#the dance is so intense (and allowed to be intense) because they fall for each other by recognizing the good in each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oceandolores · 5 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 6

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦,"

summary: joel finally let him make a woman out of you, as you both now in this together, just you and him.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 6

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 5

next | chapter 7

Another week had begun its slow, inevitable march toward Sunday, the day of the dance troupe’s performance, and every day felt more intense than the last. You were drowning in rehearsals, schoolwork, and the looming graduation that was just weeks away. Every minute of your day seemed spoken for, filled with the weight of responsibility and expectation. But even in the midst of all this, you and Joel found ways to be together.

Late at night, after everyone had gone to bed, you’d sneak out of your window and meet him in the truck parked a few blocks away. Or he’d call you, his voice a low, comforting murmur as you curled up in bed, the house quieter without your father’s overbearing presence. Your mother, wrapped up in her own world, turned a blind eye to your late nights, allowing you more freedom as long as you kept up appearances during the day. It was in these stolen moments, with the world asleep, that you felt the pull between you and Joel growing stronger.

Being with him was like finding refuge from a storm. His presence calmed you, his voice soothed you, and his touch—those rare, fleeting moments when your hands brushed or when he held you close—ignited something deep inside you. You were falling for him, and you knew it. It wasn’t just infatuation or some fleeting crush. It was the kind of love that snuck up on you slowly, like a vine wrapping around your heart, binding you to him with every passing day.

Joel felt it too, though he struggled to name it. He’d never intended to fall in love again, especially not with you, so young and full of life. But there it was, this fierce protectiveness that had morphed into something much deeper. It was in the way he thought about you constantly, the way his heart twisted when he saw you smile, the way he ached for you in ways that scared him. Love had a way of finding him, even when he thought he’d shut the door on it for good.

Yet, neither of you spoke of it. The word “love” hung in the air, unspoken, because saying it out loud would change everything. So you let it linger, allowing the unspoken bond to grow, rich with possibilities and fears.

At the church, rehearsals were growing more intense with each passing day. Jemima was absent, ill with the flu, and it had spread like wildfire that she and Ben were expecting their first child. The news sent waves of excitement through the troupe, but it also left Ben in charge, his presence more pronounced now that Jemima wasn’t there to temper him.

You began to notice things about Ben that made your skin crawl. He wasn’t just watching you; he was watching all of the younger girls too, his eyes lingering just a little too long. He was full of compliments and encouragements, and while the other girls seemed to lap it up, something about it felt wrong to you. It was subtle—just a hint of something dark lurking beneath his charming exterior. But you could sense it, like the distant rumble of thunder on a clear day.

After rehearsal, you decided to stay behind in the church, needing a moment to yourself. The soft strains of gospel music echoed through the empty hall, and you let it wash over you, trying to clear your mind. Emma was there too, chatting away about the upcoming performance, and to your surprise, Ellie had stayed as well, snapping pictures on her phone.

“These are for the behind-the-scenes album I’m putting together,” she said with a grin, her camera clicking away as she captured the stained glass windows, the pews, the half-empty stage. Ellie had a sharp eye, always finding beauty in the mundane.

Just as you were starting to relax, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Ben walked in, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. “Afternoon, girls,” he greeted, his voice smooth as ever.

“Afternoon, Ben,” you, Emma, and Ellie chorused in return, each in your own tone. Emma’s voice was bright and eager, yours polite but reserved, and Ellie’s—Ellie’s had a slight edge to it.

“You’re all doing great,” Ben continued, his gaze sweeping over you. “The routine is really coming together. I’m impressed. Just a few more adjustments, and you’ll be perfect for Sunday.”

Emma giggled, clearly pleased with his praise. “Thanks, Ben. We’ve been working hard.”

Ben smiled at her, and then his eyes settled on you, and you felt that uncomfortable prickle again. “And you, you’ve really found your rhythm. It’s good to see,” he said, his voice dipping into something softer, more personal.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Ben. Just trying to keep up.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Oh, you’re doing more than keeping up. You’re leading the pack. Really standing out.” His compliment was laced with something that made you want to shrink back, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see your discomfort.

Ellie, who had been quietly observing from behind her camera, stepped forward. “You know, Ben, the girls have been working really hard. Maybe you should give them a break and let them have some fun,” she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

Ben’s smile faltered just a fraction. “Fun is important too, Ellie,” he said smoothly, but there was an edge to his voice now. He turned his attention back to you. “Anyway, keep it up. I'll see you girls tomorrow for another practice," You and Emma nodded and say goodbye to him.

He lingered a moment longer, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie, before finally walking away, leaving the three of you in a heavy silence.

Ellie waited until he was out of earshot before turning to you and Emma. “Is it just me or something's off with that new Pastor?"

Emma frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Ben’s great. He’s just being supportive.”

Ellie shook her head, her expression serious. “Supportive, sure. But there’s something else. I don’t know, he just… he gives me the creeps.”

You chuckled softly as you bent down, cooling down your sore leg muscles after the intense rehearsal. “He’s just being nice, Ellie,” you said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “He’s new in town, and Jemima just got back here after years. Maybe he’s still adjusting.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, unconvinced. “Yeah, but still, something’s off. Have you noticed how he barely interacts with Jemima? It’s like they’re not even married.”

Emma, sitting nearby and stretching her arms, shrugged. “That’s not so unusual. They got married really young, and Jemima’s father pretty much arranged the whole thing. Sometimes that kind of marriage starts off with all the passion in the world, but then, over time, it fades. You get bored. What was once exciting becomes mundane, especially if you’re not with the right person. I just hope that doesn’t happen with Jim and me.”

Emma’s words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself lost in thought. You and Joel were in that heated, intoxicating phase where every touch felt electric, every glance held a thousand unspoken promises. But what if it didn’t last? What if the fire between you eventually died down, leaving only ashes of what once was? Could Joel grow tired of you, the way Ben seemed to have grown distant from Jemima?

Ellie noticed your distraction and nudged you gently. “Hey, you okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma turned her attention to you as well, her eyes curious. “Yeah, you’re awfully quiet. What about you and this new boy you’ve been spending time with? Have you tried, you know… to please him?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head quickly. “No, I haven’t. He said he doesn’t want to rush things if I’m not ready.”

Emma smiled warmly, her eyes soft with understanding. “Aw, he sounds sweet. Taking things slow is good.”

Ellie, however, wasn’t about to let the conversation end there. “Wait, who’s this boy? Jamie?” The mention of his name made your heart tighten, a pang of discomfort cutting through you.

Emma was quick to correct her. “No, not Jamie. She broke up with him. This one’s new.” Emma leaned in closer, a mischievous grin on her face. “She said she wants to please him, and you know… blow him.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, half in disgust and half in amusement. “Gross! But seriously, who is this guy? You’re being so mysterious about him.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone sinking in deep water. There was no way you could tell them the truth—not about Joel, not about the intense, forbidden love that had blossomed between you two in the shadows. Instead, you kept your tone light, trying to mask the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“So,” you began cautiously, your voice a little shaky, “what if there’s someone… someone who makes you feel everything at once? Like, when I’m with him, it’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and it’s terrifying, but it’s also exhilarating, like I could just… fly.”

Emma, who was a little older and more experienced in these matters, tilted her head thoughtfully. “That sounds intense. But in a good way, right? Like, you’re feeling things you’ve never felt before?”

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah, exactly. But it’s also scary, you know? Like, what if I’m the only one feeling this way? What if… what if he doesn’t feel the same, or he’s just—”

Ellie, who was the youngest but no less insightful, cut in. “Boys are confusing. I don’t understand them half the time. But if he’s making you feel like that, it sounds like he’s important to you. Have you talked to him about it? Like, really talked?”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “Not really. It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m even making sense to myself. It’s like… when I’m with him, everything else fades away, and it’s just us. But then I start thinking—what if I’m just dreaming? What if he’s not really into me the way I’m into him? What if… what if I’m not enough?”

Emma leaned forward, her gaze steady and warm. “Love is a gamble, always. It’s putting your heart out there, knowing it might get hurt. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like you care about him a lot. And that’s not something to take lightly. The fact that he makes you feel like you’re flying… that’s something special. Don’t be afraid of it.”

Ellie, despite her inexperience, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe I don’t get boys, but I do know that if someone makes you feel that way, you’ve got to go for it. But also… protect yourself. Make sure he’s worth it.”

You took a deep breath, their words comforting but not fully easing the uncertainty gnawing at you. “It’s just… I’m falling for him, I think. Really falling. But I keep wondering—what if he doesn’t catch me? What if I just… crash?”

Emma nodded thoughtfully, her eyes soft with understanding. "If he’s showing you that he cares, even in small ways, that’s a good sign. Maybe he does have feelings for you, but sometimes guys—especially older guys—are more complicated. They’ve been through stuff, you know? Past relationships, heartbreaks, things that might make them scared to fall again.”

You froze for a moment, realizing your slip-up, but quickly tried to cover it. "Wait, how do you know he's older than me? I never said that."

Emma smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn’t have to. The way you describe him—how he’s cautious, how he’s been through stuff—it’s not hard to guess. Sounds like he’s probably some college guy you met at a party or something.”

You bit your lip, Emma’s words hitting closer to home than she knew. Joel had his scars, that much you could tell. You’d seen the way he sometimes looked at you, as if he wanted to reach out but something held him back. The fear of history repeating itself, perhaps, of loving and losing all over again.

“But if he’s giving you mixed signals,” Emma continued gently, “it might be worth talking to him about it. Slowly, of course. Just… open up the conversation. Let him know how you’re feeling. Sometimes they just need a little nudge to be honest about what’s going on in their head.”

You sighed, thinking of Joel’s careful distance, the way he always seemed to pull back just when things got too intense. “I’m just scared, you know? We were talking about Ben and Jemima earlier, how things can start off so strong, and then… fade away. What if that happens to us? What if we’re so in love now, but then he gets bored, or… or realizes he doesn’t actually want me?”

Emma reached over, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “That’s a valid fear, especially with what we see around us. But relationships are built on more than just the initial spark. It’s about growing together, working through the ups and downs. If you’re both willing to put in the effort, to communicate and be honest with each other, there’s no reason it has to fade. But you have to trust each other too.”

You nodded slowly, taking in her words. Trust. That was the foundation of everything, wasn’t it? And while you knew you trusted Joel with your life, trusting him with your heart was a different matter entirely. The idea of opening up that conversation with him, of laying your feelings bare, was terrifying—but maybe it was the only way to move forward.

“Just… take it one step at a time,” Emma added softly. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just be honest with yourself and with him, and see where it leads.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little.

Ellie leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. "He’s older? Just tell me who it is, c’monnn!"

You felt your heart race, a mix of panic and amusement bubbling up inside you. If only they knew who you were actually talking about. You shot Ellie a look, half-joking, half-serious. “Oh, if you found out who I’m talking about, you’d… you’d probably kill me.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Now you have to tell me. Who is this mystery guy? Don’t leave me hanging!”

You shook your head, laughing nervously as you tried to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory it was headed into. “Nope, not happening. But trust me, he’s… someone who cares a lot about me. And that’s what matters, right?”

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, clearly amused by your evasiveness. “Alright, keep your secrets. But just know, we’re here for you, okay? If you ever need to talk… or if you just want to gush about how amazing he is.”

Ellie gave you a teasing nudge. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, if he’s treating you right, that’s all that matters. If not, we'll kick his senior ass,"

You chuckled at Ellie’s playful threat, though the thought of her actually kicking Joel’s ass was beyond ironic. If only she knew the truth—she’d be horrified, not to mention utterly confused.

As the three of you wrapped up your conversation and began gathering your things to head home, you felt a mix of relief and longing. Joel had promised to take you to the night fair in Houston tomorrow, a rare escape from your daily routine, and the idea of spending the night at his Houston house afterward made your heart race. You’d already told your mom another carefully crafted lie, saying you’d be staying at Ellie’s for the night. Your mom never doubted you, never checked. She believed in the goodness of her preacher’s daughter, convinced that you were beyond sin.

Lately, you found yourself praying more, asking for forgiveness for the web of lies you were spinning, for the thoughts and actions that felt so dirty, so far from the holy path you were supposed to walk. You quoted scriptures to yourself, verses about purity and truth, trying to cling to some semblance of the person you used to be. But each time you whispered those prayers, guilt weighed heavily on your soul like a stone sinking deeper into a dark, endless sea.

As you stepped outside the church and said your goodbyes to Emma and Ellie, you felt a sudden chill. Just as you turned to leave, Ben appeared seemingly out of nowhere, making you jump.

“Oh, Ben! Lord, you scare me,” you exclaimed, trying to steady your racing heart.

He chuckled softly, an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. Just finishing up some business with the church elders.”

You nodded, still a bit rattled. “I thought you’d gone home already.”

He shook his head, looking at you with those intense eyes that always seemed to linger a moment too long. “Not yet. I had a few things to take care of. Are you heading home now?”

You nodded again, more out of politeness than anything else. “Yeah, I’m walking this time."

"No ride from your friend today?" Ben asked again, "No," You answered, "He's busy," you smile at him politely.

Ben’s expression brightened, and he offered, “Do you need a lift? I’m heading to Burger King, and it’s on the way to your place.”

You hesitated, a little voice inside you whispering to say no. But you’d been raised to never refuse a kind offer, especially from someone who seemed to mean well. It was one of the many lessons your father had drilled into you.

“Sure, that would be nice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ben smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up, “Great. My car’s just around the corner.”

Ben’s car ride was quiet at first, an awkward silence settling between the two of you. You stared out the window, the streets passing by in a blur, trying to shake the unease that had crept into your chest. But the silence grew heavier, so you decided to break it.

“So, you lived in Mexico before coming here?” you asked, glancing over at him. “How long were you there?”

Ben’s face lit up at the question, the tension in the car easing as he spoke. “Yeah, I did. Jemima and I moved there right after we got married. I was a preacher there, too. The first year was tough—language barriers and all. But now I’m fluent in Spanish. Mexico… it’s an incredible place.”

He launched into stories about his time in Mexico, his voice warm and animated. He spoke highly of the country, describing the vibrant culture, the beautiful landscapes, and the deep faith of the people he ministered to. You found yourself listening intently, the charm in his voice almost infectious.

“You ever been to Mexico?” he asked suddenly, turning the conversation back to you.

You shook your head, a little embarrassed. “No, I’ve never really been anywhere.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “You should go someday. It’s life-changing.”

As he continued to speak, occasionally cracking jokes that were surprisingly funny, you couldn’t help but notice how likable he seemed. He had a way of making you feel comfortable, his words smooth and reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing a bit in his presence.

Before long, you arrived at Burger King. Ben pulled up to the drive-thru and asked, “What do you want? My treat.”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks,” you replied, not wanting to be a bother.

But Ben insisted, ordering something for you anyway. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he said with a grin.

As you waited in the drive-thru line, he pulled out his phone, showing you photos from his time in Mexico. The images were stunning—vibrant markets, serene beaches, and old churches with intricate architecture.

“Wow, these are beautiful,” you murmured, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, it was a special time in my life,” Ben replied, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

You couldn’t help but feel drawn in by his stories and the way he spoke of his experiences with such passion. Yet, beneath it all, there was still that small, persistent feeling in your gut—something you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You listened to Ben’s words, nodding politely, but that uneasy feeling in your stomach only grew stronger. His tone had shifted, taking on the familiar cadence of the sermons you’d heard your father give a thousand times. He began talking about the girls in Mexico, how they were deeply religious, involved in church activities, just like you and your friends.

