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netherfeildren · 6 months ago

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FABLE OF THE DOG : 2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol Use; Allusions to Attempted Suicide; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Past Teenage Crush; Yearning and Longing Galore; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: This is a deeply, deeply unserious chapter, and I make no apologies—I was taken away by whimsy!!!!

Apologies however, for the French people slander, I went on a truly heinous date with a oui oui baguette loser last month. I’m still working through my anger.

Word Count: 13.4K

Read on AO3

2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

They appear at the break of dawn, the young man and the boy.

“How many heads’ve you got total?”

Joel appraises him, the fresh-faced look, a boy just crossed over into the cusp of manhood—though he’s large and strong and earnest in the eyes. He’d be a good hire, if not for—

He glances over at the young boy sitting on the bunk’s couch, snickering quietly with Ellie as his brother tries to barter a place for the two of them.

“Near to thirty large about now. We’re fixin’ to breed, but we’re pushin’ our limitations.”

“So you need hands,” he says eagerly.

“We do,” Joel returns slowly, chewing on the mint he’d plucked from out front. His stomach is in knots, has been since—days and days and days ago, last night, and so much worse now. There’s a sick heat settled deep that he doesn’t know how he’ll scourge out and quick.

“Listen, I know it’s unconventional, but—”

“Where’s his parents?” He tips his chin at the boy, and Ellie peers slyly over her shoulder at him. He’ll get hell for this later, he knows, she knows.

“Our momma’s down south—by way of Odessa. She cowboys during the summer too, and—”

Joel sits up in his seat. “Texas?”

“Come on, Texas,” Tommy slinks behind him, sneaking an arm over his shoulder to thump Joel roughly on the chest. “Just say yes.” He lets out a gruff sound masking a cough, fucking Tommy, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ellie rise from the sofa and leave the bunk quietly with a parting pat on the boy's head.

“You’re from Texas, too?” The young man asks brightly, that look of hope in his eyes that Joel’s about to quash.

“We’re from Austin,” Tommy says from the coffee pot, his mustache spreading wide over a shit-eating grin. “Southerners way up here, we gotta stay united amongst all these Yanks’,” his brother puts on the drawl heavy, and Joel rolls his eyes. Clown.

“Listen, Henry,” he says, trying to turn the conversation back to business. He looks at the boy again, the back of the small head bent and silent and something that could, perhaps, be thought of as guilt pulses through him, but to be honest, there’s so much of that moving about Joel’s system right about now, that it’s just one more drop of poison filling his cup. It doesn’t matter. He needs to do what’s right.

For who? He can’t very well tell yet.

“I’m sure you’re a hard worker, son, and I’d not hesitate to give you a place were we in different circumstances, but I just don’t see how this would work—”

Henry leans forward in his chair too, ready to plead his case, fight for his brother and the generously paying jobs the Kelly’s are famous for. There’s something about the boy newly turned man that reminds Joel of himself. Perhaps during that young and fragile youth of his twenties, when he’d been alone with a newborn baby, trying to figure out the whole world and himself.

“I know it’s unconventional, but he’s a good kid. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, and it’d only be for the summer, sir. We head back down for the start of the school year. It’s difficult, but it’s harder for my momma to get work with a kid than it is for me.” He trips over his words with the speed at which he’s spitting them at Joel, trying to convince him, and he knows that the fair thing would be to take them in. To give this man a chance the way Joel had been given one so many years ago, the mercy of safe harbor. But he’s got a finite amount of goodness in him now, he’s got to save it all for only one person. There’s none left for anyone else. And Joel doesn't want trouble, he’s got enough of that around here right about now. “He’s got his books and his summer worksheets, and he knows how to manage on his own while I work. I swear, he won’t be in any sort of way. You can—”

And then, amidst the young strangers' rambling plea, Joel's heart falls through his stomach. Here comes that trouble anyways.

“What’s going on here?” In that soft, lovely voice that haunted his dreams last night.

All the cowboys rise from their seats at the sound of your presence.

From over your shoulder, Joel sees Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace at him, the flash of her middle finger and then her tongue.

“Goddamnit, Ellie,” he growls low.

You look exhausted, eyes red rimmed and swollen—as if you’d been crying all night, and Joel’s tongue is a swollen, poisoned thing in his mouth—a husk of guilt is all he is. He swallows convulsively, trying to find his words, trying to not scream at the thought of being what’s made you cry, trying not to look down the length of you and failing. Silky sleep shorts end way too high up on the long length of those too pretty thighs, an oversized pullover with Yale emblazoned across the front, a little hole at the neck and a large dark stain marr the front of it. You’ve got on a too big robe, dark and plaid, draped over your shoulders with your hair all a mess. He can see Ellie’s trying to pull it into some semblance of a braid behind your back discreetly while you stare at him with those eyes that, and he’s being damn honest now, fucking terrify him. Those puffy, ridiculous tan boots women wear, the impractical ones that become a sogging mess in the snow or wet despite the fact he understands they’re supposed to be worn in winter, are on your feet, two mismatched socks peek out above the tops.

He’s pretty sure one of them has bombs with a capital ‘F’ in the tiny centers printed over it. The other, some sort of Easter bunny carrot print. Absolutely ridiculous, and he can’t help it, he notices it all.

And worst of all, in your grip is that World’s Best Dad mug you’d sent the old fucker for Christmas several years ago, a little holiday fuck you from his best daughter. It’d been one of the years he hadn’t let you come home for the winter break, forced you to spend the holiday alone at that boarding school of yours. The whole ranch had known and whispered about it, and he’d felt embarrassed and offended on your behalf, that they’d all gossiped about the girl you were behind your back when they should’ve respected you for the woman you’d become one day, the one that’d eventually pay all of their earnings.

And the jackass had the audacity to use the mug all the time afterwards. Joel was pretty sure it’d been his favorite.

“We were just wrapping up,” Joel says, clearing his throat, finally finding his voice. It’s almost physically painful to look at you directly in the eyes, and the heat of shame and regret claws its way up his throat at the hollow look he sees there. You’re so angry at him, and he deserves it.

“This is the new Kelly,” Ellie tells Henry, cutting him off, pressing you forward with her hands wrapped around your shoulders. Your shorts are way too short to be in here right now, and Joel feels something else, even hotter than shame, stirring inside him. “If you want work here, this is who you need to talk to. The big boss.”

“Miss Kelly,” Henry says reverently, pulling his cap off to press against his chest. “It’s a mighty fine honor gettin’ to meet you. I was just telling your foreman here,” he motions the cap towards Joel, and he feels like a bear who’s about to rip it out of his grip and stuff it down his throat. Fucking Ellie going and snitching on him. “How me and my brother Henry travel for the summer. I’ve got letters here, I’ve worked at the King before, and have a number your man can call if he needs more references. I’ve got lots of experience and—”

“What will you do with him?” Your gaze is on the little boy, has been the entire time. Joel steps forward and over the back of the couch he sees the kid, Sam, has a comic book in his lap he’s been reading this whole time, while adults who should have no bearing on his life decide what will and will not be for him. “While you work—”

Joel looks back at you, and he knows already what it’ll be.

Henry’s smile is wide and gleaming, putting on the charm. What he doesn’t see, what Joel does, is that bleak sadness in your gaze that he’d put there himself last night. He needs to speak with you, to explain, to make it right between the two of you.

“He’s good at entertaining himself. I promise he won’t be in the way or nothin’. He’s got books and summer work, and he’s learning to play the guitar. He won’t be in the way,” Henry says again.

“What about school?”

“We only travel during the summer. We’re back in Texas for the school year.” And at that, you finally look back at Joel, and his heart shoots from his belly to his throat, ready to be spit up at your feet.

You watch him for a long searing moment, and there's such sadness there. He doesn’t know what would have been better, what would have been the correct recourse, how to make that look go away. To give you what you want? To do what he thinks is right or what should be right? He’d never thought, never considered anything like this. It’s all too much too fast, and he feels suddenly lost and childlike in the face of you and all you stand for.

“They stay,” you say only for Joel.

Henry lets out a whoop of victory, rushing forward to thank you profusely, but Jesse, who’s standing by the door, blocks his rush forward with a hand to his chest before he can get too close to the new boss. You’re for protecting now, above all else, it’s the unspoken word they all suddenly understand keenly.

You stare solemnly at Joel for only a second longer, those sleep sloped doe eyes, before you’re turning without another word.

“He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

The cricket song is a symphony of sound around the two of you, and you’re suspended for a second, he sees it come on—a rose hued haze, and then blink-of-an-eye donning a look that spells nothing but disaster. He’s thrown off course by it for a single second, that girl fantasy glow, before you’re launching yourself at him, and then it’s nothing but a soft wet mouth, smoked fruit and fired oak, the slick of your tongue against his bottom lip as you kiss him.

You’re kissing him.

He’s a frozen solid husk, eyes wide open as he stares down at the look on your face—something like agony. The tiny frown between your eyebrows, concentration, and a single diamond tear caught in the web of your lashes, and he can’t help but notice the soft press of your breasts against his chest, you’re not wearing a bra, before he’s shoving you back by the shoulders, scrambling to get as far away from you as quickly as he can.

His back hits the railing before he can get far enough. “What the fuck are you doing?” He spits, but can’t help but lick his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting where you’ve just been.

His stomach is suddenly hot.

You swallow convulsively, bleary eyed look turning to hurt, pressing your palm to your belly, twisting your fingers in the fabric of your sweater there. “I don’t— I didn’t—” Your eyelashes flutter shut, closing the hurt, confused look away from him for one blessed second. You press your other palm to your forehead, gripping yourself as if you’re trying to hold your very skin together.

What do you think you’re doing? He enunciates each word like the lash of a whip, and then licks his lips again to soften those same blows for himself.

Something is about to go inexplicably wrong here. Something already has. A tragedy worse than the death of a father

“I just thought that—” You blink your eyes open and they’re wet, and he’s about to bark at you to not fucking cry or he’ll lose it completely, but he swallows it or loses the thought to madness. He feels incomprehensibly insane, inconceivably triggered.

This is like nothing he’d ever imagined, and it tilts him on his axis, skews his vision, headlights blinding you in a dead-on collision.

What are you doing—thinking?

“I— I watched you grow up. I watched you—” You take an anxious step towards him, some word on your lips he can’t even make out because his hearing has gone out, and now he’s all of a sudden deaf in both ears instead of just one. He hardens his voice further. He makes sure you understand. “This is fucking wrong, and you need to get away from me right now,” reversing his movements, taking a threatening step forward, stomping his heavy boot against the floorboards beneath so that you’re jumping, skittering backwards like a frightened little rabbit.

And Joel, the beast, crushing her beneath his foot.

You wrap both of your hands around the delicate column of your throat; he imagines you’re holding in your hurt sounds, and it makes him even angrier.

“Listen to me—” he starts again.

But you cut him off, shaking your head, the confused sleep-look being blinked away so that now it’s spitting fire that is awake and angry in your gaze. “But you didn’t,” you say. “You barely know me. We’re almost strangers.” A scoff, and then switching again to soft, to girl-like, to hurt: “And I’m all grown up now, Joel.”

“I don’t know what you reckon is happenin’ here between us. Or what you think— what you—” He looks away, can’t bear the sight of it, you, fuck, he spits, again, fuck. “If I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry, but—”

Then in a broken little voice grasping for straws, “But we were born on the same day,” and you say it like a question. Like it should mean more. Like, and he realizes it now, like it means the world.

He turns back to look at you, and he feels full of everything but mercy—too much regret. “And what? What do you think that means? That we’re connected—meant to be?” His voice sounds full of cruelty. “Don’t be delusional. It’s also the day my daughter died. D’you know that?”

A blink. “What?”

“She died on my thirty-fourth birthday.”

Again. “But… Wh—at?” Broken up word, and your chin does a little wobbling dance, jutting this way and that, and you have a dimple in your cheek that comes out when you’re happy, but also when you’re sad. When you’re about to cry. He sees it now, and starkly.

He’s ruining something sacred.

Joel steels himself. “Whatever it is you’ve made up in your mind about us, it’s a fantasy. Something not real that you need to let go of. Are you hearin’ me?”

“I— I think…” You won’t stop blinking, your hands look like they’re about to strangle you, and he steps forward as if to stop you or save you from yourself. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

But instead of saving, “Why would I? Why would I ever tell you that?” He does not want to hurt you, and yet he cannot help it, and Joel wonders if this is how your father felt every time he failed you—like a lesser man. “Wasn’t for you to know—it doesn’t mean the same thing to us.” That day. He makes himself clear: “Whatever child’s fantasy you’re still holding onto, you need to let it go.”

He rushes out of the bunk after you, a growled, you little shit, at Ellie as he passes her.

“Man, what’d you fuckin’ do?” She calls after him in that tone that tells him that of course she knows what’s happened. You two’ve never been able to keep a single thing from each other. Asshole! She shouts at his back as he catches up to your slowly retreating form. Your movements are sluggish, exhausted.

He calls your name and tries to moderate his tone from being as aggressive as he feels right now. “We gotta talk.” He follows after you, hot on your heels and then jumping back like a scared mut when you spin around on your ridiculous boot to face him.

“Speak.” It’s a high-handed tone, that one. One that says he’s the grunt here, and you the queen, that you’d both forgotten it last night, but the battlelines are clearly drawn now. There’ll be no more forgetting.

And it’s all his fault.

“You can’t—” His heart thumps and thumps and thumps like a pitiful thing. “You can’t undermine me in front of the boys like that. There’s a reason I was saying no.”

“Which is?”

“That the kid’ll be in the way.”

And you flinch and Joel prays for a gun to the back of the skull. Fucking Christ, but this is difficult.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gruffs. “You know what I mean. This is hard work we do here. I don’t want the kid gettin’ hurt, I don’t want to be responsible for that. What goes on here is on me. The people who get hurt, it’s all on me, and I take that responsibility damn serious.”

You tilt your head at him in that queer, inspecting way of yours. The one he’d watched you pull like a weapon against your father so many times. He finds he hates it now, detests it, being wielded against himself. You ignore his words, “What was your arrangement here—with him? How did this work with the ranch?”

There has been that thought always, and obviously, of you as something higher, that symbol of the family or the safe haven this place has been for Joel. The not-respect he had for your father, but surely the understanding—you've always been all wrapped up in that. He's at times felt grateful for your existence, perhaps, in ways. That something as good, as better, as you could exist in the same world Joel exists in. Perhaps he’d admired you in ways, even as a young girl, for your goodness, your sincerity. But he finds now, at this look of disdain you’re wearing against him, that he hates the feeling of being less than you, of not being good enough to even stand in your presence.

He’s done wrong, marred it all in ugliness. He’s put himself in this position somehow, by hurting you, by confusing you, by wanting—

“I do what I need to, what the ranch needs. Whatever decision I need to make, I call it and it’s on me. Monthly reports to him and that was it. He understood that what happens out here is different to what can be told and sometimes you can’t plan for certain shit. He focused on the business, I focus on the ranch.”

By wanting what?

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take a long sip, humming. It’s all a taunt. Joel realizes, suddenly, and with painful clarity, that this has all been a grave miscalculation on his part.

As uncomfortable as it is for even him to admit, you are, and undeservedly, a person used to not being wanted, used to rejection. Joel understands this with the quick fire blink of an eye. And he has, in his shock, or— or… he doesn't know—instantaneous awakening—unintentionally alienated you, made an enemy.

I see, you murmur quietly coupled with a bitter cough of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like the sweet sound he’s used to hearing from you. Yes, a very bad mistake has been made indeed. “Well, you’re practically king here, aren’t you then? Quite the partnership the two of you had.” You smile wide, all bright teeth.

The coffee sloshes in the mug held in your unsteady hand, and he worries there’s something stronger in there too.

“Not at all. I’m just good at what I do.” He shoves fisted hands into his pockets, trying to keep patient. Trying not to throttle you, check your drink for himself.

“And is this how you’d like to continue going forward? I mind my own business, and you do as you please?”

He shakes his head slow, grinds the pulverized mint between his molars, “I want whatever you think’s best. You’re the Kelly now, after all.” You get a look on your face like you don’t like the sound of that at all, and he turns to spit the greens between his teeth, coughing roughly.

“Yeah, I’m sure of that,” you say with teeth bared, and then whipping your head away from him as if you can’t bear the sight of him a second longer. The coffee sloshes the other way, splashing against your wrist. He hopes it’s not burning you. “You know, you’ve got some fucking nerve, Joel. You—”

The robe—all of a sudden, saturated by the dark liquid, it grabs his attention. It’s in a plaid print, expensive looking, like something you’d see an older man wearing. A man’s robe? He cocks his head, “Whose robe is that?” Cutting your tirade short.

What? You spit, all sass, his stomach burns, turning to look back at him as if he’s gone idiotic, grown a second head. He feels a little bit like he’s in the process of doing so—wracked with growing pains. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s. Can you focus, please? I’m trying to have a fight with you right now.” And you scrunch your nose too adorably for him to find anything besides endearing. Certainly not intimidating.

He grunts, displeased.

“I know you don’t want to hear it—”

“Then keep it to yourself.” You turn, continuing on your way up to the house, coffee flies with your spin, boyfriend’s robe whipping out in your wake as he follows like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

A little desperately, like a dog, too. A begging for scraps imitation game he hadn’t intended to play but feels obligated to now, and by his own doing.

“But I want to say—about last night…”

You turn on your heel out of nowhere again, and he stumbles to not rush head first into you, to not touch you.

The look on your face is all heartbreak. “Do you remember—when I was away at school—and I fell off the horse? When I came home with that broken arm and couldn’t get back on and you helped me? Do you remember that, Joel? How you reminded me how I was supposed to do it—”

He coughs, uncomfortable, shifting like that same scared dog. “You remember these things different than I do.” The words feel cowardly spilling from his tongue, but he should be honest. Shouldn’t he?

This is what he should be doing, isn’t it?

