form assess itself, as the night came. He shuddered, trying to not make a noise. Huge hands clasped his shoulders, steadying him. “Breathe,” he heard Axios say. “In… out… the pain is just the wind, brushing past you…”

Duny panted, as the pain slowly abated and his human form fully emerged. He looked up, surprised to see Axios face free of disgust or revulsion. Why did he not react to Duny’s monstrous existence. In the semidark warm hazel eyes shimmered softly. The breath fled from Duny’s lungs when he realised what he had not seen before. “You are a vatt’ghren, a Witcher,” he said softly.

“And the little Nilfgaardian get it,” Ivo replied wryly, while stirring the cauldron. “Name’s Ivo of Belhaven, School of the Bear.”

“My name is Axios,” the taller one said, “also school of the bear. And what might your name be?”

For a moment Duny was tempted to say the truth, to just admit who he was and be done with all of it. He was dead anyway, crow-bait as Axios had called the hunters earlier on. But no, he wouldn’t give himself away. “Duny,” he replied. It was a name from a story he had loved, and that he had chosen, because it made him feel somehow a little better.

“Duny,” Axios replied, “why don’t we go over, eat a bite, and you can tell us about your curse, or spell gone wrong, if you like.”

Slowly Duny followed him to the fire, accepting a jar of soup from Ivo. The hot liquid felt good and only now he realised how hungry he had been. “I’d… I’d rather not talk about it,” he said softly, after a while. “You’ve seen what it does. I am human at night, and a monster by day. I am grateful you helped me, but… there’s nothing you can do.”

He was grateful neither Witcher pressed him for answers. Instead they left him to eat in peace, Ivo handing him another cup of soup after a little bit, and with the food in his belly, Duny began to feel tired. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep by the fire, warmly snuggled under Axios’ fur cloak.

#witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #bear witchers #duny #AU #because Duny deserves a better story

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comfort-person · 1 year ago

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Request: hi!! This is probably super weird but can you do more Jamie/ Henry/ Vecna/ Jamie characters.. like Jace too as well maybe? Idk if that’s your vibe but I’d adore it if you wrote more Jamie stuff pls! Tysm lovieee, have a good day!

A/N: thank you for the request!! Not weird at all lovely! I fucking love writing Jamie characters like AH so I’ll totally try doing some more, although I can’t promise that the characterisation will be great but hey ho. I hope this is okay! I’m attempting to not recycle ideas over and over so here’s a better version of something I’ve tried to write before… but shorter? Sorry LMAO, I’ve had like no motivation to write lately so that’s why it’s died down a lot… but… I hope this works? Much love, Amber xx

Trigger warnings: mention of blood, bodies, kinda fucked up things… it’s the laboratory we’re talking about so I’m sure you know how fucked up that place it… but still- just a warning- read at your own discretion!

“Come,”

The man’s voice echoed through the tunnels, slender fingers wrapped around your wrist as he practically dragged you with him. How did you get into this situation? Well… it was a lot to process. A massacre had occurred in Hawkins Laboratory. The few remaining doctors, and some orderlies, dressed in white scurried around- yelling at each other, whereas armed guards were searching the premise for the two escapees: Henry creel and Y/n Y/l/n or as everyone else knew you: 001 and 002. Two very dangerous individuals who were capable of mass murder. “One… we’re in danger.” Your shaky voice whispered out to him and his eyes flicked down to you, eyes dangerous pools of blue. The eyes that held so much trauma- hurt… absolute agony. Both of you had known such pain and it wasn’t fair. On either of you. Brenner had inflicted an impossibly cruel amount of pain onto you both… and to think he promised to take care of you. What a lie.