“It’s good, you know,” Ben continued, his voice warm with approval. “To have a group of young people who still believe in God and walk in His ways. Especially girls your age—this is the time when they’re most likely to stray, to rebel and search for themselves. Like your friend, Emma. How old is she?”

“She’s 20,” you replied, wondering why he was suddenly bringing Emma into the conversation.

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “So she’s the oldest in your dance group?”

“Yeah,” you answered, feeling a slight unease. You couldn’t help but notice that Ben didn’t seem to pay much attention to Emma, probably because she was older, and now that you thought about it, his attention had always been more focused on the younger girls.

“Girls around that age need God the most,” Ben said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “That’s when the temptations are strongest—sex before marriage, drugs, alcohol… it’s important to stay on the right path, to keep close to God.”

You nodded again, but internally, you were starting to feel a bit trapped, as if you were listening to one of your father’s lectures all over again.

Ben shifted the conversation to Ellie. “And how old is Ellie?”

“She’s 16,” you replied, wondering why he was so interested.

“Ah, Ellie… she’s a bit of a tomboy, isn’t she?” Ben remarked, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “Dresses like a boy… but, you know, girls should embrace their femininity, dress like girls. It’s how God made them, after all.”

His words made you cringe inwardly, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. His opinions were starting to feel like a lecture on how you and your friends should live your lives, and it was beginning to make you feel nauseated.

Then, suddenly, he looked over at you, his eyes lingering a little too long. “And you… how old are you?”

You tell him your age, trying to keep your voice steady. Ben’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “You look younger than your age. Act younger too. I wouldn’t have guessed,"

The comment sent a chill down your spine, and you found yourself wondering why he was so focused on everyone’s age. Before you could dwell on it too long, the drive-thru window opened, and the employee handed over the bag of food.

“Here we go,” Ben said with a smile, taking the bag. The momentary distraction was a relief, but that uncomfortable feeling still lingered in the back of your mind, making you question why Ben was so interested in all these details.

Ben handed you the bag of food with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You took it, muttering a quick “thank you” as you tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, with you staring out the window, lost in thought. The houses and trees blurred together as you tried to shake off the lingering discomfort that Ben’s questions had stirred in you.

Before you knew it, you were in front of your house. Ben pulled up to the curb and turned to you with that same smile. “Here we are,” he said. “It was nice talking to you. Remember, if you need anything, anything at all, you can reach out to me, okay? I’d be happy to help.”

You forced a smile and nodded, even though your mind was already halfway out the door. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.”

As you stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that the conversation was over. You waved goodbye as Ben drove off, then turned and walked up to your front door.

Inside, the familiar smell of home greeted you, comforting in its simplicity. You found your mom in the kitchen, prepping ingredients for dinner.

“Mama, I'm home,” you said, setting the food on the counter.

She glanced up from her chopping board and smiled. “Hello, sweetheart. Who dropped you off?”

“Ben,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“Ben?” your mom echoed, her brow furrowing slightly before she nodded. “Alright, then. Go get cleaned up, and then come help me with dinner, okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” you said, grateful for the chance to escape to your room for a moment.

You hurried upstairs, your thoughts still swirling from the strange conversation with Ben. As you washed your hands and face, you tried to focus on the routine, grounding yourself in the simple actions. But Ben’s words kept echoing in your mind, especially the way he’d looked at you, his questions about your friends, and the way he’d emphasized that you could reach out to him anytime.

A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the way his gaze had lingered on you, the way he’d seemed to be sizing you up. You pushed the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the here and now, on helping your mom with dinner and the promise of a normal evening.

But even as you headed back downstairs to the kitchen, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about Ben just wasn’t right.

***

Joel sat heavily on one of the barstools at Tommy’s place, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, reflecting the turbulence of his thoughts. It had been a rough day, and he welcomed the soothing burn of the alcohol, hoping it might dull the ache of his internal struggle. Tommy, ever the supportive brother, poured himself a drink and settled beside Joel, the two of them sinking into the comfortable chaos of their late-night ritual.

Joel took a moment to catch his breath as he dialed Ellie’s number, the familiar, comforting weight of his phone in his hand. He left a quick voicemail, letting her know not to wait up for him, and that he had a spare key if she needed it. “Just lock up when you head to bed,” he said, his voice rough but warm. As he hung up, he turned his attention back to the whiskey, its amber glow mirroring the turbulence inside him.

The amber liquid seemed to dance in the dim light, reflecting the stormy skies of his mind. He took a deep sip, savoring the burn as it traced a fiery path down his throat. The warmth was soothing, but it did little to calm the storm raging within him. The ache in his chest felt like an endless ocean, where the waves were laced with memories and fears.

As he sat there, the world around him became a blur of muted colors and distant sounds. His thoughts drifted to you, the person who had entered his life like a sudden gust of wind through a cracked window—unexpected, refreshing, and profoundly unsettling. You were like a burst of sunlight breaking through the relentless clouds of his past, casting long shadows of doubt and hope across the landscape of his heart.

Joel had always been a man of walls and distance, his heart a fortress built from the rubble of loss and pain. After the death of his wife and daughter, he had fortified himself against the world, each brick a testament to his fear and grief. But you, with your light and laughter, had begun to chip away at those walls, like the slow, persistent erosion of the sea against a stubborn cliff.

He was beginning to realize the depth of his feelings for you, but it was like trying to catch a falling star with bare hands—beautiful, elusive, and fraught with danger. You had stirred something in him that he thought was long dead, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of his heart. It was as if you had reignited a fire that he had buried deep beneath layers of sorrow and self-preservation.

Yet, with every flicker of warmth came a wave of fear. Joel’s desire to protect you was intertwined with his dread of falling too deeply, of losing himself in a love that might only lead to more pain. He was terrified of opening up, of allowing himself to be vulnerable again. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss of his own emotions, afraid to take that final step.

The night wore on, and Joel’s thoughts remained tangled in the delicate threads of his emotions. The whiskey continued to burn its way through him, a temporary balm for the deeper ache that lingered just beneath the surface. As he drank, he found himself grappling with the realization that, for the first time in a very long time, he felt truly alive—an unsettling, exhilarating sensation that both frightened and exhilarated him.

Tommy watched him, the lines of concern etched deeply on his face as he took in Joel’s introspective silence. “You alright there, brother? Something on your mind?”

Joel looked up, the weight of his feelings heavy in his gaze. “Yeah, just... thinking about things."

Tommy leaned in, his eyes steady and empathetic. The soft strains of “Helplessly Hoping” played in the background, its melancholic melody wrapping around the room like a comforting blanket. He adjusted the volume on his Bluetooth stereo, the music providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

“You can talk to me, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice steady and reassuring. “What’s got you so wrapped up in your thoughts?”

Joel took a deep breath, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he considered his response. The song’s delicate notes seemed to echo his own uncertainty. He knew he couldn’t lay everything bare—there were things he couldn’t quite put into words, and a person he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“It’s... complicated,” Joel began, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “There’s someone in my life who’s making me rethink a lot of things.”

Tommy’s interest piqued, but he remained patient. “Complicated how? If you need advice, I’m here.”

Joel hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to articulate. “I’ve been closed off for a long time. Lost my way after... well, after everything. And now... I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s like she’s pulled me out of this dark place I’ve been in.”

Tommy’s expression softened, sensing the depth of Joel’s struggle. “So this person, she’s important to you?”

Joel nodded slowly, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah. She’s... making me feel alive again. But it’s not simple. I’m afraid of what it means, and I’m scared of letting myself fall too deep.”

Tommy took a thoughtful sip of his drink, considering Joel’s words. “You know, sometimes the hardest part is letting go of the past. You’ve been through a lot, Joel. But if this person is bringing light into your life, maybe that’s something worth holding onto.”

Joel glanced at Tommy, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and apprehension. “But what if it’s just a fleeting feeling? What if I’m setting myself up for more hurt?”

Tommy shook his head, his demeanor calm and grounded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed. But you can’t keep living in fear of what might happen. Sometimes you have to take a chance, even if it’s scary. You’ve got to ask yourself if the risk is worth the potential for happiness.”

Joel considered Tommy’s words, the song’s lyrics mingling with his thoughts like a haunting reminder of his inner turmoil. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tommy replied. “Love’s not easy. It’s messy and unpredictable, but that’s part of what makes it so powerful. If you’re feeling something genuine, maybe it’s worth exploring, even if it means facing your fears.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the weight of Tommy’s advice settling over him. The whiskey had lost some of its warmth, replaced by a cold clarity that made his choices seem more imminent. “I just don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Tommy clapped Joel on the back, a gesture of camaraderie and support. “You won’t know unless you try."

The room fell silent, save for the soft strains of the song and the occasional clink of glasses. Joel’s mind raced with the possibility of what could be, the fear and excitement warring within him. He knew the path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of hope—a faint light guiding him through the darkness.

***

The night fair in Houston was alive with energy and light, a vibrant spectacle against the dark sky. As you and Joel arrived, the fairgrounds were bustling with people, the air filled with the sweet scent of cotton candy and the tantalizing aroma of various foods from the stalls.

Joel parked the car and you both walked hand in hand through the fair. The distant music of carnival rides and the laughter of children filled the air. Brightly colored lights illuminated the various attractions, casting a magical glow over the scene.

You and Joel started with the classic fare: fluffy cotton candy, crisp corn dogs, and a shared bucket of buttery popcorn. You laughed as Joel tried to guess which food would be the most calorie-laden, joking about how he was saving up for a “cheat day” in honor of the fair. The two of you wandered through the stalls, stopping occasionally to admire the trinkets and games.

At one point, you spotted the towering Ferris wheel, its lights twinkling like a cascade of stars against the night sky. You eagerly suggested riding it, and Joel, though hesitant at first, agreed with a soft chuckle. As the Ferris wheel slowly lifted you high above the fairgrounds, you marveled at the breathtaking view of the city below. The lights danced like fireflies, and for a moment, everything felt serene and perfect.

Afterward, you both ventured into the various game booths, trying your luck at the ring toss, shooting galleries, and more. Joel’s competitive spirit shone through as he focused intently on a ring toss game, and with a triumphant grin, he managed to win you a large, cuddly teddy bear.

You clutched the bear tightly, beaming up at Joel. “You did it! Thank you!”

Joel chuckled, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the festive lights around you. “I promised I’d win you something special, didn’t I?”

You hug him and then saw a photobooth, "Oh my god! They have photobooth, let's go, Joel!"

Joel followed you to the photobooth, his initial reluctance evident in the furrow of his brow. “Come on, doll. I told you, I don’t like my picture taken. I’m not exactly a fan of how I look in photos.”

You tugged on his hand, laughing as you pulled him towards the booth. “Oh, come on, Joel. It’ll be fun! And besides, we don’t have any photos of us together. I want to remember this night.”

Joel sighed, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Alright, alright. But don’t expect me to be smiling too pretty.”

Inside the photobooth, you both squeezed in, the cramped space adding to the charm of the moment. You set the timer and started with silly faces, pulling exaggerated expressions that made Joel chuckle despite himself. You blew kisses at him and cheekily tried to steal a few pecks, each one making him smile more genuinely.

Joel’s smiles grew softer, his eyes tender as he watched you. In the final frame, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, which prompted you to pull him closer. The moment turned more intimate, and you both ended up sharing a sweet, lingering kiss, captured forever in the final photo.

When the strip of photos emerged, you grinned at the sequence of images. Each picture captured a different facet of your shared joy and affection. You turned to the attendant and asked, “Do you have a pen?”

After receiving a pen, you carefully wrote on the photo strip, “Me and Joel. Houston.” You then showed Joel the photos, laughing as you did. “Look at these! They’re so cute. I’m keeping one for myself.”

Joel took the photo strip, his gaze soft as he looked at the images. “They turned out pretty good, huh?” He smiled, his tone warm and genuine.

You carefully folded one photo and tucked it into your wallet, a small keepsake of your time together. Joel slipped his into his wallet, keeping it close. “I’ll keep mine with me too,” he said, a hint of emotion in his voice. “It’s a nice reminder of tonight.”

As you both left the photobooth, the night air felt a bit cooler, but the warmth between you lingered. Joel’s gestures and the shared laughter had added a special touch to the evening. The fair had been a whirlwind of excitement, but it was these small, tender moments that made the night unforgettable.

As the night wore on, you both decided to head back to the house in Houston. The drive was filled with playful banter and comfortable silence. Joel’s excitement about showing you his latest project was palpable.

Arriving at the house, Joel led you inside. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You followed him up the stairs to the master bedroom, the anticipation evident in his step. When you entered the room, you were struck by how beautifully it had been transformed. The walls were a rich, warm brown, and the classic-modern furnishings blended seamlessly with a touch of Southern charm. The bed was made with crisp, white linens, and the room was thoughtfully decorated with subtle touches that made it feel inviting and elegant.

“Oh, Joel,” you said, your eyes wide with admiration. “This is amazing. Did you really do all this by yourself?”

Joel nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. “Yeah. I figured if we’re going to be spending a lot of time here, it should be comfortable. We’ve been making do with the sofa in the upstairs balcony, and I didn’t want you to keep feeling cramped.”

You walked around the room, touching the smooth surfaces and taking in the details. “It’s perfect. I love it. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he watched you. “I wanted it to be a nice space for us. You’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I wanted you to feel at home. This is our place now.”

You looked back at him, touched by his gesture. “Thank you, Joel. It’s more than I could have imagined. It feels like a real home.”

Joel’s eyes held a mixture of affection and vulnerability. “I’m glad you like it. It’s important to me that you’re comfortable."

You placed the teddy bear on the bedside and flopped onto the bed, the plush comfort enveloping you. You patted the space beside you with a playful smile. “Come on, join me."

Joel hesitated for a moment, then slowly shrugged off his jacket, placing it carefully on the chair. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand, his movements deliberate and unhurried. With a deep breath, he settled onto the bed beside you, the mattress giving slightly under his weight.

The bed was indeed as comfortable as it looked, and you felt a sense of contentment settle over you as you nestled closer to Joel. He positioned himself beside you, his presence warm and reassuring. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving just the two of you in this peaceful cocoon.

Joel’s hand found yours, their touch a simple yet profound connection. He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting a blend of affection and introspection. “You alright?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, just... happy. You make me really happy. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel’s lips curved into a tender smile before he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was both passionate and soft, a dance of longing and tenderness that spoke more than words ever could. It was as if in that single moment, you both were saying everything that words might fail to express.

When you finally pulled back, you looked into his eyes, your voice steady but filled with earnest emotion. “Joel, I think I’m ready.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Ready for what?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words. “I’m ready for you.”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay if you’re not. I don’t want to rush you into anything. We can take our time.”

You shook your head, your resolve unwavering. “No, I’m ready. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Joel’s gaze softened, but he was still cautious. “I want to make sure you’re absolutely certain. This is a big step, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The more you talked, the more you felt a growing sense of frustration. You shifted away from him, sitting up and turning to face him, your emotions bubbling to the surface. “What’s wrong with you, Joel? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Joel’s voice was gentle, trying to calm you. “It’s not that, darlin’. I just want to make sure you’re ready. It’s important to me that you feel secure.”