“I remember that you were kind. That you cared. That’s what I remember.” Your eyes are glossed again, and now it’s Joel that has to look away.

“I didn’t care. It was my job to serve your father. To do as he’d want me to. It was a responsibility.”

It’s happening again. A tale like any other you’ve too often heard. You know he’s not lying, and yet everything he says feels precariously close to it.

“Why are you being like this?” And you ask it very practically, like you really want to know, like you’ve asked the same sort of question to the same sort of figure before, and so now you’re extremely well practiced, an expert even.

“You remember these things differently. Wrong—That’s not how I meant any of it—whatever you’re thinkin’. It was just a kindness.”

“No, but I— but you…” That’s the point, you want to say, a kindness, but the words stick. You look away again, colored in shame, can’t bear the sight of him. “Maybe you’re right,” you whisper with that very remembered kindness of your lonely childhood thrown back in your face now. “Maybe I do.”

“Listen to me—I’d like for things between us to be— I’m not… I don’t now what to fuckin’ say to you.”

“Honey—” Dina calls from the porch, your father’s assistant, now yours by inheritance, you suppose. “We gotta go soon—gotta get you ready.”

“I have things to do with Dina. I don’t have time for you—for this. Do what you want, run it how you like,” the ranch, “But the kid stays. That’s final.”

You won’t look at him again, you decide. You’ll learn to want a new thing. You’ll learn to love a new thing.

If you had it in you, you’d laugh in his face.

Have you been in love with him? Probably not in any way that could’ve been called mature, it was the girl-fantasy of a neglected child latching on to a man who’d always seemed nothing but steady and kind.

So you’ll learn to grow up now, no choice left in the matter, let the fantasy go.

Despite your desire for debauchery and the three days of bad behavior you’d promised yourself, you’ve got shit to do.

An hour after your ridiculous non-conversation with the ridiculous man, you and Dina are stepping back out into the summer sunshine when your phone rings with a call from another ridiculous man for what promises to surely be another even more ridiculous conversation.

Jacopo.

You’d met through the friend of a friend at the party of someone or another in Monaco. Come from an Italian mother and a French father, you should’ve known he was going to be an arrogant asshole from the get go, but he’d been beautiful and momentarily distracting—things you knew you didn’t really want but told yourself would suffice. Really, all he was, was boring, the same as everyone else, wanting something from you without having to truly return anything in full.

Jacopo the jockey—sounds like a goddamn cartoon.

You liked to call him Jack, like he were the same sort of plebeian he saw all Americans as, and which he absolutely loathed with the sort of passion only an uppity French man could possess.

In the distance, you can see Joel, Frank and Bill propped up against the corral watching as Jesse runs Ellie atop a gorgeous chestnut Quarter. Sometimes she likes to compete, when she can get Joel to stop complaining about it for a second.

Dina makes her way towards them, “Tell them we’ll take the Ghibli,” you call after her to which she throws a thumbs up. At the sound of your voice he peers over his shoulder, finding your eyes immediately, catching there—fish on a burning hook. And then turns full around, leaning back to rest his elbows on the iron grate as you take French boys call, settling in to watch you.

“Hi, Jack, sweetie. How’s it hangin’?”

“I do not know what this means.”

Bore. “What do you want, Jacopo? I’m busy.”

“My love, we must speak. I have heard of your father. You should have call me, I will come to be with you now. Tell me where you are.”

“Why the hell would I want you to come be with me? We broke up. Remember?”

Joel watches you as the French idiot prattles on about how he loves you and how you need him and how the two of you belong together, blah blah. Odious man, you don’t know how you ever let him inside of you.

Across the lawn, he isn’t looking away, and his gaze burns where it touches. You feel—humiliated, hurt, rejected, so angry it’s a physical ache.

Not surprised.

Perhaps in some way, his rejection was what you’d wanted, had been looking for. Perhaps, it was your subconscious search for the easy way out. Because, and really, what else had you thought would happen when you’d thrown yourself at him half drunk? That he’d suddenly stop seeing you as the child he’d known you for always, take you as a woman, want you, fuck you right there on your newly dead father’s front deck?

Ridiculous.

You can’t even think about the birthday—about her. It’s a snipped lifeline, a crushed tether.

“Cherie, I must tell you I am feeling very neglected now by you. You don’t call. You do not love me no longer, or what is the problem?” More nonsense and really, this fuckin’ guy needs a boot in his ass pronto.

And the one still watching you—something even worse. He’s got his mangy brown cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, the one for the ranch, not the lovely dark one for escorting orphans to the funerals of dead fathers, and his jaw works the mint leaves you know he’s got between his teeth, slow and steady. You should hiss at him. Instead, your tummy smolders with heat and butterflies.

Stop looking at me, you horrible man, you want to shout.

Humming and hawing at the annoying voice coming through the phone, you smooth your palm over the silk of your dress. You’d wanted to look nice today, your first Kelly meeting. You wanted to look better than you feel, which is like shit, quite frankly.

There are tiny green paisleys patterned over the deep blue of the dress, a shock of dark red maroon for the cashmere knit of the cardigan tied over your shoulders, and a little silken kerchief wrapped around your throat, something from your mother’s things you’d gone through last night after Joel had ordered you to bed with your tail tucked between your legs and tears in your throat.

Twenty four years later, and your father still had all her things preserved in their bedroom as if she’d only stepped out for the afternoon. A veritable mausoleum right there in your house-not-home.

You’d never even stood a chance.

He watches you begin to pace across the deck, but the look on your face tells him you aren’t quite listening to whatever it is the person on the phone’s saying to you.

The gold and silver bangles that slide around your fine boned wrists jingle a song of temptation. Siren song, bird song, death march, something he’d follow with blind eyes, recognize deaf. And heavy gold and jeweled rings along your fingers that shine almost as bright as the spilled silk of your hair. Swathed in shades of jewel, you’re all woman, done up and ready to go out and devastate.

He doesn’t know how any man could ever look at you and not want you.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be the same from here on out.

“Who’s she talkin’ to?” He asks Dina, tipping his chin over at you. He can hear you raising your voice, something about you fucking French moron, and he doesn’t like the hunch he’s got about who it is.

“Boyfriend,” Dina says while she watches Ellie work the horse with hearts in her eyes.

“Thought he was an ex.”

She peers up at him suspiciously at that, a queer little smile tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. “Well maybe now that he knows how much she’s worth he’ll be coming back, huh?”

Joel swears all these fuckin’ women are conspiring against him, trying to send him to an early grave. “He steps foot on this ranch, and I’ll shoot him in the goddamn ass.”

She laughs, throwing her head back which inevitably draws Ellie’s attention. “You are literally so dramatic.”

“What’s he bein’ dramatic about now?” Ellie calls from behind, trotting up to the corral edge.

“Ohhh, nothin’. Just Joel being Joel. Right, old man?” Dina bumps her hip against his and he grunts, refusing to be goaded. He’s not being dramatic, it’s his responsibility to take care of you now, to watch over you.

That’s all.

“I’m never dramatic,” he tells them very seriously.

On the porch, the spat reaches a crescendo and they all turn to watch the show.

Why don’t you shove the whole Eiffel Tower up your ass, you fucking dipshit. And don’t you ever call me again!

“Little girl’s got a mouth on her,” Bill murmurs.

Ellie lets out a long whistle. Deserved, Dina adds. On the porch, you let out a strangled little screech, stomping the high heel of your boot as if you’ve got half a mind to throw a fit.

Joel feels hypnotized, speared through the gut.

He wants to know what the ex-boyfriend said. What his name is. Where he’s from and who he is and what he does and how he is and every single thing about him and how it was between the two of you.

He is suddenly desperate to know everything there is to know about you in a way that makes his throat feel swollen with guilt. In a way he didn’t ever think he’d want from you.

All the things you keep close, all the small intimacies that make you this person you are now, that’s what he wants.

You stomp down the steps, making your way towards them, eyes directly on his, and you’re too fucking beautiful for his own good, watching you feels like a sin.

Makes him feel in danger, like prey.

“All men should die,” you yell over.

See.

“I agree,” Dina says cheerfully.

“You know you can have a baby with the junk in your bones from another woman now,” Ellie adds helpfully.

“The junk in your bones?” Joel says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah, like really we don’t even need you for shit anymore.”

“They should all be put in a hole in the ground in the middle of Nebraska and only be let out when a girl wants to bone.”

“To bone—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie.”

“I love that idea,” you say, finally coming to stand right before Joel. He swallows hard, stays silent—feels like the cat’s finally caught his tongue.

“Why Nebraska?” Franks asks, puzzled.

He’s got to stop looking at you, he’s got to get away from the sight of your eyes, feels like the colors of you seem to pulse brighter, and he feels it all like a touch against his skin. He turns to look at Ellie over his shoulder and with a huge, shit-eating grin she says, “Cause who the fuck knows where fuckin’ Nebraska is, huh?” Her eyes flash to you and then quickly back to Joel, winking, cheeky, knowing. He feels the noose tighten.

They’re definitely conspiring against him.

The three of you cackle—at his expense.

“Where’re you two headed?” Bill asks with a frown when the three little hyenas settle.

“She’s got a meeting in Jackson,” Dina tells him. “First part’ll be quick—she’s just gotta kick some pushy jackass to the curb and tell him we’re not leasing mineral rights to him no matter how hard he begs or how much money he throws at us. Then…” she trails off, throwing you a worried glance, but your eyes are on the far off mountains now, and Joel watches a shaky swallow pass through your throat.

“Then we’ve got the will reading,” you say.

A sharp ache starts up behind Joel’s left eye, all the easygoing laughter of a few moments ago sucked away with a few words and a single reminder. That you’re not the girl you used to be, laughing and playing with Ellie, that your father is dead, that you have a world of responsibility to face now.

“You shouldn’t have to go all the way into town. They should be comin’ to you here.”

“I want to get out—see his office.”

“S’only been a few days, honey,” Frank says gently. “You should take it easy.”

“Thanks, Frank,” you reach out to squeeze his arm, flush of emotion across the bridge of your nose. “I’m okay, promise.”

Joel takes you in, in full. You’ve got something shimmery swept across the highs of your cheekbones and glossy lips, the fine grain of your skin—pristine like you're made of sugar and everything good in the world. The silky wisps of baby hair at your temples that look softer than anything he’s probably ever touched in his whole life. And you’re so beautiful it almost hurts the eye to look at you, beautiful in a way that makes men cower at the sight, like you’d be the strongest thing in the whole world. But he sees all the rest too. The delicate curves of your shoulders, the fine swoop of your collarbone and the quick-fire beat of your pulse beneath the fragile skin of your throat. There’s fear all around you in a way, a desperate sort of sadness.

He wishes there was more he could do for you, that he could bear the burden of all this entirely in your stead, that he could be all you need and want him to be without having to sacrifice his soul to give it to you.

Your eyes flash back to his, and he worries for a second that you can read his mind.

Behind you, Jesse pulls up with the sleek black of your father’s favorite car. Of course you’d choose this for today, bets you’ll find a way to turn it into a pretzel before the days end.

“Take Jesse with you,” he says low at your back as you turn for the car.

You look over your shoulder at him and his spine throbs. “No.”

Following you around the front of the car, he pulls the door open for you. “You’re not moving around alone anymore. He’s going. Jesse—” he whistles, “You’re going into town with Miss Kelly.”

“Yezzir,” he smiles with the sunny easiness only he possesses.

“Excuse me,” you turn to frown up at him, stomping your foot again, and you’re a little bit of a brat, he’s realizing. “There’s no room in the car for him. He can’t come.”

“He’ll take a truck,” he says, leaving no room for discussion, but then gentles his voice again, “Things are gonna be different now. You’re the Kelly, you can’t go on all gung ho about your new reality. You need taking care of. Can you not fight me on this, please?”

“What I need—”

“Is to be protected.”

You give a delicate little huff through your nose that he finds to be just about the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen in his whole life. “Then it’ll be my choice how and who.”

“It’s easier if you just do as I say.” Grasping, grasping, praying for patience.

“You overbearing d—”

“You’ll be okay meeting this jackoff? Don’t need me to come with you?”

You glower at him.

“I’m bein’ serious with you. I know you’re capable,” he puts his hands out, palms up in a conceding gesture, “But this is new, and there’s no shame in asking for support.”

At that, you get a confused little pinch between your brows, softest rose shaped mouth he’s ever seen—felt—all pursed up, and he thinks it’s wrong now, trying to be sweet to you after last night, looking at you this way and seeing the things he’s seeing. He should stay away, go away forever, find a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere to bury himself in like you’d said, but he worries now, and quite desperately really, that he won’t ever be able to leave your side again after all this.

“I have Dina.”

“I know, but—”

“Can you please just… not. I think— I think it’s better if we just steer clear of each other. If I need something,” you look away now, hazy look from last night back in your gaze again, like you’re remembering, like you’re wanting something else he’s not willing, not capable of giving, “I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can focus on what’s important to you.”

Gut punch.

He soldiers on, can’t help it.

“You feelin’ alright?”

Your eyes flit back to him for a fleeting second and there’s honesty in your gaze now, maybe something extremely vulnerable too, and then shuttering again, looking away again. He’d demand your gaze if he had the right, insist you tell him everything there is to know with just your eyes if you were his.

But really, he’s got no right to ask anything.

So instead, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs, praying you don’t say him.

What’s wrong? A laugh and—nothing. Like your father isn’t dead, like he hadn’t hurt you as he had last night, like you’re looking for answers etched into the mountains or the sky. You bring your thumb to your right temple and his own aches in response, digging there for some unseen pain to be gouged out. “Tired—was having bad dreams.” Your voice sounds full of air, and you’ve got a huge emerald on your ring finger, an even larger turquoise stone beside it, other hand is covered in a row of opals—you’re a treasure of a girl, all the way inside and out, and it’s like he’s staring at a work of art, knowing that if he were to touch, it’d all be ruined. Your voice full of air floats in his bad ear and booms out the good one full of forlorn want.

It feels like you’re the only two people left in the whole of Wyoming, standing here together under the sweet sun, maybe the whole world, and he’s ridden in guilt, wants to tell you he’s sorry again, beg or something, and thinks that God should give you the chance to rewind time when you’ve made someone feel this bad without meaning to.

You whisper at the Tetons, and he’s all but forgotten, “I feel a little bit like I’m the real nightmare.”

“You couldn’t ever be, sweetheart,” he tells you and means it with his whole heart.

It’s all agony swimming in your eyes, and if you don’t stop him, he’s going to take you into his arms right here in front of everyone. You need more than protecting, it’s clear, you need caring for, you need loving—the sort of something he can tell you’ve never had in your whole life.

“Ready to go, honey?” Dina calls from the other side of the car, her canoodling with Ellie finally come to a pause.

You’re snapped out of your reverie, looking down at your feet, impractical boots again, these ones sexy and tall and not for his admiring, blinking away the wash of heat that’s bloomed across the bridge of your freckled little nose.

“Did she eat?” He asks Dina over your head.

“Ehhhhh, but I brought a smoothie,” she pulls out a thermos from her large bag and smiles all beaming and large.

“A smoothie ain’t food. Get something else in town.”

“You're so prepared,” Ellie sighs dreamily beside her.

“You’re annoying me,” you grouch at him, tossing your bag into the backseat, sliding into the luxuriously leathered interior as he shuts the door gently behind you, bending down to brace his palms against the open window.

“Drive careful. Call me if you need anything.”

“You’re kinda a helicopter mom. You know that, Joel?” Dina tells him with that sweet smile of hers.

“Do not entertain his nonsense,” you snap.

“She’s just grumpy because Vogue France posted a piece on her and the funeral—the heiress to watch, they’ve called her.”

“I don’t know who they think I am—Kendall fucking Roy? This isn’t HBO, it’s my goddamn life.”

“It’s fine, drink your smoothie, here,” Dina soothes.

“I don’t got a clue what any of that means,” Joel says. “And do up your belt,” frowning at you and pulling away just in time when you speed off with half the admonishment still on his tongue

The bar is loud and sweaty and crowded enough there’s room for your spite, which he knows, is all this night out is.

The day had gone from terrible to horrible to heinous, and he’s officially reached his limit now. You’d returned from your late morning in Jackson toting a gray cloud that’d settled over the entire ranch and everyone in it. All work had come to a slow and grinding halt, the mood morose, knowing that the lady of the manor was grieving and angry.

And then a few hours into the evening, you, Ellie, and Dina had spun into the bunk, already giggling on drinks he was certain were too sugary and way too strong to end in anything good. Looking to rile up the boys into heading back to Jackson and finding a bar to terrorize.

And so here he now finds himself, stepping through the door of The Mushroom, ridiculous name for a bar if anyone asked him, eyes searching for the gleam of your hair, that tiny fucking outfit you’d draped yourself in. You were hunting for trouble, to aggravate him, trying to hurt him with your, you’re not invited, Joel—no one wants you to come.

Angry, angry as a spitting fire.

He’d felt like shit about himself and your upset for a second, and then had thought: Well, are you going to cowboy up, Joel? Or just lay here and bleed?

Now, there’s something sick in him that wants more of it, to take everything you’ve got to give, to see how far you can go, to push you just a little bit further too.

A masochist, is what he reckons he might actually be.

He finds Ellie’s bent head whispering into Dina’s ear, giggling and dragging her fingertips up the other girls bare arm, and he feels a thump of fondness for the two—happier than he can say that they’ve finally worked it all out after months of their will-they-won’t-they struggle.

Making his way over to them, he catches Frank in the distance, dancing to the countryfied Abba cover of Chiquitita the local band’s currently playing while Bill stands nearby, serious and menacing, keeping anyone from getting too close to his partner.

No sign of you, and the backs of his knees itch and burn.

“Where is she?” He demands when he reaches Ellie at their place against the bar.

“Oh, dude. She’s gonna be soooo pissed.”

“Where, Ellie?”