“Where are we supposed to-“ the man abruptly stopped, turning to look at you, you nearly plummeting straight into his chest but his large hands resting upon your shoulders forced you to come to an abrupt stop “two, do you trust me?” He stared deeply into your eyes his brows slightly furrowed but in the subtlest of ways the crease between both brows proving his concern for the situation but he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t worried. He was determined to get you both out of there… Brenner had stolen your lives away from you… ripping it away in such a cruel manner. Brainwashing you all. But that came to a stop now… Brenner wouldn’t be able to do that ever again. Or so henry hoped. You gawked at him unable to quite process his words “two I need an answer. Verbal. Do. You. Trust… me?” His eyes were intimidating, like a wild animal awaiting to pounce on its prey… but he just wanted to make sure he had made the right decision on you. Slowly your head began to nod, before a soft “yes.” Left your lips and the smallest and most subtlest of smiles tugged at his lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up, before he nodded “good.”

And then the both of your were off, once again, sprinting down the similar corridors. Over and over again. They were never ending… his long legs practically made it impossible for you to keep up, his grip on you tight so much so it stung slightly but it had nothing but good intentions: he wasn’t letting you fall behind. “We’re nearly there y/n. Nearly there.” The blonde assured and you nodded not uttering a word for your lungs were trying to focus on breathing all until that fear that once remained hidden started to creep up little by little, voices shouting, you made a split decision that you certainly regretted- you took a glance over your shoulder seeing about six guards, flashlights flicking up and down from how they were running and your eyes instantly widened in fear, your breath catching in your throat “come! We need to leave! Come!” Henry’s voice wavered slightly as he raised his voice at you, and you began sprinting, the guards yelling your names… or well- names was a joke- more like numbers. Because to them you were both nothing more than stupid numbers… how pathetically stupid. His breathing was heavy as he ran with you, his hand now on the middle of your back, forcing you to run faster- run in front of him so nothing could happen to you. It wasn’t something he showed often but it was care. Some type of care.

You both ran for your lives, running and running until eventually you both tumbled out of two double doors that lead to the darkness outside. The air was cold and winter-y, smelling of freshly fallen rain. “C’mon. We can’t stop.” He urged and you nodded immediately rushing in the direction of the woods that surrounded the laboratory. You wanted to try and take everything in but you physically couldn’t… it was all so much… your eyes were wide. Like a deer caught in headlights, you didn’t know how the hell to react. But then your eyes scanned along the grass and to multiple body bags that held one or more children… your stomach churned… they were already clearing out the bodies? Tears gleamed in your eyes and your breath hitched. Why did you care for them still? After all this time? You wished you knew… but you didn’t… it was uselessly pathetic. Your fearful eyes stared at the bodies of the lifeless children “two, we need to go.” His voice growled out clearly trying to stay quiet but you were stuck in a trance… they were only kids… they didn’t deserve it… Henry was desperate to leave but he also attempted to see why you were so effected. Sure it was traumatic… but they shouldn’t of mattered to you. He saw how they corrupted you. How they hurt you…. Why did you even give a damn? None of your tears should’ve been shed over them. You didn’t care for them, no, the care was simply all in your head. Nothing more nothing less. “They’re dead….” Your voice was strained, full of agony, “I know. Don’t look. They don’t matter.” His tone disregarded your emotions, there wasn’t any point in getting emotionally attached to dead people… they were gone. Time couldn’t be rewound. “Two,” his voice for your attention and you looked at him “you trust me… right?” There was that question again, even if he didn’t realise it, he was manipulating you. Manipulating you into going with him… into not caring. It was cruel. But he was saving you. He had saved you. He wasn’t letting you screw this up…