Your eyes filled with a mix of hurt and desperation. “Is it because I’m no longer a virgin? Because I’m not pure? Because of what Jamie did to me?”

Joel's eyes filled with a deep sorrow as he reached out to hold your hand, but you pulled away, your voice trembling with anguish. "What? Baby, it’s not that..."

Before Joel could finish, you cut him off, your words laced with desperation. "Because I'm dirty? Is that it?"

Joel's face crumpled with pain, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it at all. It’s never been about you being dirty.”

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to convey his feelings without causing you more hurt. “Then what is it? I need to know, Joel.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “It’s about protecting you. You've been through a lot, and I’m scared of making things worse for you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me. This... this is about making sure that when we take this step, it’s because we both feel right about it, not because of anything else.”

Your heart ached with the raw honesty in his voice. “I’m not trying to prove anything, Joel. I just... I want us to be close. I thought we were ready.”

Joel’s hand reached out again, but this time you let him take it. His grip was firm but gentle. “I know you do. And I want that too. But I also want to be sure that we’re both in the right place. I don’t want to rush things and have you regret it. I care about you too much for that.”

The sincerity in his voice, combined with the tenderness of his touch, began to ease the tumult inside you. “I’m sorry if I’ve been pushing too hard,” you whispered, your voice softening.

Joel shook his head, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s natural to feel this way."

"But, Joel, I'm ready. You won't hurt me." You said, trying to let Joel know how much you trusted him.

Joel hesitated, searching your eyes for any doubt. "Are you really sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking his large hand in yours, marveling at the size difference. Slowly, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing it gently. Then, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking it slowly. Joel’s breath hitched, and you could see the desire in his eyes.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively. The kiss deepened, and you felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling of being completely and utterly connected. As the kiss grew more passionate, you both slowly began to undress, your clothes falling away like the petals of a flower, revealing the soft, delicate parts of yourselves.

Joel’s touch was gentle, his hands exploring your body with reverence. Every caress was like a whisper of devotion, his fingers tracing patterns of love on your skin. He kissed you again, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, to your collarbone, each kiss a promise of his love and care.

As Joel carefully helped you remove your dress, your scars were now fully visible to him. His eyes took them in, and you saw the mixture of sorrow and anger that flashed across his face. It broke Joel's heart to see what your father had done to you, and a deep anger simmered beneath his gentle exterior.

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell Joel how ashamed you felt, but he cut you off, his voice firm but tender. “There’s no need to be ashamed about it. You are beautiful, you are gorgeous to me.”

His words were a balm to your soul, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. Joel’s hands were steady as he continued to undress you, his touch filled with a mixture of gentleness and determination. He seemed to understand the depth of your vulnerability, treating you with the utmost care.

Joel seemed like the kind of guy who talked you through it during sex, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of your anxiety. “You’re safe with me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve got you. We’ll take this slow, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. Joel’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. He was so careful, so deliberate, as if he were afraid you might break beneath his touch.

He reached for a condom, his actions slow and deliberate, ensuring that everything was as safe as it could be. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice a low murmur. “We’ll take this at your pace.”

You nodded again, your trust in him unwavering. As Joel moved above you, his eyes locked onto yours, you felt a connection that went beyond the physical. It was a melding of souls, a deep, unspoken bond that made you feel cherished and adored.

Joel entered you slowly, his movements careful and measured. You moaned as he growls. The sensation was different. There was no pain, no fear, just a deep sense of intimacy and connection and pleasure.

Joel’s voice continued to guide you, his words a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re amazing.”

Every movement, every touch, was filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. Joel’s hands were everywhere, caressing your skin, holding you close, ensuring that you felt nothing but love and care. The rhythm of his movements was like a dance, slow and deliberate, each motion a careful expression of his devotion to you.

His hands glided over your body, memorizing the feel of you beneath his fingers. He took his time, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the present moment. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

As he moved within you, the initial tension melted away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure and intimacy. Joel’s eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and reassurance. Each thrust was measured, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that built a slow, burning heat between you.

"Oh, Joel," you moan as he keep thrust inside you, your back arched, your eyes rolling deep to above. "Fuck, you're so tight," he cursed.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur. “You feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the sincerity and warmth in his tone. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him against you. The connection between you deepened, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, creating a beautiful harmony.

Joel’s breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low, steady murmur of encouragement and love. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

The way he spoke to you, the care in his touch, made you feel cherished and adored. The pleasure built slowly, a rising wave that grew stronger with each gentle thrust. Joel’s hands found yours, intertwining your fingers, creating a bond that felt unbreakable.

His pace quickened slightly, you felt amazing and wanting for more. As the heat between you intensified, your hands found their way to his back, clutching him closer.

"Joel..."

"Oh my god, Joel,"

Your voice filled the room, moaning his name and calling out, “Oh God, please.” Joel’s eyes darkened with a mix of passion and determination.

“God’s not here, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “God’s not here to save you this time.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you felt your body responding even more intensely. The feeling was almost overwhelming, and you begged him to go faster. Joel obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, each thrust deeper and more powerful.

The sound of the bed creaking added to the symphony of your shared pleasure, mingling with the moans and groans that filled the room. The intensity of the sensations building within you was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, every fiber of your being focused on the incredible feeling Joel was creating inside you.

Joel’s breathing grew ragged, his own moans mixing with yours as he drove deeper into you. “You feel so good,” he cursed under his breath, his voice raw with need. “So tight, so perfect.”

The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one driving you closer to the brink. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as the pressure built, a wave of ecstasy that was about to crash over you.

“Joel...I’m close,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the sensation peaked.

Joel’s grip on you tightened, his movements becoming almost frantic as he chased his own release. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice a desperate plea.

With a final, powerful thrust, you felt yourself shatter, your climax washing over you in a tidal wave of pleasure. Your body tensed and then released, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. Joel followed moments later, his own release tearing through him, a groan of pure satisfaction as he found his pleasure within you.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the mingled breathing of you and Joel as you lay intertwined. The intensity of what you had just shared left you both breathless, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of your shared passion.

Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands gently stroked your back, a soothing gesture that made you feel safe and cherished. “You are amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “So beautiful.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with the love and connection you felt with him. “You too,” you replied softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch tender and loving. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You have to say it, you need to say you love him.

Taking a deep breath, you cupped his face in your hands, looking deep into his eyes. “Joel, I... I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability and sincerity.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and then softened with an intensity that took your breath away. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if committing the moment to memory.

“I love you too, baby,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The words wrapped around your heart, filling you with a warmth and security you had never felt before. Joel’s lips found yours again, this time with a deeper, more fervent kiss, a promise of his unwavering love and devotion.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sense of completeness, as if everything in your life had led to this very moment. The love you shared was a balm to your soul, healing wounds you had long thought would never mend.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but the connection between you was stronger than ever. Joel rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, savoring the closeness.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I’ll always be here for you, too.”

With that, you both drifted off to sleep, your hearts and souls entwined, ready to face whatever the future held together.

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cece693 · 1 year ago

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You Call That Love? (Damon Salvatore x Male Reader)

Because I don't see many Damon Salvatore x male reader posts, I decided to write one myself. You can't convince me that Damon hasn't had male lovers before.

Summary: Elena tries to get with Damon but soon realizes he has moved on—with m/n of all people.

Their lips moved in a frenzied dance, hands tearing at each other's clothes in a passionate embrace when the gasp of a familiar, bothersome human interrupted their intense makeout session. Looking up at Elena with an annoyed expression, m/n rolled his eyes before sitting upright, allowing Damon to hastily put his shirt back on.

"Why?" she whispered pathetically, her brown eyes tearing up while looking at Damon as if he had just killed her parents. "I thought we had something—"

Unable to contain his laughter, m/n released a hearty chuckle. "Why, Miss Elena?" he mocked "I distinctly remember you bragging about your relationship with Stefan not even a week ago. What happened? Trouble in paradise?" Feeling Damon's arms wrap around his middle, m/n cuddled against Damon's front, allowing the vampire to take what he needed.

M/n wasn't naive to the fact that Damon still harbored some feelings for Elena, although the nature of said feelings had changed. So, just for him, m/n would step back and allow things to run their course.

"You don't know anything," Elena hissed, her eyes narrowing at m/n with utter hatred. Ever since he stepped foot into Mystic Falls, her life changed for the worse: Bonnie and Caroline finally stood their ground and told Elena they didn't want to be involved in her problems.

Recently, Stefan and she broke up; Stefan, noticing the eerie similarities between Katherine and Elena as of late, decided to break the cycle and began dating Caroline.

But, worst of all, when Elena finally (or rather knew she had no other option) admitted she loved Damon, the vampire disregarded her confession, telling her he'd moved on—with m/n of all people.

"Elena," Damon's stern tone caused the girl to break eye contact and look expectantly at the vampire. A part of her still hoped Damon would realize the mistake he was making, but as the vampire continued talking, hope vanished.

"I don't love you. M/n made me realize that what we had was toxic and borderline obsessive. Being with Stefan, then me, Matt—that isn't love."

"Don't try to tell me how I feel," Elena exclaimed. "I'm sorry it took me such a long time to realize my feelings, but you can't tell me what I feel for you isn't valid."

Feeling bold, Elena stepped forward, about to touch Damon and reel him back into her web of manipulation, when m/n had enough and pinned the human to the wall, his hand on her throat. Uncaring if she could breathe, m/n felt this was sufficient punishment for Elena, thinking she could touch what was his.

Elena gasped for breath as m/n's grip tightened, her eyes widening with fear. "You thought you could have it all, didn't you?" he sneered, his cold e/c eyes piercing into hers.

"Stefan, Damon, and whoever else caught your fleeting attention. You don't care about anyone other than yourself. Where was this love when Damon was begging you to choose him? Your exact words were nobody could love a monster like you. And now you want to rewrite history? He's with me now, and I suggest you come to terms with that."

With a final, disdainful glance, m/n released his grip on Elena's throat. "You're twisting everything!" she exclaimed after regaining composure, her voice strained. "You don't know the whole story. What Damon and I have is real."

As Elena struggled to defend herself, Damon's expression shifted with each word she uttered. At first, her claim to have loved him drew a flicker of skepticism in his eyes. However, as she delved into the reasons for denying his love, a mix of hurt and anger played across his features. "I loved him, but he was too caught up in his own darkness to see it."

Damon's jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with a wounded expression. "People change, m/n. Damon could have changed for me." The pair of vampires now stared in disbelief. How had Elena managed to turn herself into a victim in this situation?

"Change? Is that what you call it?" Damon's retort cut through the air like a cold gust of wind, his voice edged with bitterness. His eyes, once clouded with hurt, now blazed with a fiery resolve. "You left, Elena. You chose someone else. You choose Stefan."

M/n, standing beside Damon, could sense the raw emotion emanating from the vampire, a poignant mixture of anger and hurt.

"M/n accepted me for who I am. He didn't demand that I change, mold myself into someone more palatable to fit your version of love. You can't rewrite history just because you don't like the ending."

Frustration etched across Elena's face. "Fine, have it your way," she spat, casting one last resentful glance at Damon and m/n before storming out of the house, the door slamming shut behind her. Even as the sound of Elena's car drew farther away from the boarding house, Damon's eyes lingered on the closed door.

M/n turned to Damon, his gaze softening as he assessed his lover beside him. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with genuine concern.

"Yeah," Damon replied, "Thanks for handling that."

M/n nodded, his expression conveying understanding. "You know I've got your back, always." Damon's eyes softened, a subtle warmth replacing the tension that had gripped him moments before. He didn't need grand gestures or elaborate confessions; the simplicity of m/n's words told him everything he needed to know.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

#male reader #x male reader #the vampire diaries #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #tvd #elena gilbert #fanfic #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #matt donovan #the salvatore brothers #katherine pierce #vampires #damon salvatore x male reader #male reader insert

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azzibuckets · 8 months ago

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drunken confessions [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: azzi’s appearance in this is heavily inspired by her sexy ass damelio fit .. also i feel like this is very similar to my wisdom teeth blurb lol…anyways my mind is so fucked rn like i’m about to fall asleep and the ending makes no sense wyf

summary: azzi drinks just a bit too much and confesses things to paige that neither of them are ready to hear yet

word count: 1.7k

part 2 | masterlist

Paige knew she had no right to be jealous over Azzi. Azzi was her best friend, had been her best friend since they were little twerps in high school. They’d both dated other guys and girls, had changed in front of each other, did all the typical shit that normal best friends did. But this fiery pit at the bottom of her stomach, stoked from seeing Azzi grind on a random stranger that had bought her a drink earlier that night, had started to become an achingly familiar feeling over the last few months.

As soon as the sickeningly bright orange sex on the beach had landed in front of Azzi, the bartender nodding his head at the pretty blonde unashamedly staring from across the bar, Paige had retreated into her shell, brooding in the corner of the room and rejecting all her teammates’ invitations to sing karaoke or play pool, things she normally did with glee. And when she saw the blonde approach Azzi, brushing her hand against her best friend’s shoulder and guiding her to the dance floor where she held her hips as they danced, the pit in her stomach had become a furious tornado.

Paige swished the last few drops of beer in her glass around, trying to look at anything but her best friend. But she made the mistake of looking up for one more glance, and locked eyes with Azzi, who smirked as if she knew, and started making her way over.

“Babe,” Azzi slurred. As she got closer, Paige saw the glazed over look in her eyes, the sway in her step, and the red flush in her cheeks, undoubtedly due to the copious amounts of tequila that she’d downed that night. “Babe,” Azzi repeated when she got closer. “What’s got you all grouchy over here?”

Paige looked away, unable to control the fury expanding in her chest from seeing Azzi casually getting so intimidate with another woman. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Why don’t you go back to your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend?” Azzi reached for Paige, who brought a hand up to steady her. But before she knew it, Azzi was leaning even closer, overwhelming the blonde with the scent of her vanilla perfume combined with the sour odor of alcohol. Azzi hooked her leg around Paige’s and oh. She was now fully sitting on her lap, her hips straddling Paige’s, looking down at her with an intensity that Paige didn’t recognize.

“Az,” Paige said lowly. “What are you doing?” She didn’t make a move to change their positions though, instead placing her hands on Azzi’s waist.

In the recent months, their dynamic had shifted, and both of them knew it. They’d gradually allowed themselves to touch each other in ways that were dangerously far from platonic, but they’d had a silent agreement, a tension binding them together to not show this intimacy to anyone else, to not let anyone else see it because this, whatever this was, was only for themselves.

But now Azzi was breaking this silent pact, was all over Paige’s lap in front of throngs of college students, looking at Paige in a way that electrified her entire body.

“What?” Azzi challenged. She rolled her hips for a moment, allowing herself to grind down on the blonde. “You want me to leave?”

“Fuck,” Paige hissed, looking up at her with half lidded eyes. Azzi had never looked sexier, her hair in long braids falling down her back, a light sheen of sweat covering her neck, her lips plump and pouting. “Don’t you dare fucking leave. I’m jus’ saying, we shouldn’t be doing this right now.” Paige might’ve had a beer, but she was still acutely aware of the looks they were gathering from their teammates, who could sense the sexually charged air between them as Azzi grinded down again on Paige’s lap, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde.