Get you anything to drink, sugar? The bartender calls and Joel shakes her away, panic thumping in his gut the longer he doesn’t have eyes on you.

Dina knocks her head towards the end of the L-shaped bar, closest to the throng of dancing patrons, and there in the last seat and partially obscured by someone’s shoulder and ridiculously feathered hat, you sit.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Can you please just leave her alone. She needs to blow some steam off.”

“Yeah, Joel, we’re watching her,” Dina adds, always the peacekeeper.

Or blow someone, Ellie adds in a snicker, and he gives her a death glare. “You need to quit the asshole act,” she tells him, purposefully thunking her beer hard enough on the bartop that some of it sloshes over the lip of the bottle onto his hand braced against the edge.

Real mature.

“Changed my mind,” he tells the bartender when she heads back their way, “Shot of Jameson.”

Beside him, Jesse appears, beer in hand as he leans against the bar to watch you also. “That might just be the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my whole life, honest to God,” he sighs wistfully.

Joel sees red—this is just too much. “Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at her,” he snaps.

Ellie snickers knowingly, and Frank and Bill join the group, picking up on the topic of conversation.

“That little girl can drink a grown man under the goddamn table,” Bill says.

“And looks good as hell doing it too—”

“Eyes off, you little shit,” Joel sends a threatening glance at Jesse again.

Ellie ignores them both. “He’s a finance bro or some shit—from New York—here to play cowboy dress up with the group he’s with. Nothing I can’t handle, and you need to cool it and leave or have a drink and let her have fun.”

“She’s vulnerable right now, Ellie—”

“Yeah, you would know.”

Joel’s turn to do the ignoring, “And she needs someone to watch her back.”

“I’m fuckin’ watching it, man. You’re so annoying, and I’ll have you know that—” The fucker’s got a thick lock of your long hair trapped between his probably manicured fucking fingers, smoothing it between his thumb and index and then looping it around and around, drawing you in closer.

Joel’s about to start howling.

You’ve done something to him, knocked something askew inside him, and he needs you to set it back to rights. Let him out of this saw trap he’s been caught in.

The man says something that has you throwing your head back in an overly eager laugh, loud and melodic in the most hypnotizing sort of way, meant to draw the eye or seduce or send his gut to twisting and aching.

Ellie’s saying something about how you need to have fun, how you need to find yourself, and all Joel can think is that he can be the one to give you that, to help you do all that while still making sure you’re alright, taken care of.

Over the wannabe cowboy’s shoulder, he sees your eyes land on him, and you give him one of those serenely beautiful smiles he knows means he’s about to lose his fucking mind and cause a scene.

A provocation of a smile is what it is.

You cross one long leg over the other, a flash of hot pink his eyes can’t help but flash to beneath the obscene hem of your skirt and lean in to whisper something, glossy lips right at his ear, and a tick starts up below Joel’s left eye. The fuckwit pulls you in closer, and you tip into him, hand on his shoulder—your eyes never leave Joel’s, and then you’re pulling him off the barstool and leading him into the throng of dancing people. He’s desperate to know what the back of your hot pink underwear looks like—string of lace wedged between the cleft of your ass, or silk wrapping around the full cheek like a perfect present? The man pulls you into himself, spinning you around, and you’re made up of blues and purples and pinks, shimmering like something that shouldn’t exist here amongst all the rest of them. Slinky little top made of silk like water and sparkles, your cheeks, flushed with drink or heat, but he’ll tell himself it’s because of him, because you’re still angry at him, thinking of him, and it soothes the tempest that’s brewing in his gut.

He spins you towards himself, the man Joel’s about to beat senseless, shooting the Jameson without really tasting anything but the insane jealousy souring to irrational fury on his tongue, it pulses in his throat once, twice, and the fucker tugs you into himself again by a handful of your ass in that too short skirt and sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel slams the glass on the bartop, not seeing red anymore, something like dark spots now, he’s so fucking pissed off.

Ellie yelps his name, her and Jesse scrambling after him, but they’re too late and he’s there already, pulling you away, and gently because he might be feeling a little bit like a demon right now, but he knows what you are and how to handle you no matter what—and slams his fist into the fuckers nose, the satisfying crunch of broken bone and a pathetic cry sounds as he hits the sticky bar floor. The people around peer over in nothing more than mild curiosity, this is a cowboy bar after all.

He watches the man for a second, making sure he stays down, and then turns to look at you and isn’t at all surprised when he finds that look of victory on your face.

“Ready to go?” Voice all sweet innocence.

You’re going to kill him.

Spinning around on the toe of your boot, the hem of your little skirt flutters with your movements and he catches a flash of cheek, mystery of your panties still unsolved.

“You’re a real dumbass, you know that?” Ellie snarks as they pass the group of them.

He chooses to ignore that observation. “Don’t stay out too late. And let Bill drive back.”

Following you out into the night, he tries to take control of himself, to lie away the heat he feels sitting heavy in his stomach.

He wishes he had a mint leaf to pulverize between his molars, he wishes he could pull you over his knee and spank your ass for being such a bad girl. And looming behind you, he knows you’re not even a little bit intimidated by his size as you dance and prance across the parking lot towards his truck.

“I know you’re ticked off because of last night and today, but you can’t lash out just because you’re angry with me.”

All he gets in response is that head-thrown-back wind chime laughter—the real one, which is something.

“You need to stop misbehaving,” he breathes down your neck.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” you singsong.

“Are you drunk?” Refusing to be distracted, he’s going to stand strictly on business, he promises himself.

You spin around again—always catching him off guard and pissing him off—hooking yourself on his shirtfront, pulling yourself into him like you’re trying to dance some fucked up dance he doesn’t know the steps to.

“Not at all.”

“You need to not be touching me right now,” he warns, the threads of his control dangerously close to snapping, walking you backwards without putting his hands on you. Chest to chest, he feels like he could breathe fire if he really set his mind to it.

“Yes, sir,” you say sweetly, dragging your palms down his chest and belly before letting him go, skipping ahead of him, humming an off-key rendition of whatever kitschy, poor excuse for a country song they’d been playing at the end in there.

The even poorer excuse for a skirt bounces along the curve of your ass, driving him fucking mad—he’s goig to have a heart attack, he’s middle aged, he can’t handle this shit anymore—you.

Stop that, he growls.

“God, you don’t like anything—you’re no fun,” you pout.

Coming to the truck, he yanks the door open for you. “Get in the damn truck.” And he makes sure to turn away and not ogle your ass as you hop in, his palm hovering in the vicinity of your elbow if you need him.

The prospect of an hour and a half of the dark drive and the scent of your musky sweet perfume and sweat soaked skin has his heart pounding. When he pulls his door open, you’re turned in your seat expectantly waiting for him, folded knees up on the seat and pink triangle right there to taunt him.

“Sit right—put on your seatbelt.”

“You’re so bossy.” An exaggerated sigh and your voice is so fucking sassy, a tiny bit of a needy whine threaded through it, he feels his patience snap.

Grabbing hold of your damp cheeks he squeezes hard enough to force your full mouth into a pout and giving your head a little shake he says, “And you need managing, little girl. Put your fucking belt on, or I’ll put it on for you.”

Eyes all pupil and gone blurry, you lick your lips and he can smell the sweet fruit scent of your breath. He groans, pushing you back—mistake, mistake, putting his hands on you at all—and peels out of the parking lot, and he is not hard in his jeans for you.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask after several moments of forced silence.

“No.”

“Not even for last night?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it either.”

“Well, now I’ve changed my mind.”

Jesus, he mutters. “There’s nothing to discuss—already told you what I think and how it’s going to be and that’s final. You need to let it go, you hear me?”

You give a little groaning screech through your clenched teeth, turning away from him, still not wearing your goddamn seatbelt, never doing as he says.

Toeing your boots off roughly, the little skirt hitches high enough on your thighs he catches a glimpse of the smooth glowing skin of your hip, eyes trying to watch the road and your thighs at the same time.

“You’re horrible,” you say through a grimace, but your voice cracks a little bit at the end, and you’ve still got your face turned away so that he can’t tell if he’s made you cry or not now.

“Are you cryin’?” He demands.

“No,” you sniffle, wiping your cheek on a lifted shoulder

“Yes you are, liar.” Fuck—fuck, fuck.

“Well you’re bein’ mean,” you whine, finally turning to look at him again, and you’re all rose glow, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, lips red as a cherry.

No man should be tested like this. It’s wrong—unnatural.

He tries to gentle his voice and steady the pounding of his heart, pressing down on the gas, wishing the road would disappear from beneath the tires of the truck and that he could have you home and away from him already. “Not bein’ mean, sweetheart. Just—just…” He sighs, “Goddamnit, just don’t how how to handle you,” he curses, losing the grasp on his gentleness.

“See—you are angry with me!” A tear slips down your cheek, and Joel’s mouth waters.

His heart kicks up another notch, hypnotized, “You make me fuckin’ crazy—is that what you wanna hear?”

“Yes.” You turn full in the seat to face him, bent knees against the center console block his view of the apex of your thighs. Fucking Christ.

“Sit right. You’re flashing your bits,” he tries and fails to focus on the road.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I want you to see them, stupid.”

Jesus. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Only one High Noon.”

“The hell is that? And quit lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?” Your knees shift against each other, and he’s gripping the steering wheel so tight he feels like he could rip it out of the dash.

“You fuckin’ know like what.”

“Well if you hadn’t been such a cock block earlier, I’d be looking at someone else like this right now.”

And the teasing is too much. The bare legs and the tiny skirt and the hair and the lips and the sound of your voice, the kiss last night replaying in his mind over and over and over again like some lovesick taunt, the look of hurt he’d put on your face and the idea of you bare and slick, taking some other man that isn’t him. It’s too much.

He jerks the truck roughly onto the road shoulder and into the grass, wheels spinning and gravel flying. Joel—you squeal, being jostled in your seat so that all he can see are soft thighs and pretty tits bouncing in his peripheral. He puts the truck in park, ripping his seat belt off, reaching over to tug you roughly forward by the nape, his fingers twisting in your hair in a hold he knows is too hard for something so delicate, his other hand grips below the bend of one knee squeezing hard.

“If you think I’m gonna let you spread your legs for anyone fucking else—” he growls.

“Anyone else?” You laugh in his face, eyes spinning with something a little maniacal.

He thought he’d been worried for his soul, that taking you would be the undoing of everything he’d tried so hard to mend back together after Sarah. And really, he had tried so hard—to be good, to be better, to atone for all he’d not done before her, all he’d done after her. He’d tried to make himself into something that was respectful of her memory and the second chance Kelly had given him.

But right here, and again because anytime he looks at you, is within a mile of your vicinity, it feels like you’re the only two people on the whole goddamn planet, he doesn’t think he really gives a fuck for being good or atoning or souls at all. Not even a little bit.

He follows your lead from last night and kisses you, is sure to take your tongue this time. Forcing his thumb and forefinger between the line of your molars, he presses down hard enough to hurt the baby soft skin, spreading your jaw open wide so that he can lick into your mouth deep and wet. He wants to scare you, cow you, intimidate you into behaving with this hunger that seems to swallow him whole—remind you that he’s let you have your fun thus far, but the both of you know who’s playing games and who’s not.

You let out a shocked little gasp onto his tongue, fingers twisting in the fabric over his shoulder, and he tightens his grip under your knee, tugging you just that little bit further forward, and when he pulls back to look at you, spit slick, swollen mouth and wide eyes, tits about to spill out of your top, you push his face away roughly, dragging your nails down the skin of his cheek with a tiny snarling growl.

Spoiled little brat.

“Don’t be fuckin’ childish,” he snarls back, and pulls you roughly over the console and into his lap.

“I can’t stand you,” you pant, settling above him, coming in to kiss him again, and he can’t deny it anymore. He’s hard as fuck for you.

You moan into his mouth, high and throaty at the same time, girlish little sigh at the end that has him gripping your hip tightly, trying to stop himself from thrusting up against you.

“Can you taste him?” You lick his tongue. “He kinda looked like you, didn’t he? That’s why I chose him.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He’s going to stop this now, at any moment. He’s going to push you away and tell you this is wrong and that the two of you can’t do this.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your tits high against his chest and grinding your lace covered little cunt against his cock.

He groans into your mouth, pushed straight over the edge and free falling, cupping your ass to lift you off of himself a little bit, he just needs a second, before he takes a breath and presses you back down harder, rolling your hips against his lap. Little animal sounds, an ah, ah, ah and an oh, coupled with his mewled name. Cupping the soft of your ass in the palms of his hands, his calluses scrape against silken skin, and you fit him as if he’d dreamt you up just for himself; perfectly lush curves he can squeeze as hard as he wants because you’re not getting away from him now that he’s caught you in his snare. He drags his fingertips up the roundness of your asscheeks, and the mystery’s solved, it’s a thong. Catching the lace between his fingers he pulls the flimsy string upwards and tight against your pussy, a pained moan when he pulls even harder, making sure the fabric digs against your skin.

He knows if he cups you there you’ll be wet for him, for him, no one else but him. Knows he could bend you face first over the console, pull the soaked lace aside and suck on your wet little clit, make you come in his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans.

Joel, Joel, Joel, you hum in a dream voice.

He can feel two little dimples at the low of your back, imagines what they’d look like with his thumbs gripped there as your ass takes his cock.

He can’t say it enough—he feels fucking insane.

“Touch me,” you beg, sliding and pressing against him, long hair like water slipping all over and against him too.

Oh my God, he whisper moans when you spread your knees as wide as the seat allows, rocking your hips in short little hitches against the ridge of his cockhead. He knows your little clit is right there, cunt a knot of indescribable heat against him, and you pull your mouth away from his, letting your head fall back, hair a tangled curtain. He drags his nails back down your ass hard enough he hopes he’s leaving marks, leaning forward to lick along the salt tracks of your tears, watching you use him.

“Do not fucking come,” he orders. He can’t—he can’t watch you do it and not be inside you when it happens, and the two of you absolutely cannot take this that far.

He pulls your hips up again, forcing your movements still and you huff at him, whining.

“We gotta stop.”

Noooo. “No, Joel. Please,” you cry, trying to pull yourself towards him—your mouth is so swollen—trying to escape his hold and get what you want for yourself.

Grasping at the last vestiges of his sanity, “Fuck— No. No more.” He lifts you off his lap and back into your seat, sitting back to press himself against the door and adjusting the throbbing erection in his jeans, so hard it’s making him a little nauseous. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to stuff his cock inside of you right here and now. He tucks the thick head up under his waistband, trying to find any sort of momentary relief.

There isn’t enough oxygen in this truck. He needs air, space, to taste you.

“Fine,” prim little nose in the air. You stretch one leg out across the console to dangle over his groin and let the other drop to the cab floor. “That’s fine—I’ll just take care of it myself then,” you tease provocatively, fingertips dragging up the inside of your thigh.

He shoots forward to stop your movement, gripping your wrist in a vice—baby bird bones beneath his fist, and you moan at his touch like the little wanton he’s coming to realize you are, writhing in your seat. “Don’t you fucking dare. I swear to God I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Jokes on you, I’d like that shit,” you sass back, ripping your wrist out of his hold, little socked foot kicking towards his face. He catches it, holding it in his grip and squeezing. “And I don’t really care if you’re not mad at me because I’m mad at you.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” and the mood changes, smolders into something more serious, more honest.

“Why didn’t you go today? The lawyer asked you to—” You’d wanted to find him as soon as you’d gotten home earlier, demand he give you an explanation. Cowardice had won over that desire, and going out to find a drink and a replacement man had seemed the easier alternative.

“Wasn’t my place.” Spreading his thighs wider in his seat to accommodate himself, he presses his hips forward, and you can make out the heft of his cock beneath his jeans—your belly twists all full of heat and bubbles.

“Did you know he was leaving you something?”

He laughs a bitter bark of a laugh. “No—never thought—” the words die in his throat and he stares out the window, lost to the memory of your father. “No, I didn’t think he was leaving me anything before I got the call.”

“It’ll make a good nest egg.”

“Don’t want it.”

He won’t turn to look at you now, and you know that this conversation in the aftermath of touching you shames him.

“You’re taking it. You don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash fire at you and then flit away. “He had all your banking information, it’s probably already there.”

Fucking Christ, he spits the murmured curse, bracing his elbow against the curve of the steering wheel, cupping his palm over his mouth as if to keep his anger and frustration in. The bulge of his bicep beneath his dark hoodie distracts you for a moment.

You’d spent enough time watching him over the years that you’d learned all the things you knew he tried to hide in plain sight. That gentleness, that patience, that heart—that he is an inconceivably good and honest man. Things that are ultimately impossible to hide.

Your eyes flash to the temple where a gristle of scar tissues is slashed across his skin. The meaning behind a scar like that, coupled with his bad ear and his green eyed photograph—it’s hard to hide. People can always tell when you’ve tried to kill yourself, you know.

Which all goes to say—and you’re quite certain of this—that yes, the two of you are strangers, in ways, but in others, or in your own way, you know this man. You understand his nature. You know he wouldn’t have ever wanted it—that he does not want it and never will. He isn’t the sort of man who’d ever look a million dollars in the eye and feel moved by them.

His humanity means more to him than his life, you’d heard Tommy say about him once to your father when you’d been an eavesdropping little girl. You hadn’t understood at the time, but now you do.

The dark pullover and jeans, incongruously boyish, the scuffed boots—he’s so himself and so fucking hot and you want him so, so badly, and looking at him sitting here now, gorgeous, hair mused by your fingers, and your slick smeared across his jeans—you look down at your own twisted fingers in your lap, a little ashamed now too—and you can’t fathom why or how he’d ever look at you and feel moved by the likes of you either.

