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consciouscarrot · 2 months ago

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strange pains | remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader

cw; abuse of power (doctor x patient), (much less) innocence kink, dub/con, vaginal fingering, p in v, oral (r!receiving), kisses (eek), blasphemy and god stuff, tiny tiny bit sad in places (poor reader is so sweet), rem is possessive (<3), implied daddy kink at the end, one use of y/n

notes; pt two of this fic for my lovely anon <3 thank you so very much for your patience

main m.list

your second appointment with dr lupin came quickly, having spent the past two days obsessively thinking about your doctor and the way he made you feel.

you still half considered confessing to your priest, feeling sinful for the way you clearly took advantage of the man who was only trying to help you, coming undone from his touch in a way that felt too good to be proper. instead of talking to your priest, something that would most likely end up in you being disowned and kicked out of the church, you decided to apologise when you next saw dr lupin. that way, you could atone and hopefully earn his forgiveness.

just before 6pm, you walked into the waiting room, repeating the words you’d planned to say in your head. however, at the sight of dr lupin stood at the receptionist’s desk, eyes locked on you as he slowly smiled, causing you to stumble slightly and your mind to go completely blank, so much for apologising.

“careful, sweetheart. i need you in one piece,” strong arms wrapped around you, lingering as to make sure you weren’t going to fall again.

you flushed, his head ducking down to meet your eyes when you let you head fall forwards. you whined quietly, too mortified to speak, he rubbed at your lower back kindly, guiding you down the hallway to his office.

“go straight to the bed, honey. all your clothes off and put on the gown like last time, okay?”

you nodded meekly, turning away so you were unable to see the way remus’ eyes drifted over your bare form, having to adjust himself in his trousers at the way you delicately undressed and folded your clothes tidily on the chair.

he ‘turned around’ when you said he could, snapping on his gloves before easing your feet into the stirrups and locking them in, standing between your naked legs.

“how have you been the last couple of days? any changes at all?”

you can barely think at the way his hands massaged at your legs, drifting up from your ankle towards your knee, slowly making his way up. you shifted your hips in a pathetic attempt to ease the tension, the ache deep in your belly starting up again.

“it was better when i left you, but it started up again just before bed that night, and it’s been worse ever since,” your cheeks flushed as memories flickered in your head of your last appointment, silently praying that he’d use that lovely tool attached to him again.

“oh dear, maybe i should start doing house calls with you. it sounds to me like you need some more regular attention, i’ll have a talk with your parents about it afterwards, sound good?”

his hands were now so close to your heat that you couldn’t focus, heat radiating from your body, nails digging into the bed as his fingertips grazed the edge of your cunt, teasing touches prompting you to buck your hips up.

“okay-,” you gasp sharply, his fingers finally making contact as he spreads open your pussy lips, gloves already thoroughly coated in your pooling arousal.

“you poor thing, it looks really swollen and painful right now. are you ready to start, dove? it’ll be just like last time.”

he grins at your eager nod, gliding the tip of his finger along your slit, just barely brushing over your sensitive pearl. you bit your lip, little teeth indents forming on the tender skin as you tried to hold in your noises, chest heaving beneath your dainty little cross necklace, the symbol of your devotion to something supposedly pure whilst doing something so sinful.

he gently pinched at the nub, chuckling when you flinched, head rolling back into the bed with a whine, “use your words.”

“yes please, i’m ready doctor lupin,”

“good girl,” remus hummed, pressing painfully slowly against your sopping hole, teasing touches making tears pool in your waterline, threatening to spill over. breathy moans escaped your pouting lips, hard nipples poking through the thin fabric of the medical gown. the material had slipped down your shoulders with all your wriggling, so close to exposing the soft flesh of your tits. he longed to tug it down properly, or to even rip it off fully, to make you reveal yourself to him, to lay there beneath him, vulnerable for only him.

he finally pushed inside, glistening slick coating your skin as his fingers slipped through, pumping unhurriedly in and out, sliding against that sweet spot that made you keen beneath him, back arched and eyes scrunched shut so tight that colours exploded behind your lids, such sweet moans escaping from chewed lips in the most beautiful song.

he couldn’t take his eyes off of you even if he tried, mesmerised by your movements and your mouth, almost desperate to see more of you, to make you his fully. he sped up his fingers, groaning loudly when the gown finally fell down enough to expose you to him. he had to fight to keep himself from cumming just from the sight of you. pebbled nipples arched up as the delicate flesh bounced with his motions.

you cried out, strings of mewls so pretty. he’d never heard anything as saccharine as you. you were already nearing your first orgasm of the night, thighs trembling as they tried to close themselves around him, restraints on your ankles the only thing holding you back. you writhed, hands clasping for anything to clutch onto, trying to push him away even though you needed him to keep going. it felt so good you thought you could die. you panted heavily, whining constantly until you went silent, mouth gaping as your eyes rolled back, shaking violently as you fell over the edge.

his digits pushed you through, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible, before easing his fingers out with a lewd pop, blue gloves soaked with your creamy cum. you whined at the loss, feeling so empty and desperate for more, for him.

head cloudy with lingering pleasure, you opened you eyes, meeting his gaze as you tried your best to silently beg him to continue, body heavy with exhaustion despite the need already building back up deep inside of you. thankfully for your sanity, he took pity on you, smiling down at you as he removed his gloves, tossing them in the nearby bin before easing you to sit up.

he held your body close to his, and only then did you realise that your gown had slipped down, gasping at the feel of your ripples grazing against his shirt. you flushed, clinging to him as you tried to cover yourself up.

“hey, no, no- it’s okay, you can keep it down, even take it off, if you’d like. there’s things we can do to your breasts, and i think it would help your treatment a lot, if you’re up to it.”

he half expected you to say no, to find it far too inappropriate, already regretting taking the gamble when he’d lucked out with you; a patient so pretty and so innocent he could do whatever he wanted, and you enjoyed it.

“okay, i’ve just never- um,” you buried your face in his chest, so embarrassed and aroused. you found it strange that you wanted him to see you, you wanted to feel his eyes on your bare body. you wandered if this was a side effect of your illness, or something more.

remus nearly creamed his pants at that, already knowing it but hearing you say it out loud was- fuck. he muffled his involuntary groan into your hair, breathing in the ambrosial scent of your shampoo. “no one’s ever seen you like that?” he grinned when you nodded into his shirt, “oh poppet, that’s okay. more than okay, i’d be delighted to be the first.”

he eased your head away from him, cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, his hands engulfing your smaller face. your cheeks were rosy and skin was shining with the light sweat, lip snug between your teeth as you bit down, doe eyes looking up at him so innocently as your hands slid down from his chest to just above his belt, blissfully unaware of how much you were affecting him.

he spent a few moments just watching you, caressing your skin as he tried to make you more comfortable, eyes never leaving yours. he knew that he’d never cope without you, that there could never be anyone else after meeting you. he wasn’t sure how he could go about it, how to make things happen organically without alerting your parents to his malpractice, but he’d find out a way. there was no way he’d ever let you go.

“would you like me to help you undress?”

he raised a brow at your nod, praising you when you quickly corrected yourself and nervously spoke your consent. his fingers trailed up your arms, along and over your shoulders before meeting on your back, making your shiver as he untied the strings, careful not to catch any of your hair in the knots. the material slowly slid down your arms, and you pushed off the bed slightly as he pulled it from underneath you, letting it fall to the floor.

remus trailed his eyes over your form, taking in your even curve and dimple and imperfection. you sucked in a sharp breath when he made contact with your bare skin, hands tracing and squeezing, taking in every little detail. you arched into him when he cupped at your tits, feeling your cunt pulse at the way his palm covered you, thumb rubbing at your cross briefly before he flicked your nipple.

“my god, you’re breathtaking,”

you blanched slightly at the blasphemy, not used to people talking about god like that, and certainly not from seeing you naked. you guessed that meant you were very pretty,

“thank you, sir,”

his cock twitched at that, and he longed to fill you with his seed again, but he wanted to taste you more. he’d known that it was too soon last time, but feeling you now, he couldn’t resist. he needed to feel you on his tongue as your naked body shook for him, and only ever him.

“are you ready for the next part, sweet dove?”

“yes sir, please it’s starting to hurt again,”

laying you back down, he let you watch him unbuckle his belt, teasing down the zipper, making you wait for what you knew was coming next. you whimpered at the sight of his hard cock, eyes widening at your first proper look at the ‘medical tool’. you were shocked to find it skin coloured, pale flesh with a couple of protruding veins running up the side to the tip, which was an angry red, leaking some sort of clear fluid, dripping down his cock.

if you’d been in your right mind, you would’ve questioned it, suspicion souring the experience as you would’ve started to think that this wasn’t a normal treatment. however, with one orgasm already mollifying the rational anxious part of your mind, you only cared about getting the tool inside of you and soothing this horrendous ache.

you couldn’t take your eyes off of it as he palmed your cunt, coating his hand in slick before using it to lube himself up, reading himself and tappping the tip against your soaked slit, remus’ focus shifting to your face to make sure you were ready.

you both groaned when he finally began to sink into you, heavy cock forcing your silky walls to accommodate him, steadily pushing in until your hips met, stretching you open. it somehow felt bigger than last time, maybe from the way he stood still for a minute, head tipped back as he breathed slowly, barely able to cope with the way you squeezed him so tight.

you watched him through blurred eyes, tears clouding your vision at the desperation that tore at you, thighs trembling around his body as you tried your best to patiently wait for more. you were a good girl, you swear. just needed to prove it and you’d get what you wanted, had to show him.

only when you let out a tiny sob did he look back down at you, brows furrowed in concern at the distressed noise, so sad sounding that it pulled at his heartstrings. he gave you his hand when you reached for him, letting you cling and fiddle anxiously at his fingers.

“what’s wrong, sweet girl?”

“need you, please. wanna feel like that again- i’ll be good, promise,”

“fuck, honey. okay- okay. you are being good, so good f’me. i’ll give you what you want, i always will,” he pulled out until only the tip was left inside of you, waiting until you clenched down around it to thrust back in quickly, wasting no time in warming you up when you were already so soaked and pliant for him, and only him.

you were given no option but to take it, still clutching at his one hand with both of yours, his other grasping your hip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he left little purple and blue bruises there, marking you as a reminder of how he makes you feel. you were excited to feel over them later in front of a mirror, to take a couple of polaroids to capture the memory and press down on them until the sweet pain sent shocks of pleasure to your cunt.