“You don’t want me?” Azzi’s voice was hard. Her hands found her way to the ends of Paige’s shirt, grabbing and scrunching the cotton as she brought her face closer to Paige’s, breathing heavily.

Paige groaned as she let her hands travel over her best friend’s body. Azzi was wearing a crop top that barely covered her boobs, showing the sharp lines of her abdomen. Paige traced her fingers down Azzi’s stomach, relishing the way Azzi’s muscles flexed and hardened under her touch. The blonde bit her lip as she caught sight of the younger girl’s shiny belly piercing. She sent a quick prayer of thanks to the gods for whoever invented such a sexy piece of jewelry. “Azzi, you’re making this so hard for me right now,” she breathed.

Azzi stiffened, her expression now cold and distant. “Fine,” she said calmly. “I’ll just go back and dance with some other girl.” She got up to move, but Paige’s hands gripped her waist even tighter and firmly pulled her down, until every inch of their bodies was connected, their hips fitted together like perfect puzzle pieces.

“No,” Paige said roughly. “You’re going home now. With me.”

Azzi squirmed, trying to get out of Paige’s grasp. “You can’t control me,” she said threateningly. “I’m having a good time. Stop being such a party pooper.”

“I’m cutting you off,” Paige said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re wasted as shit and you’re gonna feel like hell during practice tomorrow. You should be thanking me.” She stood up, lifting Azzi off her lap.

Azzi, clearly annoyed, moved to turn around and return to the dance floor, but Paige grabbed her wrist. “Azzi Fudd,” she gritted through her teeth. “Stop making a scene.”

“Paige,” the younger girl whined, stomping her foot like a little child. When Paige fixed her with an icy glare, Azzi finally relented, allowing herself to be pulled through the crowd until they exited the stuffy bar, the frigid Connecticut air hitting their faces.

Paige led Azzi to the car. She helped her into the passenger seat, reaching over her to buckle her seatbelt. As the lap belt clicked into the buckle, Azzi leaned in, putting her mouth against her ear. “I love it when you do that.”

Paige shivered at the feeling of Azzi’s breath tickling her cheek, her lips gently brushing her earlobe. “Do what?”

“Take care of me.” Azzi bit her lip sensually, so drunk she was unaware of the effects she was having on the older girl. “No one does it like you.”

“I’d hope so,” Paige chuckled dryly. “I’m your best friend.”

Azzi’s eyes glinted, her smile sharp. “We both know we aren’t just that.”

Paige recoiled, her mouth slightly dropped at Azzi’s acknowledgement of the tension between the two of them. They’d been dancing around each other for so long, both of them refusing to explicitly mention the fact their dynamic hadn’t been the same for a while. It was almost comforting, this middle ground where neither of them was obligated to make a move and they could just go with the flow. But with just a few words, Azzi had let all of the pretenses come crashing down. “Let’s just go home,” Paige said finally, shutting the passenger door resolutely.

Azzi leaned her head against the window, hoping to absorb some of the coolness of the glass and relieve her pounding headache. She looked at Paige, who was staring straight ahead as she drove, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were turning white.

“You’re really fucking great.”

Paige’s expression remained stony, but the muscle in her jaw flickered. “Mhm.”

“And you’re so gorgeous. And I know you know that, cos all the girls online are all over you. But none of them can see how beautiful you really are. None of them know you like I do.” Azzi paused. “I think about you all the time, and whenever I do I get this warm fucking feeling in my chest that won’t go away no matter how hard I try and-,”

“Stop.” Paige hit the brake pedal a little bit too hard, and the car jolted. “Stop it, Azzi. We’re not gonna talk about your feelings until you’re sober, alright?”

“No, I need you to know. I’ve been keeping this to myself for so long and it hurts so fucking bad not being able to kiss you.” They were at the apartments now, and Paige aggressively put the car in park before rubbing her face with her hands.

“You should stop talking before you wake up tomorrow and regret everything you say,” Paige warned, helping her best friend out of the car and into their home.

Azzi swiveled, pushing Paige against the wall. “I won’t,” she said defiantly. “I won’t regret it.”

Paige looked at her with such soft eyes, and Azzi bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying to keep the tears from leaking out. Paige brought her thumb up, softly stroking it against Azzi’s cheek. “You’re too special,” Paige said breathily. “You’re too special to me for us to have this conversation while you’re wasted like this.”

Azzi’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can I at least kiss you?”

The blonde laughed at that, gently pushing Azzi away to create more space between them. “Not like this.”

Azzi pouted then, and Paige had to put her hand over her mouth to physically stop from laughing, an action she knew would upset Azzi even more. “How ‘bout tomorrow?” the dark haired girl suggested, a dopey smile on her face. “We can kiss then? I’ll be sober, I swear.”

Paige’s smile faltered, and she crossed her arms, as if to restrain herself from reaching out to Azzi again. “I don’t know if you’ll wanna do that, Az,” Paige said, her voice gentle.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Azzi’s hands were on her hips, a questioning look on her face.

“Because we both know you’re not ready to address whatever the fuck we are.” Paige looked away. “If you were ready, you wouldn’t be telling me all this while you were wasted. You’d have the guts to be mature and tell me sober.”

“That’s not fair.” Azzi sounded choked. “This isn’t easy, Paige. We’ve been friends for so long. How am I supposed to be okay with the fact that we can never go back to what we were before?”

“That’s why when we wake up in the morning, I know you’re gonna ignore me and pretend like this never happened.” Paige brushed hair out of Azzi’s eyes, letting her fingertips linger as they touched her temple. “I know you, Azzi. You run away from your problems. This won’t be any different.”

Azzi’s arms fell to her side. “Maybe if you stopped making assumptions then this wouldn’t be so difficult.”

A tired smile formed on Paige’s lips. “It’s late, Azzi. We’re both exhausted and grumpy. Can we just go to sleep and figure it out in the morning?”

Azzi opened her mouth to argue, but realized that the older girl wouldn’t budge. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Whatever.” She stormed off into her room, making sure to slam the door loudly behind her. She knew she was being immature, but she hated how stubbornly cynical Paige was being, acting as if there was no chance that they could work out.

Azzi laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling until she was in that half asleep state, mind hazy with the beginnings of dreams but still slightly conscious. She almost thought it was a dream when Paige slipped into her room, standing over her with a pensive expression on her face. She thought it was a dream when Paige bent down, planting a kiss to her forehead and stroking her braids. “P?” She murmured, rolling to her side.

“Whatever happens between us, just know that I love you.”

“Nothing bad will happen.” Azzi yawned, still unsure of whether she was asleep or not. She buried her face in Paige’s shirt, and Paige wordlessly climbed into her bed, joining her under the cover and wrapping herself around the younger girl, resting her chin onto her head.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #friends to lovers #fluff #angst

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fadelbison · 7 months ago

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why I thought the kristsingto dance was offensive

My reaction to the KristSingto dance was, in fact, pure and utter shock with an immediate follow up of "well good for Thailand for being so progressive" and that was what I thought would be the end of my engagement with that performance and yet when I read this post by scarefox with commentary added by thebroccolination and hallowpen (mentioned to give credit untagged because I have social anxiety and forcing people to read my post is my worst nightmare) my mind was filled with thoughts that took me the greater part of the day to sort through and I still don't know if the following will be adequate. Because OH HO HO as it turns out Thailand isn't that progressive which means that this performance was constructed to be like this ON PURPOSE. This post is in conversation with some of the concepts brought up in the linked post so it will be helpful in understanding the direction I've chosen to go with this. But the linked post is a great post and you should read it regardless. There is much to love about the Kristsingto concert and even more to love about their sexy dance - the primary of which is how it makes every single one of my Asian sensibilities ring MAD alarm bells. I'm a diaspora south asian but I moved to the US alone when I was 18 which means I have an intact sense of Asian respectability, regularly replenished by my parents. I MEAN LOOK AT IT - THEY ARE ON A FREAKING BED!!!! SIR THAT IS A BEDROOM ACTIVITY ONLY

But some serious highlights as to what about this performance sets it apart: 1) The performance is focused on sensuality and desire. They're dressed like dancers and not particularly sexy ones. Everything about this performance is pared down to only focus on their movements. The costumes are simple, the bed is simple, the lighting mostly monochrome. There is nothing to see here BUT their desire for each other and the sex they are simulating

2) They are playing to each other and ONLY to each other and not the audience. This is probably THE REASON why it clocks differently from literally every other raunchy performance. They are dancing for EACH OTHER. The performance starts behind a screen, and the sex simulation is the most intense at this stage but then THE SCREEN FALLS but for the purposes of the performance, KristSingto don't even acknowledge it. The audience is THRUST into the position of a voyeur and remains so throughout the performance. Like there is a BED that looks like it came straight out of Krist's bedroom like give me a fucking BREAK sir those are inside house, behind closed doors activities you are engaging with on stage.

Even the parts where Krist or Singto face the audience it is a) never together at once and b) they are mirroring each other's movements highlighting their connection to each other over their individual connection with the audience. There is no hip thrusting, no flirtatious looks, absolutely nothing that would even remotely suggest that they're trying to titillate the audience. All the titillation is directed towards each other. This feeling of looking into a private moment is deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

3) It's KristSingto. So much to be said about this and I have a strong feeling that I am not the person who should be speaking about this. But it's Krist and Singto, highly respected veterans of the industry who don't 'need' to be engaging in these types of 'extreme behaviors' to get ahead. So why would Kristsingto need to 'resort' to these behaviors?

Well, because the purpose of art, and I would argue quite specifically queer art, is to push the boundaries of how society allows the 'self' to behave and express itself. There is a reason why BL has captured the fascination of so many straight women. I would argue this is true everywhere but specifically for Asians, the shackles placed on queer sexuality did not feel so different from the shackles placed on women's sexuality period. Queer sexual liberal *is* sexual liberation and there are a lot of outgroup parties who have a vested, personal interest in pushing this agenda forward. I have to stop before this gets so long that I have to find a university to grant me a masters but 'Fanservice Is Wrong' and 'Fanservice Has Finally Gone Too Far' is just the fan service discourse. But the truth is that Fanservice *IS* radical queer visibility and always has been. I started my fandom journey in JPOP nearly 15 years ago and that was the conversation then [link takes you to a fanservice kiss between Ninomiya Kazunari and Ohno Satoshi from Arashi in 2008 that was 6 years in the making but I digress] and apparently if KristSingto will get to have their way that will be the conversation now. To deny their dance as offensive is to deny the incredible ways in which it's in conversation with the society they're operating in, the risks they are still taking even amidst widespread celebration for the Marriage Equality Bill in Thailand.

KristSingto had totally blown the doors, windows and glass ceilings wide open with SOTUS that I would argue had rippling effects on the BL being produced throughout Asia, not just Thailand. And the pressure of that was SO high, that attention so unexpected and burdensome that neither could actually stay and enjoy that moment. OffGun and TayNew had reaped more fruits from KristSingto's labor than Krist and Singto. KristSingto isn't just another branded pair - they are quite literally BL royalty and they are not here to play games. Except this time they are pushing the envelope with their eyes wide open and I am buzzing to see what's next for them.

#kristsingto #peraya concert #dum dum performance #peraya party begin again #sorry for the clickbait title?#I don't know if it counts as clickbait if its true #anyway this post is what it is #took more hours of my life already than I was expecting to give it #now it must go off into the ether to annoy the people it's destined to annoy

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lanasblood · 2 years ago

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VIVID DREAMS | neteyam x reader

dedicated to @andraga12 just because she’s el amor de mi vida who always inspires me to be better, and I wanted to give back some of the love she generously spreads in this fandom with her personality and her writing!

neteyam artwork by my talented @cinetrix (click here to see more)

pairing: neteyam x female reader (wc: 1.2k)

summary: what do you call the phenomenon, where you cannot control the longing in your eyes or the fire in your loins, where you consistently fall in love with someone every time you see them? as for neteyam, this someone is you. (proceed with caution, his thoughts are unhinged, 18+ mdni)

Being the son of the clan leader had its benefits, but it also came with its downsides. There was immense pressure to be the best in everything, pressure he put on himself, so much that for quite some time — too long for him to admit — he was accompanied by intense stress and sleepless nights. The days blended together, no longer offering a sense of overview, no longer dividing day and night for him. He was a breathing, working mess, alive but barely living, like the remnants of a walking corpse, whose reflexes still functioned. His body was accustomed to it, his strong physique, sculpted by years of discipline, was used to worse actually, but slowly the burden was taking its toll on his mind for he began to see things, hallucinating, as Lo'ak had called it. It had reached such dimensions that his father had sent him on forced leave, a decision that was infuriating in such critical times, but protest was not tolerated, because deep down Neteyam knew his father was right; some days — the most exhausting ones — it was difficult for him to distinguish his dreams from reality as it all blended together, and that was the last alarming sign for him to know he had to fix his work-life-balance, especially when it came to you.

she's a celestial inferno in his mind the flames consuming him cannot be denied as every carnal desire burning his skin raw illusions rise, awakening divine

The mere thought of you already numbed his senses, consumed him whole, so looking at you right now how you danced along with your friends, your body effortlessly swayed to the rhythm, accompanied by the traditional instruments, did things to him he did not dare to say out loud. There was an undeniable connection; he was longing for you, needing you in ways that couldn't be described.

Watching you from afar as he leaned against a rock, originally trying to avoid the festivities following the victorious war party he hadn't been allowed to participate in, it was mesmerizing to him how you moved your hips with such sensuality, it took his mind to places. His eyes aglow like molten gold, were glued to your body, followed your every move, refused to leave your enchanting features even for a fleeting moment. The forest immediately dissolved around him into a big blur of dark green, slowly fading into a hushed background, leaving only you as the focal point of his existence, as if completely bewitched by your presence. And for the first time in his life, despite the unyielding strength he commanded in battle, he found himself powerless, absolutely disarmed and vulnerable against the allure you possessed.

He couldn't control the vivid imagines that flooded his mind in the next second when you bend down to gather the empty bottles from the ground so that no one would trip on them, his hidden wants messing with his reality in an instant. His hands on your waist, the rhythm of your bodies in perfect synchrony, the rolling motion of your hips against his, skin on skin, teeth clinking, lips smacking with each hungry kiss. He couldn't help but picture the way you'd respond to his touch, your soft flesh yielding by the firmness of his grip, your head thrown back in ecstasy, your eyes rolling in pleasure, the breathy moans escaping your lips like a siren's call, pulling him closer to you, deeper and deeper into the depths of desire.

Wishful thinking.

He knew that he couldn't resist the gravity of his passion any longer. With every breath, every beat of his heart, he discovered a truth — he was falling, falling, falling, and he couldn't deny it.

Neteyam's breath quickened even more when you met his eyes, only for a second before you quickly looked away, his heart pounded in his chest like the loud drums next to the table with drinks, as he fought to control the raw desire that surged within him. The fire in his loins burned brighter as he felt the energy radiating from you, a magnetic pull even, that defied reason, defied control, defied the chaos raging within him, that became a force he could not contain. And even if the yearning in his blood vessels and the longing in his eyes spoke volumes, his lips remained silent for he had not once dared to confess.

That was however until he heard your laugh a second later when one of your friends said something to you; the combination of eye contact and your melodic laugh gave him the courage to approach you, start a conversation, he had done it many times before, so he could do it again, he was good at small talk, he was Neteyam, it was nothing but child's play for him, he would talk to you and—

"Does Neteyam have any idea how ridiculously gorgeous he is?"