You’re ashamed that you’re even angry at him for it at all, resentful of this gift your father has given him when really it is not only resentment, maybe not even truly that at all. More so, it’s a complicated mixing pot of feelings that these two men seem to have always been twisted up into knots together inside of you. Resentful, not because you don’t want him to have it. You want him to have everything he deserves or could ever think to want and more, but perhaps, because this was the final nail in the coffin scrap of proof that your father had cared about him in a very real way that you’d never experienced—in a way that was entirely Oswald Kelly’s own choice and not because of dead mothers or obligation or legacy.

“It’s good he left it for you,” you say gently and mean it.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, looks away, from under the cover of his palm says, “S’not fair to you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. This is about you and you deserving this, and I’m glad he gave you your due. He should’ve left more.”

His eyes flutter shut, sighing deeply and shakes his head. “You’ve made me into something I’m not. You need to see that.”

“You’re not some sort of cautionary tale, Joel.”

“You don’t know a thing about it,” voice like he could he angry but is being very careful to remain not. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the reasons why I came here. You should look at me and see nothin’ worthwhile.”

“My father saw something,” you argue. “You let my father see that something. And I do too, no matter what you say, no matter what you do or how hard you push me away; I’m used to it, and you won’t change my mind.”

He gives you a look like you’re hurting him, like your truths hurt him. “We’re goin’ home. This is enough,” he gruffs, pulling the truck into drive again and peeling out of the grassy knoll.

Fight dying in your throat, you feel suddenly exhausted, shivering coldly, belly an ember of unsated lust, your orgasm is tight and wet between your legs and you don’t want to argue or impose yourself on him anymore. You don’t want to feel like you’re imposing yourself now when he’d never made you feel like that before.

The night is a pitch dark blur falling away behind your glazed over eyes, and huddling into yourself against the door, you hide your face away in your shoulder, belly swooping with nausea.

“You drive too fast, I’m dizzy,” you mumble, and he immediately slows, foot easing off the gas.

“You gonna puke?”

“Yes, all over your face.”

“I’m serious, darlin’. Need me to stop?”

“No. I just want to be home,” said in as small a voice as you can manage, hoping he won’t catch your words, and soon he’s turning off into the long drive to the house.

When he pulls to a stop, you scramble to grab your boots before he can say anything else, but he’s unnaturally quick for such a large man, out the door and around the nose of the truck, pulling your own door open before you can even get a single boot on. He pulls them from your grasp, and then tugs you bodily out of your seat, slinging you over his shoulder as if you were some sack of nuisance prone potatoes. You screech, flailing, trying to knee him in the gut, but he bands a strong arm across the backs of your thighs, pinning you in obedient place. “Quit.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” You howl, hitting him repeatedly on the ass, trying to wriggle and make his life as difficult as you possibly can.

This man has absolutely no consideration or respect or sense of personal space!

Technically, neither do you—but that’s neither here nor there.

You scream like a hyena, shrill and long and he pinches your ass hard, right at the inner crease of your thigh and ass cheek, too close to your still wet pussy for comfort. “I said quit.”

“Everything alright out here?” You hear Jesse’s voice call from the direction of the bunk, they must’ve beat you two here while you’d been trying to seduce Joel into making you come.

The snap of Joel’s fingers and then, “Mind your own fucking business.”

“You are so rude.”

He bumps you on his shoulder, jostling you on the soft of your belly and making your cunt go even tighter. You hate him. “Quiet, you.”

Letting himself in the dark of your house, he makes his way up the stairs while you hang quietly upside down now, a little astounded, a lot turned on by how strong he is, lugging you all the way upstairs without even a change in his breathing.

But as soon as he steps foot into your bedroom, now set to rights from yesterday’s disaster, you feel the change come on him. The shift and deepening of his breaths, the expanse of his ribs going wide and winglike as he sucks in a big gulp of air. You press your palm flat to the center of his back, feeling the whistle of his breath go in and out of him until he’s slipping you off his shoulder to bounce gently backwards onto your soft bed.

He stands above you for a quiet moment, and you take in the broad shape of him backlit by the moonlight of your open drapes. He’s huge and imposing cast in this darkness, something out of a dream.

Literally—out of your own teenage fantasy dreams.

Has anyone in all the world ever wanted someone as badly as you want him?

You can feel the press of his left knee against the inside of your right one, and you wish he’d put it between your thighs, join you on the bed.

“Can I ask you something?” You reach your fingers out and he tangles his hand with yours and it’s a small victory.

“Yeah.”

“Would you come to my funeral?”

His fingers jolt— “What?”

“If I died.”

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“Tell me that you would—” You tug him forward and he lets himself come, bending over your prone form, braced on one arm and still holding onto your fingers with the other. “—That I wouldn't be alone even there.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Would you?”

“Makes me angry when you say shit like this—as if you don’t believe I’m going to take care of you.”

“Please tell me, Joel. Promise me—” and you reach up to gently touch the scar across his temple.

He goes frozen and understanding. “I’d come,” and you know it costs him something to give in to such an imagining and it makes you all the more grateful for it.

Fingers sliding back into the curls at his temple, silver speckled, you know, you pull him further towards you until he’s close enough to press a softly hot kiss to his mouth. The two of you hold there for a moment, another, another, you can feel the wash of his heavy breathing through his nose, the flutter of his long lashes tangling with yours—you hope he’s searching for you in the dark—and you lift your knee up onto the bed, bending to open yourself to him.

He pulls back, hand shooting to your jaw to grip you tightly in place, breath ragged, animal being hunted.

You smile.

“Not gonna fuck you,” he says low.

“Why not?” It’s what you want, you deserve to have what you want. He squeezes your face once, presses another hard, too quick kiss to your mouth and then flips you over onto your belly, turning your skirt up over your ass to expose you. He tugs once on the string of your thong, drawing his finger along the lace wedged between your ass cheeks and then pulls his hand away for a moment before he’s spanking you hard and quick.

Owwww, you whine, hitching your rump towards him, wanting more despite the sting. He bends his head and bites you even harder at the inner corner of your asscheek, teeth digging hard and long enough to leave a mark. You whine again, high and mewling, trying to escape his meanness and he smacks you again on the other cheek.

“Go to bed, little girl. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

And he’s leaving you, broad shouldered form slipping out your bedroom door and leaving you aching and angry to scream into your pillow.

You’re pretty sure you hear his deep laugh before the slam of the door sounds below, and you’re slipping your greedy fingers into the ruined wet of your panties, petting away the ache he’s left.

The late May night is cool, despite the daytime heat, and Ellie shivers in her Carhartt, watching as Joel slips out the back kitchen door of the big house.

“The hell is going on with those two?” Jesse says beside her, pulling long on his beer. The litter of yellow cans around them speaks to his mullish whining that he’d not been able to pull tonight. Sometimes he annoys her, but in that sort of endearing little brother way that makes her want to kick his ass and protect him at the same time.

“Nothin’, they’re fine—just gotta fuck it out.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Naw—just smarter than you, man.”

“They like each other?”

“God, Jesse, you wouldn’t see an obvious thing if it were a tipsy bison barrelin’ towards you full speed in the middle of the day.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he says a little pathetically. Moping men—Ellie really can’t be assed to deal with them all.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to understand. I do—I see all, I know all. You mere mortals wouldn’t understand.”

“S’kinda weird, no? Them two—him bein’ so much older, her bein’…well, you know— her.”

“Nope. Makes perfect sense—they need each other, you see.”

He shrugs, I guess—“You’re fuckin’ weird, too. You know that?”

She takes a swig of her beer now also, hoping the two idiots she loves most in the world, after Dina of course, figure each other out before the whole ranch has to suffer for it too.

“Wrong again, Jesse. Wrong again.”

Chapter 3; Little Freak

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

Updates Blog

#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller x FMC #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us au #joel miller fanfiction

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tteokdoroki · 11 months ago

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I just wanna bite Bakugou, not hard just tenderly 😘

oh my goood just… he’s so the guy that looks pretty doing anything? you wake up after saying over for the night n he’s cooking you breakfast already — sweatpants and no shirt, frying eggs or some shit and he looks sooo goood.

frazzled hair, your love bites all over his body in pretty purples and blues. so handsome. then this wave of cuteness aggression takes over you because… who have katsuki bakugou the right to look this good? hm? it’s not fair!

walking up behind him, you wrap your arms around his tiny waist and at first bakugou softens, laughs and chucks his head back with a sexy smirk n husky voice like. “good mornin’ baby — hey! ow!” and at this point he’s just being a drama queen because it doesn’t even hurt. bakugou has been bitten and scratched and stabbed by villains capable of far worse than you, but he’s just playing into it because he knows you’ll coddle him after.

you’ve got your mouth latched onto his bare shoulder — teeth barely sinking into the golden flesh n you just giggle when katsuki turns around to face you with his spatula in hand and faux frown on his pretty lips.

“mornin’, kats,” you grin and lick over the faint bite mark.

his face scrunches. “don’t lick me. s’fuckin’ gross.” he hums and lifts you up by the waist to set you on the counter.

“that’s not what you said last night.”

“these are very different circumstances, brat.”

please and he rolls his eyes at you when you giggle again, coming to stand between your thighs while rough hands smooth over the pudgy flesh. he’d set the spatula aside, take your hand in his and gently sink his sharp fangs n canines into the side of it in retaliation.

except it’s much sexier when katsuki does it and it’s totally unfair… he’d then like a trail over the bite as if to soothe the area — smiling at you with hazy red eyes when he’s done. “there, now we’re even.”

“don’t lick me,” you pout. “s’gross.”

“not so funny now, is it baby?” he teases in his deep chocolaty morning voice, going back to flipping his eggs.

stupid, sexy, katsuki bakugou. you just wanna bite him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bakugou drabble #bakugo drabble #bakugo fluff #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification #✧ ₊˚💬੭ — unknown messenger

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raphaelesbian · 1 year ago

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Okay since I now have a VERY popular post comparing Ambrosius in the movie vs the comic (primarily pointing out what a dick he is lmao) I DO feel the need to compile my gayest goldenheart moments. Like yeah their relationship is full of anger and bitterness and they hurt each other a lot but they DO still love each other. Like I do think that the movie characters could've become closer to the comic characters if you gave it the 10-20 years (ambiguous) of being nemeses from the comics. Definitely still different, considering the circumstances were totally different, but closer. But anyways: homosexuals

"archnemeses" being super concerned about their wellbeing. And I don't have a screenshot but the Director even calls Goldenloin out on not fighting him as hard as he could basically. And Nimona says p much the same thing to Ballister

And yeah my original post was about how hilariously flippant Ambrosius was about the arm thing but like. He DOES actually feel bad about it, and I think that repressed guilt underlies a lot of his meanness. He's flippant BECAUSE he feels bad, so he tries to diminish it and not talk about it.

And of course, I love a good "don't touch him!!" protective rage moment ❤️❤️❤️❤️ they can beat the shit out of each other but NO ONE ELSE can touch his husband archnemesis

Finally, the cut-off love confession 💔 and the hand on Ambrosius's cheek!!! Literally I'm obsessed with them. It's just so good. Read the comic

#nimona #nimona comic #nimona 2023 #nimona comic spoilers #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister blackheart #ballister boldheart #goldenheart

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thisblogisaboutabook · 5 months ago

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Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #rhysand’s sister #Rhysand #Velaris #pre-acotar #azriel x rhysand’s sister #Tamlin #Spotify

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shaisuki · 11 months ago

Note

Oh Oh Oh, I have an idea!

Yan,husband reo has an argument with reader before dragging her to the gala with him. As pictures are taken of them and so forth, the two finally go inside reo's limo.

He then scolds her for how she was being difficult before, but admires how beautiful she is. So for being a good wife for him, he'll be a gentle to her this time around.

The two exit the car to their home, as reader is wobbling in her heels and covered in bite marks, unprepared for round 2.

Sorry if it's long, hope you have a good day!

JUST FOR ME, PLEASE

YANDERE! MIKAGE REO X CHUBBY READER

content warnings ───implied forced marriage, yandere themes, gaslighting, dubcon, power imbalance, cunnilingus, car sex, exhibitionism.

notes. i'm sorry it took so long anon and thank you for this wonderful idea.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ your husband who can't be upset to you even he's the reason of your anger.

“i have no significance to said event. why would i attend?” you reasoned out. flipping a page of your book without sparing a glance at the man who have been your husband.

“you're my wife. you are expected to be there.” reo's eyes scanning all over you and there's already a hint of disappointment in his voice upon the refusal.

“well, sorry. no one would bother to see me and it's only for your partners who wants to kiss your ass. they don't need mine, they need yours.” tongue sharp as ever he hears and reo frowns before turning into one of a smile. it was hopeful and bright. a complete opposite to your scowl.

“just for me? i promise we can do whatever you want.” he bargained and upon hearing that, you close your book. the impact of the two thick compiled pages resonating in the room and a brief silence covered the area before you face him. “whatever i want?" you scoff. “does that include having my freedom and there's no we. it is i that i want, reo and you're a selfish prick. there's no want in this deal. fuck that event and fuck you.”

reo who is a total complete delusional only took it as nothing but your tantrums. you must have been bored out of your mind and he admits he was busy lately and with the upcoming event, he sees it as a chance to spend the time with you. “treasure, i will give you the time to think.” he said before pressing a kiss to your lips which you can't avoid with his grip on you and reo smiles. wrapping his arms to your plush body. your head in his chest while putting a kiss in the top of your head.

you found yourself staring at your reflection. you want to laugh at yourself for being stupid. for believing you have a choice in this place despite the clutches reo have a hold on you. bitter tears pooling at your lashes but you fought them not wanting to show it at strangers who were currently dolling you up for the event you desperately didn't want to attend. the make up felt like paste in your face although it was just a light one. accentuating the natural beauty you have and enough for your features to pop out and then you were dressed in a exclusively designed outfit for the event. after that, you were greeted by reo. dashing and charming he is at the suit and tie he wore. you would admire him in different circumstances but now, all you felt is how you hated him.

your jaw hurts from smiling too much. names are exchanged that you didn't even bothered remembering along with formalities. pretentious event it was paired with the pompous plus ones and greedy associates who wants nothing but your husband's approval.

the cameras blinded you with every flashes while reo gave them the smile they always wanted at him. being the wife of one of the youngest ceo's in the whole world and not only in japan garnered the attention of the media. enjoying every bits of what he have to offer and reo flaunts you like a precious trophy he won and that is you. his trophy wife. his prized possession.

you didn't know if you could keep up with your facade the more you stayed at that damned event and you were glad that you're now sitting at the limo with your husband besides you.

the ride was quiet as reo looks back to admire at his wife — looking so regal and elegant. a sophistication that only belonged to you and makes the other looking so cheap compared to you. a solemn smile graced his lips staring at his wife who were taking the sights of the city light and quiet night life. he knows how you missed the way you were living before him but he can't help it to take you away. not when his feelings for you cannot be reciprocated by yours. you simply can't be wooed at the lavish things he have to offer for you. reo have the money but what is money when he can't have you. realizing it at the first rejection that money can't buy love — especially yours.

“it wasn't so hard isn't it?” he attempts to strike a conversation to you but only reciprocated with a glance and a huff. reo puts his hand on your thigh. “talk to me, treasure.” scooting closer to press his body to your plush one. his index finger and thumb are grasping your soft jaw to look at him and he was meet by the prettiest of eyes.

there's a thousand of emotions behind them and if reo would start a research and fund it with all of his wealth, he will never know them. one looks and he's bewitched. trapped in the pool of the colors of your eyes. he sees his reflection in them. what kind of man he is. a fool for love. that how many times you've trampled his feelings he will still devote himself to you.

“treasure, please.” he pleaded. maybe in different circumstances or you met him under in healthier conditions. you would have fallen for him and you could be so weak for him. a man like reo brings nothing but despair to you and adoration at the same time.

“you're hopeless, reo.” you softly muttered to him. following where his eyes darts. it stays to your eyes and then briefly landing in your lips. it's funny how reo have the power to break you and build you again like an infinity cube. complicated and endless.

“i can hardly keep up and pretend to your whims, reo. i don't like being dragged. i hate to pretend that i'm loving every minute of your stupid events. i hate everything. from the moment you made me your wife. i-i—....” tears springing up to your eyes that you can't prevent them from falling down your eyes. it was suffocating. having to fit in and to be molded in your husband's world. you hated being weak. to being vulnerable in front of the man you hated the most.

the young billionaire is quick to wipe your tears away. kissing your forehead in attempt to calm you down with a grip to make you stay in your place despise recoiling from his touches. you were hurting but his ego didn't understand it.

“but...” he pauses for a moment before continuing. “you have been amazing to me, so good for being my wife, treasure. i can't let you go away. leave me. i was right in choosing you. in loving you and the best party? you being my wife. don't cry, treasure. i hate seeing you cry.” he says, eyebrows furrowing and the downturned corners of his lips. his expression of concern to you.

“let me make it up to you.” and then his lips into yours. “reo, no.” you whisper. pushing him away but reo remains still. “reo...—mmm” you words are stopped again when his lips tangled into yours. holding your nape as his lips lowers down. smooching your cheeks and your jaw and sucking that sensitive spot in your neck. “fuck, treasure. i just can't wait to taste you.” he says in between kisses. his breaths turning shallow as he inhales your scent.

his hand travelling to your calf and gripping your thigh. flipping the fabric to get access to the expanse of your soft skin and before he continued to get things heated up. his fingers finding the array of buttons in the compartment of his limo. pressing a button and a divider appeared from the back of the driver's seat and where you two are seated. windows being covered by dark shutters.

reo kneels in front of you. “you have been good to me treasure. let me take care of you.” parting your legs as he places his face in between your thighs. his lips peppering kisses while he sucks the tender flesh of your thighs.

his nose nudging your clit and he licks his lips. your slick gathering between in your fat pussy lips. “keep those mouth open for me, treasure.” your thick thighs are now in his shoulder while his fingers dig in the doughy flesh of your thighs. the last thing you see is his purple eyes intensely looking at your own ones before taking a dive in your cunt .