“I-“ “I know you do, 002. That’s why we’re leaving. Now. Come on.” He demanded guards shouting becoming clear and he nudged you forward as the two of you began rushing into the woods “where are we going to go?” You asked quietly but he didn’t respond, he just stayed quiet as you both tore through the woods attempting to find safety but safety didn’t exist. Safety was within the laboratory but Henry and you knew that wasn’t the truth… sure it had been beaten into your weary minds each and every day, suffering dark torture daily, but you both knew better than to trust the cruel man. Was this the beginning of the end? Was this finally when the pain would stop? You hoped so… and so the two fugitives walked for miles. Walking for minutes. Minutes that slowly turned into hours… and soon enough the darkness began to fade, the hue of the sunlight gleaming in the empty lifeless sky…. No birds flew… no nothing… it was simply a blue sky which reflected Henry’s eyes perfectly, his eyes were no longer a raging storm no…. His eyes were calm, empty, numb, peaceful… maybe his pain would stop now? But he knew that not to be true… they could pray and hope that everything would work out in the end but realistically it wouldn’t… because of one simple factor: two broken people couldn’t fix each other. If anything they made each other bleed further and that wasn’t good… but he had chosen to take you. To allow you to have freedom. Why he had spared your life he wasn’t sure… maybe it was for his own needs. Maybe he was greedy. Power hungry. Maybe he did want that power he never had. But now he had all the power in the world. He saw the courage in you. How capable you were. He wanted to use that… maybe it was ill intention but strength of two “freaks” so to speak was unmatchable. He wanted Brenner dead as much as you wanted him dead… and you both would kill him. Maybe not today… or tomorrow… or next week… but whenever it would happen it would be worth it.

—

Soon enough your legs were burning, your chest too, your lungs practically grasping on for dear life. “We’ve got to be careful. Cautious. Understood?” You nodded, following after him, as the both of you entered a rundown motel. It didn’t seem to be occupied at all. In fact it was completely empty. No one on the front desk… he had hit the jackpot but all at the same time that doubt haunted you both. What if it was nothing but a trap? You watched him grab a random key “second floor.” He muttered, and you nodded, you didn’t know why he had chosen the second floor but he did. He was being tactical. Clever… if they came searching they’d searching bottom to top. It would give you and Henry time to form an escape plan.

You wandered silently with him, until eventually coming to the room, watching him open the door- holding it open for you. There were two separate beds, small and tiny, but you didn’t care. You situated yourself on one of the beds before you laid down knowing you had to be rested… no words were spoken for a while. There wasn’t much to talk about. Sure you were overthinking and so was he but neither of you saw a reason to share that… “henry?” You muttered out… you didn’t hear any response yet you felt his piercing gaze on you, he was awaiting your next words, watching you “why didn’t you kill me?” The man was slightly taken aback by your words but his face barely flinched as he soon answered calmly “because you have potential.” Those words although good made your heart sink as you began to overthink his words… he hadn’t killed you simply because of your potential… your potential in killing. He knew what you could do… he wanted to see how much stronger you could get… but it left a bad taste in your mouth… was he using you? Was that it? He only made you leave with him just so he could use you? You stared at him eyes full of questions yet no question left your lips, instead a simple “okay” fell from your mouth before you turned over, back facing him and he found himself just staring at your back… the silence was comfortable yet a tension lingered in the air, like a thick thunder cloud… but you saw your worth. You were a number… simple… you were only still breathing just so you could be used… how dehumanising…

Part two coming soon x

Excuse how lame that ending was, it’s 2:26 in the morning and I need to be up at 5 so just take this… I hope it’s okay ahhaha, thank you for the request! Love you all x

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taylortruther · 5 months ago

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I’m the 1989-ttpd anon!

I think the 2 albums are connected because of the way she wrote about Harry and Matty. They were both two toxic situationships, there was a lot of miscommunication and they both left her making her feel bereft and unloved. With Harry the situation had more naivety due to both of them being young and experiencing more “adult” feelings for the first time, with Matty there was the illusion and ticktockness (allow me this neologism) of feeling that your biological clock is ticking (i know it’s a tricky topic, but it does play a huge role in ttpd) so she gaslit (retrospectively) herself into believing this relationship was the one. Both of them caused her a lot of pain and filled her with questions about relationships in general because they both shook her off her axis, she sang about wanting Harry back even though he hurt her and in the same way she said that about Matty and it’s interesting to me to notice how she closed both relationships in an abrupt way because they both feel like they didn’t have a clear end because there wasnt the resolution that any break up deserves. And it’s also a weird (?) similarity that before Harry her big relationship that fucked her up for a really long time was Jake and before Matty there was Joe which to a certain degree felt like a longer and a more diluted-in-time version of Jake and obviously her relationship with Joe hurt her deeply. I’m probably forgetting something right now, but this is already really long so I don’t want to bore you any longer

PS: I thought I might add these things even though they feel a bit more superficial than the rest: both guys are northern English men, seemingly from the same economical background, that act quite aloof

this is a very interesting take bestie! thanks for sharing!