His heart skipped a beat as he overheard your words, spoken with a touch of wonder and followed by a dreamy sigh. The corners of his mouth curled into a soft smile, and his cheeks felt warm as he chuckled to himself, shaking his head slightly. He had never imagined that you would see him in such a light, let alone voice it aloud. It filled him with pride, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of joy and disbelief that he quickly hid with his newfound confidence as he walked the last steps to approach you.

"Well," he said with a playful smile on his lips, "I wouldn't say ridiculously gorgeous, but I do try my best."

Immediately, your eyes grew wide as you opened your mouth to say something but then closed it again, and he thoroughly enjoyed observing the play of expressions on your face. He felt great, his self-doubt vanished in an instant, it was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a version of himself he had never fully embraced before. With his arms crossed in front of his chest and a smug grin on his face, he watched your every move, every flick of your gaze, every tremble of your finger, the color of your cheeks slightly darker than the rest of your skin, every subtle gesture teased his imagination, fueling his fantasies, like your eyes, big and beautiful, a mix of innocence and surprise in them, he couldn't help but imagine the taste of your lips as you nervously licked over them, those lips, oh, those lips looking as sweet and plump as… he gulped and reminded himself to get it together.

And when you turned around, away from him, without any word, quickly leaving the celebrations, vanishing between the thick leaves of pandora's flora, he kept staring at that place and he smiled, accepting the truth that could not be denied any longer: He was consumed by an insatiable hunger for you, a hunger that only you could satisfy, and he swore to himself, in that exact moment, that he would do anything — no matter the time and costs, even if it meant to put the night sky into chains and conquer all the stars — to make you his, for you were his star, his very personal wishing star.

note: thank you for reading, my loves, please don’t forget to leave feedback (I appreciate any form of it, be it likes, comments, reblogs, or just an anonymous message in my inbox) to let me know you enjoyed this 💕

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her-satanic-wiles · 1 year ago

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October 24th

Sex Toys, Cumulus x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 1k.

Warnings: Sex toys; sapphic; thigh riding; multiple orgasms; nipple play; thigh spanking; ngl, I struggled with this one. I wanted it to be better than it was but the Aurora fic kinda meant that nothing else would live up to it lmao;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Amidst the tranquil stillness of a moonlit night, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, as if the world itself held its breath in eager anticipation of what was to come. You were wrapped up in Cumulus’ arms, soft bodies pressed together and connected at your lips, where your tongues danced together. Both of you were completely void of clothing, and thighs pressed up against each other’s most sensitive places, hips moving and seeking as much pleasure as possible. The sound of your gasps and moans were the only noises that could be heard in the stillness of the room. Just two people desperately trying to reach an end by any means necessary.

As your clit continued to rub against Cumulus’ thigh, you allowed your hands and lips to wander over her body, pinching and playing with her nipples as your tongue laved over her neck. Her own hand had moved down to your thigh and pulled on it, tugging you ever closer to her centre in order for her to get as much pleasure from your body as she possibly could. The longer she rubbed against you, the wetter your thigh became, but you felt like you could drown in that feeling - knowing that it was you providing her with everything she needed to cum.

She came first - her face and body contorting with the feeling of the powerful orgasm washing over her. Her hips moved faster in a desperate effort to add to the intensity and her fingernails dug into your skin purely because she didn’t know what else to do. You soon followed her, your own body reacting in a similar manner and rubbing against her thigh needily prolonging the orgasm you were experiencing, her sweet, melodic voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear with breathless words as she was coming down from her own high. Her body, despite her orgasm being strong enough to make her eyes close in exhaustion, continued to move against you, silently begging for a second release.

“Can I get it?” She asked you, voice barely above a whisper.

“Please.” You answered, knowing exactly what she was referring to.

If you both spent the rest of the night humping against each other like animals, you’d never stop and work yourselves into oversensitivity. Thus, she pulled away from you temporarily, reaching into the bedside drawer and pulling out the only item you both favourited and frequently used: your wand vibrator. As soon as it was plugged into the wall, she moved back to her original position, placing your thigh back over the top of her and returning to that lazy, sideways missionary position you’d both been in before. The vibrator was placed between the pair of you, adjusting it so it sat between both of your clits before she turned it on.

Even at its lowest intensity it was incredibly powerful, both of your mouths falling open in pleasure at the low rumble now vibrating through your entire body. You both rubbed against it, the pressure from her movements pushing the vibrator harder against your clit and vice versa. “Oh fuck.” You moaned loudly, the pleasure proving too much for gentle whispers. Your body needed to expel that energy somehow, and your voice was the only way it could.

“Oh, just like that.” Cumulus’ voice was just as strained as yours, oozing with unbridled bliss.

Your body pushed you upwards, the need to move your hips faster too great for the position you were in. You sat up on your knees, still with your clit connected to the vibrator and began to rub against it, your hips moving at a much faster pace, which, in turn, kept the vibrator bouncing off Cumulus and made her noises increase in volume.

“Fucking just like that!” She exclaimed, hand coming to pull at your thigh once again for purchase.

Cumulus always loved it when you rode her. She got to lie back against the pillows and watch you take what you needed, see your body move as it bounced against her own. She loved watching your hands roam over your breasts, pinching and pulling your nipples for extra stimulation. You were truly a sight to behold when you were on top.

You, on the other hand, got to watch her body as it moved with the force of your thrusts, the way her breasts jiggled with each movement of your hips. The way her bottom lip would tuck up between her teeth and her eyebrows would furrow. The way her blown-out pupils would roam over your body, focussing on your pleasure points and screaming each time the vibrator slipped over a particularly sensitive spot on her clit.

The hand that was clutching onto your thigh slapped against the flesh, gently at first, but knowing that you liked it to hurt a little bit she slapped a little harder each time, rubbing at the redness between each it.

“Faster, baby, please.” You begged as you bent over her body and placed a desperate kiss to her lips.

She obliged, kicking the vibrator up a notch. Her eyes widened at the increase of intensity, and her back arched. You could tell by the way her body had begun to spasm that she was about to cum again And if you were being honest, you were close as well.

It took maybe two or three more thrusts against the vibrator before you were doubling over, head resting between the valley of Cumulus’ breasts as you came for a second time that night, mouth open in a silent scream as your hole clenched tightly around nothing. Cumulus came at the same time as you, her fingernails digging into your shoulders and her eyes squeezed tightly shut, mind wiped completely blank as all she could think about was how good you’d made her feel.

She practically threw the vibrator away from you both from the oversensitivity, and once again you found yourself wrapped up in her arms as you both lay there in bed, breathless and dozing off into a peaceful sleep.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

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rose24207 · 1 month ago

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Copacabana

Summary: A stunning performance on Let’s Dance sees you and Lando sharing an undeniable chemistry as you dance to Copacabana, captivating the audience with your graceful moves, bold connection, and breathtaking energy, leaving everyone in awe of your magical partnership.

Genre: Dancer!Lando, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: I love this Song! I‘m really excited to see how you think of this! Please let me know if I should do more of !Lando‘s. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The lights suddenly blaze to life, washing over you in a golden glow. The studio is humming with anticipation, every person on the edge of their seat, waiting for the magic to unfold.

You can feel the weight of the moment settle over you like a thick, electric current. The air is alive with energy, and the audience is holding its collective breath.

The set before you is a vibrant tropical paradise—artificial palms swaying, neon signs flashing bright colors, evoking the lively atmosphere of the Copacabana nightclub.

The unmistakable rhythm of Copacabana fills the room, its iconic melody flooding your senses and immediately pulling you into the world it creates.

The crowd's excitement swells, and you feel it surge within you, building with each passing second.

But none of that matters in this moment because your attention is fixed on him.

Lando.

Standing beside you, poised, confident, yet there’s something about him tonight that feels different.

His gaze, intense and unwavering, is locked onto you. The world around you disappears as the connection between you two becomes undeniable.

You know the dance will be beautiful. But with him, it feels like something more.

Your dress tonight is something out of a dream. It’s a shimmering see-through creation that flows around you with the grace of a bird in flight. The feathers catch the light with every movement, a delicate yet captivating halo around you. It clings to your curves in all the right places, while still allowing every twist and turn to be an expression of freedom.

You feel like you could disappear into the fabric itself, but the world is too enamored with you to look away. Your skin is radiant, glowing under the spotlight, your hair hanging freely on you shoulders.

You can hear the appreciative gasps from the crowd, but there’s only one person you’re dancing for tonight.

Lando’s hand reaches out for you. His touch is electric, the moment your fingers meet his, you feel it—a spark.

A pull.

There’s no question that this dance is yours, that the connection between you is deeper than any choreography.

As the first notes of Copacabana ring out, you both move as though it’s written in your very souls.

The music starts slow, a gentle, inviting rhythm, and you sway together.

The world falls away.

There’s only him.

There’s only you.

His movements are smooth, confident, guiding you into each step with the precision of someone who has danced his entire life.

And you follow.

Effortlessly.

You are weightless in his arms, each movement flowing from one to the next like a river that can’t be stopped. You are perfectly in sync, a harmony that feels destined.

Then the tempo picks up, the beat quickens, and so do your movements. The Cha Cha pulses through you both, and you can feel the energy shift.

Lando’s feet are swift, sure, leading you with such expert precision that you can’t help but smile. He twirls you out, your body spinning in the air, the feathers of your dress fluttering like a thousand delicate birds, catching the light with each twist. You land with perfect grace back in his arms, your bodies close, your heart racing with the exhilaration of it all.

Every movement feels like a conversation between you.

Each step, each glance, each touch, says everything. He’s not just your partner in this dance—he’s a reflection of you, and you of him. When your eyes meet, the chemistry between you is undeniable.

You both laugh, a playful sound that fills the space between you and the audience, and you’re filled with the rush of being seen, of being alive in this moment.

The audience feels it, too.

Their cheers rise, the applause a constant background to the music. But even in the spotlight, surrounded by a room full of people, it’s just you and Lando—moving, breathing, creating something magical together.

His hand is firm on your waist as you move into a difficult spin, your body effortlessly twirling in mid-air before landing back into his grasp.

The contact between you is electric, his fingers holding you just the right amount of pressure to remind you he’s always there.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, feel the unspoken connection that runs deeper than the music itself.

You spin again, your movements bold, the rhythm quickening, and as you whirl away from him, the dress catches the light in a thousand different ways.

It’s as if the world can’t help but follow your every movement, each beat making your body feel more alive.

You’ve danced before, but nothing like this.

There’s no doubt in your mind—the connection you share with him transcends just the steps of the dance.

It’s an understanding.

A bond.

A promise.

As the song nears its end, your movements become even more daring. You glide through the steps, feeling the thrill of it, the rush of excitement.

He spins you one last time, your body lifting in a perfect arc, the feathers of your dress soaring around you like the wings of an angel.

The music fades into its final, powerful beat, and you land in his arms again, both of you breathless, hearts pounding, bodies still pressed together in the aftershock of the performance.

For a moment, time seems to stop.

The audience is silent.

Then, in an eruption of sound, they cheer, clap, and shout their admiration. Their excitement is a wave crashing against the shore, and you and Lando stand together in the center of it, both of you breathless, faces flushed, heartbeats racing.

The applause is deafening, but you can’t pull your eyes away from him. There’s something in his gaze—something that goes beyond the performance, beyond the applause. It’s like a secret only the two of you share.

The judges stand to their feet, their applause joining that of the crowd.

The first judge smiles brightly, her voice filled with awe. “What we saw tonight wasn’t just a performance—it was a story told through movement. The chemistry between you two… it’s undeniable. You are both truly in tune with each other. It’s magnificent.”

The second judge nods enthusiastically. “The way you moved, the connection between you—it was like nothing we’ve ever seen. You brought the song to life in a way that left us all breathless. It’s an incredible performance.”

The third judge adds, “And let’s talk about the aesthetics. [Y/N], you were breathtaking tonight. The way your dress moved, the way you danced—it was as if you were one with the music.”

The words wash over you like a dream, but you don’t hear them. You’re still caught in the afterglow of the dance, of the heat between you and Lando.

He turns to you, his hand still resting on your waist, and his smile is all admiration, all pride.

The host approaches, his voice breaking through the moment as he addresses you both, the microphone a bridge between you and the world.

“That was something special,” he says, his eyes wide with amazement. “Lando, [Y/N], how does it feel to share such an undeniable connection on stage?”

You take a moment to catch your breath, the energy still buzzing in your veins. “It feels...” you begin, your voice soft but filled with the truth of the moment. “It feels like we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. We just... flow together. The music, the dance—it all comes so naturally with Lando.”

Lando smiles, a slow, knowing grin as his eyes meet yours. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “There’s something magical that happens when we dance together. It’s more than just the steps. It’s the way we connect. It’s electric.”

The host turns back to the audience, grinning. “Well, there you have it, folks. A performance that has set the bar impossibly high. Let’s hear it one more time for Lando and [Y/N]!”

The applause once again shakes the room, echoing through the studio, but you’re still caught in the look Lando gives you.

It’s more than just a performance.

It’s something deeper.

Something that will stay with you long after the stage lights have dimmed.

As you exit the stage, your hand still in his, you feel that pulse between you—the one that says this is just the beginning.

Thank you for reading!

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x you #f1 #fluff #dancer!lando#dancing #lets dance #tv shows #f1 au #au #Spotify

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geistundmaterie · 7 months ago

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Phenomenology of Mammon

Either what I’m about to write doesn’t make any sense and I’m slowly spiralling down into a state of madness, or I have managed to see the true essence of Mammon.

When one is fascinated by a certain character, it does not happen by a mere accident. Your unconsciousness responses to the seen images with different intensity, some things appearing especially meaningful to you. This text is not an analysis of the obvious allegories that were put into Mammon’s concept. Instead, I attempt to explain why his design and everything related to him “goes hard” and fascinates many at an irrational level.

Clowns and the Transcendence

Mammon is a clown and this fact is meaningful in itself. In human cultures across the globes, the universal transcendental reality is broken down into various local forms. Thus, "truth is one, the sages speak of it by many names". In other words, material reality consisting of concepts and forms is finite. By relying solely on it, one loses some of the possibilities that exist beyond the rational association with the world.

A symbol gives access to the deeper layers of existence which are otherwise inaccessible. For example, the rationally incomprehensible can nevertheless remain expressible in the artistic image. A clown, in turn, is the ultimate symbol of the symbolic expression in itself, as seen in its performances or playing of a role. It is an articulation of a desire to escape the human cerebral way of thinking. Clown’s intuitive trickster nature allows it to access the realm of existence that go being the conventional categories of reason. It exemplifies how a wordless intuitive artistic expression can compensate for the deficiencies of a language. Clowns playfully engage with the reality and lure us into a region of the spirit beyond any material or societal creeds. Thanks to their silly form, clown embodies a statement that point beyond themselves into the realm of everything instinctive and irrational.

In a letter to comedian George Carlin, Byrd Gibbens, a professor of English at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock, wrote about the significance of the trickster in indigenous myths:

Many native traditions held clowns and tricksters as essential to any contact with the sacred. People could not pray until they had laughed, because laughter opens and frees from rigid preconception. Humans had to have tricksters within the most sacred ceremonies lest they forget the sacred comes through upset, reversal, surprise. The trickster in most native traditions is essential to creation, to birth.