“ahhh, reo~” you moaned out when you felt his tongue taking a lick of your slit and it's going to be a long ride home.

by the time you got back at the mansion. your thighs shake at every movement. your legs felt like jello from too much wobbling. it wasn't doing any good that you were wearing heels making it unstable to stand up and reo like a gentleman assisted you in walking. his cum running down from your thighs to your legs. your makeup smudged and dress in displaced.

the billionaire kisses your shoulder. fingers untying the laces of your dress as he guides you in the bedroom. there's no way he'll let go of this opportunity not when you're looking so beautiful for him. his darling wife. his treasure.

his long and thick, nimble fingers rubbing your clit. a weak whimper leaving your lips and reo kisses you.

“we're still not finished, treasure~”

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #blue lock #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader #yandere mikage reo x reader #mikage reo #mikage reo x reader #blue lock x chubby reader #yandere #yandere x chubby reader #yandere x reader

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spinchip · 5 months ago

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He keeps ending up in these situations- these soft, quiet moments with Zane where everything Lloyd wants to say is crowding behind his teeth before he swallows it all back down. He never felt bold enough to disturb the piece, or maybe he never felt sure-footed enough to navigate the conversation. The land around the topic of the Never Realm was still littered with landmines and sinkholes. Zane didn't talk to them about it.

They're stargazing. Lloyd was out here first basking in the rare alone time. He'd turned Kai away two hours ago when he'd come to check on him, but when Zane stood over him and blotted out the stars with a weak smile- Lloyd invited him to stay, and promised himself he wouldn't shelve this conversation for another day.

He's look at Ursa Major when he says it, "I'm Afraid you'll never be okay again."

There's a soft pause.

"I am okay, Lloyd." Zane reassures him in a voice that is so much more monotone than before the Never Realm, "Therapy has been extremely rewarding. I feel like myself again."

He sits up, propping himself up on arms that don’t tremble, “You’re not yourself, though.” He feels like he has to force the words out from behind the lump in his throat, “You don’t cook, or meditate, or bird watch anymore-” He stops to center himself, “...I’m scared you’ll never go back to normal.”

Zane is the quiet one this time.

Lloyd lies back down, feeling worse than before. They watch the stars trek across the sky.

“I believe this is the new normal, Lloyd.” He says very, very quietly.

Immediately Lloyd sits up again, twisting to face Zane, “How can you say that? Two months ago you were acting totally fine! Yeah, when you came back from the Never Realm you spent a whole month alone in your room... but then you were Zane again, and now- now you’re…”

“Different.” Zane finishes, “I have changed.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd turn forward, staring down in his lap.

No one says anything. Lloyd feels like he's royally blowing this conversation and making everything worse.

“...When I first returned from the Never Realm, I was... in a dark place. It was easier to hide and sort through things on my own, But I… had not dealt with it as well as I could have. After I spent that time alone and I returned to the team, once more joining with the group socially, I was still a mess. I did not know who I was, and I did not feel like anyone- not Zane, and not the emperor. So I looked in my memory banks and pretended.”

Lloyd looks back at Zane, who’s eyes are fixed resolutely on the moon and not Lloyd's reaction. “You… what?”

“I did not want to worry you. My theory was that If i acted like I was okay, I would be. I hoped I could figure it all out before anyone realized I was wearing a mask, that I could fix myself to the point where I could stop pretending.” He links his hands together on top of his stomach, “Then Cyrus Borg put me in touch with his therapist." Two times a week, every Monday and Thursday. Lloyd knew that. "She helped me realize that this act I was putting on was not a positive move for me and my recovery. It is not that I have regressed, Lloyd- i have simply stopped pretending to be who I used to be.”

“You were trying to protect us?”

There’s another pause, “It was partly selfish, too. I was… afraid. I was scared that if you and the others realized just how much I had changed, you would not see me the same. That the love you had for me would not be able to adapt to who I have become.”

“I- of course we would love you! Always!” Lloyd insisted immediately, “It’s not- I didn’t mean- I was just worried. I’m sorry.” He feels shame curdle in his gut at his earlier words, unintentionally picking at Zane's insecurity.

“I understand your feelings, Lloyd. You do not need to apologize,” He smiles softly at him and its not the same smile Lloyd is so used to, but it has its own warmth, “Change is not… a bad thing. The circumstances leading to this were, but this is what healing looks like for me at this point. I am figuring out who I am again- I do not bird watch or cook or meditate, no, but I think you’ll be surprised at how good my knitting has gotten.” He offers Lloyd another tiny smile, “I am finding my happiness again.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Zane's soft blue eyes flicker back up to the stars and his smile turns gentle, “You are always helping, even if you do not realize it. All of you are.”

#ninjago #spinchip fic #zane julien #lloyd garmadon #spinchip posts #ns11

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shiongenkai · 2 months ago

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Taiga, Romeo, and Gluttony

NOTE: This post contains spoilers for the entirety of the recently released Auction chapter. Read at your own risk.

So the recent chapter was everything to me. It was the shortest, but in my opinion it showed us a lot about Taiga and Romeo and their relationship to one another, and it also helped me refine a specific thought I had about Taiga and his whole deal he has going on.

To put it shortly; I think Taiga has a gluttony curse, and I think it functions as a mirror to that of Romeo's stigma, and is part of why they had a falling out, and why they can't seem to get away from each other.

To put it horrifically, horribly long....

So what do I mean when I say Taiga is cursed? Well, exactly that. I believe he's cursed in a similar way Rui or the MC are; he has an insatiable need to eat anomalies. I believe that this grants certain side effects like the MC and Rui's curse, and that one of them is a sixth sense for anomalies and anomalous circumstances.

I want to explain this before the Romeo part, because it's the basis for my analysis and thoughts on the two of them.

To start from the very beginning; I think Taiga, during one of his missions, was cursed by something like a jikininki as punishment for his 'gluttony' — the rapid rate at which he completed missions in his first year. This left him with his insatiable need to eat anomalies, but more specifically, is the reason he doesn't seem to want to eat them.

While I'm not certain the anomaly is for certain a jikininki, especially because there's certainly other similar folk legends out there, I chose that one specifically because they are noted for their sharp teeth and for not liking the insatiable need to eat corpses.

Now, what does this mean for Taiga? I think he's stuck between being a ghoul and being a jikininki, or whatever anomaly it ends up being, and I think this has given him a sixth sense that messes with his perception of time, self, and memory. But why would it do that?

Jikininki are immortal creatures, and wish to be freed from the torment they're in for the most part. If one was cursed to be part Jikininki, it would make sense for their existence to be similarly excruciating, with a difference being a lack of full immortality.

Remember the Mortkranken chapter, with the failed mermaid flesh? How their bodies continued even as their minds didn't? Taiga has multiple lines detailing how his 'body' remembers, even if his mind doesn't. Yuri and Jiro also explain that part of the side effects of the reaction are rapid mental deterioration. If Taiga had gone through a similar deterioration, it would explain his seemingly sporadic memory loss (not total blackouts like Jiro, nor specific category based amnesia either, just like. Random shit) and the fact that he doesn't have a concrete sense of identity (showcased through his constantly shifting first-person pronoun choice in Japanese). His cells of his body are reverting to their pre-aged self, and his mind is attempting to do that too, but it's imperfect and messy.

The key to the idea of the sixth sense comes from the fact that he's specifically cursed for anomalous gluttony. I think that he can sense anomalous material or anomalies themselves, and as demonstrated from Ed, this includes some sort of future sense. While we don't know the full specifics of what a sixth sense grants, we can see him utilise it in multiple different places. It's also, in my opinion, why he was sent on the Prologue mission.

Some examples of his supposed sixth sense are how he intuitively understood the anomalous dealer's entire thing, the scenes where he knows the Like Dove will appear before it does, when he senses Romeo approaching (Romeo is carrying an anomaly: his artifact), how he understands the auction is an anomaly, when he gets the mask under unknown circumstances, when he directly knows there's no anomalies... the list honestly could go on forever.

There's one other fact that I personally believe sealed this theory for me; his association with Haku.

In the recent chapter, when the MC is thinking about who to talk to about curses, Taiga instantly knows who we're thinking of, and rejects it on the basis that '[He] can't get rid of curses unless the anomaly that did the deed's right in front of him.' and that he's a 'Simp for the rules anyway.'

... Which is interesting, since it seems like Taiga has tried to ask him about this before. But if you think of this as Haku's stigma, and imagine Taiga trying to get his curse cleansed before, it makes sense! It would also be a good reason to put Haku and Taiga together in the prologue; Taiga can track the anomaly with his sense, and Haku can cleanse whatever curse it gives so long as Taiga manages to capture it or subdue it for long enough.

(Which, side note, is so tragic for the MC...)

Okay, now that the basis of 'Taiga is cursed' is out of the way, how on earth does this relate to Romeo?

Simple. I think Taiga's curse directly mirror's Romeo's stigma, and it's what caused their rift.

Romeo's stigma, as we learn in the new chapter as well, is dependent on his attachment to the items he throws. This, thematically, works with Romeo, who is known to be greedy. Everything he does is motivated by a profit of some kind, whether that profit is social or monetary or whatever. He wants special privileges so he does special missions. He wants money so he raises fees and coerces people to gamble. He wants popularity so he dresses nicely and pampers himself. It doesn't always mean he is money grubbing and stingy (because we see he's willing to spend lavishly on grooming and decor!) but it means that he's attached to what he has. His stigma requires him to give up that attachment. It is a punishment, a sacrifice, as a result of the pact. Similar to how Luca lost his brother (and gained a protective stigma), Romeo has to lose what he feels is worth something in order to fully utilise his ability. Call it a sort of pride.

I think, on the other hand, Taiga's curse is one of envy. He has a desire to eat anomalies, yes, but the desire becomes stronger the more attached someone else is to the anomaly. He doesn't need any interest in it, really. If someone else likes it he will need to eat it.

Taiga covets Haru's Peekaboo to eat instead of the wild one that we also know is in Jabberwock. He's composed about the Like Dove (barely, but he restrains himself!) until Romeo wants it. He steals the plants from Rui's BAR, not the ones in the garden outside (both are Rui's, but his bar is arguably the more loved thing of his since it was fully his choice). He covets Mortkranken's anomalies, and becomes mildly obsessed with the immortal one as soon as it becomes a major research subject. He's also completely fine holding and handling the mask, presumably for a long time, up until Romeo sees it as valuable and worthy.

Now, this doesn't necessarily make them instantly incompatible. But when you take one of Romeo's core traits being 'Greed towards anomalies' (He wants to collect them and frequently complains that other houses are 'stealing' them from under him; he sells them; he gets missions from Hyde to get them; etc), it becomes evidently clear that Taiga's curse is directly oppositional to it.

I think it's pretty obvious by now that Taiga and Romeo have a pretty turbulent relationship now, but were extremely close in the past. Multiple characters state that it would be nice to see them on good terms again, and it's certainly worth mentioning that Romeo is one of the few people Taiga consistently remembers. They both know each other exceptionally well, too. Taiga knows how to get under Romeo's skin and Romeo knows Taiga's habits.

Going back to the idea of this curse causing their rift, if Romeo was constantly on the verge of an important capture, or even if there was just one mission that was important, and Taiga ruined it by eating the anomaly, I doubt Romeo would easily forgive and forget. I think it could very easily cause a massive rift that just kept growing with each new snack Taiga picked up.

I think a moment that gets its nuance overlooked a lot is the scene just before Taiga eats the dove. The Japanese line emphasises that Taiga is referring to HIS heart, that Romeo could shoot through HIS heart, not just a general appraisal of sharpshooting. He even points directly to his heart as he says this, and it makes Romeo hesitate. They're BOTH in pain in this scene. They're both conflicted; this is their ex-partner (which I don't mean in the romantic sense, just in the general sense) who they were very, very close with, and who is now literally at arms length with a loaded gun. Romeo could just shoot him. Romeo could put an end to all of this supposed pain. And Taiga might even let him. And wouldn't that be karma for all he's done? But he can't. He hesitates.

And you know what appears after that? The dove.

This dove that symbolises both general desire (flies over peoples' heads when they're thought about) and Romeo's desire. His desire to escape probation. His desire to make money. His desire to capture, not kill. His desire to reconcile instead of fight. His desire to shoot.

And Taiga kills it. Eats it.

I think this is the most tragic scene between the two of them. This is the crux of it; they both want to reconcile. They want to be friends, to be close, to stop the war raging between the two of them that has done nothing but hurt them both AND hurt the wellbeing of Sinostra, but they can't, because Romeo will ALWAYS desire, and Taiga will ALWAYS take that from him.

It's a cycle they can't escape. The auction chapter shows it too. Taiga is almost disappointed at Romeo's greed. He seems jaded by it, and seems proud and happy when Romeo gives it up for once. Romeo is happy too; MC goes out of her way to say that Taiga handing him the mask makes him look more peaceful than he ever has before. It is quite literally a perfect ending for the two of them and a perfect way to reconcile.

And then Taiga eats it! Again! But I think the most horrifying part of it is that he tries to warn Romeo.

The comic doesn't translate or even transcribe it, so it's so, so easy to miss, especially if you don't speak Japanese, but Taiga grunts out the words 'I', 'Eat', and 'Next' as he approaches Romeo and the mask, and it's the direct reason why Romeo is able to realise that Taiga is about to eat it before it actually happens. He basically just grunts out 'I'm gonna eat that next' as he's fighting against it! But inevitably, neither of them can stop it. The cycle continues.

As long as Romeo is greedy, and as long as Taiga is gluttonous, they will never be able to fully reconcile, no matter how much they both want it. Both of them have to change, but I want to point out that at this moment Romeo is the bigger active obstacle between the two of them. Romeo can't let things go, he holds onto everything and lets it build until it explodes in one way or another. Tiris, his stigma, is symbolic in that sense, that he has to learn to let things go, because if he lets it build too much it will explode spectacularly.

(All of the ghouls have this sort of symbolism with their stigma, so it's not just a Romeo thing, but it's definitely important to his character.)

But Romeo can't get over it yet. He can't get over his greed, he can't let go of things he can't achieve (like getting Kaito's necklace), he can't get over past betrayals (Taiga, what happened with his family, etc)... He's too stuck and stubborn, and his refusal to budge has therefore lead to Taiga's refusal to push. Taiga has stopped caring about getting on good terms because he knows it won't turn out well. He's given up and become cynical, which in turn means that IF Romeo were to change, Taiga... still probably wouldn't. They're cyclical again. Always, always missing each other. So close and yet so far.

I hope the MC can be the catalyst for this cycle to end. Or Ritsu, who is a good equalizer to the two of them. But until she learns to see her own worth in the Academy, and until Ritsu accepts that sometimes he's wrong / he doesn't always know the most out of everyone in the room, I'm afraid Romeo and Taiga will remain stuck in this loop forever...

#tokyo debunker #taiga hoshibami #romeo scorpius lucci #eset theories #td spoilers #eset td #I cant shut up im so sorry #written at like 1 am please forgive the rambling and circles it goes in #see its like a loop much like their relationship #taiga's interaction with hyde also showcases taiga's refusal to push with stubborn people #he doesnt try to actively push Against hyde. he leaves!#presumably to ponder but still #eset essay

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tangents-within-tangents · 6 months ago

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Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities (and if I was I couldn't speak for everyone). What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs.

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people.

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (most likely caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before:

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding:

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful.

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual:

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience.

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation.

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life.

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation

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neptuneiris · 8 months ago

Text

could you pretend to be in love? (07/10)

To Dragonstone / Lovers

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: the trip to Dragonstone arrives and things between you and Aemond may remain distant or may take a big turn. you are sure of your feelings but does he feel the same way?

word count: 8.4k

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hello!

even i'm surprised that i updated and it didn't take me two or almost three weeks, but here it is!

i'm so happy for the recognition the story is getting, truly, thank you so much beautiful people, i hope you like this chapter a lot too. i'm looking forward to your comments!

After what happened… there was a total change of behavior between you and Aemond.

Even that same day after he didn't drop you off at your house because you told him that Alysanne would be the one to drive you, that night he texted you that there was a party at one of his friend's house.

You didn't reply right away, you just watched the message appear on the top of your screen silently and did nothing.

And after a few minutes he texted you again telling you that if you didn't want to go with him, he was fine with it. And you just texted him back a short; have fun!

But still, you couldn't help but feel completely different, with this strange feeling and a knot in your stomach at having this distance with him.

But he didn't text you again for anything else.

Even also on that same day you saw Helaena, who told you again how sorry she and her mother were still. You also saw Aegon, but he just kept walking, acting completely unconcerned and as if the dinner had never happened.

And now, with things weird and distant with Aemond, today is the trip to Dragonstone.

You assume that you and Aemond will continue to pretend, since there was never a definitive statement where both he and you said you would no longer pretend. But since that night he told you about the party, he and you haven't spoken again.

There's really no plan for the trip. You don't even know if he and you will do this together, as a couple. You just don't know anything.

But you recognize that the two of you made a contract that includes the Dragonstone trip and also ending the fake relationship until graduation. So you prepare yourself despite the circumstances.

Besides you won't be alone, as Alysanne has also signed up for the trip, who just now is keeping you updated on all the things going on in her life as you both drag your respective suitcases along.

"But I don't know if I should say yes to him yet."

You let out a sigh, already feeling tired as you feel the weight of everything in your suitcase. But you can't really blame yourself because it's an all-weekend trip to the beach, so you should have brought everything you needed.

"To who?" you ask with the breath you're gathering, as you tighten your grip on your suitcase.

"Didn't you hear everything I said?" she inquires, "To Cregan."

"Ah… and why don't you know?"

"Well, you know…" she gives you a knowing look, "I don't know, he seems too perfect to me and there must be something wrong with him," she raises her index finger at you, "And he's too popular for my liking."

You frown, still walking as she does, heading toward the buses in the school parking lot that will take you all to Kings Landing port.