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years ago

Text

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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kpopsfic · 3 years ago

Text

admit ꩜ jacob bae

pairing: jacob bae x gender neutral reader

genre: angst

warnings: cursing (hyunjae has a horrible mouth), angst, mentions of depression and sadness

word count: 1.3k

written by: ollie

description: jacob bae was your world until the abrupt day that he wasn’t. you thought you would never see him again. you thought you would never learn why, but apparently two certain boys had a different idea

a/n: i wrote this awhile ago, but here’s my first imagine on this blog. please enjoy!

you loved your roommate. sunwoo was your best friend and you knew completely that he just wanted what was best for you. however, hyunjae was different. whether it was for the best or not, he just wanted to be right.

that was exactly how you ended up locked in your own bathroom with your ex-boyfriend, the mastermind behind the whole plan insisting that all your problems would be fixed if you just "talked it out."

if only talking it out was that easy.

jacob plopped down on the floor across from you and instantly, you knew you guys were going to be in here for awhile. he wouldn't even look at you. his eyes were focused on his hands, which were wrapped around his knees, pulling them to his chest. the silence was practically deafening.

what were you supposed to say? what were you supposed to do? this was only the second time you had seen jacob bae since the breakup occurred and the first time involved you running away as soon as you were able to distinguish his blonde head. this time, you couldn't flee. you couldn't run. there was no escape. this time you had to face your problems.

𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒆 𝒋𝒂𝒆𝒉𝒚𝒖𝒏.

as if he was summoned, a voice from downstairs broke the silence. "why don't i hear talking? quit being pussies!"

a gasp followed hyunjae's remark. "hey, was that necessary?" sunwoo exclaimed.

"completely necessary."

the room fell into silence once more and you found yourself unable to take it.

"he's right you know." your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. it was barely raised above a whisper and you swore if you tried to speak any louder that the tears would start to flow. "we're going to have to talk at some point. why not now?"

jacob let out a sigh, but stayed silent. you surveyed the boy in front of you, pain aching in your heart. he was no longer the boy you fell in love with. the boy in the bathroom with you now appeared broken. dark circles had blossomed under his eyes since the last time you two had crossed paths. he seemed paler and maybe even thinner as well.

you didn't want to talk. that's what you constantly told sunwoo. what was done was done. jacob broke up with you and talking about it wasn't going to make a difference. it wasn’t going to bring him back. well, at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

talking about the pain and confusion you felt toward the boy who you loved most in the world was not something that could be talked about easily.

especially since he was the one who shattered your heart to pieces in the first place.

but today was different. today, you found yourself needing to talk; needing to vent; needing to find out the reason 𝒘𝒉𝒚.

"i just don't understand why, jacob," you managed to croak our past the lump in your throat. "i don't understand what i did wrong."

the tears weren't falling yet, but they were close. crying in front of him was going to make it worse, but it was going to happen. you couldn't avoid it. not after all the pain he had caused.

"i- i loved you. I loved you so much. I thought the absolute world of you," you whispered. "you made me so happy."

jacob's eyes were now trained on you. he could feel the pain in your voice and it killed him. however, it was better for you to feel like this than to still be with him.

"every day i woke up and thanked the world that kevin introduced me to you because what would i be without you. who would i be without you? you were my person, my rock. you were the person who i wanted to spend my entire life with." you scoffed, shaking your head. your right hand ran across your cheeks to rid your skin of the tears. this time anger was in your voice.