Balancing between Chaos and Order

The Helluva Boss’ merch of Mammon depicts him in a dynamic and balancing pose. Any good clown is always balancing between chaos and order, not falling into the extremes of both.

One thing those depictions of Mammon instantly remind me of is the World tarot card. It usually represents the archetype of completion, achievement, fulfilment, sense of belonging, wholeness, harmony. This card has a dancing figure at the centre. The figure is constantly in motion, but it moves harmoniously, calmly balancing between opposites. Its expression of unity and fulfilment is eternal yet dynamic rather than simply static. One feels the cosmic rhythm and participates in it. There are four figures on each corner of the tarot card, representative of the four corners of the universe, the four elements, and the four evangelicals. Together, they symbolize the harmony between all of their energies. And all of them are is the dancer’s control. Mammon, in return, has four hands.

In fact, it is not a mere coincidence that The Fool and The World tarot cards both have a dynamic yet balancing figure at their centre: this state is the beginning and the end of all being, starting with unconscious wholeness and moving to its conscious experience. The clown is the perfect synthesis of Apollonian and Dionysian drives: it is a whim that has gained form and purpose. A repressive (Apollonian) society needs a mediator between it and a Dionysian element, a safety valve through which one can give a symbolic satisfaction to the antisocial tendencies. Without the latter, human life is misbalanced. One must experience what Friedrich Schiller called the play drive. It unites the infinite and the finite, instinct and reason, and life and form in the human experience. In order for the play drive to effectively mediate between the body and the mind, humans must develop passivity, practise intuition, and open up to the universe. They also need to practise using reason and active stance towards the world. When both are accomplished, a person can experiences a balance between two polar opposites of being at once; they feel themselves as ever-changing matter and come to know themselves as an eternal mind.

Artistic expression results from the balance and union of two opposed principles of rational and irrational. By being like a clown and engaging with life in a playful, symbolic way, you transcend yourself and become fully human.

Taken from the Shark Robot merch store, Twitter: zllm6

Spider Web and Mandala

Mammon is a spider demon. His territory is packed with spider web visuals, including “the lounge” he sits at during the performances. Spider webs are an unconscious but a meaningful creative phenomena, a beauty that is produced by an instinct. They also bear a striking resemblance to mandalas.

Mandala can be found in all the ancient cultures and is a symbol of life’s innate interconnection and of the Self, a unification of the conscious and unconscious life of the individual. In terms of one’s inner world, it represents the inherent order of the soul in centre of which resides the God itself. A centre that unites all polarities and contains the essence of all that emanates from it. There is no linear evolution; there is only a circumambulation of the Self.

In the mythology of many Native American cultures, an important figure called Spider Grandmother (Hopi Kokyangwuti, Navajo Na'ashjé'ii Asdzáá) can be found. She has a central role in the creation myth as the Creator who spun the “Web of Physical Life”. It is upon the strands of this web that all life is interconnected, with each creature being a vital and integral strand in the cosmic web.

Hence, a spider web can be viewed as a symbol of the organised cosmos and primal source of everything.

Unio Oppositorum

Mammon at his core is a union of opposites. To begin with, he unites the classical dichotomy of matter and spirit in himself. He has animal features and is still a spiritual being. His concept as an “animal deity” also corresponds to the ancient tradition of depicting beings with a divine status as animal-like: Egyptian pantheon of Gods, some Babylonian Gods, three animals following the Evangelists, and so on. Even the Christ was attributed with animal features, being called “a lamb of God”, “a fish”, or being depicted as a snake on a cross. Both, the instinct and the spirit, belong to the wholeness of the cosmos.

Mammon encompasses numerous other opposites within himself: he’s both goofy and dangerous, he’s a “baby” or “a manchild” to some and a sugar daddy to others, he’s lazy and extremely energetic at the same time, he’s fat yet very agile and has a very good body coordination, he has teeth and claws yet reminds you of a teddy bear, he’s both the performer and the manager, he’s both “a rock star” and an traditional artist, he’ll take from you but also give you what you want, his theme music is a combination of a classical circus jingle, a tune from “Carmen” and electric guitar rizz. Despite all the opposites at hand, everything feels natural and balanced in Mammon.

Even Mammon’s black-and-white stripes in his full-demon form indicate the consciousness of the opposites in him: he is not just light or not just dark; he is a combination of the two. This detail of his appearance reminds me of Koshare Pueblo Clowns (sometimes called Sacred Clowns).

For the same reason Mammon’s dualistic patterns on his clothes are extremely fitting and symbolic.

The Double, the Trinity and the Quaternity

“One becomes two, two becomes three, and out of the third comes the one as the fourth.” Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 12: Psychology and Alchemy

Mammon has two Fizzbots sitting beside him. Folk cosmologies commonly feature twins, who are typically engaged in an unending battle with each other. Reality consists of a multiplicity of things: the division into two was necessary in order to bring the ‘one’ world out of the state of potentiality into reality. Dualities coexist in an undifferentiated manner in their natural state. However, the tension between the opposites grows stronger as consciousness awakens. An irrational third, the transcendent function, manifests from this conflict and unites them.

The fact that the Twin Fizzbots look gender ambiguous is meaningful: they are in unison and transcend the sexual duality, with “the transcendent function” being Mammon’s wish to make them androgynous. For the same reason it is very symbolic that in the storyboard, Mammon had two groupies of opposite genders sitting beside him: it is a “the divine pair” of complementary opposites united through Mammon’s equal attraction to them.

In alchemy, a lot is revolved around the “Mystery of Coniuctio” (of the Conjunction, the Marriage of the Opposites). The conjunctio requires a medium for its realization. The fruit of this union is the “Philosopher’s Son”, the Mercurius. He is a trickster entity that balances between two opposites, and is the base and the end of all being, an integration of light and dark, good and bad. This alchemistical process expresses itself in a trinity, tria prima, related to the law of the triangle. The law of the triangle is natural law formed from the union of two opposite but complementary equal halves to produce a perfect manifestation. Consequentially, the Twin Fizzbots (having complementary outfits with patterns on opposite sides!) are joined in Mammon, with them forming a trinity together.

Mammon has four arms. Four is a culturally meaningful number and an omnipresent symbol of the cosmic balance, as expressed in four cardinal direction, the four "Holy Creatures" that bear the Divine Chariot, four seasons of the years, fours functions of the consciousness, etc. Quaternity represents wholeness and universality. Several Hindu deities are often portrayed with four arms. The iconography of four arms symbolises divinity and power, as well as dominion over the four quarters of the universe.

The Rhombus

Mammon’s current costume includes many rhombuses: a shape consisting of two triangles, one downward and one upward pointed, joined together. This geometric symbol represents the unification of low aspects with the upper. Because rhombus contains vertical and horizontal directions simultaneously, it expresses the concept of Unus Mundus that unites matter and spirit instead of treating them as two polar opposites that exclude each other. In other words, it’s a symbol of the Hermetic universal principle: "as above, so below; as below, so above", which is rooted in the ancient Egyptian mysticism and Hellenistic philosophy. According to it, the immortal and eternal realm of the inner world corresponds to the physical and mortal reality of the outer world that we all experience. With that, Mammon displays yet another symbol of a union of opposites.

The Value of Money

Mammon represents the sin of Greed in a physical embodiment. There is nothing he loves more than money, all his endeavours dedicated to making more and more of it. He desires the ultima ratio of all things worldly.

Aside from its economic function, money can be used as a driving force behind action, a benchmark of success or status, a means of expressing one's own value, a tool for exerting control over others, a means of achieving happiness, a solution to problems, a means of defining one's own worth, and a source of security. It is not inherently wicked.

Money also symbolises a storage of concentrated potential energy for later use, it links us to the material world. Soul needs money so it doesn’t fly off into some distant psychic reality. “Laying up treasures in Heaven, where moths and rust can not consume them” leads to disassociation from the material existence, condemning it to a degree it does not deserve. Before your physical death, you are forced to play by the rules of the world that put value on success and material gains. In Jungian school of thought, the first half of human life is dedicated to adapting to the outer world, planting your feet firmly on the ground and accustoming oneself to the conditions imposed on you, learning how to use the material restrictions to one’s advantage. It’s all about the expansion of life and conquering the environment you are inhabiting, which includes learning how to secure yourself and improve your life conditions by earning money.

Mammon is also the supreme patron of money. A demon who can help in accumulating wealth and attracting financial prosperity. So, next time you look at a Mammon standee on you shelf, think about that: could it be that you are creating a little altar to attract his favor? Maybe, on an unconscious level, you seek his blessing in terms of fortune, prosperity, and abundance? Could it be that Mammon keychain on your backpack is a magical charm you feel supported by in your earthly endeavors?

Taken from the Shark Robot merch store, Twitter: kstoooone

Colour Psychology

What are the positive features one could instinctually associate with Mammon’s colours?

In colour psychology, green represent health, life, and prosperity. Being a dominant colour in nature, green is associated with vitality, harmony, and growth. It is a harmonizing, balancing and calming shade. Green is also associated with luck: the Irish believe the wearing of the green brings fortune.

The gold colour is the colour of wealth, achievement, and triumph. Golden colour adds richness and warmth to everything that it comes in contact with. It illuminates and enhances other things around it. It is optimistic and positive, as well as being synonymous with divinity, wisdom and power in many religious settings. It inspires knowledge, spirituality, and a deep understanding of ourselves and our souls. For the alchemist, gold represented the source and end of all being, and the perfection of matter on any level, including that of the mind, spirit, and soul (the famous “Philosopher's Stone”).

Sometimes, purple colour can be seen in things associated with Mammon (his advertisement for Fizzbots, the interior of his concert building, etc.). Purple, green and gold are Mardi Gras colours.

Mammon’s merchandise usually feature lime green, a hue mixture of yellow and green. Lime green is a bright, electric colour full of vibrancy and energy. It is a colour closely associated with confidence, and is thought to promote feelings of liveliness and excitement. It is also a colour that is said to stimulate the mind and body, and to promote creativity.

In conclusion, Mammon’s visual appearance features colours that have a psychologically vitalising and positive effect on the viewer, making him a very pleasant character to look at.

KA-CHING!

The known laws of physics forbid the movement through the outer space of either mass or energy faster than the light speed. Mammon doesn’t care about that, he simply teleports wherever he pleases.

The trickster archetype is a “boundary-crosser”. They violate principles of social and natural order, playfully disrupting normal life and then re-establishing it on a new basis. They will dismantle, construct, manifest themselves, move, and perform tricks that seem to bend all notions of causality, normality, and sense. All your prior knowledge and assumptions will be casually thrown out the window by these entities. They excel at manipulating reality to their will and breaking the laws of physics. The strangeness of Mammon does not end there. Where does the „ka-ching“ sound and confetti come from? What are those voices of cheering kids? Mammon is a reality warper and uses his abilities in the most childish yet endearing way possible. You are confronted with something that blows up your categories of judgement and does not give you a coherent explanation for anything you saw. These are just facts you need to somehow integrate into your established picture of reality.

The Jester and the Death

There could be a very profound symbolism behind Mammon’s skeleton suit.

The medieval understanding held that the root of all foolishness was the denial of God (logos, ratio). Any detachment from human reason, or the instinctive, irrational, and impulsive behavior that prioritizes desire over purposeful thought, was referred to in this context as "foolishness." Foolishness and sin were set on the same level. Those who denied the existence of God were doomed to eternal death after their life on Earth had ended because they rejected the idea of an immortal soul (and, instead, lived a life of an irrational desire-driven “animal”).

The Fall of Man brought death into the world. Adam and Eve lose both paradise and immortality when they choose to follow the serpent instead of God. The Old Testament provides an explanation for the two greatest mysteries of human existence: first, the imperfection of man and, second, the temporal limitation of his existence. If original sin is the reason for death and if foolishness has the same meaning as the original sin, then foolishness should also have a causal connection with death. This was, in fact, the conviction of people in the late Middle Ages.

The fool and the death are believed to have a kinship relationship in the Dance of the Death frescoes. The death appears in numerous depictions of it dressed as a jester. During the turn of the Middle Ages, there are actually a lot of visual arts examples where death and the jester are viewed as counterparts (window niche in the monastery of St. Georgen in Stein am Rhein; choir stalls of the church of St. George in Nördlingen, collegiate church of Öhringen in Hohenlohe, etc.).

The other implied connection is the fact that the Carnival (“carne vale”) is followed by the Ash Wednesday (“remember man that you are dust, and to dust you shall return”). Two aspects of man’s limitations (flesh and death) are thus seen as affiliated with each other in the liturgical year.

The Devil, the Jester und the Death are the Unholy Trinity of Christian visual art.

Truth is One, One is All, All is One

Cultural similarities across the globe underline the facts that, despite things being expressed in different ways, our psyche tries to communicate the same truths. All cultural manifestations have their unique features, but within their areas of action one can recognize the same archetypal patterns. Jungian analysts and mythologists pointed to the plethora of tricksters around the world.

Firstly, Mammon reminds me of the Laughing Buddha (Budai or Hotei) from Eastern cultures. His well-fed appearance represents abundance. When you observe the most popular form of the laughing Buddha closely, you will notice that he is always carrying a cloth bag that is filled with many precious items such as food, candies for children, and other riches. According to the belief, he will collect all your sadness and misfortune, put it in his sack and leave you with abundance and positivity. The sack also represents wealth and good fortune.

The most popular colour for household Laughing Buddha sculptures is gold. Even though it is a Feng Shui sign, Vastu Shastra experts also advocated for the placing of Laughing Buddhas in the home. To them, the smiling Buddha is comparable to Kubera (the god of wealth). Lord Kubera, celebrated as the Supreme Lord of Wealth and revered as the Treasurer of the Gods, stands as the epitome of affluence in Hindu mythology. Business owners and shopkeepers, seeking to accumulate wealth, turn their devotion toward Kubera.

Lastly, Mammon’s affiliation with the wealth and his jester nature draw parallel to the Roman God Mercury. He is a trickster and the god of commerce. His name is related to the Latin word merx, from which we get the English words merchandise, merchant, and commerce. It may also correspond to the Latin word mercari (to trade). Mercury often served as a mediator between the gods and mortals, including being a guide to the people who descended into the Underworld. Considering the fact that “the Underworld” is a symbol of the unconsciousness, this perfectly correlates with the previously mentioned ability of a clown to perfectly balance between rational and irrational state of being.

As stated above, the alchemy symbolically views Mercurius as the resulting “child” of the Union of Opposites, the restoration of the original undifferentiated state of the cosmos. The tria prima of alchemy needing for the achievement of this state consist of “sulphur, salt and mercury”. Sulfur, the "soul", is the masculine principle. Salt, as the "body", is the feminine principle. Mercury, as "spirit", is equivalent to "mind". Hence, the mystical trinity is: Soul, Body, Mind. It is, however, important to consider that the mind has two aspects (conscious and subconscious, left and right). This is metaphorically expressed in the balancing act of Mercury. This is why Mercury is often depicted with wings, he literally "flies between the two worlds". In the “In the mountain of the Adepts” engraving from Stephan Michelspacher's “Alchemia”, one can spot Mercurius at the top centre, being depicted as a playful, jester-like figure, standing in the same balancing pose like the Mammon standee.