"Wait," you say confused, "So he already asked you out?" you look at her slightly surprised, struggling to keep up.

"Yeah," she says casually, "But I don't know."

"Oh come on," you look at her serious, "He's very nice, handsome, funny and a gentleman."

But she grimaces, showing her skepticism.

"Not exactly my type."

You roll your eyes, amused.

Then you both stop behind a line of people waiting to board one of the buses while one of the teachers notes on a list the students' attendance by asking for first and last name, so you have to wait.

"I think you should go out with him," you say, turning to look at her.

"Uhh…" she stares into the void, thoughtfully and doubtfully, "I don't know, bestie."

"He's a good match," you try to convince her, encouraged, "Besides he's already completely crazy about you."

"That's the problem," she sentences, "I'm not looking for a serious relationship right now. It seems better to me that we both just go out, have fun together and nothing else, no strings attached."

"He probably won't refuse the idea," you shrug, "But tell him and don't leave him waiting with his hopes high."

She snorts, gesturing with her hand.

"He's a man. I'm sure he can handle me never giving him an answer."

You let out a laugh.

"Don't be mean, Alysanne."

"What?" she looks at you innocently.

"Come on, you can do better than that."

"No, I don't think so."

You both let out a laugh now and are about to say something else to him, when a third voice interrupts you in conversation.

"Y/N?"

The two turn their heads and walking towards you, it's Aemond, with a somewhat unsure and nervous posture, which is totally unusual for him, but he's still watching you completely attentively.

He's wearing a white t-shirt and a black jacket over it, which makes him look ridiculously good for a common outfit. But what also catches your attention is how he has a silver chain sticking out from around his neck.

And God… why are you suddenly so nervous about being in front of him?

"Do you have a minute?"

You look uncertainly at him and then at Alysanne, having no idea what to say, further increasing your nerves.

"Hum—

"Go," Alysanne says to you, "I'll wait in line for both of us."

"Oh… all right."

You reply, smiling a little in her direction, only to walk over to Aemond and both of you step back a little so you can talk more privately.

And it's at that moment that your heart starts beating like crazy and you bite your lips, crossing your arms over your chest, nervous and a little… embarrassed.

"Listen," he starts to say, in a low and soft voice, "I just want to say that I'm really sorry for the way I reacted the other day," he tells you sincerely, "I'm sure I made you feel uncomfortable and to some extent trapped but believe me that was never my intention. Nor was it my intention for things to get weird between us."

"Yeah, yeah, I understand, don't worry," you nod, trying to hide your nerves and trying to look unconcerned, you too wanting to put this behind you, "I'm sorry too for trying to end it all that way."

"No, it's not okay," he assures you, "I just didn't understand anything and got frustrated," he admits to you gently, "And that wasn't right of me. Now I know how overwhelmed you must have felt with everything that happened."

"I-I guess I got scared and that was the easiest way I could think of to end it all when that wasn't right on my part either. After all… we have a contract—

"The contract thing doesn't matter," he interrupts you with a nonchalant gesture, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, "The important thing is that we're both okay and that we don't distance ourselves from each other."

You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of relief at hearing his words.

"Yeah, you're right."

"So… everything good?" he asks you completely attentively.

"Yes, all good," you assure, wanting to put any misunderstandings behind you.

He is about to say something when one of his friends calls out to him from the line to board the bus.

"Aemond!"

You both turn your heads and his friend along with the teacher in charge watch him intently from the bus doors.

"I need to see your signed permission form, son," the teacher tells him.

He nods and goes back to watching you.

"I'll see you inside," he says before walking away towards his friend and you nod.

You walk back with Alysanne to the line and watch Aemond just a few feet in front of you, talking to the professor, and then he and his friend carry their bags up to the bottom compartments of the bus, eventually moving up the line.

And God… this is the sense of relief you so desperately needed to finally feel. Knowing that you're going to do this with Aemond, all about Dragonstone, relieves and excites you.

However, you should have assumed that even then things would get weird, because the feeling doesn't last long when you see Floris approach Aemond and the two of them start talking.

At first you don't think anything of it, but then, you see the way Floris approaches and behaves towards him.

A tingle of jealousy begins to bubble deep in your stomach as you watch the two of them talk. You also watch as some students watch the two of them and then you, standing apart, with curious and mischievous looks, surely waiting for the drama.

It's as if everyone knows what Aemond and Floris once were, only to then watch you, the new girlfriend, fade into the background after Floris has returned to school.

And Aemond's behavior towards you comes back to your mind.

He himself told you that he did not expect to see her again, so on another plane and in other circumstances, if Floris had not left the school, you are absolutely sure that Aemond would have required her help, totally.

And this between him and you would never have happened.

And maybe… Aemond is still interested in Floris, just as she seems to be still interested in him. But he can't do anything about it because he already has an agreement with you, he's stuck with you.

This relationship is fake, remember?

Your mind tells you, since for Aemond it's not real, but rather pure convenience, just an act, but for you… it's getting harder and harder to ignore the feelings that arise inside you.

Is it possible that your feelings are more real than you have allowed yourself to believe?

You watch as Aemond seems to want to subtly pull away from her to have his own space, but Floris moves closer again, as if they both share something that only the two of them know and that's why she has the confidence, even though he has a girlfriend, to act that way with him.

Which only makes you more annoyed and jealous.

But finally the line starts to move forward and you decide you won't give it any more thought. What's the point of worrying about something that, in theory, isn't real?

You board the bus behind Alysanne, where everything inside is full of excitement and energy, with students talking and laughing as they settle into their seats.

Then your gaze almost instantly meets Aemond's as you look at the seats, sitting in one of the first seats with the seat next to him empty, watching you intently and with a small smile on his lips, clearly waiting for you.

The temptation to go sit next to him is strong, but you decide to ignore it and keep walking behind Alysanne, passing him. And that instantly makes him react.

"Hey, hey," he quickly stands up and gently takes you by the arm, watching you with his soft gaze reflecting bewilderment, "Where are you going?"

Your nerves dissipate and you try to come up with a good excuse.

"Hum… you know, to sit with Alysanne," you point to your friend.

He follows your gaze but frowns, confused.

"But don't you think we should sit together?"

You stay silent for a few seconds, watching him intently and nervous, trying to come up with a better excuse. But he speaks again, trying to convince you.

"I packed snacks for both of us on the way and thought maybe we could watch a movie or something."

"Maybe on the way back," you say with an apologetic look, feeling the weight of his gaze on you.

And he frowns slightly, his gaze reflecting a mixture of disappointment and confusion as he tries to understand your behavior.

The two of you a few moments ago spoke, the two of you apologized to each other and you especially said that everything was okay or not? That's what keeps him confused, not understanding why the two of you are suddenly continuing this distancing, noticing your efforts to pull away from him.

"Come on," he insists, "Let Cregan sit with her."

"I'm sorry, Aemond," you say, "But I promised her I'd sit with her."

He seems to want to argue back, but you waste no more time and finally walk past him, moving away from him straight toward Alysanne in one of the seats almost at the back.

Aemond with a serious look sighs resignedly, feeling the disappointment inside, confused and with disillusion, not really understanding anything.

And when you arrive together with Alysanne, just as you take your seat, you look back to where Aemond is with a worried look and at that moment Floris appears, stopping in front of him with a small sweet smile on her lips.

"Will someone sit here?" she asks politely even though she already knows the answer, her tone with a familiarity that makes you stir in your seat.

Aemond turns his gaze back to you with a mixed expression of seriousness and disappointment before answering Floris.

"No," he replies with some annoyance, dropping back into his seat with a droopy attitude.

Floris complacently takes a seat next to him and you watch everything from afar, telling yourself that this is all a bad idea, with a swirl of emotions all over you.

So all the way to King's Landing port begins, where you distract yourself listening to music and avoid looking towards the seats where Aemond is with Floris.

At all times you feel this uncertainty and this unpleasant feeling that does not leave you in peace, even makes you feel sad, but Alysanne by your side manages to distract you in some moments.

Until you finally arrive at the port and in organized groups, the teachers make sure that all the students board the ferry that goes directly to Dragonstone.

Everyone around you starts taking pictures and videos of the wonderful view the ferry offers of Blackwater Bay, excited to get to Dragonstone.

And you start looking for Aemond with your eyes, finding him leaning on the ferry's railing with one of his friends next to him, both talking, but he has a more thoughtful expression as he gazes out at the ocean.

Despite being surrounded by people and his friends especially, he is distant. And you know he's like this because of you.

For one reason he asked to talk to you and clear up what happened between the two of you. You assured him that everything was fine and then pushed him away.

But can you really blame yourself?

You're fucking scared.

And for a reason Floris acts that way with him, because whatever there once was between the two of them, it's not over yet, you can feel it. And you have no right to reproach him for that because this is not real.

Still… it's better for you to start slowly pulling away from him and put on a show when it's really necessary. But how will you be able to do this together when things are like this?

That's why the uncomfortable feeling on the bus persists and Alysanne tries to distract you by taking pictures of the view, a selfie of the two of you together or by herself.

But despite these efforts, you can't stop thinking about Aemond and watching him from time to time.

Until the ferry finally docks at Dragonstone Island and the students begin to walk ashore with their suitcases in hand, full of excitement and high expectations for what awaits them this year on site.

And since you have never visited Dragonstone before, you watch in complete awe and amazement as the majestic and imposing modern castle stands before you almost on the water's edge.

It looks like a living museum, offering the relics of Old Valyria and its history, paying homage to the ancient house Valyria, a royal family that once ruled Westeros with the legend of having tamed dragons in their Reign.

The entire castle is made of stone, as well as its surroundings and all it has to offer.

And once inside, everything is majestically structured and spacious, with architecture of royalty, preserving that touch and the one that many decades ago a royal and powerful family lived here.

With a male guide, who is also chaperon of this 'excursion', he welcomes all the students and begins to guide them through the main corridors of the castle.

You are amazed to see the numerous display cases with ancient swords that had forged the history of the Valyrian house, as well as other possessions, be they wardrobes or jewelry of gold, silver and other precious stones.

There are also portraits of the ancient Kings and Queens who had ruled, as well as portraits of princes and princesses with the name, date of birth and date of death.

Being your first time in this place, it is obvious that you are excited compared to other students who have come here before and just want to have fun.

But you sense how the atmosphere is steeped in history and mystery. So you can't wait to learn more about this history that was in an ancient and legendary world.

"For those who don't already know, there are various activities you can do during your stay on the island," says the guide man, "You can enjoy the beach and swim in our crystal clear waters, but you can also dive with professional instructors to explore the coral reefs and marine life, as well as we also offer surfing lessons for beginners."

"I want to try surfing," Alysanne says next to you, without both of them letting up, and you watch her in surprise.

"Really?"

"I don't plan to dive, I feel like I'll go crazy with claustrophobia with so much suit and gear on me, not to mention you can't talk," she tells you with a grimace, "And swimming is so boring. I want something more exciting."

"And you can handle that?"

"Please, I can handle anything," she says with a certain superiority, making you laugh, "And what do you plan to do? Obviously not surf but then what?"

"Hum…" you think about it for a moment, "I don't know, maybe I'll visit the huge library and learn more about the history of this place and the whole Valyrian family."

Alysanne looks at you completely expectantly and showing you how much your answers have bored her.

"Are you serious?"

"We also offer a tour of our small aquarium located in the depths of the castle, where you can see a variety of fish and sea creatures," he man goes on to mention, "And lastly, we offer rides on our yachts and scooters along the coast, there are also paddle boarding lessons along our peaceful canals that meander through the island."

You look back at Alysanne beside you.

"Or maybe I'll join the paddling classes," you say with a shrug.

But that only makes Alysanne look at you like you're a hopeless case, sigh, and continue moving on, not telling you any more about your plans or she's afraid it will make you feel bad.

And you let out a little laugh, since of course you also want to enjoy the beach and also want a yacht ride.

And as all the students continue to move forward and you along with them, you still feel the tension between you and Aemond, who is moving a few meters ahead of you with his friends.

Despite the beauty and excitement of Dragonstone, still this uneasiness continues to weigh on your being.

First night at Dragonstone and you've already been left alone.

Alysanne stated that she wanted to enjoy the luxurious bathtub in the room to immerse herself in a relaxing spa experience, so that's what she's doing now before starting the rough activities tomorrow.

And meanwhile you're stealing snacks from the huge kitchen since you've prepared one night of movies for yourself, which isn't a bad plan.

So with your pajamas on, you go back to the room, thankful that you didn't have any awkward encounters with anyone. In fact you were hoping to run into him, but that hasn't happened and you have no idea where he must be.

So with your snacks in hand and in the huge hallway where your room is located, you struggle a bit to open your door with your hands full, when someone enters the same hallway where you are.

"Hey Y/N."

You turn your head and meet Cregan, causing you to place a smile on your face in his direction.

"Hey Cregan."

He watches you with a small amused smile.

"Do you need help?"

"Well, I-I…" you try one more time, but everything is about to fall out of your hands, "Yeah," you finally agree.

He helps you with your snacks and also opens the door for you, then watches you curiously.

"Are you preparing one night of snacks and probably watching movies with Alysanne?"

"No," you reply laughing softly, "No, I—

"Ah, so you're going with Aemond to the hot tub," he interrupts you in a casual tone, assuming.

Confused by that revelation, you try to process the information, but before you can even pretend and react, which you really don't and remain silent like a fool, he notices and looks at you slightly confused.

"Oh, well... on my way here saw him alone in the hot tub and thought you were going with him."

And just then it happens.

Something snaps inside you.

An overwhelming sense of need overwhelms you from head to toe, you can't help it and you can't take it anymore.

You need to talk to someone about the truth and release everything you've been accumulating these past few days. But you know that if you do that, you would be breaking a contract rule.

But the thought of still holding all this in and not being able to talk to anyone about what's really going on is unbearable.

Alysanne would freak out and you have no one else to talk to. It's not like you have a lot of friends. So thinking hard, you quickly map out a plan in your mind and decide to confide in Cregan.

"Do you have a moment?" you ask with a lump in your throat.

Cregan gets confused and looks hesitant.

"Well, I—

"Alysanne is relaxing in the tub, she won't be out of there for a while and I really need to talk to someone about this," you plead.

And that's enough for Cregan to walk into the room behind you as he sees your face like you're about to explode and you tell him everything.

And God, it's a complete relief to be able to speak freely, without the pressure of keeping up the farce.

And you start by explaining to him why you decided to fake a relationship, and then tell him these feelings that you can't ignore anymore, as well as explaining everything you're feeling about Floris and how things are between you and Aemond.

And by this point, Cregan is very comfortable sitting on your bed, eating from your snacks while you wander around your room talking freely about everything that comes to your mind and he listens attentively.

"I'm completely crazy, aren't I?"

You watch him completely frustrated and looking for support, as the ideas and thoughts keep coming uncontrollably into your mind.

"I mean, this is fake," you clarify, waving your hands as you speak, "This wasn't supposed to happen, he just asked me for help and I asked for something in return to accept. And he clearly doesn't feel the same way I do."

You look at him in exasperation, worried.

"And I know I acted wrong with him this morning on the bus but—" you sigh, "You should have seen how he reacted when he saw Floris at school again. This whole thing with Aemond probably wouldn't have happened if Floris hadn't left school, it's obvious there's still something between the two of them and that makes me feel… so upset and so jealous when I shouldn't!" you exclaim frustrated, "And I find it best to just stay away from him so I can stop feeling all this and my big mouth won't even think of telling him how I really feel."

"Y/N—

"I'm right, right?" you don't let him speak, watching him completely intently and worriedly, "I'm crazy."

Cregan smiles softly in your direction in an attempt to comfort you and shakes his head, as he takes another bite of a chocolate bread.

"No, not at all," he replies sincerely, "You're just being honest with yourself and me."

You stop in front of him, fiddling nervously with the fingers of your hands.

"I had to blurt it out," you say dejectedly, "I'm so confused. And you have to promise not to tell anyone," you tell him instantly.

"I promise," he tells you instantly too, nodding.

"So what do you think?"

He lets out a long breath before answering, watching you calmly and quietly, preparing in his mind what he will tell you next, while you wait desperately and anxiously.

"Listen, I think it doesn't matter that the two of you have been pretending all this time, but Aemond likes you, a lot."

He assures you and your heart leaps, parting your lips and watching him completely intently.

"I've seen the way he stares at you—

"Have you already forgotten that all this time we've been pretending?" you interrupt him in exasperation.

"And you think you can fake a look of love if he's not really in love?" he asks you, expectantly.

You let out a sigh, bringing a hand to your forehead, massaging your temples.

"That doesn't matter, I feel he still has feelings for Floris and I'm just another fool who fell in love with Aemond Targaryen," you look at him hopelessly, "And if you think about it, it's embarrassing."

"Okay, let's analyze the facts," he says confidently, incorporating himself better on the bed, "The fake relationship was his idea, you set most of the important rules and you're the one who wants to end the relationship, but you're here locked in your room preparing a movie night for yourself alone while he's waiting for you in the hot tub," he tells you condescendingly while pointing at the door with his thumb.

You watch him completely attentively, almost hesitant and unsure, thinking about it.

"And if you think about it precisely, yes, Aemond and Floris had something but it was nothing serious, he later went back to Alys and now that he erased Alys from his life, there is you and no one else," he explains to you, "Floris' return means nothing because he could have told you that it was better to end the fake relationship when he saw her again, but he didn't tell you anything, it was you," he assures you, "And yes, maybe you fell in love first, but eventually he also fell in love with you and harder."

Cregan's every word hits you like a wave of revelation, making you rethink your perceptions and doubts.

Maybe, in the midst of all this confusion, conflict and your doubts, Cregan is right.

Maybe Aemond really is in love with you, despite the fake relationship, Alys and Floris… maybe he is and the thought is as overwhelming as it is comforting.

If so… then what will happen?