"i can't believe after all that you had the nerve to break up with me over text. what? did a phone call seem like too much? a voicemail would have even been better than a stupid text, jacob."

the blonde boy flinched at his name. he knew he was in the wrong. he knew the way he broke up with you was wrong, but he didn't have a choice. he couldn't have done it in person.

your voice was fragile when you spoke next. "was i not good enough? was that it? did a year go down the drain all because of me?"

you weren't talking to receive a reply, so you were shocked when jacob actually spoke.

his words were careful. "don't talk about yourself like that. you deserve the world and more."

"then what went wrong, jacob?"

he sighed, running a hand across his face in frustration. not frustration because of you, but because of himself.

"look, i know you're still hurt and there's nothing i can say and do that will excuse my actions, but i love you, okay. i just didn't want to hurt you anymore. i didn't want you to suffer because of me and for that, i am sorry."

jacob's words caused the tears to let loose from your eyes and you tried to hold back a sob. "what do you mean hurt me? you weren't hurting me and I wasn't suffering. what hurt was the fact that you didn't give me an explanation."

now it was jacob who was trying to hold back tears. how was he supposed to explain to you what was wrong? how was he supposed to explain the fear and self-hatred?

"i know you were starting to realize that I was acting different. i was acting more distant. it seemed to you that every time I talked to anyone i was irritated or annoyed. you started to see my personality change, but i know you were choosing to ignore it. you figured that if you continued to be nice that everything would go back to normal. but i hated that. i hated knowing that i was treating you horribly, but i couldn't help it. i was just so angry and sad all the time and i didn't know how to handle it."

you could see the tears coating jacob's cheeks and you had the urge to wipe them away, but you knew that wasn't an option. "so that's why you decided to break up with me? i could have helped you, jacob. we could have gotten through all that together, but instead you pushed me away."

jacob shrugged. "i wasn't going to stay around long enough to bring you down."

a sob left your lungs at his words and you buried your face in your hands, unable to even form a sentence to express the internal turmoil you felt.

"i wanted to reach out to you for so long now, but you know that i always ran from conflict. i'm a coward and because of my cowardliness I couldn't tell you what i was going through. i hurt us both and i just saw no way to fix it. so i just kept running. I am so sorry."

you lifted your head up and almost on autopilot you reached out for him. without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms.

jacob's embrace felt like home and instantly brought about a sense of comfort. you missed his scent. you missed the feeling of safety he created. you missed him.

he rubbed your back softly as he waited for your tears to calm down. the burden now felt like it was off his shoulders, but he knew the regret of not telling you sooner would haunt him for all eternity.

it had to be ten minutes before you were able to speak once more.

"can we just start over?"

jacob nodded, his arms tightening around you as he rested his chin on the top of your head. "yeah, i would like that."

suddenly you heard the lock to the bathroom door click and hyunjae rushed in, nearly jumping for joy.

"just call me fucking cupid!"

#kpop #kpop imagines #jacob bae #the boyz #the boyz jacob #angst #tbz #tbz jacob #lee hyunjae #hyunjae #kevin moon #kpop blurbs #kpop oneshot #kim sunwoo #sunwoo #kpop fic #kpop icon #tbz fluff #fluff

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Engagement

Relationship: Loki x Reader Warnings: contains some dark elements: manipulation Summary: Loki has always thought of you as his and there isn’t anything he won’t do to keep it that way. A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one shot for a while! I had the idea for it months ago and finally wrote it and then it just sat on my computer while I wrote other stuff but I figured since I don’t have anything really new this week it’d be perfect to put out! I hope you enjoy it because I greatly do :)

Masterlist

Loki had always been an interesting force in your life.

You two met when you were just children in school. You two were the official unofficial outsides of your school year — he was a prince, you were a peasant. Despite his royal standing, he’d play with you at recess. For these outlier ways, you two never interacted much with the other kids, life practically forcing you two to one another.