Taken from the Shark Robot merch store, Twitter: kstoooone Conclusion

Mammon provides us with a plenitude of symbolic insight into the topics that continue to stay vitally relevant. Seeing Mammon is enough to feel like coming in contact with a primordial deity. You are confronted with something greater that yourself and experience “mysterium tremendum et fascinans”. Mammon is undoubtedly the best character ever created by the Western civilization.

*gives his cheek a smooch*

#helluva boss #helluva boss mammon #mammon helluva boss #hb mammon #helluva mammon

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starrieisdelusional · 9 months ago

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snippet of arthur snapping to banished!merlin in s4 of my fix it au

Arthur has really been an idiot hasn’t he?

He’s not one to overthink things. Arthur has always rely on efficiency. Running a kingdom needs to be orderly. He doesn’t have time to think unnecessary things. Mundane tasks such as ironing his clothes and preparing his food are left to the servants. Kings does not have time to think of such things, let alone dispensable things.

Now he’s cursing himself for being so negligent. It should be obvious from the very beginning. Branches does not fall from the sky at proper timings, nor do fire blows up indoors, dancing up the ceilings. Arthur thought it was merely coincidence, but after running a kingdom for a year he sees now that coincidences usually happens for a reason.

Arthur felt the blowing of the wind too often on his expeditions. He knows how unidentifiable creatures shows up in the morning, in the forests of Camelot. Or how assassins made a fool of themselves, dying before they even had the chance to take Arthur’s life. And each time it happens, he always saw a blur of a figure, so quick Arthur thought he is hallucinating.

He knows Merlin is there. Hiding in the shadows, watching Arthur from every corner. He was enraged at first. How dare he? Did he really think that Arthur was that stupid not to notice his little stunts? But every time he tries to catch him, it always ended up in concerns

Guard: (in a flashback) Is everything alright my lord? Arthur: …fine

The castle staff never question his disappearance, oddly quiet of Merlin’s banishment. Guinevere didn’t talk to him for a month. He didn’t miss the glare that came from his army. Lancelot and Gwaine have always been fond of the manservant. They stopped after a few months.

Arthur thinks that the camelot notice him. And they pretend not to. But he can’t really do anything can he? Not without sounding like a lunatic. So he never addresses it. Even when it’s so blatantly obvious.

Arthur is sick of it truthfully. It reminds him of him in a way. Is it too much for them to trust him? Morgana and his father too…and now Camelot. Is it because he’s such a fool for a king?

So one night when they were on an expedition, when Arthur is sick of all the lies, and the hypocrisy and everything. Arthur sneaks out of the camp, to where the banshee is last spotted.

Arthur waits for it to come. He waited and waited, until he heard a scream, when it almost got him, it dissolves into dust, hit by a spell so powerful Arthur still feels the intensity.

Voice: It is not safe out here, go back to your camp Arthur Pendragon

Arthur: Stop taking me for a fool Merlin, I know it’s you

When there’s no reaction, he groans, drawing his sword

Arthur: COME OUT MERLIN STOP BEING SUCH A COWARD!

It was quiet for a while and Arthur screams. He thrust his sword into the ground.

Arthur: I’LL LET YOU KNOW MERLIN- THAT’S RIGHT I KNOW IT’S YOU -THAT I HATE YOU! YOU LIAR! I TOLD YOU TO NEVER APPEAR IN FRONT OF MY SIGHT EVER AGAIN! AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU STALK ME LIKE A CREEP! HAVE IT EVER CONCURRED TO YOU THAT THE THINGS YOU DID AREN’T NORMAL? WELL YOU ARE! DO YOU REALLY THINK I WON’T NOTICE THAT YOU’RE IN CAMELOT THIS WHOLE TIME?? YOU’RE AN IDIOT AND A INEPT INCOMPETENT RUDE BUMBLING OF A FOOL!! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!!

Arthur wipes the tears that starts to fall out of his eyelashes

Arthur: I hate that you won’t go away, I hate everything about you, I hate that stupid grin of yours, I hate your attitude, I hate your stupid face, I hate that stupid haircut, I hate your tears, I hate that I think of you each night

Arthur grips the hilt of his sword, struggling to speak

Arthur: I won’t forgive you Merlin of Ealdor. For as long as I breathe I will make sure you can never go back to Camelot nor will I ever allow magic to roam free in the land. I will follow my legacy as Uther Pendragon’s son

Arthur went back to the camp. He feels warm despite the cool winter air and his heart feeling like lead.

When morning came, there are no more banshees. Arthur saw a cloaked figure behind the trees, watching.

season 4:

main post:

To find my other ramblings about this AU, filter with the hashtag #must we really rely on fate?

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endlessnightlock · 1 year ago

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I began a story for the This Would Have Happened Anyway Challenge but didn't get it done in time to submit it. So I wrote a little more, and maybe you would call this a drabble? I don't know. I'm posting it here because it's a drop of water in my personal writing desert.

In Panem, canon-divergent. Everlark married instead of Quarter Quell Reaping.

"Are you coming downstairs soon?"

Katniss is standing outside our bedroom door, watching me, her hand pressed to the frame, half in, half out. I was startled at her voice, unaware of her presence, and she smiled at the reaction. We've only been married and living together for a few weeks, and it's reassuring she knows me so well. It makes me feel better about our situation.

I wasn't startled because it was Katniss there, catching me off guard—it was a knee-jerk reaction. I tend to get lost inside my head and zone out, and after years of Mother's insults (are you stupid? Why didn't you answer me?) slung my way like daggers, defense is my natural response.

Licking her lips, she shrugs. "Your brother is here."

Ah. Now I know precisely why Katniss sought me out. At the ridiculous wedding reception thrown for us by President Snow, Rye pulled me aside to tell me he was planning to come by once we had a few days to settle in. Bring over some of my things from the bakery and a few things our parents want me to have now that I am a married man. Or a forcibly wed, frightened seventeen-year-old. You know, whichever way you choose to look at it. I digress. Katniss and I didn't choose this route. But I love her; she cares for me, and we're keeping our families safe.

Back to Rye. He and I discussed it moments before our families left to catch the train back to Twelve—because even a victor's relations are limited on time they're allowed outside the District. This conversation was weeks ago, and I forgot about it. The memory lapse isn't like me, but I think it can be forgiven, considering how difficult it is to breathe under President Snow's intense scrutiny. I don't know how we'll spend the rest of our lives under his thumb. Who knows. Maybe we won't live long enough to find out.

"Oh. Okay," I say. My eyes flit from Katniss's profile to the sketchbook in my lap. I feel like I need to collect my thoughts before seeing my brother. "Would you tell him I'll be down in a few minutes?" I venture. It's more a question than an answer.

She frowns. That's her answer: a firm no, Peeta. I won't hang out alone with your brother while you keep drawing. "Do you want me to send him up?" she suggests—more of a threat than a question.

"No, just give me a minute," I say, carefully closing up and laying my sketchbook on the side table before sliding off the mattress. I don't want to be cornered by my brother in our bedroom. Rye's itching to badger me with questions I sure as hell don't have any answers to.

She groans, and I laugh under my breath. If we were close enough, she'd pinch my side or smack my arm for finding humor in her misery. My family is standoffish with Katniss, and her response is in kind. "I'll wait for you," she says.

Of course, she will. I'm like a security blanket for her.

"Well, don't just stand there gawking at me from the doorway," I say, bending over and grabbing yesterday's pants off the floor. I should have been up and around hours ago, but last night was horrible, and it took forever to fall asleep.

"Fine," she says, stepping inside the room and pulling the door mostly shut behind her, keeping her eyes averted until I buckle my pants over my undershorts and put on a clean shirt. I raise my eyebrows in amusement.

We're still dancing around each other. Not used to these close quarters. Sharing the same bedroom, sleeping in the same bed. Dressing in front of each other. Maybe I should make an effort to cover up more. I don't know. Being in my underclothes doesn't bother her when we go to bed. We curl around each other, seeking solace in each other's arms, keeping the darkness at bay. It's not the blackness of the night but rather those dark thoughts invading our minds like wind in the trees. Unpredictable, tangible.

"You don't have to look away. I don't mind if you see me," I remind her.

"Yeah, yeah. We've had this conversation before."

That makes me smile.

"Are you going to yammer on or go into the bathroom and brush your teeth?"

Playfully, I cup my hands in front of my mouth and blow air into them. "Hmmm. Maybe I should leave them be. My morning breath might be enough to keep Rye from showing up here unannounced."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "I doubt that. Boys are gross."

She's not wrong. I've smelled much worse than Rye's bad breath living at home with my family. When we were still in wrestling, he'd pin me to the floor, squat over my head, and fart in my face. I shudder at the memory.

"What?" she asks.

I wave her question off. "Believe me. You don't want to know. You could go ahead and head downstairs—I'll only be a minute, I promise."

"Uh, no. I'll wait for you."

#everlark drabble #endlessnightlock writes #katniss everdeen/peeta mellark

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kiss-theggoat · 2 years ago

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art art art art art art. you are easily the best writer for him , i’m starving for more

A/N: AHHHHHH THANK YOU!! I’m head over heels for a silly little clown!!!!!!!

Art the Clown Head-Cannons

TW: Art the Clown, Violence, Intense Kinks

SFW:

Dating Art is like being in a relationship with a pipe bomb. One second he’s happy-go-lucky, dancing around, having a great time, the next, he’s scowling, covered in blood and guts.

I don’t think the fanfics that make it seem like Art is in love with you and sparing you are accurate. I think that Art is having his fun with you, and when he’s done, he’ll get rid of you, just like everyone else. Sorry if that’s mean, but I really don’t see him being in love with you. So, better keep him entertained while you have him.

Art looooves showing up to your house unannounced, covered in blood. He rummages through all of your things, smearing bloody fingerprints through your kitchen as he eats cereal straight from the box while sitting on the counter. He’s a Cookie Crisp kind of guy, plus a couple razors of course.

Art likes to spend time with you, but it has to be in a way that benefits him. If he’s in your house, it’s because he’s hungry or his suit needs washed, not just because he wanted to see you. He’ll sit with you while you clean or watch a movie while you’re cooking, and maybe fall asleep uninvited in your bed, shoes and all, but when he’s done, he’s off to more shenanigans.

Art is strange to be in a “relationship” with, because he is so flighty, yet you aren’t allowed to see anyone else. He sees someone in your home? They’re dead. He’s possessive over you. You are his plaything, and no one else. He will make sure of it.

NSFW:

Just like in a relationship, Art is very selfish during sex. He takes what he needs from you at that moment, not caring if you’re enjoying it or if it’s hurting you at all. He drops in, fucks you however he wants, then leaves.

His favorite thing to do with you is fuck your face. He likes hearing you gag, seeing your eyes water and your nose run, watching your entire face turn red as he holds you down on his cock.

Let’s be real, he’s into blood. When he visits you with a scalpel in his hands, you know one of two things is going to happen. One, he might kill you. Two, he’s going to leave cuts all over your body as he fucks you, smearing your blood all over both of you, licking it off of his fingers.

If you guys have been seeing each other for a while, and he knows he’s going to keep you around for a bit longer, he’s going to trick you into letting him cut his name into you. You’re used to getting cut up during sex, so while you’re distracted, he’s probably going to carve ‘Art’ into your inner thigh or your stomach. When you notice it, his entire body will shake with laughter as you gawk at the letters, blood still running down your thighs.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #art the clown #art the clown x you #art the clown x reader

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xxcallmemaryxx · 1 year ago

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I feel like there is something so intense and overwhelming about the way a ghoul looks at you. When they’re really looking at you. Like they can see right inside your mind and can hear every thought running through your head.

Dewdrop x GN reader

(Cut for length)

Dewdrop, who has no shame, likes to make a point of watching you. He likes it when you know very well you are being watched by him. You can feel it from across the room. The heat of his eyes on you. You try to ignore it, to ignore him. But you can’t for very long, because your eyes will always end up locked with his eventually.

There he is, on the opposite side of the large room the clergy has deemed the mess hall. Filled with ghouls and siblings of sin eating their respective meals, chatting amongst one another and spending this time to relax before ministry duties call the next day. He watches you enter with your small group of friends you’ve made since being here. Knowing full well he’s already there, just waiting for you to arrive to he can mess with you. He watches you sit down and start picking at your food, completely avoiding the side of the hall where he sits. He can be patient right now. He knows he’ll break you soon.

So of course when you finally crack and let your eyes drift to him, only to find him already staring at you… the rest of the room falls away. No longer can you hear the sound of your friend talking beside you. No longer can you see the rest of the clergy who share the room with you right now. And no longer do you remember what you were even doing in this room to begin with.

It’s so overwhelming you almost can’t breathe, but you just can’t look away from him. You know he enjoys the effect he has on you. And you know he gets a real kick out of being able to suck you in this easily. With just a look. This dancing around each other his becoming his favourite game to play, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before one of you breaks and gets things really going between you two. But for now he just admires how easily he can turn your brain to mush from across the room.

Maybe he likes you a little too much though, because when you force yourself to tear your eyes away from him he can’t help the disappointment that cuts through his chest and sinks deep into his gut. He scowls at the table from underneath his mask and sends some curses directly to the sibling of sin who unknowingly stole your attention from him. Yet even as you actively try to ignore him, he sits and watches you clean up. He sits and watches you get your stuff together. And he sits and watches you leave the table to head out of the room… but not before allowing yourself a quick glance in his direction. Ultimately meeting his eyes once again. He liked that. A lot.

Hmm… maybe he’ll find himself in your bed sooner than he thought.

#shameless dewdrop #who clearly can’t get enough of you #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #dewdrop ghoul x reader #dewdrop x reader #Mary’s headcannons

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darklydeliciousdesires · 8 months ago

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Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Twelve.

A huge thank you to my regular readers and reviewers for your dedication to this story, you make it all worth it. In a tiny fandom where most people don't have the inclining to read a series and prefer the x reader insert, you are such a blessing. Especially since I seem to have lost a few readers along the way, too. I am extra thankful to you because of this :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,640

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

It tumbled over her bones, the gleaming little shocks of pleasure that continually flowed golden, her hands grasping the bed covers as she moaned softly. Her back arched up, the press of his big hands rooting her back to the mattress, tongue working a hard, then softly pressed circle over her clit. She’d never tire of it, the feeling of his mouth between her legs.

“You’ve got such a pretty little pussy, honey.”

Or that, hearing his intimate praise, his fingers rubbing through her folds as he paused to let his eyes fall to her wet, puffy sex, holding her spread before his tongue pushed a long, flat lick against her, groaning low. He knew she was ascending rapidly, backing off the contact a little, delivering kisses and licks steeped in a gentler heat before he moved to kneel, rubbing his cock through the dripping mess of her pink, rooting himself deeply with a soft grunt.

He gave her a few thrusts before retreating, head lowering between her slender thighs once again, her clit licked with a rapid flicker of his tongue until she cried out, almost there, but not quite inching over into the realms of nirvana. Again, she was given his cock, hand clasping her jaw as he fed her his thumb, sinking in so deep, her eyes virtually crossed before once again, he moved to connect his mouth with her folds instead.

God, he was too good.

Pleasure danced in enchantment over her nerves, little darts flickering through her blood, split wide again by the shunt of his cock. This time, though, he didn’t retreat.