You don't know but wanting to find out excites and scares you at the same time.

"Do you think he's waiting for me in the hot tub?" is the only question you can utter out of the thousands in your mind, watching him hopefully.

"Of course," he gives you an obvious look.

So you waste no time.

You leave on your pajamas of silk shorts with a tank top of the same fabric and throw a coat on over them. It's not really cold but the air here on the island is frosty enough for you.

And as you step outside a part of the castle where the hot tub is located, with your heartbeat echoing in your ears, you are greeted by a cool, salty breeze that caresses your skin.

The hot tub area is illuminated by a series of lights hanging from the ends of the trees, creating a calm and relaxing atmosphere. But what stands out the most is the blue light of the hot tub.

And there you see him.

You focus on the lone figure of Aemond as you move forward, who has his back to you, gazing off into the horizon, thoughtful while also distracted by the bubbles the hot tub is making around him.

You pause for a moment, watching him from a distance, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness fluttering in your chest.

The silver chain around his neck shines with a soft glow from the blue light, adding a touch of mystery to his profile, just as his white skin glows slightly from the glint of water on his skin.

The sound of the hot tub echoes in place, as well as the ocean waves outside and with nerves blocking your mind, you finally approach him, with quiet determination.

"Mind if I join you?"

You say to him with some insecurity and in a soft tone, hugging yourself, nervous and attentive.

Aemond turns his head towards you and his eye meets yours.

And if his gaze reflected surprise, he quickly turns back to an unexpressive face and without saying absolutely nothing to you, where you also tried to smile a little at him, he turns his gaze back to the front.

And you don't let it get to you, at least not yet.

"What? Now you're going to ignore me?"

And thankfully that's enough to make him talk to you. At least a little bit.

"Oh now I'm the one ignoring you?" he retorts bitterly, without even looking at you, "That's funny."

And he continues to turn his back on you, without saying anything else, to which you let out a long breath and without giving up yet, thinking about what Cregan told you and also considering your feelings, you approach him.

With hesitant steps, you climb the steps leading to the entrance of the hot tub and approach the edge, feeling the warmth of the water and the gentle steam rising in the air.

Feeling Aemond's gaze on you, you take a seat on the edge and dip your feet into the water as you return his gaze, which makes your heart pound in your chest again.

He is completely beautiful.

And the words don't come out of your mouth as you are hypnotized for a moment watching the flashes of light on his serene face with his flawless skin and those features that make him look so handsome.

But you finally focus.

"Well, I'm sorry this is my first trip here and I have no idea how to do the activities when you didn't even offer to guide me," you foolishly try to justify yourself.

"Oh and now I'm supposed to guide you after you ignored me on the bus?" he inquires.

You feel the blood rise to your cheeks and look away for a moment, embarrassed.

"Well, I thought I should do you a favor," you admit sheepishly, not really knowing what to say.

And you just had to say that?

Your mind reproaches you.

"Favor?" he repeats in confusion, "What favor?"

"It's obvious Floris is still interested in you," you explain, "And you and she had a thing in the past so was it better for her to sit down with you or not?"

Fucking fool.

Your mind keeps reproaching you, but you don't know why you had to say that either!

And you know it was really bad as Aemond makes a gesture of exasperation on his face and shakes his head as he averts his gaze from you and stretches out both arms to the edge of the hot tub.

"You know?" he starts to say in a frustration-laden tone of voice, watching you "For being such a good student… you can be really dumb sometimes."

You frown, bewildered by his words.

"What?"

"I wanted to sit with you, Y/N," he tells you in exasperation, wanting to make you understand, "Not with Floris or anyone else, just you," he says, his tone softening as he looks at you intently.

Oh.

Yes, oh.

Now you feel stupid and of course you should feel exactly that way.

And as Aemond's words echo in your mind, you feel a mixture of emotions inside you.

On the one hand, a sense of relief and joy finds its way into your chest as you hear his sincere words and know that he wanted to be with you. But you are also overcome with a slight embarrassment at your initial lack of understanding.

And because of the same nerves and how stupid you still feel, a soft laugh escapes your lips at his confession.

"So, Floris…

You let the words float in the air, as you watch him with that insecurity in your gaze.

"Floris was just a one time thing in the past. She doesn't interest me anymore," he assures you gently and firmly, completely honest.

You both remain silent for a moment, only hearing the bubbling of the hot tub, where you mostly admire how the blue light reflects all over his body and face, looking so fucking good.

Not to mention he has no shirt on.

You can feel the electricity in the air as he watches you with his face softer compared to a few moments ago, there's also almost adoration and hope, all just the same way you're watching him.

Then you break the silence.

"I'm sorry I didn't sit with you on the bus," you say sincerely.

And he makes a nonchalant gesture with his hand.

"It's all right."

And once again, silence envelops you as you both sink into the intimate and complicit atmosphere that surrounds you.

Then once everything has been 'cleared up' somehow, you sit up and take off your coat, to begin soaking in the hot tub along with him, causing him to watch you attentively and in confusion.

"You're going in your sleeping clothes?" he asks in a doubtful tone.

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," you reply, stopping in front of him and allowing yourself to enjoy the shared quiet and intimacy along with the warmth of the water.

You watch as his gaze sweeps over your body, mostly focused on watching the way the water envelops you in just the same way he does and you don't stop, as you position yourself right in front of him, your face inches from his.

And already starting to feel a little embarrassed by his burning gaze on you, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

"You know, I've never seen you without that chain," you say, feeling your knees bump against his thighs.

He smiles slowly, showing off his perfect aligned white teeth, marking each cheek with his beautiful dimples, having a knowing glint in his eye that is reflected as he inspects your face.

"It's part of me," he replies, in a soft, deep, husky voice than usual that sends shivers down your spine, "But I think I might make an exception tonight."

And before you can fully comprehend his words, you feel Aemond's hand on your thigh from under the water, sending a surge of electricity through your body.

Surprised, he makes you sit on his lap, while his other hand rests on your waist, drawing you to him gently but with remarkable determination, surprising you and making you feel instantly nervous.

You place your hands on his shoulders, seeking stability, as you watch him with your parted lips, seeing that the space between the two of you no longer exists.

The intensity of his gaze and the softness of his face take your breath away for an instant, reminding you why you are drawn to him in the first place. And a mix of emotions overwhelm you as you realize how much you've been longing for this moment.

Then you both shorten the little distance that separates you and finally you feel the sweet contact.

With no one around, no one else's eyes on you, just the two of you alone here, you kiss.

A slow and deep kiss, where you feel Aemond's lips soft and warm against yours, making you let yourself go and move closer to him if possible, taking one of your hands to caress his cheek.

And his body responds to your caresses, pulling you closer towards him as if he can't get enough, settling better into his lap and tilting his head to the side, deepening the kiss, where his hands run down your back, causing his touch to cause electric currents through your body.

Then you both pull away a little with a wet sound from their lips and you watch him directly into his eye, unable to believe this is actually happening, where Aemond breathes through his mouth and brings one of his hands up to your cheek, watching you intently and with that lazy smile.

"What?

With a small smile on your lips, you shake your head.

"Nothing," you reply in a soft tone and that makes him smile a little more, starting to trace your cheek with his fingers and your face with his gaze.

"You don't know what you're doing to me, love," he murmurs against your lips, his voice hoarse, "The way you make me feel… it's indescribable."

His words wash over you like a comforting warm wave, spreading throughout your chest and causing a sensation to settle in your lower abdomen.

His hand on your thigh slides all over your skin, producing shivers as he pulls you even closer and your whole body trembles slightly from the intensity in his desire as he shortens the distance again and his lips seek yours with a hunger that matches what you are feeling.

And in that moment there is no doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming certainty of the connection that exists between the two of you. And just like him, you let your actions speak for you and everything you are feeling right now.

You deepen the kiss, as you lose yourself in the intoxicating rhythm of his kisses and your fingers gently glide over the skin of his face and run along the contours of his jaw.

"This wasn't in the contract," you murmur against his lips, agitated.

"No, it wasn't," he tells you just as agitated as you are, catching your lips with his again.

Then your other hand comes down on his bare chest, tracing his muscles and feeling the heat of his skin against yours, sending an electric shock that ignites a burning, fierce fire throughout his body.

Aemond moans against your lips and brings one of his hands to the back of your neck, tilting his head and holding you exactly where he wants you, while his other hand travels between the skin of your thighs and your lower back.

Then you decide to move on top of him and his breath hitches as he feels your movement and you too feel a tingle in your crotch.

Both he and you can feel the tension grow between the two of you and suddenly it is as if the world has vanished, existing only him and you with this moment of pure connection and desire.

And with each caress, you feel yourself falling more and more under the spell, lost in the intoxicating, indulgent pleasure you begin to experience. And with his heart beginning to pound, his caresses become more daring and urgent.

You too move with more purpose on top of him, beginning to feel a bulge grow just below your nerve center that caresses him and makes you feel so good.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks against your lips.

"Please don't," you sentence, kissing him again.

You gasp against his lips and you both begin to gasp, feeling Aemond's chest rise and fall every instant, just like yours. And with the warm, comforting water enveloping you both it only makes it feel better.

You run your hands through his hair, pulling it away from his forehead to lean into him and continue kissing him as you continue to roll your hips on top of him, when he pulls away from you and begins to leave a trail of wet kisses from your cheek and down to your neck.

All your skin bristles and you let your head fall back, giving him more accessibility.

"Fuck," he murmurs hoarsely into the side of your neck.

And you lean into him again, kissing him, wanting to feel the caress of his lips on top of yours.

But then when the need and desire begins to build to a pace where Aemond thinks he won't be able to stop afterward, he decides to stop right there, pulling away from your lips and making you stop moving.

"Wait," he says to you in a low, husky tone, breathing through his mouth.

You look at him slightly confused, just as agitated as he is.

"What's wrong?" you say with your heart pounding in your chest as you take a deep breath.

He tries to catch his breath, closing his eye and resting his forehead against yours, still holding you above him.

"We can't," he says with some frustration.

You force yourself to take a deep breath, beginning to feel confusion and uncertainty invade you, watching him intently.

"Why not?" you ask in a whisper, still leaning into him.

He lets out a long breath through his nostrils, clearly fighting against the hardness beneath his shorts and keeping you on top of him in a way where you don't touch him or he'll go completely insane.

But his silence only makes you worry and think things that really aren't.

"Or is it that you don't want to do it with me?" you ask fearfully and with embarrassment starting to creep up on you.

"What?" he quickly looks at you, "No, no, that's not what I mean, of course I want to do it with you," he answers you quickly and completely honest, "But we can't do it here."

He points his gaze around you, to again look only at you with that intensity, revealing a mixture of his desires and his inner conflicts.

Oh.

A sense of relief washes over you as you realize it's not rejection, but concern for the circumstances.

"Ah… right," you say with a mixture of embarrassment and relief, also briefly glancing around you, "Sorry, I hadn't thought of that."

Aemond looks at you tenderly, his gaze softening with a mixture of desire, vulnerability, and what you think is love reflecting in its depths, then pulling your face towards him again.

"It's okay, we'll find another time," he assures you, his tone comforting.

You smile softly as you place your hands on both of his cheeks and he kisses you deeply again, causing you to melt into his arms and let yourself be completely carried away.

You feel embarrassed by your misunderstanding, but also grateful for his concern and consideration.

And you don't know exactly how long you both lasted inside the hot tub, just kissing and nothing more, occasionally playing with the bubbles, sharing an intimate and special moment together.

"I missed you," he murmurs against your lips, leaving a soft kiss that makes you smile.

"Me too," you confess, kissing him again.

And though desire still burns between the two of you, you both know it's best to wait and save that moment for a more private and suitable place.

You still don't know what the fuck happened.

But what you do know is that you went to sleep with a silly smile on your lips and at dawn, you put the same silly smile back on your lips as you remembered everything that happened.

However, surprise and fear also flooded you after remembering exactly everything you and Aemond did.

The two of you were going to have sex.

You were going to have sex with him in a hot tub.

You didn't even care about anything, the fact that they were out in the open, the fact that you weren't physically or mentally ready or even the fact that you and he weren't even real boyfriend and girlfriend.

But you wanted to do it, God, you wanted it and badly.

He was even the one who had to stop everything when on another plane, you probably would have done it, but no. You weren't thinking, you were completely drunk with pleasure and now shame is the only thing you feel all over your body.

You can't even tell Alysanne because of the shame and because you know she won't stop laughing at you. You even plan not to leave the room to avoid running into him. But Alysanne makes you go with her to her first surfing lesson.

And ready for the day as you walk with her down the stairs to the main lobby, you think about how if things with Aemond were already weird and awkward before that moment, now the two of you won't even be able to see each other's eyes.

But to your surprise, that's not what happens.

There are several students and teachers already in the lobby when you see his characteristic silver hair, but before you can react and even think, Aemond walks towards you with a small smile as soon as he sees you and kisses you, surprising you since you definitely didn't expect that.

And of course you noticed the look Cregan gave you both, but more to you specifically, but you just told him with your look that you will talk to him about everything later.

And so you start your activities in Dragonstone, with Aemond.

Of course you first keep Alysanne company in her surfing lessons and after she is totally focused on that, you and Aemond spend time together.

Under the golden sun, painting the horizon with warm hues and golden sparkles on the ocean waves, you both enjoy a walk along the shore of the beach, enjoying the salty air and the sea breeze that envelops you.

You talk about everything and about almost nothing at the same time, him being the first one to dare to hold your hand while you enjoy your little walk, making the blood rise to your cheeks and you enjoy like every teenage girl in love these little moments.

Then you both play a game of volleyball, where you both laugh and have fun as you immerse yourselves in the game.

And clearly from running around so much in the intense sun and getting almost sweaty, you get the idea that you both should swim a bit and surprisingly Aemond doesn't refuse the idea, even though he doesn't know how to swim, but you offer to teach him.

In a gray two-piece bikini, you lead him out into the waves, explaining how to move in the water and breathe properly, causing him to begin to gain confidence and enjoy the sensation of being carried by the waves.

But of course after that would come the laughter and playfulness, both laughing and talking while enjoying the sun and the salt water.

And in that moment, the fun turned into an intimate moment as Aemond holds you by the waist, pulling you closer to him. There is a silent intention in his gaze as he touches your skin with his burning hand and you don't pull away, on the contrary, you lean towards him.

You wrap your legs around his torso and his lips press against yours in a deep kiss, losing themselves to each other in the middle of the sea.

And when you both separate, you look at each other with a mixture of shyness and affection, while Aemond places a damp lock behind your ear, feeling a pleasant sensation that he can't quite describe envelop him, especially at the moment when you again leave a soft, tender kiss on his lips.

And with beaming smiles on your faces, you both get out of the water and go upstairs to your rooms to bathe and change your clothes.

But then the two of you meet again and he accompanies you to explore the castle together, marveling at the ancient relics and all the history that surrounds the place.

He also accompanies you to the library to take some photos and to the roof terraces where you get magnificent views of the whole island.

And in the castle's aquarium, you both find yourselves surrounded by fascinating sea creatures, sharing tender moments together as you watch the fish swim around.

The sea creatures seem to dance in the water, their bright colors and movements mesmerizing you as you walk among the tanks.

And as you both move through the exhibits, Aemond more than anything couldn't resist hugging and kissing you, expressing his affection in every gesture and you of course didn't mind.

"You are beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, watching you with that bright glint in his eye as he watches the reflection of the sun and water on your face, creating an aura of serenity and beauty around him.

The blood rushes up to your cheeks and you smile shyly, feeling so silly.

"You are beautiful too, Aemond Targaryen."

You lean towards him and leave another soft kiss on his lips that he reciprocates instantly, taking you by the waist and bringing you completely closer to him, wanting to keep touching and kissing you.

But you both continue the little tour holding hands, where you also take pictures together and of everything you see around you, wanting to capture these moments.

And even though he and you haven't really talked about anything, this doesn't feel like you're both pretending. This feels real and you like the way it feels when you are with him, being completely honest and genuine with your feelings.

Then the day goes on as normal and as expected, after doing all the educational activities in a certain way, it's time for the party.

"There will be my friends, Cregan, my sister and well, Alysanne if she wants to come too," Aemond tells you as you both head towards your rooms.

"I'll convince her to go," you assure him.

"Okay, I'll see you in fifteen minutes then."

"All right," you smile at him.

He leaves down a different hallway from the one you're heading down since each of your rooms are separate and you're focused on getting ready for this party.

You don't know how, but he and his friends have arranged to take a yacht for the night. Obviously they are not going to ride around in it with the night sky, but apparently they have everything ready for everyone to drink and enjoy a while.

Fortunately you convince Alysanne and the three of you soon arrive at the yacht that is stranded in the west harbor of the island, where Aemond's friends are already there, getting everything ready.

Then the music plays, the LED lights turn on and the drinks begin to be served.

Sitting on Aemond's lap, you didn't think you'd have as good a time as you're having now, laughing and talking to everyone, occasionally hugging and kissing him.

And fortunately nothing unfortunate or unpleasant happens, there is only the company of your friends and you enjoy Aemond's presence, clinging to him at every opportunity, hugging him and singing some songs with him like everyone else, having a good time.

And fortunately in the following days there is no activity you don't do with Aemond, even now if you go for a yacht ride, where you can perfectly see some students and also Alysanne practicing surfing.

You also cheer up with the scooter ride, just like him, completely enjoying the moment and the experience.

And you honestly don't want any of it to end.

You want everything to continue to be perfect.

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jessamine-rose · 6 months ago

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⋆˚♱ଘ Red Sky at Night, Shepherd’s Delight ଓ♱˚⋆

*slides in with more Church AU ideas* May I interest y’all in Priest! Arlecchino x Devotee! Darling?? Do enjoy this sweet story ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

Tw:: yandere, manipulation, psychological trauma, stalking, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, self-flagellation, harassment, MDNI, pls take note of these warnings

Note:: FICTIONAL depictions of religion

♡ 3.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ As with most nations, the Church is the highest authority in Fontaine. This is especially true for the Court of Fontaine, a city that boasts a strong faith in God. However, it is this same faith which has been corrupted by the Church to spin a web of lies, prejudices, and hypocrisies. Still, there is hope for that city, as provided by its head priest Arlecchino.