At such a young age, you hadn’t realized how significant this bond would become. As a child, you were just glad someone was talking to you. He shouldn’t have even been looking at you, should’ve maybe been disgusted with your presence alone. You should’ve been some onlooker, amazed by him and his magic but you weren’t — well, except for the magic part. His magic was little when you were kids but it drew quite the amazement from you.

Over time, you two naturally grew with one another. From childhood into your teens and still, now, you two made an unlikely pair of best friends as young adults. All of this though did not come without some bumps along the way.

In your teens, Loki had almost completely shut you out. For some reason, he seemed to be acting embarrassed by you. Your mother had warned you this may happen but you thought he was different, swore he was, unless his sincerity was like the many other tricks he played. Eventually, supposedly after some talking down from his brother, Loki appeared back at your door asking if you wanted to go for a walk.

This disappearing and coming back had become a habit for him over his teenage years and into adulthood. Loki never explicitly told you why but you could tell there was something eating away at him. It had been there a long time and it felt like disassociating himself with you was his solution.

You thought everything was coming to an abrupt end when you fell pregnant. You had been seeing a nobleman who was a regular customer in your parents’ shop. He was absolutely charming and delightful, practically swept you right off your feet within minutes of meeting. Your parents were ecstatic when he asked to court you.

You yourself were stunned but you ran to tell Loki about it. He was speechless. You tried telling him about the man but something in Loki snapped. He got unreasonably upset, spewing hateful comments about the man, practically forcing you out of his chambers in the process. He went radio silent again.

You tried to ignore losing your best friend — again — and focused on your new relationship. He wooed you endlessly with dates to lavish dinners and dawning you in lovely gowns. It was all so much more than you had ever expected in life. He’d tell you you deserved it and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you two would get so lost in one another.

A bit shamefully, hypnotized by the romantics of it all, you gave yourself to him. Tangled in the sheets with him as your guide, you let the man you felt you would marry have every last bit of you.

And for a while after, it was blissful. Nothing had seemed to change between you two until he announced he had to go away for a bit. Confused, you asked why suddenly now facing the fact you were losing another person in your life. He explained he was needed by his father on a different realm, part of the family "business," as he described it.

Days after his departure, you learned you were pregnant. Around this time, Loki popped back up in your life. You felt relieved having someone to confide in but when you told him of your pregnancy, he was far from the supportive force you thought you’d get. He didn’t yell or get upset per se but he was beyond stunned.

He left for a bit then but can back in less time than last. This time he brought along baby supplies and congratulated you. It was a complete one-eighty from his prior behavior but you accepted it, gratefully. Loki ended up being your main person throughout the pregnancy as clues of when your boyfriend would return were nonexistent.

"Did he know you were carrying his child when he left?" Loki had asked you one night. You two were sitting in the living room of the makeshift house you had acquired. You didn’t feel very good that this was the home you were bringing a child into when you knew her father could’ve provided her with a better one. But, at the end of the day, it was a roof over both your heads.

You crocheted another knot in the baby blanket. "No, he didn’t. I didn’t even know."

Loki gave a passing hum at that answer. He didn’t ask about your boyfriend very much after that.

Once your baby girl arrived, she became your entire world, your entire focus. Between caring for her and working to provide, you had little time to worry about your boyfriend still being gone. But it wasn’t as lonely as it may have looked because Loki was always by your side. Working around his royal duties, he’d take time to come visit you and your daughter even sometimes staying for dinner or to play with her. You didn’t miss how he was unintentionally becoming the father she was missing. You never said anything, though, always biting your tongue as you waited for her father to return.

Hope began to face on that front after your daughter turned three. Maybe he was just a footnote in your life, a foolish hopeful dream, but at least he had given you the lovely gift of your child. You weren’t giving up, still placing him in the boyfriend spot of your mind, but you couldn’t deny doubt crept in. Maybe a relationship of any capacity just wasn’t in the cards for you.

Or so you thought.