“oh- please, feels so good,”

“so tight around me, taking it so well,”

he fucked you so deliciously, you both let every sound out, your moans and whimpers intwining with his groans and grunts, creating a song that would play in his head when he fisted his cock to the thought of you whenever he couldn’t have you near.

he treasured you like your mama always said a man should, he made you feel oh so good, head empty with everything but him. no one else had ever occupied your mind like remus had. sure, he was openly blasphemous and he wasn’t religious, so your daddy would never approve, but you didn’t care. as long as you were forever his and he was yours, you would never care about your daddy’s opinion again.

your high built up, toes curling in the stirrups as you clung to him the best you could, slick coating his thick cock as he pounded into you, most definitely creating a mess. his free hand slipped from your hip, causing you to be jostled further up the bed as he started swirling tight circles onto your clit.

he knew you were enjoying the more sensual side of sex that he’d shown you, but he briefly wondered how you’d react to him being a little rougher with you, maybe a scarred hand wrapped around your pretty little neck, fingertips pressing lightly into the sides as your tight pussy spasmed around him.

instead, he settled for leaning down, his warm breath tickling your breasts as you arched your back into him, screaming when his lips enclosed around your nipple, teeth grazing the tender skin. but, only when his mouth deviated did you cum for him, he hovered between your tits, glanced up at you, holding eye contact as he sucked your cross necklace into his mouth, teeth holding it between his scarred lips.

you knew in the back of your mind that this had gone too far, but it just felt too good. his mouth was perfect. you cried out, tears trickling down your cheeks as pleasure thrummed through you, fluid squirting out around his cock as he continued to fuck you, hips speeding up at your unrestrained noises.

remus’ cock twitched uncontrollably at the way you milked him, walls constricting so tightly around him that it almost hurt. his balls tightened, and he folded more into you, head buried between your tits as his mouth gaped open, cross falling from between his teeth as he came inside of you, filling you up to the hilt.

you both panted, bodies covered in a light sheen of sweat that made his shirt stick to his skin, still fully clothed as pushed up, hair flopping down from where it had been so perfectly styled to the now messy locks, strands curling slightly at the ends.

you both groaned when he pulled out, you hating the horribly empty feeling and him from overstimulation. you were barely aware of him tucking his cock back in his boxers, only sign being his belt clinking as you fought to stay conscious, still wracked with the onslaught of the powerful aftershocks that left you shaking, growing disappointment filling you that it was over already.

“are you up to trying else something new today? i promise it’ll feel very good,”

head still spinning from pleasure, you had no choice but to comply, almost too fucked out to even register that remus was speaking to you. you nearly blacked out at the feeling of a soft, wet muscle gliding over your clit, heartbeat pounding in your ears as he began to lick at you, pearly cum leaking out of you and onto his tongue, making him groan at the taste of your combined fluids. he sucked and slurped, cleaning you up with his mouth, making you writhe uncontrollably and mewl loudly.

still ever so sensitive from your previous orgasms, you didn’t last long, stuttered breaths causing your lungs to ache from the lack of oxygen before you fell apart, the blood rushing around your head too loud to hear the sugary praises murmured by remus, repeated “good girl,”s and “thaaat’s it, there you go, baby.”

you completely consumed his every thought, and he knew he’d spend the next couple of days until your next routine appointment replaying this moment in his head again and again, the way your head tipped back, back arching once again and hair mussing on the thin pillow. the way you screamed at the pleasure that only he could give you. the way you tasted on his tongue, the tanginess and sweetness of your cum that could never be replicated.

you collapsed back against the bed, body quivering from the intensity. he rubbed at your thighs soothingly, massaging at the sore muscles that had now relaxed, pressing kisses on your inner thighs, one just above your clit just so that he could hear you whimper again.

“say thank you,” he teased, voice low and honeyed, unable to keep the smile from it.

“thank you- mm- thank you, sir,”

“feeling any better?”

“mhm, much. i think you…” you trailed off, head lulling to the side sleepily.

he chuckled quietly, not wanting to disturb your peace as he unbuckled the restraints on your ankles, “you think i…” he prompted gently, before he carefully cleaned you up with a warm, damp cloth.

“i think you broke me, feels so good. m’like jelly,”

he couldn’t help but smile, his rough hands sliding beneath your bare back to pull you up, encouraging your head against his chest again. his heart fluttered when you melted into him, fully allowing yourself to go slack in his hold. you trusted him so much, he felt a little guilty that he’d taken advantage of you in such a vulnerable way, but he knew that this might’ve been the only way he could’ve gotten to have you. and now that he’d had you, he could never let you go.

he brushed stray hairs out of your face, the strands damp with sweat from where they’d stuck to your skin. resting his chin on the top of your head, he savoured the moment as much as possible, clutching your naked body close to clothed one,

“your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, glass heart so hopeful that he might be feeling the same as you, biting you lip as you pulled back to meet his eyes again.

he leant down slightly, his face was so close to yours, far closer than appropriate. a part of your naïve, little self couldn’t bear that you were participating in something that god wouldn’t approve of, with someone that you weren’t even close to married to, but you still loved it. and you still allowed him to do anything he wanted to you.

his attention flicked between your eyes, his brown irises consumed by the blown out pupils, before it flicked down to your rosy lips. he held your face, just enough to keep you in place as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pulling it from between your milky teeth.

you gasped when he closed the gap, eyelids fluttering shut as you pressed against him, unsure movements showing your inexperience as you desperately tried to copy the way his lips moved against yours. he took it slow with you, wanting to savour it and not make you panic, but also enough to entice you, to make you need more, not just want.

remus swiped his tongue along your mouth, taking advantage of the way you gasped again, swirling it inside briefly before drawing back, allowing you a moment to breathe. you trailed after him, trying to follow his lips for more.

smiling, he leant your foreheads together, still keeping you close as you panted, having not yet learnt how to breathe and kiss at the same time. it was okay, he’d love to teach you. in fact, he needed to be the only one to teach you these things, wanted to be your first and last.

the two of you spent as long as possible just holding each other there, silently sucking in each others heat. he eventually moved back, leisurely redressing you with sweet kisses in-between each item. a kiss to your hipbone for your underwear. a kiss to the tip of your nose for your top. a kiss to the sole of your foot for your socks, making you squeal.

as you slowly came back down, you began to realise that what had happened was definitely sin, but you wondered why god was so against something that felt so good. why would he not want you to be happy, when this was certainly the happiest you had ever been.

remus eased you to stand, holding you up in case you still wobbly legs gave out, but also to selfishly steal as much affection from you until two more days time. he wasn’t sure how he was going to last that long without feeling you, touching you and tasting you. he yearned to take you home and teach you everything he knew. to taste you until the sun came up, and then a little more. he was infatuated with you.

one hand on your back, the other cupping the back of your head, he bent his head down, nuzzling your nose lovingly before kissing you again. you couldn’t get enough of the feeling, kisses with him were indescribable, you only wished that you could get to do it more.

you giggled when he turned around, handing you a red lollipop meant for little kids, unwrapping it for you as he tentatively watched you wrap your lips around the sweet, not realising the not so innocent thoughts that were tormenting his head.

“did so very well for me today, you’re responding perfectly to the treatments. i think we will go ahead with making these appointments house calls, and much more regular visits too. how would you feel about that?”

you nodded eagerly, gasping excitedly at the thought of him being around more often, and maybe even in your bedroom, “yes please, but you’ll have to talk to my daddy.”

“of course, i’ll be looking forward to seeing you again, y/n,” he smoothed down your hair, returning your grin. luckily for him, you missed the way his eyes darkened at the way you referred to your father, and the way he had to subtly rearrange his already re-firming cock beneath his trousers.

remus walked you to your parents car again, his hand straying a little too low when no one was around. your father didn’t hesitate to agree to the house calls, nor to the even more regular appointments when he saw you beaming, visibly happier than you’d been in months, if not years.

you couldn’t wait to see remus again, nor him you. when he returned back to his office after waving you off, he couldn’t help but palm at his length, thinking of all the things he’d be able to do to you in the very near future.

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muletia · 21 days ago

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First kiss with Orion, but I lose 10 aura points cuz I’m immediately red faced, giggling like a manic after. Such a handsome robot man, frfr

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader

summary: you share your first kiss with orion :))

cw: fluff, slightly suggestive, mentions of jealousy, implied stalking (nothing serious tho), orion is very awkward in this

word count: 1600

Orion had once again invited himself into your garage.

You spotted the familiar semi-truck even before you turned into your driveway, making the motto "robots in disguise" utterly useless. After all, a giant Peterbilt barely fitting in a regular garage for cars was incredibly conspicuous and, worse, drew suspicion. You’d already fielded nosy questions from neighbors about that particular truck more times than you could count, but luckily, the excuse of a visiting boyfriend still managed to smooth things over. It wasn’t even far from the truth, considering you and Orion had recently entered that odd pre-relationship stage.

The grass on the side of the lawn now had permanent indentations from where you’d been parking your car. The grooves matched the shape and size of your tires perfectly, a result of Orion visiting so often and staying so long that your garage had essentially been repurposed, evicting your poor, lifeless car to sleep outdoors. Sometimes you wondered if he did it on purpose, jealous of your other mode of transport. You wouldn’t be surprised; Orion had a knack for overthinking the smallest issues—things that didn’t bother you at all.

So, as usual, you left your displaced car outside in the same spot as always (you were even convinced you could feel the tires sinking into the grooves) and headed toward the garage. You caught sight of Orion adjusting his side mirrors to keep you in view, and you couldn’t help but smile at the small, endearing gesture.

“Hi, Orion,” you greeted him while closing the garage door. “Been waiting long?” The question was rhetorical—he always arrived early. Once, you’d left work early to run errands and still had a couple of hours to spare. Naturally, you planned to spend them at home. When you pulled into the driveway, Orion was already there. He’d gotten such a scolding that day he was on the verge of tears and hadn’t visited you for a few days afterward. Yet the habit of waiting had become so ingrained in his processor that he soon resumed the routine.

“Greetings, [Name],” he responded, transforming carefully so that his helm wouldn’t hit the ceiling, which already bore plenty of scars from startled jerks, miscalculated transformations, and certain... blue fluids. “Just a few kliks.”

You hummed in response, making it clear you didn’t believe him but weren’t interested in pressing the issue. Feeling his intense and impatient gaze, you set your bag down by the door to the house and finally turned your full attention to him. The reward was a soft, delighted smile.

He moved closer, unable to tolerate too much distance between you. It looked awkward and somewhat comical as he shuffled his knees and elbows across the floor like he was crawling, but the cramped space of the garage left him no better option. That said, it worked. Within moments, his large, expressive faceplate was mere inches from yours, and the optics on it cast a blue glow on you in the dim light of the garage.