♡ Not much can be said about her previous life. In the past, she was known as Peruere, a quiet orphan from the House of the Hearth. Raised by her predecessor Crucabena, Peruere followed in her footsteps and claimed to have felt a calling to priesthood. There was a beauty to it, the idea of a child giving back to the Church by bringing its followers closer to salvation. At least, that is how the public perceived her vocation.

♡ In truth, Peruere’s motivations were different. Shortly after her ordination, Crucabena disappeared under mysterious circumstances and her authority was passed on to Arlecchino. Immediately afterwards, she began to reform the Church and the House of the Hearth. She challenged the Church’s falsehoods, eliminated the other corrupt priests, and preached a more compassionate form of worship.

♡ Despite her efforts, however, scars run deep within the city. The children weren’t the only ones harmed by Crucabena; her influence spanned the entire Court of Fontaine, from religious schools to devout families. In the latter’s case, it can be difficult for Arlecchino to reach out to individuals and correct their beliefs. But some have taken to her like a moth to flame, actively seeking out her enlightenment. One such moth is you.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Excuse me, Father!”

The Church is silent in the wake of mass. Footsteps and voices echo as believers depart to go on with their daily lives. The children are walking through the exit connected to the House of the Hearth, their solemn demeanors giving way to laughter. Only two people remain.

As always, you linger behind Arlecchino, head bowed.

“Ah, ______.” She turns around to face you. “Is something the matter?”

You look the same—shy expression, modest clothing, rosary in hand.

In a quiet voice, you tell her, “I am in need of your guidance. Yesterday, I…can we discuss this in your office? I’ll try to keep it short this time.”

“Ah, of course. Follow me.”

By now, it has become routine for you to approach Arlecchino after weekly mass. She leads you down a hallway and into her private office, her confident gait juxtaposed by your meek footsteps. A few words are whispered to a passing nun—orders to prepare your favorite tea and desserts.

In the meantime, she takes a seat on the sofa and gives you a polite smile.

“Go on. You have my undivided attention.”

☾⋆｡ ๋

♡ If Arlecchino’s trauma led to her disillusionment with the Church, then yours brought you “closer” to God. Technically, there is nothing wrong with your devotion—you pray daily, treat people with compassion, and derive a sense of solace from your religion. The harm lies in your blind faith, your total dependence on Arlecchino’s guidance.

♡ While you’ve accepted Arlecchino’s stance on religion, you still abide by Crucabena’s doctrine when it comes to your own religious life. You abstain from all vices. You repent for actions which barely count as sins. You are in a constant state of shame, guilt, paranoia, confusion. She can only imagine just how traumatic your meetings with Crucabena were.

♡ Still, you make for enjoyable company. It is common for Arlecchino to see you in the House of the Hearth bearing gifts for the children—and she can tell the difference between performances and your genuine acts of charity. When you aren’t confiding in her, you inquire about her hobbies, her favorite things, her life before priesthood. There is something so pitiful, so precious about your trust in her.

♡ Which is why Arlecchino is quick to notice a shift in your attitude. It begins with you sitting in the middle pews during mass, rather than your usual spot in the front row. During communion, you avoid eye contact and accept the wafer from her with trembling hands. There is a decrease in your private meetings. Fortunately, there is no need for her to investigate; rather, you provide the answer on a silver platter.

♡ Confessions are a wellspring of valuable information. Be it a direct admission or small details, such encounters have aided Arlecchino in punishing those who commit evil under the guise of virtue. Neither is it difficult for her to deduce one’s identity through their voice and mannerisms. So when she recognizes you beyond the screen, she wonders why you opted for the confessional rather than your usual face-to-face confessions with her.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one week ago.”

That is the first thing you tell her. From the center compartment, Arlecchino can imagine you doing the sign of the cross. The ritualistic gesture lends a short-lived grace to your movements, your hands honed by years of practice.

A pause. “Pardon my insolence but I must know: I am not speaking to Father Arlecchino, am I?”

Oh?

“You are not,” is her swift response, spoken in an altered voice. “And why do you ask? Does your confession concern the head priest?”

What secrets could you possibly be hiding from her?

She hears a hitched breath. “No! I just don’t want her to know. So please, what I’m about to tell you…don’t breathe a word of it to anyone else.”

“But of course. And what do you have to confess, my child?”

There is the sound of beads clicking together—your rosary, an old violet-and-black set designed by Crucabena. Arlecchino owned an identical one up until her death.

“These past years,” you whisper, “I have been consumed with carnal desires.”

She sits up straighter. “Desires?”

“It’s complicated,” you mutter. “There’s this person I’ve known for years, and I’ve always looked up to them as a fellow believer. Yet over time, I’ve been plagued with…impure thoughts of them. They captivate me. Their attention brings me joy and anxiety in equal parts. They haunt my thoughts in debauched fantasies. Yet we aren’t even married, much less lovers.”

Who are they?

A spider has taken up residence in a corner of the ceiling. It sits in the center of a silvery web, waiting for its prey.

She clears her throat. “And what is the matter with that? It is true that many view lust as a sin. But carnal desires are natural and not evil as to warrant eternal damnation.”

Silence. Most likely, you are mulling over what she just said; discernment isn’t your strong suit.

It’s just like you to fret over an ordinary crush. But who is this person that ensnared your heart? Do they know you as well as her?

Arlecchino continues speaking. “Moreover, no human is immune to temptation. From what you told me, it is clear that you have made active efforts to suppress your lust. So is it not possible for you to resist this so-called temptation, if not distance yourself from the object of your desire?”

“But how can I resist temptation when its very source lies in the Church?!”

Even Arlecchino is caught off-guard by your outburst. It is followed by your horrified gasp.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Your next words are spoken in an even softer voice. “It’s Father Arlecchino. She is the one I desire.”

A fly buzzes through the latticed screen of the confessional. It briefly hovers around Arlecchino before she swats it away.

“Ah, now I understand.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me!” you add quickly. “I swear, it’s purely one-sided. And that is what distresses me most of all. She is a woman of God, dedicated to the salvation of His flock, yet here I am making a mockery of her righteousness.”

“And what do you see in her?”

“Where do I even begin? She’s kind. I know there are people who speak ill of her, claiming she preaches falsehoods, but I’ve witnessed her compassion with my own eyes. The orphans love her. The Church is warmer, more welcoming under her authority. And…”

The fly has taken a liking to the spiderweb. Spying its prospective prey, the spider begins its crawl towards the edge of the web.

You take a deep breath. “She knows of my religious struggles yet has never given me reason to fear her judgment. She is the one who helped me discern my vocation. She is the one who put a stop to my self-flagellation, even though that penance was assigned by Mother Crucabena. She is the one who has reassured me, time and time again, that I am worthy of God’s love. She…”

That is when you burst into tears.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the confessional are your choked sobs and rosary beads. Arlecchino herself remains silent but her thoughts are just as discordant.

Her gaze drifts to her necklace. It is a far cry from Crucabena’s rosary, a long chain from which hangs a silver cross adorned with ornate engravings and crimson jewels. When she presses down on a specific jewel, the pendant separates to reveal a hidden blade.

How long has it been since she struck Crucabena with that false symbol?

“I’ve tried so hard to be good,” you continue between sobs. “All my life, I’ve done my best to resist temptation and abide by the Church’s teachings. So why…? What I feel for Father Arlecchino—it’s disgusting, it’s not normal, it cannot be called love. But I…”

Your voice trails off. In her mind’s eye, Arlecchino sees you kneeling with your head bowed and your rosary looped around your clasped hands. If only she could wipe your tears.

“And I am truly sorry for all my sins,” you sniffle. “Now please, Father, what is my penance? If you tell me to distance myself from Father Arlecchino, then I will do so at once. If anything, I think she’d prefer it; I’ve wasted enough of her time.”

“Hush, my child,” she says sharply. Then, in a gentler tone, she adds, “Give me time to think.”

The fly is caught in the spider’s web. From her seat, Arlecchino watches as the spider bites down on the struggling insect and wraps it in silk, sealing its unfortunate fate.

Well, this was an unexpected answer, but not an unfortunate one.

In truth, she cares little about her vow of chastity. It is but a minor offense compared to those of her fellow priests. As for your attraction towards her, it doesn’t bother her at all. Her own sentiments require further reflection but for now…

“Why not put your desires to the test?”

There is the sound of beads hitting the floor. “Excuse me?”

In a calm voice, she explains, “There is nothing inherently sinful about falling in love with a priest. Rather, the fault should lie in the priest who cannot commit to their vow of chastity. But that, too, can be put into question—after all, nowhere in the religious texts is it explicitly stated that God demanded celibacy from His shepherds. It is for this reason that other denominations allow their priests to marry and procreate.”

“I see,” you mutter. “Though I doubt our Church would permit that anytime soon.”

“Who knows? As for the matter of your penance…like you said, it is impossible to escape the object of your desire. So why don’t you continue your usual interactions with Father Arlecchino? It will enable you to discern whether what you feel for her is truly lust or love. And should you ever confess your feelings to her, she will be the one to instruct you on what to do.”

“Is that all? Surely, there must be another—”

She cuts you off. “That is the only way. It is my belief that you need only desire something with sufficient intensity and God will answer. Or are you doubting my words as a priest?”

Your fearful “no!” puts an end to your confession. Thus, you recite your prayers and leave the confessional. After a while, Arlecchino makes a stealthy exit.

Just as she expected, you are still praying inside the Church. With your dried tears and tightly clasped hands, you make a perfect image of repentance.

Shaking her head, she walks down the hallway and into her office.

The tea table is empty. That will change tomorrow; she already has the perfect choice of desserts in mind. Cakes, tarts, macarons, all of your favorite treats.

The next day, an invitation is delivered to your doorstep. The envelope bears the official seal of the Church of Fontaine.

☾⋆｡ ๋

♡ Since then, Arlecchino has treated you differently. In the past, her religious counsel took the form of reassurances, open-ended questions, and reminders that only you can discern your own fate. But now she finds herself giving you more specific lessons and instructions. She invites you to more tea parties and private events in the House of the Hearth.

♡ She is also more…physical these days. During mass, she puts the communion wafer in your mouth, a gloved thumb brushing against your lip. On your walks to her office, she places her hand on your back, forcing you to match her pace. At one point, she even pulls you aside and tells you to disrobe so she can see if you are wearing your scapular properly. There is a moment of silence when your scars are exposed, followed by the warm sensation of her fingertips tracing your skin.

♡ However, it doesn’t take long for another issue to arise. One mass, Arlecchino notices that a certain individual has moved to the front pews to sit next to you. This continues for weeks, with him speaking to you before and after the service. You’re clearly uncomfortable around him, and it reaches the point that you mention it to Arlecchino during a tea party.

♡ Quietly, you explain that you are being harassed by one of your coworkers. For weeks, he has been bothering you at work, walking you home from mass, showing no signs of accepting your blatant rejections. Even worse, no one is taking your distress seriously due to his popularity within the Court of Fontaine. Normally, Arlecchino would be quick to eliminate him but she decides on another solution which would kill two birds with one stone.

♡ Her suggestion is that you stay in the Church for a few weeks. It is a convenient arrangement on both sides—the children are already familiar with you; the House of the Hearth has no shortage of rooms; and in the worst-case scenario, it can serve as a trial period for nunhood. In the past, Arlecchino did deem your personality fitting for a life of religious service, though you disagreed on the basis that you weren’t “worthy” of such an important role.

♡ It doesn’t take long for you to adjust. The House of the Hearth is quiet, secure, shielded from outside disturbances. The children are friendly to you, and they all agree that you’d fare well as their caretaker. Best of all, Arlecchino has more excuses to spend time with you—barbeque parties, walks along the sea, meetings with the other priests and nuns, nightly conversations in your room. It feels like home.

♡ One day, you are fitted into a nun’s habit. It looks perfect on you, with a few embellishments to suit your style preferences. Arlecchino personally helps you into the outfit, fixing the buttons and smoothing out imaginary creases. The final piece is a cross necklace identical to her own; she casually reveals the hidden blade and claims it is a self-defense mechanism. When you cast your gaze upon your shared reflection in the mirror, a flustered smile adorns your face.

♡ Still, you are undecided on your “true” vocation. Eventually, you decide to return to your job and think it over. Arlecchino personally escorts you to your house and insists that you keep your cross necklace, if only to replace your “missing” rosary. Once the front door is shut, she casts a harsh glare upon the figure across the street. Later, her children are assigned to keep watch over you and your stalker.

♡ For the next few days, all is well. Your daily life resumes. Arlecchino keeps a close eye on you through her children’s reports and her own inspections. After mass, the two of you enjoy another tea party, and you make no mention of your stalker. When the news reaches the city of an upcoming celestial phenomenon, you eagerly accept Arlecchino’s invitation for a viewing party.

♡ The crimson moon rises, bathing the world in a blood-red glow. While the children gaze at the moon, Arlecchino waits for you in front of the orphanage. Strange, punctuality is one of your virtues yet you’re late. Just as she is about to leave for your house, Freminet frantically approaches her and leads her to the Church.

♡ Red. It’s all over you, and not from the moonlight. The first thing Arlecchino sees is you curled up on the floor in a state of shock. In the heart of the Church lies a familiar figure—your stalker, writhing on the floor as blood pools from his chest. Lynette stands over him, ensuring that he won’t escape, while Lyney tries and fails to console you.

♡ All three of her children are wearing their crosses. Yours is on the floor, its blade exposed and tainted with blood. Lyney is the one who explains the situation to Arlecchino: They heard a commotion in the Church and by the time they arrived, you had driven your cross into your stalker’s heart. He had attacked you and paid the price.

♡ Calmly, Arlecchino tells Freminet to bring you to the orphanage. Once you are gone, she walks up to your stalker and stomps on his head, piercing his skull with her stiletto. Lyney and Lynette are told to dispose of the body, clean up the church, then return to the party. The crimson moon serves as a silent witness all throughout.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Father, your face…”

As soon as he sees her, Freminet leaves your room and closes the door behind him.

“Freminet.” Arlecchino wipes the blood off her cheek. “That sinner has been dealt with. You may return to the party.”

“Oh? Okay.” He nods, casting a worried look at your door. As he walks down the hallway, one of his hands comes up to touch his cross pendant.

With that, Arlecchino enters your room.

Even in your change of clothes, your visage is painted crimson by the moonlight. Your body is slumped against the bed, knees on the floor. No sounds leave your lips save for short breaths. Tiny crescents mar your arms—a coping mechanism or an attempt at penance?

Wordlessly, she sits next to you and pats your head with a gloved hand.

“Father.” You are the one to break the silence. “What just…”

“That man is dead.” She says it plainly, her tone void of judgment. “He won’t be able to torment you any longer.”

You immediately look up, eyes glossy. “Are you sure?! Did I…?”

In the blood-red moonlight, your anguish is clear as day. Your hands tremble, nails digging into the mattress, before clasping together in a graceless effort to steel yourself. But the familiar gesture does little to calm you, all prayers futile in the wake of your sin.

“This is it. I’m really going to burn in Hell,” you sob. “I didn’t mean to—what should I do, Father?”

This time, Arlecchino spares no warmth in consoling you. She adjusts your body so that your head rests on her lap, letting your tears drip onto her cassock. Her hand remains on the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“There is no need to fret,” she says gently. “Before the moon sets, the Church will be purged of that man’s filth and it will be as though he never appeared tonight.”

You shake your head. “Even then, you…God knows what I have done.”

“Listen to me.” She tilts your face upwards, her expression firm. “All you did was use your cross necklace for its intended purpose—to save yourself from harm. And yet even in the face of evil, you claim to be the one who sinned. None of this is your fault, ______.”

Her other hand caresses your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“Perhaps it is all part of God’s plan,” she muses. As she speaks, she kneels to your level and holds your hands, intertwining your fingers. “We live in a cruel world and it is only in places such as my Church that safety can be promised. Should you take the veil, no other sinners would dare to violate your virtue.”

Your next words are soft, hesitant, filled with disbelief. “Are you saying that I can still become a nun?! That you…you don’t mind keeping me around?”

“And for what reason would I deny you sanctuary?” she asks, her expression shifting to a frown. “As a priest, it is my duty to shepherd God’s flock. And as a person, it is my desire to protect those I cherish. Everything I do is for your own good.”

For once, you are rendered speechless. All you can do is stare at your lap, at your hands clasped together.

When Arlecchino leans towards you, her grip prevents you from drawing back.

“All you must do is listen to me,” she whispers. “Until our mortal deaths, I will be the one to lead you away from true temptation and deliver you from evil. Does it seem agreeable to you?”

“I…I guess so,” you whimper. Nervously, you meet her gaze, your eyes alight with a glimmer of hope. “If it’s you, I can believe it.”

“Good. And remember this always, ______.”

The crimson moon shines brightly, casting a blood-red halo around your savior. And as Arlecchino pulls you closer, your lips a breath away from a kiss, a secret is divulged with the fervence of a sacred prayer.

“God still loves you. As do I.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

…Don’t ask me how many times I broke down over Priest! Arlecchino. Just don’t. To all of the Arle simps out there, I hope I did your wife justice. And may you all suffer from brainrot bc I refuse to be the only one in pain (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

Lastly, lots of love to @diodellet for beta-reading this fic and my mutuals for indulging my brainrot. I hope this was worth the wait <3

Tag an Arlecchino enjoyer!! @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @ainescribe @vennnnn-diagram @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @ddarker-dreams

#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #fatui x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: stalking #tw: abuse #g/n reader #mdni #jessamine-writing

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