As Loki continued with his royal responsibilities, he was growing older and more powerful. That’s when the rumors of marriage began floating about. Your mother had brought it up to you once asking if you met any of his potential suitors. Your stomach did a somersault. You didn’t even know there were suitors, let alone met any of them. You tried to keep your cool and just told her no.

Who these suitors were and if they really existed, you never found out. You never even had the guts to ask about them especially after Loki pulled you aside one night after a dinner at the palace.

He rarely ever invited you to dinners with his family so to get this spontaneous invitation, you didn’t hesitate to attend. He even allowed you to bring along your daughter. She was playing with some servants’ children when Loki asked you to the garden.

"Feeling like a nighttime stroll?" You asked with a little laugh. Loki just smiled.

"There’s actually something I want to speak to you about."

"Oh," you frowned. "Is everything okay?"

Loki nodded. "Yes, yes, everything is fine." He looked up at the sky, almost lost in thought as you walked. You thought for a split second how lovely he looked. "I’m sure you have heard by now the…talk about my anticipated engagement."

Your heart practically stopped beating at that moment. Your hands instinctively gripped at the skirt of your dress as if you were ready to run away at the drop of a hat. Trying to keep your voice stead, you said, "Yes, I believe my mother mentioned that to me the other day."

He shot you an unreadable side glance. Your hands gripped the fabric tighter. Why were you feeling like this? Was that…jealousy you felt? You didn’t understand where that had come from. This was your best friend. Your prince best friend. He was bound to get married and have a lavish life with his bride. You couldn’t stop that, you couldn’t change it.

"Do you know anything of the women I have been offered?"

Was this another one of his cruel jokes? You wanted to vomit all over the bushes of flowers passing you as you walked. You managed to shake your head in response. "I’m sure they’re all wonderful."

He scoffed. "More like they’re all incredibly boring."

You gasped, "Loki, I’m not sure you should be speaking that way of them."

"It’s doesn’t matter," he shrugged, "because none of them are what I want."

You didn’t know if you actually wanted to know what he was seeking. You looked at him wearily.

You two walked in silence for a moment. Loki was now watching the ground intensely. You couldn’t believe how much his gaze was wandering. It must’ve been for courage because the next words out of his mouth were ones you had never thought you’d ever hear. From anyone.

"I believe you could be what I want," he said. He spoke your name so softly. "I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage."

You stopped walking, your legs suddenly unable to move. Your eyes grew wide as complete shock raced over you. You didn’t know what to do, too scared to speak because you didn’t know what was going to come out. Your first thought was that this was one of his magic tricks. Maybe he wasn’t even here, just a clone of him as he wished to make a fool of you. It wouldn’t be the first time but he had never been so cruel.

"You’re not saying anything," Loki noted. He had stopped a few feet ahead of you, completely taken off guard by your halt.

"I-I don’t understand." The words felt so heavy forcing their way out of your mouth.

"I don’t believe I stuttered, dear."

Your jaw dropped, surprised it hadn’t hit the floor already. He was seriously asking this. Loki, a literal prince, and your best friend, was asking for your hand in marriage. But — But you just didn’t know why. Why would he ask such a thing? Not only were you an unwed mother, he knew very well about your boyfriend. It was almost insulting he’d think you’d give up just because business or whatever it was was taking a while. You didn’t even want to begin to think about what this could all mean for your daughter.

"Loki… I… I don’t know. This seems crazy—,"

"Crazy?" His expression turned dark. You suddenly regretted the word despite it holding true. "What is so crazy about me wanting to take your hand? I thought this could be good. You and your daughter would have everything you’d ever want. You’d be a princess for crying out loud!"

You flinched at his anger. You had never seen him so enraged before. It made your whole body stiffen.

"I see. This… This is very generous of you but my boyfriend…"

Loki chuckled but there wasn’t any humor found within it. "Of course. The nobleman." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me again, dear, how long has it been? Do you really think he’s going to just show back up one day?"

"Of course," you nodded. "He told me—,"

"He’s not coming back."

You began shaking your head, growing more and more upset as the seconds passed. "You don’t know that."