You didn’t miss how those same optics flicked briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The only evidence of the moment was the slightly louder whir of his cooling fans.

“[Name],” he began, “I would like to ask you something. May I?”

“Sure?”

“Thank you. Could you explain the symbolism of kisses to me?”

Straight to the point, as always.

“Ah, well, okay,” you started, by now accustomed to his frequent questions about human culture—particularly those related to dating. “A kiss is a way to express feelings and physically convey them to someone else. People kiss to greet each other or show love.”

“With their... lips?”

“Exactly,” you nodded, suddenly feeling oddly flustered. Flirting with him was one thing, but an abrupt conversation about something as intimate as kissing was a whole other level. Especially when his face was so dangerously close to yours, silently begging for a kiss.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure and break the tension by averting your eyes. However, out of the corner of your vision, you saw Orion frantically trying to reestablish eye contact, his optics darting around in search of yours. It didn’t help that he looked crestfallen, as if learning that lips were essential for kissing had personally ripped the spark from his chest.

“Oh... I see,” he sighed, lowering his helm slightly. He looked like a dejected puppy, and suddenly, you felt an overwhelming urge to console the poor thing.

“Now I have a question,” you said, immediately catching his attention. The dejected puppy look disappeared, replaced by curiosity and the devoted focus he always reserved just for you. “What’s brought on this sudden interest? Got a human on your mind?” It was meant as a joke, but his embarrassed expression made you realize you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“Recently, I’ve been delving into human literature, and this concept appeared frequently. I conducted independent... research but preferred to ask you for confirmation.”

Because he couldn’t tell you he’d spent the past few days reading an overwhelming amount of science fiction romance about interspecies relationships. And he especially couldn’t tell you that he favored stories where he could imagine himself as the protagonist and cast you as the love interest. As for the endless hours he’d spent meticulously fantasizing about your romantic connection, intimacy, and the physical closeness that came with it—not even Unicron could drag that confession out of him.

“So, am I correct in assuming that Cybertronians don’t kiss?” you added.

“No,” he replied, his tone almost mournful, as if the very notion pained him. “Without lips, we convey feelings differently.”

“Would you like to try?”

He blinked several times, his cooling fans whirring louder again.

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to kiss?” you clarified. “To see what it’s like for yourself?”

Yes. Yes. YES. He’d dreamed of this moment in countless ways, wanting so badly to express his feelings in a human way, hoping you’d understand how much he cared for you—how much he adored, admired, and cherished you. The need for closeness threatened to overwhelm his rationality, but he managed to keep his composure, though his frame trembled slightly with excitement.

“You truly... truly have no objections? I would never wish to coerce you into such... carnal gestures.”

“Orion, darling, you’re not coercing me into anything. This is entirely my conscious decision.”

“And does the setting not bother you? My research suggested that kisses should occur in more romantic environments.”

“Nothing about this bothers me,” you assured him. “So? Shall we try?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

You didn’t even have the chance to ask how he envisioned it before he suddenly began shrinking, using mass-shifting to make things easier for both of you. In mere moments, he reduced himself to an impressive but more manageable three meters tall, kneeling as though preparing to propose. You had to remind yourself repeatedly that he didn’t know the implications of that pose, and you needed to pull yourself together because your cheeks were likely redder than his armor.

“May I?” he asked at last.

“Of course,” you whispered.

A warm, solid servo cradled your head, digits gently tangling in your hair. He was cautious, clearly determined not to hurt you.

You thought he might hesitate, regretful of the situation he’d placed himself in, but he quickly proved you wrong. Carefully, he covered your lips with his own. Not hesitantly—he was far from shy—but inquisitively, exploring uncharted territory while aiming to bring you pleasure. And he succeeded wonderfully.

You pressed your lips against his, completing the kiss, which prompted him to draw you closer. To avoid losing your balance, you grabbed onto his chest plating, your thumb brushing against his cool windshields.

The first kiss was incredibly gentle yet awkward. You could tell Orion had no idea what he was doing, relying solely on movies, descriptions, or whatever else he’d found online. The absence of actual lips also affected the quality, but you could sense the subtle puckering on his part, just as awkward as the entire kiss.

You were convinced he must have practiced the maneuver on his own.

You didn’t want to interrupt him, enchanted by the sweetness of his gestures, his tenderness, and his endearing awkwardness. But the kiss literally took your breath away. You tried to hold on a bit longer, savoring the feeling of bliss and an odd sense of rightness, as if teaching an alien how to kiss was your everyday routine. And honestly? You fervently hoped it would be.

Reluctantly, you pulled away to catch your breath. Orion chased after you for a moment, unwilling to end the kiss, but eventually relented, his optics clouded as he watched you inhale deeply. He didn’t seem entirely present in this reality.

Chuckling at his utterly smitten expression, you brought him back to Earth.

“Please... I need more. This is incredible, [Name], unimaginably wonderful. If you don’t mind?” he leaned closer again, pressing his forehead to yours.

Still laughing, you tried to meet his gaze, but the sight of his love-struck, besotted optics filled you with uncontainable joy. You hadn’t expected to feel such elation from a simple kiss, yet here you were, unable to stop smiling. And his faceplate was so close...

“[Name]?” Orion tried again, this time more concerned than yearning.

“I’m fine!” you reassured him, finally meeting his optics as you fought off the remnants of laughter. “It’s just... I’m really happy right now.”

“I understand. So am I.”

“So... would you like to...”

“Yes. Please.”

He kissed you again, this time more confidently and even more fervently.

#transformers x reader #orion pax x reader #obsessed!orion

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aachria · 9 months ago

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The long awaited (maybe? Idk how many of you were waiting for this) SSSBMTY College AU!

Majors in bold

Headcanons in regular text

Notes about the art indented in orange

Luffy — Undeclared

Was forced into school by his gramps. (The university dean. The fucking dorm building all the Strawhats but Jimbei live in is named after him.)(it was this or join the navy.) Takes the most random classes he can. Some of them are advanced and require perquisites and no one knows how he keeps getting into them. Wears shorts and sandals in winter & will run any errand or do any odd job for food. He has a very nice bike he got for free from a garage sale that Franky fixed up. There's a campus wide bet on when and what he'll choose as his major. His bucket hat was a gift from Shanks, the universities World Economics prof. Has a million friendship bracelets on his ankles because Ed makes them when they're stressed. Never has a bag on him. Fights Canadian geese on the way to class, like a fucking maniac. Protected species who?

When I tell you that this drawing of Luffy is the first time I've ever drawn actual feet with toes that don't look fucking ridiculous I need to cheer for me. Why is he a different flavour of boy every time I draw him please. His ass isn't rubber in this universe, of course he's scuffed to shit. Chopper ran out of Spiderman bandaids, sorry bud. Advocate for the Single Piercing Luffy™ agenda, he went and got it done with Ed when they got their helix.

Ed — English major Psychology minor

Took History of Piracy for easy grades & a story idea. Known around campus as that asshole who'll tell you exactly which of your roommates ate your leftovers for $5. Is roommates with Luffy because of a system mix-up when they got distributed. Always wears a Burberry trench coat Nami thrifted for $3 and gave them as a bday gift. Carries everything in a ratty falling apart messenger bag. Them and Luffy filled out marriage papers on a dare, Zoro (who got legally ordained on a dare minutes before) oversaw that, Zoro and Ed filed the papers when they were drunk. So Ed and Luffy are legally married. And they don't even notice until tax season and Jonah, Ed's accounting friend, asks about it.

I need you to ignore the inconsistence with the hands in these ok? Some of them get very nice and normal hands, and others get weird shaped blobs. Sorry Ed, them's the breaks kid.

Zoro — Health and Fitness major Mathematics minor

Literally no one knows why he has a Mathematics minor, least of all him. P sure he walked into the wrong class on the first day and just stuck with it. The most terrifying captain of the kendo team the university has ever had. He's won more championships and trophies in his tenure than the school has in its history, the revenue he brings in from sponsorships and such make them turn a blind eye to his... eccentricities (three sword style. Nobody has stopped him yet, anyone who says it's illegal gets penalized). Has had campus security called on him so often from being creepy when walking home from the gym in the dark there's a poster of him in the security office that says 'NOT ACTUALLY A THREAT. JUST WEIRD AND WALKS WITH PURPOSE.'

Zoro's sword patch on his jacket was designed by Usopp, embroidered by Luffy for a class (shittily) and fixed up and sewn on by Ed. Those docs have seen war. He has put them through hell. He has walked through a fucking river with those things, he superglues them back together every time they break. Franky had to strongarm him into getting the soles professionally replaced.

Nami — Meteorology major Finance minor

All of her clothes are thrifted designer things. Regularly terrorizes Value Village employees. Anything she has that isn't thrifted she gets from the many estate sales she plagues, snatching grandma's entire Chanel collection and all her nicest jewelry. She has absolutely everything anyone could ever need in her purse. Tampons and pads? She gotchu. Extra pens? It'll cost you, but yeah. A curling iron? Sure, why the hell not. She runs the betting pool on Luffy's major with Ed. She also writes a gossip column for the school newspaper and has a podcast she uploads a new episode to every few months. Shows up to every class looking like a supermodel no matter the time. 7am? Perfect. 10pm? Fabulous. Your go-to if you get locked out of your dorm. Has a moped but barely uses it.

Nami's bag is a large Prada Gallaria Saffiano bag, which I painstaking drew to accuracy down to the colour even though it still looks ever so slightly different, because Nami is a big purse girl. The compass rose necklace was a going away gift from Nojiko when she left for uni. I think her haircut is so cute I love her sm. Don't pay any mind to how fucking disheveled half of their lineart looks next to her pls.

Usopp — Graphic Design major

Not a member of the archery club, but shows up enough he’s in all the team photos. Was originally the designated driver, had a pretty little mini van they called the Merry, had one of those fucking fuzzy dice hanging mirror things in the shape of a sheep’s head. Got in a bad car accident and she got totaled by some jackass in a red Honda Civic. Dating Kaya, who’s a nursing student. They barely see each other because she’s so fucking busy and half the students are convinced the girlfriend Usopp is always talking about and calling is fake. The Strawhats have a dnd campaign that they run every other week, Usopp DM's. On weekends he works at an axe throwing range and holds the record for most bullseyes in a row. They have his picture mounted on the wall.