The coil of pleasure winding through her was intensified by the feel of his cock cutting through her wetness without relent, spearing her deeply, her body keening as he drove into her with force. The veracity of his fuck claimed her entirely, hips rocking into each of his thrusts, hooking her arms beneath her legs and drawing them up a little, allowing him to sink in even deeper.

He felt thick and hot within her fluttering core, her cunt tingling for him as he began to fuck her with merciless delivery, pounding her wet centre, dragging heat from her. All that was hurried and urgent then abated as he slowed, a slight rotation of his hips shifting his weight a little further, bearing down into her core and making sparks ignite.

That action coaxed a string of expletives from her, walls clenching around him furiously, bathing his cock in a shiny slick as he thrusted so deeply and precisely, he had her howling as glimmers surged up her spine.

“That’s it, baby. Mmm, fuck yeah. Let me hear those moans.” He murmured after leaning to offer kisses of sugared embers, taking her legs and resting them over his shoulders. He poured pleasure into her, igniting to her bones, the pace becoming uncontained once more.

And this man was her husband. She was now married to the best sex of her life. Content didn’t quite cut it.

She felt as if he was attempting to go through her with the voracity of each thrust, her body lighting up like a beacon until suddenly, the light completely illuminated, white hot and charging, striking each nerve ending and reducing her to a quivering wreck.

The pace slowed, Adrien enjoying the beauty of her walls flexing around him, wet heat contracting against his girth, his hand moving between her legs to rub upon her clit with his thumb while speeding back up again a little. Those dual sensations were intensity unmatched, his cock stroking her insides so deftly while his thumb evoked waves of warmth to emanate, making her so dizzy and high on pleasure, she soared through constellations.

His hips smacked against her body, pounding her wetness with primal need once more, her moans disturbing the still silence of the afternoon only fettered slightly when he reached to hold her throat gently, fingers flexing as he viewed her with an intense, yet loving stare, winking and leaning to assail her mouth with his.

Her body was pushed to pulse and judder once more, the ebb and flow of sexual energy relentlessly flowing, a hum of utter erotic divinity between them both doing nothing but gaining momentum, their groans filling the air. With the white iron of the ornate bedframe beginning to clatter furiously against the wall, the pursuit of climax was zealously undertaken, both chasing their releases with illimitable determination, until they shattered at the same time. A rarity, but an intense one nonetheless.

They stayed in bed enjoying one another and snoozing into the early evening, Adrien having the kind of dream that made him wake with a start, and hilariously give his wife some ammunition in the nickname game.

“Nggh, there’s bugs!”

Sitting bolt upright, he swatted at his face and chest, still not really with it, turning to watch her gently shaking with laughter. “Stop it.”

Oh, how she blew. Like a volcano made out of giggles, she exploded, reaching for him. “What the hell were you dreaming about?”

“Being covered in fucking bugs! Damn, it was horrible!”

She couldn’t help her hysterics. “And now you have a nickname. Bug. That’s it. I’m calling it.”

“Fuck you,” he groaned, flopping down onto his back again, still feeling itchy.

Turning onto her front, she kissed his chest, tongue flickering over his nipple. “Don’t be like that, Bug. I say it with love.”

All strange dreams aside, they got up not long after, dressing in casual clothes, deciding to stay at home and order food in. Both being reasonably introverted, they truly did enjoy staying in most of all, but did head out a few times over the days to come. One thing Adrien really enjoyed about being there was the fact that the general public weren’t quite so intrusive as they were back home.

Mostly, people left them alone. In England, there seemed to be way less of a feeling of entitlement towards famous people. Take one of the nights they found themselves at the Black Horse pub in Fulmer, for instance. If those discreetly gawping were noticed by the couple, they would instantly apologise for staring, politely saying hello and asking how they were. A couple of younger people asked them for pictures, too, the pair happily obliging.

“Oh my god, oh my god you’re not scary at all!” one young fan gushed as Jade gave her a big hug, delighted to be meeting her idol. “You’re so nice, aww!”

“That’s very sweet of you, darling,” she cooed, “you have a lovely night with your friends.” If only everyone could be as nice as the village locals. Later that night, with Adrien asleep upstairs, she found herself wide awake and sitting in the small living area in the kitchen at her laptop. Being a self-professed night owl, she often stayed up until the wee hours getting work done, answering the barrage of emails she received, or as she was that night, tapping away with ideas for lyrics.

It was while she was flitting between screens that she suddenly got the urge to have a little nose into what the press were saying regarding her marriage, typing her name into Google.

“Bloody hell.” The results pinged back in seconds, just about every major tabloid and gossip site the world over running stories about her whirlwind romance. It surprised her that most were quite complimentary in the language they used to write the articles, but some, mainly the trashier publications, well, the scorn was clear. The comment sections? Even worse.

“It’s a PR relationship, blatantly! Give it a year and they’ll be divorced.”

“She’s only using him for his fame so she can get ahead in the acting world.”

“Ugh, she’s so fucking skinny and gross, with her stupid, massive rubber lips. What does he see in that mess?”

“Publicity stunt!!! He hasn’t made a notable movie since The Pianist and she’s just a user slut.”

“Who fucking cares about these nobodies!”

“OMG this is wild. I give it four months!”

“Yeah, they won’t last.”

God, people could be so mean. The negativity was tempered with a few nicer comments, though.

“They look so cute together!”

“Really wishing them the very best. After what that poor woman went through with her ex, she deserves happiness.”

“They’re both so impossibly pretty. Is there a list I can add my name to for them to take me in as their sex slave? I WANT THAT SO BAD!”

She laughed loudly at the last one, imagining Adrien’s reaction to such a statement. The next she read wasn’t quite so complimentary, though.

“He’s just tanked his public image, hooking up with that tramp. I met her at an aftershow party in Birmingham back in 2003. Absolutely out of her head drunk and high on coke, coming onto anything with a cock. Fucking disgrace. She shagged my mate and then tried it on with me. I said no. Didn’t want to risk the STI’s.”

“Well, you’re certainly full of shit.” she snorted. She remembered the very aftershow party in question, one she’d been stone cold sober for on account of taking a course of antibiotics and painkillers after her ill-fated nipple piercing had gone septic, meaning of course she wasn’t even drinking, let alone huffing blow.

She also didn’t make a habit of having sex with fans. A few over the years, yes, but it wasn’t a regular thing, Jade much preferring relationships, or bona fide hookups she knew wouldn’t go blabbing to the press.

While on tour with Korn, for example, she and their guitarist, Brian “Head” Welch had enjoyed one another for months on a very casual basis, and remained good friends to that day. She laughed then, remembering that it was Head himself she’d gone off with after the Birmingham aftershow to have sex with, and certainly nobody else.

Continuing her little scour of articles, she then came to one that made her heart jump, the title making her mouth go dry. ‘How to kill your career in one easy step: Marry a rockstar.’ Clicking on the link, she began to read the scathing diatribe penned by a journalist named Penny Rutherford, which was in essence a complete character assassination.

She winced and frowned while reading the lambasting words that summed her up as little more than a wild musician with a haughty temperament, who had only ever gotten anywhere because she was pretty, and happened to be a novelty, being in an all-girl band who played blistering metal. Her acting opportunities, she surmised, must have been from opening her legs to the right casting agents.

She also made reference to her past relationships, her shortly lived dalliances with guys like Scott Weiland and Tommy Lee, which was partly incorrect. She had never dated Tommy, the pair just friends, but she had been with Scott for eight months over a decade ago, thusly scrutinising her intentions by marrying a man so far removed from ‘the booze fuelled, narcotic bolstered, trashy men of rock and roll’, as Penny had worded them.

“If Adrien Brody has the sense to think with his head instead of what I sense he is currently making his decisions with, he’ll get out of this sooner rather than later, lest his public image be tarnished beyond repair. Being married to a drug-addled miscreant will serve for nothing other than lowering him to the same dirty gutter she resides within.”

Penny’s closing line to her venomous piece didn’t sit well with Jade at all, her jaw clenching at such an overwhelming display of audacity. Not only because it was incorrect in its assumption of her being drug-addled and gutter dwelling (Lakeside and Stone Barn Castle were the fanciest gutters in the world by that logic) but because of the angle she’d so far not even contemplated.

Never once had she considered that the often-skewed image the public had of her could ever impact her new husband and his career. Not until that very moment. True, it was the mere opinion of one journalist, this much was true, but she knew well how negativity had the tendency to snowball.

What if his career was hurt, because of his marriage to her? It would be all her fault, simply for falling in love with him. It was at that moment she saw it clearly, the path her racing mind was attempting to lead her down, closing the browser window, saving her writing work and shutting the laptop. No. She wouldn’t let that happen, and so instead of sitting up and stewing on it before inevitably shouldering the blame for Penny Rutherford’s cruel assertions, she returned to her husband’s side instead.

Curling up, she felt him turn, wrapping an arm around her waist. She would tell him about the article, feeling proud that she was making changes already on how she handled things that hurt her, rather than internalising. When she saw the look on his face the following morning after he’d read it for himself, though, she almost wished she hadn’t.

Opening another window, he logged into his own email account, choosing a certain address from his list of contacts, Jade placing down a vegetable omelette and toast to his side, kissing his arm. “What are you doing, Bug?”

“Contacting my lawyer,” he spoke, not looking away from the screen, his body rigid with irritation.

She sighed, closing her eyes tightly, rubbing her hand over his back in an effort to soothe him. “Oh, Adrien. Please don’t.”

He scoffed lightly, clicking back to the article, beginning to highlight certain parts as he rapidly copied and pasted them. “That right there? Slander. This here? Libel. This? Defamation.” And so he went on, picking bits out of the article he took particular objection to.

Turning to her, he grasped her waist, placing a kiss between her breasts where her silky robe had slightly fallen open. She’d never seen him look so pissed off. “They’re getting a cease and desist. I want that article taken down or the bitch who wrote it and the publication she works for are being hit with a lawsuit. Nobody fucking talks about my wife like that.”

Honestly, she wanted to forget about it, hoping it would go away despite her own fears that such could snowball. It was then that she realised he was right; nobody should get away with making such damaging remarks about someone. Her own career could potentially become besmirched too, not that she’d given that a lick of thought, her concern for Adrien prevailing.

“I love you,” she spoke, stroking his face and placing a kiss upon his forehead.

“And I love you, Moo. There isn’t a single thing I won’t protect you from when I can, against people who don’t even know the first thing about you.” What a loving protector she’d found in him, Jade grateful beyond words for a husband who truly had her back to such an extent.

By the time they’d arrived in Paris, the article had been taken down, and the publication had even issued a statement in apology to them for any hurt the journalist may have caused. It was amazing, what threatening somebody with legal action could swiftly achieve. Still, it didn’t stop people from gossiping, Jade finding it difficult to cope with, especially when they parted ways three days after arriving back in New York.

Without him at her side while she faced a torrent of online abuse and people poking their noses into her marriage, she felt a little vulnerable, especially since she wouldn’t see him again for a month and a half, until she’d get only two days with him before she was off again on another project. While she was grateful for the fact her acting career was taking off, a part of her wished she hadn’t been so keen to sign onto so many projects, the new wife in her craving to spend time at her husband’s side.

Such a stance felt alien to her, too, always tackling her career with such a tenacious approach. Luckily for her, while up in Montreal, she had a very reliable soundboard to unload to, one who had driven up from her home in Vermont to spend a little time north of the border with her friend.

“Oh, baby don’t be so silly,” Charlotte spoke softly as they enjoyed dinner together on Jade’s two-day break from filming, reaching to stroke her hand lovingly. “You’ve found the love of your life. It doesn’t make you less of a woman for wanting to put your marriage first.”

“I know, I do know that underneath, darling. It’s just...” She gesticulated a little with her cutlery, sighing. Her widened eyes and agape mouth were read very clearly by the raven-haired woman sitting across from her.

“It’s different for us as women. If we step off the machine for even a second, we fear it’ll be impossible to climb back aboard. Not that you can, though, now you’ve signed on.” She was so correct in what she’d said, Jade nodding vigorously as she continued. “God, I feel for you. I’m so lucky that my job revolves around getting to be with my girlfriend. Well, it’s a blessing and a curse. If we get mad at one another, there’s nowhere to escape with enough significant distance while on a bus or in a studio. Imagine, though, how precious that time will be, once you do actually get to be with Adrien. It isn’t going to be forever either.”

It was true, she supposed. Absence made the heart grow fonder, as they old saying went. “Just most of the time, all the while with people who don’t even know us having their say.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Katie’s been going wild about some of the comments. I’ve had to drag her away from her phone and stop her from creating accounts to argue with them. You know how she is.” Indeed, she did. Katie was the fiercest of the five by far. “It must be so tough, to have people casting aspersions, and so negatively in some cases, too. I really want you to know I’m here for you, though. If it gets tough, just call me anytime for a little rant.”

Jade was thankful for her in that moment, Charlotte’s advice as grounding as ever, her nature so sweet and understanding. One thing she did find very helpful was the fact that no matter what anybody said about her and her husband, the man himself always spoke so glowingly about her. While he preferred not to be questioned too heavily into his private life, he was fine speaking about her briefly of his own volition.

“I have to say, my wife is a constant source of pride and admiration. She rose to the top of her game in a very male-dominated musical genre, but yet she’s always remained humble about it, so down to earth. The way she fits so much into her time as well, she’s truly remarkable, and I consider myself a very lucky man to be married to such a strong, talented, funny and thoroughly lovely woman.”

She read those words on the first anniversary of their meet, while sitting to the side of the set she was working on, having a small guest role in longstanding TV series, Supernatural, playing a demon hunted down and eventually slain by the Winchester brother’s. A year. A whole year of having him in her life, going from a random man whose face she’d screamed in to being her adoring husband. How the hell she’d gotten so lucky, she didn’t know. She never took it for granted, though. Not even for a second.

And neither did he.

Upon returning to her trailer at just coming up to midnight, ready to head back to her little rental home she was staying in for the duration of the filming up there in Vancouver, she got the shock of her life.

“What the hell?” she cried, hands flying to her mouth at seeing Adrien sitting there.

He got up, pulling her into his arms, placing a kiss atop her head. “There’s no way I was going to let us be apart on the anniversary of the day we first met. No way at all.”

“But how?” she exclaimed, looking up at him, receiving a big kiss.

“Jetlagged the shit out of myself. I’m seriously so tired, I fell asleep in the cab twice from the airport to here.” He’d been on a long publicity tour for Wrecked, his newest movie, Jade absolutely bowled over that he’d travelled across two continents to be with her. “I’ll stay here for a couple of days and then get back home. Gives me four days then to make sure the house is in good order before you arrive. Apparently, we almost have a lounge.”

Her eyes lit up. “We do? Oh, wow!” Not that they’d see much of it, Adrien busy with publicity until mid-December, and Jade working on various projects until late November. Being together right at that moment was good enough, though, even if all they did was get into her car, head back to the rental bungalow, and fall asleep two minutes after they climbed into bed together.

Sometimes, that was all a person needed, the simple joy of having their love right there next to them as they slept. Charlotte had been right; those moments became so precious to them, no matter how few or far between. Or what the media or general public had to offer in commentary over their marriage.

In that bed, it was just them. Happy and comfortable. No harsh words could come close to affecting a bond like theirs. And they never would.

#adrien brody #adrien brody fanfiction #adrien brody smut #adrien brody fanfic #adrien brody fic #adrien brody x ofc #sky full of stars #adrien and jade

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