Loki sighed, defeatedly. "I do know that, dear." A heavy pause. "I know that because I’m the one that sent him away."

You were certain in that moment your heart had stopped. Everything had stopped. You could barely tell anymore how you got from point A to point B.

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"What I mean is I’ve had my eye on you for a long time," he explained. He was standing so tall making you feel minuscule. "I always thought you could be just right for me but then that nobleman waltzed into your life. Granted, he wasn’t me. He couldn’t give you what I could but he tried his best." Loki shrugged. "I had no choice, really. He threatened everything. He derailed my plan but it’s alright. I think after tonight it’ll be back on track, correct?"

You held your hands up in defense, practically begging Loki to slow down. Your head was spinning. "You sent away the father of my child?"

Loki sighed, sounding actually regretful. "Truly, that wasn’t ever my intention. I didn’t know he was going to do that."

"And you think since you forced him out of the picture, you can swoop in and ask for my hand in marriage? We never had a courtship! Are you even hearing yourself?"

"I’m a prince, darling." He sounded so casual. "We do not court like the rest of you."

Gosh, you felt like you were going to vomit. Your hands fell to your stomach as you tried to calm yourself. You had never heard Loki separate you two so clearly before. Like he had drawn a line, definitively.

Your words tasted like venom as you forced yourself to speak. "Can I at least think about it?"

"I’m afraid not. They’d like an answer tonight."

Tonight. That was what this dinner had been for. You weren’t invited just out of the kindness of his heart. You had been attending your own engagement party.

"Loki, this… I— This is insane. You’re— You’re insane—,"

"Am I, really?" He pressed, taking a few steps closer. You trembled under a darkened gaze you had never seen before on him. "I’m not sure that’s how you should be speaking to the man trying to offer you a bit of… stability."

"Stability?" You repeated. "You think that’s all that I want?"

"Would this not grant your daughter a better life? The little shop of yours is only getting you two so far, dear."

The shock had worn off as you were now being filled with rage. "Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this anymore," you gritted. "Of course, I want nothing but the best for her but I also deserve someone who will truly love me. You’re — You’re just asking to fulfill some royal commitment and trying to pass it off like this is some big, grand gesture to help me."

Loki looked a bit taken back by your words. Even you were a bit surprised by yourself. You didn’t know where this fight was coming from within you. Probably from the depths of motherhood, if you had to guess. But it felt good in a way.

After a heavy moment, Loki asked, "Was I so wrong to assume this proposal could actually help us both?"

That was the real kicker of it all, you thought. This actually could help you both.

"I want to marry someone who loves me."

Loki seemed to debate around the idea mentally. "I’m certain that within time something could bloom. I’m not a psychopath, darling." He smirked. "But I truly can’t believe you’d give this up all for the minuscule chance at love, the hopeless thing that got you where you are today."

You gasped. "I would’ve had true love if you hadn’t banished him away!"

Loki let out a humorless laugh. "You are so adorable, you know that?" You flinched as he got close enough now to place a hand on your damp cheek. You were practically forced to look in his eyes as he spoke. "That man was nothing but a spoiled brat and I refuse to believe you actually fell for his game."

You felt yourself crumbling down again. Way beneath him. "He… He was really…"

"Don’t you dare try to defend him, do you hear me?" Loki spat. That darkness was washing over but this time it felt like a storm you couldn’t escape. "I will not have my bride speak such niceties about another man."

"Your bride—,"

"While I’ve enjoyed this little midnight confessional, we have some good news to share with everyone, don’t we?"

You didn’t know what to do. What to think anymore. He wasn’t letting up. You were trapped. It was like the prison gate had shut behind you. You were stone-cold now, completely under his control. You were giving up in complete defeat. You could scream until you were blue in the face but you were running in circles. At least your daughter would know a home.

"Yes."

Loki’s face lit up. He removed his hands from you. "Fantastic," he said, heading back towards the palace. You helplessly followed beside him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and said, "Happy engagement, dear."

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