Usopp's necklace is the old key to the Merry, and he engraved his belt buckle for a project. I cursed his ass with the giant fuck off portfolio bag because those things are so big and unwieldy. The people in his program's studio never clean their paint up properly, that's why he's covered in it. Advocate for the Usopp With Gages™ agenda. God he is such a cutie patootie.

Sanji — Business degree

Literally grew up working in a restaurant, he’s only going to school to get the degree so he can open his own and also because Zeff threated to castrate him if he didn't get a higher education. Cooks basically every single meal for the dorm, since it’s just the Strawhats (it's a new (old it's old and was refurbished. Everyone assumed it was haunted.) building that they just dedicated to Garp. Has no other residents yet). Him and Zoro fight so much in their shared room half the time he ends up kicking him out and making him sleep in the community room lmao. He just shows up in half the culinary classes because he hates the business ones so much, the one time someone tried to tell him to leave he cussed them out for a full ten minutes while gesticulating wildly with a knife in hand. They never tried that again. Saw one of the profs berate a young lady for wearing a dress shirt to class because it’s impractical and proceeded to take that personally. Yeah he wears three piece suits to all his classes, he could still kick you ass in ‘em. Shut up. Volunteers to show around foreign exchange students because he can speak at least 4 foreign languages fluently. Is it to woo pretty French girls with his charm? Wouldn't you like to know.

I could not draw Sanji in a decent pose for the life of me, his ass was just not having it. He's got one of them really nice leather messenger bags with the lined pockets and filigree, he's very proud of it.

Chopper — PreMed

One of the few Strawhats who regularly sees Usopp’s reclusive girlfriend, and is very confused as to why people think she isn’t real. Still a literal child (is 15 still a child? Yeah that's like barely a teenager), a goddamn prodigy and got in with an incredibly good recommendation from the best doctor in the country, who just so happens to be his adoptive mother. He’s literally too cute for anyone to question that, plus he’s the sharpest tack in the damn class. He knocked his front tooth out ages ago (it was an adult tooth) but he's too fucking busy to get an appointment to get it fixed, just adds another layer to his babyface. Nice girls keep asking him if he's here to go see his parents or older siblings, he's endlessly infuriated by it and Sanji is endlessly jealous. Saved Ed from choking to death in a Domino's parking lot the first time they met, he dropped his pizza doing it so they bought him another. The rest is history. Does not feel cold, wears chunky boots year round. Got them reflective ass eyes like a deer, no one has ever taken a good picture of this child. He looks fucking possessed in his school ID.

TELL ME WHY I ALMOST FORGOT TO DRAW CHOPPER. I finished drawing Franky and was like "gee, only Brook and Jimbei to go! Good for me," and then I had to pause while looking as the picture of the group I was semi-referencing for heights n shit and was like "OH FUCK THE CHILD—" He's so cute tho. He's giving lil baby Goro Akechi. The argyle sweater vest and Timbs were a must, so was his hockey boy haircut. Matching backpack and tie for the win. Oh and the freckles, Chopper with freckles is everything to me.

Robin — Has a million hyper specific degrees. Currently earning her third doctorate.

Very mysterious and sexy. Mature student who occasionally gives lectures in the archeology program when she has free time. Owns a motorcycle but barely rides it. How is she not in debt after so much schooling? Don't fucking ask if you want to live. Is that why she lives in the dorm building? Do. Not. Ask. She and Luffy attend the same Theology class, no one knows how Luffy is passing with such good grades, but Robin is adamant that he doesn't take notes or borrow hers, and takes to having the same scores as him with grace. Child actor on one of those show like Barney (but not Barney dear lord) or Reading Rainbow and people only knew her as 'that kid with the creepy fuckin stare.' She was a meme a few years back, they called her the devil child. Every time someone asks her about it she just says she has no idea what they're talking about while giving them the creepy stare.

Women with Big Bags truther, right here. Robin deserves to be put in a suit. Goddamnit, get that woman in a suit!

Franky — Has a bachelors of Engineering, a bachelors of Architecture, and is earning his (water specific) Architecture degree

Currently the groups designated driver (after the tragic death of the poor Merry) with his supped up SUV, the Sunny. How do all the Strawhats fit inside? The power of love, obviously. That car will NOT fucking move if even one of the seatbelts is undone. Made Ed and Luffy wedding rings after he found out they accidentally got married. (Only after laughing for a half our straight, almost passing out, and laughing again. Then he cried for another hour about how beautiful it was.) He sometimes works as a nude model for life drawing classes on campus. Half of the the Strawhats have, in one way or another, seen him in the buck. Has knee braces from an... incident... with a train when he was younger. Now he volunteers at KidsAbility and has a shift on the campus crisis/suicide hotline. Huge advocate for mental health services at the school. He lives in the dorms for the ✨experience✨. Even worse than Luffy, mf wears booty shorts in the dead of winter. He's constantly dressed like It's laundry day. One of those guys from a famous Vine when he was younger that just gets stopped while he's walking so people can go "TRAMPOLINE VASE GUY??" (Iceberg was recording. I love Iceberg.)

Yes Franky is wearing an I ♥ MILFs shirt, what of it? It was a gift. Drawing him was an exercise in struggling with the pompadour and getting uncomfortably close to drawing Syndrome. Yes, he's cold all the time. No, he will not stop.

Brook — Literally no one knows. Something music related probably.

Fucker has been around forever, there’s old ass profs who swear to god they went to school with him and he hasn’t aged a day. Regularly plays local bars and cafes. Doesn't own a cellphone, he can literally only operate rotary phones. Computers confuse the shit out of him. Knows nothing about pop culture or recent events, but is up to date on everything in the music industry. He sometimes helps organize the old library archives because he's somehow the only person who understands the system they're organized in. Sometimes he'll just namedrop a famous singer/band he's either played with, done karaoke with, or done background vocals/instrumentals for and you have to guess whether he's telling the truth or just saying shit. There's a campus wide betting pool (run by Nami and Ed, go figure) on whether he's a vampire, ghost, time traveler, or Dorian Gray in disguise. Prepares the questions for 70s night pub trivia. Every time the Strawhats plan a ghost hunt he's busy, then at the end they find out that all the paranormal shit they've been experiencing is just him running his errands. It's happened at least four times.

Is Brook off-putting enough? I was trying to make him off-putting. He swears up and down the neck tattoo was gotten on a dare by Elton John, what, you gonna question a man who looks like he stepped out of Coraline? The skeleton gloves were a gift from Ed.

Jimbei — Has already graduated as a Marine Biology major Political Science minor and is taking both a Gender Studies course and a Peace and Conflict Studies course years later.

Teaches martial arts at a local dojo on weekends and volunteers with the martial arts team on campus. Robin helps him organize protests on weekends. He's good buds with a lot of the faculty and gets invited to after work drinks regularly. He helped establish a program that walks people who stay late at the library to their dorms when he was first a student that's still going strong to this day. Lives off campus and has the Strawhats over for BBQ on long weekends. Literally the only time the Strawhats eat food not made by Sanji. The Grill Master™. Somehow holds some kind of record or high score at every single bar/pub in town. Knows every single mailman and janitor by name. MVP of the catch and release fishing club, helps plan all of their trips.

I struggled with him. I struggled hard. That's a man who went his whole childhood with a horrendous underbite and only got it fixed once he was an adult. Ed gave him the fishing lure earrings out of guilt after he brought them on one of his fishing trips and they fell in and nearly capsized their boat. IT'S A REUSED PLASTIC BAG JIMBEI IS RESPONSIBLE ABOUT THE ENVIRONMENT—

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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

Text

A Doe in Fall (Part 3)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 3 A tragedy

So enraptured with Alastor, you forgot how you left work on Saturday. Tommy didn’t forget. And he made sure you remembered. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for you, your paramour made a habit of helping quicken karma’s balancing act.

「warnings/promises: immediate physical assault (let’s be up front about that), allusions to sexual assaults having happened in the past to non-reader characters, HumanAlastor x FemReader, penetrative sex, Protective Alastor, bruises, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder, mentions to coerced prostitution, sex near a corpse (words that have the FBI watching me), stabbing, knife, bad burlesque names, gambling, my own new HC for the Radio Demon’s origins, another deer reference thanks to @n-after-me , chin quivering, Tommy doesn’t know French and it shows, posted early for @jazzmasternot, wrath」

Minors DNI 🤺

You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.

But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall.

You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet.

“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.

“No, Tommy.”

“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him.

“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.

You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.

“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”

You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call.

“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”

You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.

“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.

“For what?”

It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?”

He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.

“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”

“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”

“He usually cuts us in.”

Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely.

“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.

“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.

“That’s it?” Incredulous.

“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”

“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder.

Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark.

During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.

Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”

You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight.

Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.

“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?”

Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.

“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.

He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.”

Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally.

“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.

You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away.

“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you.

“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.

“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.

“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere.

“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”

Lie.

“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.”

Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”

“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.

“Then look at me.”

Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.

You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.

You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.

Lie.

You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.

Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.

“Alastor, people are staring.”

His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.

“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.

“The truth or wh-“

“Always. Never give me anything else.”

You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”

Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.

“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.”

Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.

“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”

You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?

He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it.

You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.

Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans.

You stood, waiting for an explanation.

Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”

You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it?

Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?

“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”

“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”

You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.

He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”

You watched his car light up and leave the alley.

It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions.

So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?

Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”

You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.”

Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date.

Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”

Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”

“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”

Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.

He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled.

Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.

Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future.

However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this.

Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.

Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.

Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.

When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.

“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it.

Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.

“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.

You grimaced, “No, a murder.”

She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”

You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.

“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush.

“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.

“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”

“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”

A nod, yes, actually, you had.

“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”

You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”

When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.

“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.”

Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.

The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.

The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?

Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?

Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.

The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.

You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.

And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.

Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.

You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.

The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.

“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.

“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.

“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.

“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”

A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”

A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.”

Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once.

Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat.

Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor.

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him.

You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”

“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”

Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, “Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream.

Funny how that works both ways.

Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?”

The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.

Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee.

You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.

Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?

He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.

You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.

Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”

As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”

He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?”

You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.

“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”

How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again.

Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.

“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.”

How could he make hell sound so sweet?

“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin.

He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?

His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him.

You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”

His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.

Had you said something wrong?

“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”

Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.

He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.

Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.

Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him.

With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them?

Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.

He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him.

Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.

You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.

Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores.

But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.

Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.

“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”

His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.

You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”

He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.

“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.

Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.

The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor.

Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.

Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.

He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.

He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.

He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him.

(Next Part Next Week, orz)

*slang for boyfriend, often a rich one

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay /

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #hazbin #the radio demon #human!alastor #human alastor

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cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Note

OKAY OKAY but IMAGINE

A reader who owns a cafe and this grumpy ahh Miguel always orders one specific item which usually no one buys. Reader notices the small details about this regular guy cuz well it’s MIGUEL reader has a tint crush.

One day spiderman saves the reader from thieves or something. Basically he ends up in her cafe and as a thank you the reader offers food and he just sighs instinctively picking the same dessert and muscle memory doing a trick.

Basically WHAT IM SAYING IS imagine the reader next time Miguel orders at their cafe puts a lil spider themed candy

They somehow signal him that: HAHA I KNOW WHO YOU ARE GRUMPY >:3

(Using >:3 to tell you the reader has chaotic energy.)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of Attempted Mugging

Summary: It simply can’t be a coincidence.

Word Count: 1.2K (Not Edited)

There’s something mysterious about that man.

Yes, it may have to do something with his gigantic size and almost too wide shoulders. Or the fact he always looks like he’s a second away from shoving the next person out of the way. Oh and how can you forget the part where he has only said the same seven words to you since he’s been here. Medium coffee, black. Add one of those. Then he proceeds to point at the display at the one pastry you can never sell out. No thank you’s, please’s, how are you’s. He quite literally only says those seven words and then grunts at any of your questions. He’s only ever said one extra word to you, which was his name the first time he visited because he paid in cash.

Honestly, you find him very intimidating. He’s the only reason that non-selling pastry is still available. Usually, you’d have it removed and replaced with another item. But you absolutely dread the idea of him being pissed at you for removing the only other item he gets daily. Plus, you don’t want your existence to be reduced to three words. So, it’s here to stay. You just make it in the smallest batch possible and then give the extras, along with other leftover pastries, to the local soup kitchen to give out the next day. Even then, you’re pretty sure they end up throwing away the pastry at the end of the day since no one wanted it.

Nonetheless, it’s only right to give back to the community around you. No matter what gets eaten or not. At least they get the choice to decide if they want to try it. It’s better than throwing out all the food when you know there are people who could need it. Mondays are always the busiest days, so you make sure to make a little extra pastries and food to be able to give a pleasing amount to the kitchen. As you stuff the last of the remaining pastries into the box, you close it up and stack it on top of the first box. You pull on the handles of the bag under everything, having them securely supported for easy carry. You grab your canvas bag from the backroom, checking your prep in the fridges and freezers one last time before getting ready to leave. You grab the bag of pastries as you make your way to the back door, once again thankful that you don’t have to lock it since it’s not accessible from the outside.

As you begin to walk down the small stone steps and out of the small indent on the street, something behind you rattles. You jump slightly, hand tightening on the bag as you turn around quickly. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as you squint into the darkness, trying to spot something. You slightly relax as nothing seems out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was a stray cat or even a mouse. The thought makes you scrunch up your nose and you begin to turn around again so you can make it to the shelter before it closes its doors for the night.

You instantly scream as you come faced to face with a man in a ski mask. He instantly covers your mouth, pushing you against the back door. You almost trip as you’re forced to walk up the steps and your body tenses as it hits the door. You feel something cold and metallic against your side, eyes widening as you attempt to look down. It’s hard with his hand covering part of your face and it takes him shaking you and slightly banging your head against the door to realize he’s speaking to you about money and jewelry. You can feel your hands trembling, tears welling up. You almost want to sob and yell when you notice another figure approaching behind the man.

Oh how perfect, there’s two.

But you’re surprised when the figure grabs the man’s shoulder, revealing the almost shiny blue and red of a familiar costume. The man is quickly yanked off of you, and you take a sharp inhale now that your mouth is uncovered. You watch the commotion with wide eyes as the figure- as Spiderman- quickly disarms the mugger and pulls out makeshift handcuffs. The man struggles in them as he sits at the hero’s feet. Spiderman makes no notice to him, instead focusing on a floating screen as he reports the incident via an anonymous tip for the police station.

You’re still struggling to wrap your mind around what just happened when the Spider turns to you, “You okay?”

You blink rapidly, nodding almost numbly, “Uh, yeah… I think. Thank you.”

He gives you a grunt and if you had a clearer mind, you might have recognized it. As the hero turns to leave you call out. He lets out another grunt of displeasure, but you pay little attention to it as you set the pastry bag down and pull out the box from the top.

“Take one. They’re leftovers from today, but they’re still good. Consider it my thank you.”

You open the box and peer inside of it as you present it to him. It’s full of small sandwiches, a few different flavors of bread slices, and in the corner there are few of Miguel’s usual pastries. You expect the spider to go for one of the sandwiches, but your eyes widen as he takes three of Miguel’s pastry. You stare at the spot they had been in the box before staring at the hero. There is simply no way.

Your eyes study the hero, taking in his build for the first time. Enormous height and wide shoulders. Same posture and same pastry. Surely, it couldn’t be a simple coincidence. You slowly close the box, holding the sides of it tightly as the hero starts to deport. You stare after him in astonishment, even as the sound of police cars start sounding and two officers rush into the alley to find the tied up mugger and you.

There is simply no way.

You show up early the next day to the bakery. You take care making everything, letting them cool slightly before putting them in the display cases. Once the doors open, the usual morning rush spews in, and you spend the next two to three hours serving customers. As per usual, he comes right as the morning rush ends, and you feel a giddiness as he walks up to the counter.

“Medium coffee, black. Add one of th-” You smile widely when he pauses.

His eyes are trained to his pastry. Today it looks different. In the center of the flakey dough there is a cut out of a spider, revealing the filling inside. He squints at it, leaning his face closer to the glass to view it. When he looks up to you, he can see the knowing glint in your eyes and the teasing smirk on your face. He sighs, something between displeased and amused before he stands up straight again.

“Add one of those.” He finishes his previous sentence, pulling out his card to pay.

“Sure thing,” You smile, approving the transaction before turning around and getting started on his coffee. “...Spiderman.”

From the grunt behind you, you know he heard.

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cherrychilli · 1 year ago

Text

18+

Steve Harrington x AFAB reader, grumpy dom! Steve, established relationship, PIV sex, car sex

A/N: I haven't written for Steve in a minute so I pulled this out of the wip vault and dusted it off.

The time to back out had passed.

Steve knew he couldn't disappoint the whole group now when it had already been decided that he would drive them out to the lake that Saturday afternoon. With Eddie's license suspended and Jonathan's car in the shop, there was no other option.

For someone who, on a regular day, looks golden in every possible way under a perfect cerulean sky, he stuck out like a storm cloud today.

Steve sat out on the dock with his shades on to shield his annoyed squint and a soda pressed to his lips to conceal his scowl, wishing it was a beer instead.

Those of you who weren't driving picked frosty bottles out of the cooler Eddie had stocked for the outing, bottle caps coming loose with a pop, the nutty aroma of grain and barley fizzing into the wind. It was more than a little amusing to you as you eyed Steve from over your beer, watching the poor boy stew.

On the surface you appear oblivious but you're well aware that your boyfriend's eyes are trained on you too, a heated, razor sharp stare behind those reflective lenses.

His simmering displeasure goes unnoticed by the rest of the group but when you start to strip down to your swimsuit with the others and head for the water it's only a matter of moments before they notice one less member wading in the water with them.

Inevitably, what he'd been dreading begins and he has to deal with it all day. Everyone takes turns asking Steve why he isn't getting in the water with them and each time he's forced to mutter out some vague excuse that only lifts more eyebrows.

It's obvious to everyone that he's hiding something and the stubborn way he tries to refute is comically adorable. Some lighthearted teasing ensues and you can almost see the steam rising off his skin.

Robin gets the ball rolling with a quip about him spending too much time on his hair to risk getting it wet. Eddie joins in on the teasing too. Nancy and Jonathan are too polite to add to it but they laugh off to the side and try to suppress their giggles all the same.

None of it is cruel. it's all harmless, well meaning fun between friends and it's all the more enjoyable for you because you're the only one who knows the real reason why Steve wont just peel off his shirt and get in the water.

If he did, then your friends would get to see the result of all your hard work last night. They'd see the messy, lengthy scarlet scratches that rawed the skin all down his back, the half moon indents turning violet on his triceps and shoulders and the many hickeys like splashes of merlot you sucked onto his chest and his stomach.

You've got a few marks on you as well but you're saved from suffering the same torment as Steve thanks to your waterproof concealer. He endures it all, forcing the occasional dry, humorless laugh until the sun begins to wind down and the rest of you towel off before lugging your belongings back to his car under a cotton candy sky.

It's a little snug inside the BMW but you make it work. You buckle yourself in the front seat and the others pile into the back. Nancy finds room in Jonathan's lap while Eddie's somehow been strong armed into the middle by Robin so she can have the window seat. He doesn't concede quietly and the resultant commotion in the back is enough to distract the backseat occupants from noticing the tension between you and Steve. Well, more so the tension that's emanating from Steve because you look no more unbothered than you had all day, humming to yourself inconspicuously. Waiting patiently.

Nancy and Jonathan are the first to be dropped off. Next is Eddie, and then Robin. You wave goodbye to her as Steve slowly presses down on the accelerator to begin the journey to your apartment, twenty minutes of being alone together starting now.

"You really put me through it today", he spoke, breaking the moment long silence.

Your lips form a pleased smile as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. It was obvious where all of this was heading but riling him up was part of the fun and you didn't want it to end just yet. You wanted a little more before it's all teeth and ripped clothes when he gets you inside your apartment.

"I didn't make them say all those things, Stevie sweetie", you turn your head towards him and bat your lashes, the illusion of sweetness thick on your features.

His eyes stay fixed on the road, the vein near his temple more noticeable now. "You wore it on purpose, didn't you?", he sidesteps your comment like you hadn't even said it at all.

This time when you blink at him it's with confusion. "Don't play dumb, baby", he warns you with a laugh so mirthless that it draws a shiver out of you. "Oh..", you utter when you realize that he's referring to your strappy yellow bikini. The one he really really liked, because he made you keep it on all throughout riding him on on his sun lounger the last time you went over to swim in his pool. Not that you did much swimming in the end.

You'd been so wrapped up in all the teasing and what hid beneath the layers of his clothes that you'd paid little attention to what you'd been wearing all day.

"Wasn't bad enough that I had to deal with the others today. You had me fighting off a fucking hard on top of it all too."

Your gaze instantly drops to his lap. By the looks of the thick imprint of his cock underneath his jeans he seemed to be done fighting it off.

The car slows into a turn and you realize that you don't recognize your surroundings, much more greenery around than what you're familiar with. You'd had your eyes off the road long enough for him to divert from the route to your house, detouring off a backroad and into an unfamiliar clearing thickly nestled by trees and forestry.

You bite down on your lip to stem the grin that threatens to erupt on your face. This was much better than you'd been hoping for and happening much faster than you could stand to wait.

Pulling into the isolated space, he cuts the engine, car going completely still. "Come here", but he's already pulling you with forceful a hand curled around the back of your neck before you have a chance of following through yourself. It's ungainly how you fumble with unbuckling your seatbelt as it presses uncomfortably against your chest but you manage to unfasten it, leaning further over the console to get closer to him.

You whine when he latches onto your neck, sucking at the skin there not at all gently. If the taste of lake water and sunscreen still lingered on your skin, he showed no sign of it. At least not any sign of disliking it as his tongue licked over your skin and his teeth dragged close to your pulse. When he pulls away you can feel the wet warmth of the fresh hickey blooming on your skin and your heart beating in time with the subtle throbbing there.

It wasn't hard to imagine what it looked like. Deep and dark and reminder of who you belong to. "You're not covering it up this time, understand?", he tells you and you nod. As if you'd want to hide it.

He leans over you then and you retract into your seat to make room for him, back pressed firmly against leather. Steve's intention becomes clear when he pulls at the lever to adjust your seat. You squeak when it reclines abruptly and he climbs over you to push it all the way down.

"Get these off. Now", he orders you, not unkind but firm, pulling at the hem of your damp t-shirt and the waistband of your shorts. He's impatient but so are you, wiggling around and maneuvering your limbs messily underneath him as he helps you to peel the clothing off.

You manage to toe you shoes off as well, elbows and knees bumping Steve and parts of the interior until you're left in just your bikini. The frantic rush suddenly halts and things slow down when he runs a finger down your sternum until he reaches the little strap just below your breasts, hooking his finger into it. " 'Played dirty all day, didn't you honey? had your fun while I all I could do was sit back and watch?", he tugged, the bottom curve of your breasts becoming visible as the material slips.

"Couldn't help it", you breathe out, hands sliding up his biceps. " I like it when you get mean", you confessed softly, eyes all big and glossy and wanting. He laughs, hair falling over his forehead. "I know, baby. Gonna take my time getting back at you". He's done with the gentle interval, yanking your bikini down to expose your tits. You yelp, not because it was unexpected but because he'd done it a little harder than you had expected. A welcome roughness that made your core feel sticky.

He's all over you, weight pressing down on you as you writhe under him, gasping as he marks you up. More fresh bruises to match the one on your neck are peppered across your breasts first before his lips trail hot on your stomach and then your hips and your thighs. The noises he's forcing out of you are needy and pathetic, high pitched, breathy whimpers and mewling cries of his name all tumble from your lips until he pulls away to look over his work.

You're left panting as he appraises you, eyes raking all over in search of more space to fit another hickey or two. "Never looked better, babe", he sits back on his knees, grinning happily. "On second thought...", he grips your waist, encouraging you to turn around and get on your knees. You scramble to get into position, pulling loose the knot on your bikini top and tossing it towards the back seat so that it no longer hangs limply on you in a tangled mess. You grab at the headrest, bare tits pressing against leather as you arch your back for him and present your ass. "Now you've never looked better", he scoffs, open palm landing on your left cheek with a swift slap.

"Shit! please just fuck me already, Steve", you whine, beyond the point of playing dumb and coy.

He pulls your bottoms to the side, thumb brushing against your soaking entrance as he lets out a low whistle. It's a little strange being almost completely nude in his car like this. You usually had a little more clothing bunched around you on the off chance the rocking vehicle might attract any passersby's attention. It makes you feel that much more vulnerable. Hidden but still technically in public. Still at risk of being discovered.

It's all so terribly exciting.

The distinct jangle of his belt being undone makes your spine tingle and the crude sound of him spitting onto his palm before he tugs on his cock a makes you clench.

"Not gonna go easy on you", he warns, catching your eye when you look back at him over your shoulder.

"I can take it", you challenge him and you can tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitches against the smirk he's trying to force away that he liked it.

He places one hand on your hip and the other on the foggy window pressing his cock into you in one slow thrust.

"That's my girl"

---

The next day you anticipate Robin's reaction when she pretends to barf at the sight of the hickeys on your neck and you giggle, amused because you know never to take it seriously.

Eddie's slower to notice because the first thing he does is climb into the back seat of Steve's car after it's been parked, claiming to have dropped his lighter there yesterday.

"Did you find it?", Steve calls out behind him when he joins you and Robin as you get ready to head into a nearby burger joint for lunch.

There's a suspicious pause and some rustling before he finally yells out an answer.

"Nope! Found something better though"

Kicking open the door, Eddie barrels out with your bikini top sloppily thrown on over his shirt, batting his lashes at Steve like some kind of parody of a lovestruck cartoon.

You're too entertained by it to be embarrassed though you can't say the same for Steve who's turned completely red, placing a hand over your mouth as you snicker.

Puckering his lips, the metalhead makes eyes at your boyfriend and you double over with laughter while Robin rolls here eyes and makes her way inside, having had her fill of Eddie's theatrics.

"Come on big boy, fancy another round in the back seat?"

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader

450 notes · View notes

sydnikov · 2 years ago

Note

saw you were asking about requests and if that’s still the case: something hurt/comfort where the reader is comforting svech when he finds out he has have to surgery, and helping him through the recovery process.

either established relationship or a feelings realization maybe? whatever you’re most comfortable with.

In Five || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov/Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Cursing (mild this time), sports injury (torn ACL/ligament), steamy kissing, bad proofreading, so much angst, but don’t worry there’s fluff at the end

A/N: I really tortured myself writing this. The emotions are still high, I hate the Bruins (sorry Bruins followers), and I hope you guys get all the feels as you read this. In all seriousness though, THANK YOU to whoever sent this in because it got me out of my writer’s block. (p.s. I’ve now opened requests to get me more inspired… so go submit stuff!!) anyways, I hope y’all enjoy 😁

It wasn’t bad. Not at first glance—at least that’s what you told yourself from the stands, clenching your fingers so hard they left nail indentations in the middle of your palms.

But you knew. You knew your best friend because you could read him like a book. Every twitch of the eye, a quirk of his lips, they all were a glimpse into his mind of what he was thinking. Andrei is your favorite book, and you just reached the chapter where everything starts to fall apart.

He was trying to hide it, the pain he was feeling from the quick stumble he took at center ice. It was just a small muscle pull, though, right? That’s what you thought, but then you saw him skate to the bench, favoring his right knee with the expression of one who knew he messed up.

Andrei played the rest of the game, but as you headed down to the locker room you couldn’t fight the feeling of dread steadily creeping up your heart.

“Hey,” you greeted a few of the girls leaning against the wall, waiting for their significant others to finish interviews. You were sort of an outcast in that manner, because Andrei wasn’t yours… No matter how much you wanted him to be. “Has he come out yet?” you asked.

The solemn shake of their heads gave you your answer, and you didn’t even bother trying to hide your worry when you leaned back against the wall with them, anxiously chewing your lip. The time came and went, seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to an hour of watching the other Hurricanes players come and go—none of them the man you wanted, no needed to see.

It was times like these where you questioned how you got here, waiting on Andrei like a girlfriend but being firmly stuck in the friend zone. He had never made you feel like anything less because of it, but you felt it aching in your very bones when he’d flash a smile to the girls at the bars you frequented, or when he’d ask you whether the blue shirt or the red shirt would look better on a date with the cute girl he met at a shopping mall.

It was funny, too, because you hadn’t met him any differently than he’s met the other girls he’s taken out. It was at a bar, actually, one in downtown Raleigh not too far of a drive from PNC Arena, and you were nursing a drink with a few friends from work when the place exploded in activity because players from the Carolina Hurricanes had just arrived.

You didn’t ask “who?” like one of your coworkers asked, because you loved hockey and went to a decent amount of games, and you could confidently answer which player had which number. In one game you’d even managed to snag glass seats, and that had been the best night of your life.

Never had you actually met any of the players, though. Odd, considering you had always made it a habit to go out at least once on the weekends, but one fateful Saturday night was when you finally were able to get a good look at the players outside of their hockey uniforms. You were content to merely watch them from a distance, but soon you realized they were just like any other regular bar patrons and soon lost interest in eyeing them a few tables back.

It was as you were ordering another drink that you caught from the corner of your eyes a body settling down on your right, too close to be convenient because there were other open seats far from you. You hadn’t been looking for a hookup that night, though, so you figured playing hard-to-get might ward off any men looking for a quick one-night stand.

“Hi,” the man suddenly spoke, accent too thick to be attributed to intoxication. A foreigner? You met his eyes, your gaze colliding with warm brown that reminded you of the hot chocolate you’d buy to keep your hands warm in the winter. “Drink not up to standards?” he said, leaning against the bar counter to get a better look at you.

Your brain had short-circuited, because wow this guy was good-looking, and it only took another minute of analyzing his features with your tipsy brain to realize you were talking to Andrei Svechnikov, or rather, he was talking to you.

“Not much of a drinker to begin with.” you had replied smoothly, shocking even yourself because talking to attractive men had never been a strong suit. “What about you? What do you drink?”

You and Andrei, who had later introduced himself and to which you responded with a cheeky quirk of your lips, “I know”, had hit it off immediately. You talked for hours that night, unable to shake the undeniable chemistry you had between you until one of your friends ran into you slurring her words and stumbling in place that signaled your outing time was up.

You exchanged numbers that night, and unbeknownst to either of you, your hearts were beating in tandem for days after, and brains spiraling with ‘what ifs’ and ‘I think they like me’. Unfortunately… It had never gone beyond that, because communication was hard to begin with for Andrei without the added challenge of having to speak English, and well–past relationships have made it a little hard for you to put your trust in people.

So, here you were. Confidently able to say that Andrei was one of your closest friends who you just so happened to be in love with, but knowing it would never go beyond that. You’d rather have Andrei in your life as a friend than not at all, right?

That’s what you told yourself when you finally heard the familiar sound of Andrei’s deep voice from the locker room, coming closer and closer as the distance between you decreased.

“No, no,” Andrei said, firmly, finally making his appearance. “No hospital. I feel fine.”

“Son, you’re favoring your knee. You need to go, now.” Head Coach Rod Brind’Amour marched in right behind the left winger. “I let you wait out the rest of the game, that’s what we agreed.”

Andrei remained in place, stubbornly glaring at the older man with the two looking like raging bulls getting ready to charge the other.

“‘Drei?” you finally found the courage to speak, hesitantly stepping forward and breaking the heated glare between the two men. You didn’t even notice until now that the athletic trainer was waiting behind them, phone held to his ear. “What’s going on?”

Immediately, the Russian’s eyes whipped towards you and he stepped back from Rod immediately. He said your name in slight confusion, even embarrassment at being caught in the metaphorical pissing match between him and his coach.

“I—” he licked his lips, struggling to find the words in English. “My knee. It is… Messed up.”

“Messed up?” you said. “What do you mean?”

That’s when Rod popped in. “He took a bit of a stumble on the ice, it didn’t look too serious at first but his knee is hurting.” He turned to glare at Andrei. “He can barely stand on it.”

Andrei clenched his jaw, attempting to shift his weight onto his right knee, but he could barely manage to stand before his face twisted up in pain and he had to use the wall to balance himself.

You stepped up to the Russian, worriedly wringing your hands together before stilling them to grab your stubborn friend's arm. “You’re too stubborn for your own good,” you smiled wryly, attempting to mask your worry with a small tease.

Andrei towered over you, but his size had always made you feel safe rather than scared, and that applied to now, roo. “I am fine, darling,” he murmured the pet name in Russian, his voice matching the softness of his eyes he could never hide when looking at you. Sometimes he’d speak in his native tongue in front of you because he knew you didn’t understand, and the scowl on your face afterward always made him laugh.

But, even though he was definitely not fine, he could barely take having to bother his teammates and coaches with his issues, nonetheless you. He didn't want you to see him so weak, at least not like this.

“My knee is just stiff. Sore.” he shot a look towards Rod, who up until this moment had been staring at the wall to give the two of you privacy. “It is not that bad, I am sure of it.”

“Then you’ll go to the hospital to get it checked out since it’s ‘not that bad’.” Rod deadpanned, finally breaking the bubble of tension that always seemed to surround you and Andrei when together.

“I agree with him, Andrei,” you said, placing another hand on his arm to gain his attention. “You need to get it looked at, at the very least.”

You gave him your best puppy eyes, peering up at him as he stood over you. You could see the hesitation on his face, knowing his protesting was mostly because he hated bothering others with his problems.

“If not for your career, do it for me?” you said, attempting to bring back his smile by poking him in the chest. “Please?”

A moment of silence, you staring at Andrei and Andrei staring at you…

“—fine.”

He agreed, but his knee was not fine as he said it was. It was bad because it wasn’t actually his knee that had been causing his pain, but rather a torn ligament connected to the knee that turned out to be the ACL in his right leg.

And Andrei was devastated. You weren’t allowed to be in the room with him while they checked him out because he needed an MRI, but Martin and Seth were and it was them who came up to you in the hallway, grim looks on their faces as they broke the news. You could hear the raised voices of both Andrei and Brind’Amour shouting from the room.

You couldn’t see Andrei’s face, but you felt your heart breaking for him anyways as the doctor probably told him how long his recovery would take, the physical therapy he would need to endure, and the amount of time he wouldn’t be able to play hockey for.

“Nine months,” Andrei said, angrily typing away on his phone to his brother, Evgeny, probably. “Maybe six if I am lucky.”

You remained silent, watching him from the kitchen counter at a loss for words. You had offered to drive Andrei home, unofficially taking on the role of caretaker since Martin lived with his girlfriend and Seth was, well… Seth.

Andrei was on the couch, dressed in an old Hurricanes hoodie with shorts, his right leg propped up on a stool wrapped in a temporary cast. His face was flushed, and his hair messy from all the times he had run his hands through it. You knew he was in pain, both mentally and physically, but it really was unfair how he still managed to look so attractive all throughout.

Leg cast and all included.

“Is that what the doctor said?” you asked, finally gaining the courage to speak as you crossed the room. You carefully sat on the couch next to him, not wanting to jostle his leg.

The Russian dropped his phone on his lap, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes before gazing at you with determination. “Yes. But I’m going to be better in five.”

You finally cracked a smile, there’s the ‘Drei you knew and loved, your first one since hearing the news and bringing him back to his house. Andrei couldn’t help but grin, feeling the fondness for you in his heart grow. You were so good to him, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his feelings to himself while you stayed with him.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t mind having you stay with him for the rest of the year, though. Andrei was selfish, and he was also possessive, so he liked having you to himself. He considered Martin and Seth and Sebastian his good friends, his teammates, his bros if you will, but you were his. His best friend, his best girl—you were the only one he wanted, and maybe this new living situation would give him the opportunity to finally tell you.

Andrei just hoped you felt the same. He wouldn’t be able to stand losing you because he couldn’t keep his heart under control.

“Well, you know I’ll be here to help you get through it.” You stated with conviction, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze and your heart beating all the while.

You held your unspoken promise, especially on the day of his surgery a little less than a week after his prognosis. It was an early surgery on a Thursday morning, and you even called off work so you could be at the hospital with him when he woke up.

You already knew most of your friends and family were wondering why you were putting so much effort into caring for someone who was just a friend, and if you were being honest you didn’t have much of an answer to give them. They had a point after all, right?

You and Andrei were just friends. That was it. You may be in love with him (now more than ever), and you definitely omitted that little detail during past conversations, but still. Friends move in with each other to help recover from big injuries all the time.

This time with Andrei was no different, and you had to repeat this mantra over and over again in your head as the anesthesia slowly wore off and his eyes were so soft and droopy, mumbling his words and his accent was thicker than ever and your heart was beating so fast it was going to jump out of your chest–

“Thank you for being here with me,” Andrei slurred, gazing up at you with those warm, half-lidded eyes.

You grabbed his hand, gently, lacing your fingers together and squeezing once. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Andrei squeezed back once before losing consciousness, his eyes closing and his head lolling back against the pillow. “That’s normal, right?” You asked the nurse, who was busy writing on a clipboard. She only had to look up once to take in the situation before responding.

“Everyone responds to anesthesia differently. Your boyfriend is just one of many who has to sleep it off.”

You felt your stomach drop, your eyes widening only slightly at the nurse’s casual use of ‘boyfriend’. Of course, that’s what you and your best friend must have looked like to her, right? You, holding Andrei’s hand, and he gazing up at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

It was probably just the drugs in his system. Definitely.

Andrei was cleared to leave the hospital the next day, and you heard the news from the group chat you, Martin, and Seth were in. It was comically titled, ‘Andrei’s bobble-leg’, courtesy of Seth, of course, and it was essentially just the three of you coordinating who has Andrei duty on the days you weren’t able to be with him.

Unfortunately, the day he was able to go home was the day you had to be back at work, so Martin and Seth left their morning skate early to drive him home. And so, here you were now, finally off from work and driving down Capital Blvd road to Andrei’s home.

Martin, Seth, and surprisingly quite a few of the players were already there when you arrived. You knocked on the front door before letting yourself in, curiosity written all over your face as you walked closer to all the noise.

Happy shouts of your name rang across the room when you appeared in the doorway, and your face flushed red in embarrassment at all the eyes suddenly upon you. “Hey guys,” you said, eyes scanning around the room looking for the only man you really cared about.

Finally, you found him. Andrei was seated on his couch, leg safely propped up on the ottoman and wrapped in tight bandages and a brace. He had an Xbox controller in his hand, the video game he was previously playing on pause.

“How was work?” Sebastian asked from the right of Andrei, also holding a controller. There were several bags of chips laid out across the ottoman, and both men were currently snacking.

It was probably against their diet, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell them that, especially Andrei.

“Work,” you finally responded, rather dry. Most of the population, including you, unfortunately, were not lucky enough to play the sport they loved as their job.

A few chuckles and about an hour later, everyone began packing up to leave. Somehow, you had gravitated toward Andrei during this time of catching up with his teammates and ended up on the couch next to him, on his left. His arm was casually strewn across the back of the couch, fingertips playing with the ends of your hair and occasionally brushing against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

You liked to pretend it was just you harboring feelings for him sometimes because it was less scary, but every day that fantasy was getting harder and harder to live… Especially when you would turn your head to catch a peek at his side profile, and he was already staring as if knowing the effect he had on you.

“How’s your leg feeling?” You asked once you heard the front door shut, signaling the exit of the last guest. It was silent other than the TV playing softly in the background, it having changed from Call of Duty to a rerun of Friends some time ago.

Andrei sighed, attempting to hide his emotional turmoil with a smile. Bringing his arm down from the back of the couch, he tentatively rested it on your shoulders, gauging your reaction before bringing you to his side. He’s been an affectionate person since you first met him, so you were used to the random hand-holding or hugs, but it still never failed to make you long for something more.

He patted his leg gently, careful not to disturb it from where it rested. “Hurts. But that is to be expected, no?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t suck.” You said, your voice nothing more than a murmur. You rested your head against his shoulder, tugging at a loose string on one of your sleeves.

The hockey player didn’t respond, instead, he placed one of his big hands on your shoulder and squeezed, a sign he at least heard your attempt at reassurance. Time passed quickly like this; Friends continued playing, as did your position tucked into Andrei’s side.

You felt at peace, and while he didn’t say it with words you could tell the Russian beside you felt the same. Hopefully, the next few months of healing will just fly by.

And they did, at first. But even though the Carolina Hurricanes were missing one of their star players, the games must go on. His teammates went out on the ice, each and every one of them feeling Andrei’s absence keenly.

You felt it too, as the Boston Bruins scored their fourth and final goal of the night, winning the game in a shootout. The hope immediately dissipated within your chest and in rose frustration and disappointment to take its place, but you were sure that was nothing compared to what Andrei was feeling beside you.

The entirety of the game, your hand was wrapped in Andrei’s, his squeezing down when the Bruins scored their first goals in regulation and releasing to clap when we were finally able to tip the puck in. Then the team came back in the third period—you weren’t sure what Brind’Amour had said to the boys during the second intermission, but whatever he said had worked.

The Hurricanes had been controlling the puck in the Bruins’ zone, something they had failed to do in the first two periods. They were passing, aiming, shooting, scoring, first by Skjei in the corner of the net and then by Aho on a tight pass from Martinook that slipped right past Swayman’s shoulder.

It was looking so good because Andersen had finally gotten his head in the game and the defense had stepped up, but then we went past overtime scoreless, and then to the fateful shootout.

You had felt the anxiousness from every fan in the arena. If anyone was an avid Hurricanes watcher, including you, they knew shootouts had never been this hockey team’s strong suit.

Andrei’s frustration was palpable next to you. His left leg was bouncing up and down for the entirety, and you could see the muscles tensing and untensing in his right leg as if he had wanted to move. It only got worse when Brind’Amour sent Burns out first, something that had you, Andrei, and every single Hurricanes fan in the arena watching on in confusion.

“No, no,” you had heard the Russian mutter from next to you. “Why is he sending Brent? He needs to send Fishy, or Turbo—” the words then died in his mouth as Brent missed as everyone knew would happen, and sadly Teuvo, who went out next, did too.

Unfortunately for us, the Bruins had good goal-scorers. Coyle had slipped the puck past Andersen, as did DeBrusk, and then it was done. Game over. Just like that.

You finally turned to face the man next to you just as his head fell into his hands, tugging at his hair and messing up the gel you forced him to put on because no, Andrei, you can’t show up with bedhead. He was muttering words you couldn’t understand, most likely the creative Russian curses you heard him say on occasion.

If this game had been hard to watch for you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Andrei was feeling.

“‘Drei,” you said, tentatively. “Are you—”

“No. Don’t.” He snapped, rubbing at his eyes before unsteadily rising to stand. His right leg shook, but he refused the arm you held out and didn’t dare to look in your eyes to see what look they held. As he tried to reach for his crutches, his leg buckled from underneath him, and this time you ignored the hurt of him lashing out to put your arms around his back to steady him.

“Can we— Is it okay if…” he struggled to speak, his accent thick with emotion as he struggled to find the words. Andrei had never been good at communicating when upset, literally, because everything always came to him in Russian naturally, and this time was no different. “Leave? Can we leave?”

“What about—”

“No. No team. No reporters.” he said, digging his fingers into the back of his jersey you were wearing.

You softened, gently maneuvering your body so you could face him better. Now you were chest-to-chest, your arms still wrapped around his midsection to keep him steady. “What do you want then, Andrei?”

“Home,” he murmured. “Home. With you.” he wasn’t able to convey it right at this moment, but his heart was pounding as he said the words. To him, to anyone in his culture, this was the closest he could come to expressing his love without outright saying it.

He found he wasn’t scared about finally admitting this out loud, either, because you were his home. Everything about you was home because he wouldn’t dare let anyone else except his brother and mama see him so vulnerable.

Of course, you were oblivious. He normally found it cute, but right now he wanted to shake you because all he wanted right now was to hold you in his arms and kiss you as he found comfort in your presence.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, the double meaning of his words flying right over your head. But something emboldened you, gave you the courage to raise your hands to his shoulders so you could reach up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, right next to the corner of his lips.

“Let’s go home, ‘kay?”

The ride home was silent, comforting even despite the rough loss the team took. By the time you finally managed to get to the car, the two of you were struggling to keep your eyes open and also keep your hands off each other. Andrei tangling your hands together, you gently leaning against his side…

It was all surface-level, neither wanting to speak the words out loud but yet not wanting to sacrifice the innocent, physical intimacy you found with each other. This was all racing through your mind the closer you got to Andrei’s house, and you were almost positive he was thinking the same.

Andrei, in fact, was actually contemplating the one-hundred different ways he was going to kiss you, if he ever gets to that stage with you. He was currently facing the window but left enough room at the corner of his eyes to take little peeks at you, only fuelling his determination to do something about the tension between you.

And, yeah, maybe he was hyperfixating on you to distract him from the fact his team lost and if he was down on the ice he knew he would have been able to fix it, been able to score. His emotions had skyrocketed since the game ended, and everything felt so much more intense than usual.

Maybe that was just the pain medication he was on, though…

After you finally arrived at Andrei’s house, it took a little bit over an hour to finally get yourselves ready for bed. The problem? Neither of you were ready for any sort of sleeping, and you both knew it.

Currently, Andrei was leaning back into the couch, his right leg once again propped up on the ottoman and a blanket haphazardly thrown over his lap. You were next to him, legs comfortably tucked underneath you with a few inches of space left between you and Andrei.

There was half a family-sized bag of Doritos in between you that he said was in his pantry, so you were both currently snacking on them while watching the NHL channel. It was quiet other than for the TV, for neither of you were speaking a word for fear of breaking the thick silence between you.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, and what made it even worse is that you didn’t think Andrei even noticed. He was wrapped up in his phone, most likely watching the game recap because his face was twisted up and his whole body seemed tense.

You shoved another Dorito in your mouth. Fuck. You were so, so screwed. You needed to get it together before you said something you regretted, especially since you had temporarily become his roommate.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke. “Andrei?” you said, hesitantly looking towards him.

“What?” he responded after a moment, not taking his eyes away from his phone.

Now you felt uncomfortable. Before, in the arena, he was looking at you like he loved you, but now he was snappy and tense and worse than normal because his team lost without him being able to play.

Picking at the skin around your nails, you attempted scooting down the couch before just giving up and moving to stand. “Nevermind,” you said with a mutter, feeling withdrawn and defeated. If he didn’t want to open up to you, fine, but you didn’t deserve to have him take out his frustration on you.

At least, not like this.

Andrei didn’t even respond, furthering your feelings of bitterness towards the man you had so many feelings for. Wrapping your hands in the long sleeves of his hoodie you were still wearing, you shuffled down the hallway and into the guest room you claimed as your own.

You could still hear the TV playing in the background, but that was the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You blinked the frustration from your eyes and crawled underneath the bed sheets, scrolling on your phone until you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Hours passed of restless tossing and turning, and then suddenly it was three in the morning and you were being woken up by countless knocks on your door.

“The fuck?” you muttered sleepily, crawling out of the cocoon of blankets you were in to answer your door. For whatever reason, your sleep-addled brain wasn’t able to comprehend that it was probably Andrei on the other side. “Andrei?” you said, confused as the Russian leaned against the wall.

He looked rather sheepish, slightly embarrassed. His hair was ruffled, and the TV was still playing so he probably fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, shit,” you said, suddenly realizing that he was probably here because he needed help. Of course. That was all it was. “I’m such an idiot, sorry,” you breathed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you stepped out of the room. “C’mon, I’ll help you get in bed.”

Andrei stopped you with a hand, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find words. “No, that is not it.” he finally settled on.

Okay, now you were curious. “Huh?”

“I am sorry.”

What?

“For what?” You asked, staring up at him wide-eyed. You were honestly too tired for a heavy conversation like this so you were struggling to keep up.

Andrei swallowed the lump in his throat. His leg was currently throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing in his heart as he looked at you. Your hair was all over the place in the most endearing way, and your eyes were droopy in a way that told him you were just sleeping.

“For not treating you right, for—” He cut himself off, sighing in frustration. Why was English so complicated? If only you understood English. “English is stupid.” he muttered, then released a big sigh and steeled his resolve.

Stepping closer, he brought the two of you chest-to-chest and brought his arms to cage you against the wall.

And you, you meanwhile, let out the most embarrassing noise possible when he suddenly got close, and then Andrei was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His body was trapping you in, and while your senses were on overdrive you strangely enough didn't feel like fleeing.

“Andrei?” You squeaked, sinking further into the wall if it was possible. Your eyes dropped, finding the center of his chest to firmly set your gaze. His eyes were so dark, intimidating, and swimming with an intention you were nervous to find out. “What are you doing?”

“Look at me, please?” A large hand smoothed against your skin, gently tilting your head up. Your eyes automatically locked with his, and the emotion on his face had you gasping. “There’s my girl,” He said.

Okay, yeah, your body was frozen, the breath leaving your lungs in a torrent of sharp breaths. This… This was new territory, for the both of you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Andrei looked so calm while you looked like a startled deer—an unattractive one, at that.

He started speaking, heart thundering while the words poured from his throat like warm, melted butter. “I’m in love with you. You are my person, I knew from the very first moment I saw you in that bar so many months ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but tonight, having you next to me… You’ve always been next to me, and I’ve taken advantage of that. Darling, I want to make up for all the times I never kissed you senseless, and I want nothing more than to have you as mine, and I yours.”

Your favorite music, your favorite voice, words so filled with emotion and yet you couldn’t even understand him as he looked at you like you were his sun, and he a plant desperately seeking your warmth. Andrei had only spoken in Russian a handful of times in front of you – most being curses or quips exchanged with Pyotr – and never had he spoken so much of it.

You’d always thought Russian was rather harsh. The sharp whistles, clicks of the tongue, hissing of certain words; you admired anyone who could speak it, but it had never been an easy language to listen to you. But, when Andrei spoke Russian… It was soft, almost musical, and expressive to the point you felt like you could understand the very subject at hand if you thought about it. Maybe you were just biased, but you swore you fell more in love with him every time he spoke it.

“No words?” he said, a grin on his face that made you realize you’d maybe been silent for a little too long.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You were breathless— literally.

“I show you, then, what I said,” Andrei brushed his fingers against the side of your neck, almost fully grasping it as he gently brought you closer. You had no complaints, though. “Yes?”

He said your name again, looking at you with those warm eyes so full of depth they hypnotized you and had you nodding yes, almost instinctively.

Andrei sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on you only slightly as he slid his hand around the back of your head. Your lips were slightly parted, shiny and red from where you’d been biting them previously, and that cupid’s bow that always drove him crazy when you smiled was quirked upwards as if it was asking him to kiss you.

He waited a moment, stared into your eyes, his fingers merely a whisper of a touch against your cheek, and finally took the leap. The first touch of his lips was shy, testing, but then you whimpered with need and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer and Andrei had an internal moment of fuck it where he realized just how crazy he was for you. Pressing you into the wall, he nipped at your bottom lip and was granted entrance with a gasp drowned out by the sound of his own groan. He put every ounce of his passion and love and relief into this kiss as if trying to convince you to stay because this, this here? It was worth it—you were worth it. Fireworks, electricity, butterflies, and everything all at once was igniting in your gut and caused you to let out a pathetic whimper the moment your lips finally detached. He was clearly skilled at this, wholeheartedly controlling the moment as his lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin that met your collarbone.

“‘Drei,” you gasped, clutching the hair right at his scalp – when did you move your arms around his neck? – as he sucked a mark under your jaw. “Hm?” he hummed, not stopping with his ministrations.

“What,” you said, throat dry and raspy as you tried to speak over the sound of your beating heart. “What did you say— oh,”

Andrei’s grin was almost feral as he drew the beautiful sound from your lips. “Found it,” he said, voice full of pride as he brushed his fingers against the newly-found sweet spot on your neck.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his head in between your hands, bringing his head to yours so you could press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips before pulling back to gather your thoughts because you had a lot of them.

Andrei pouted the moment you pulled him away but respected your boundaries and merely rested his hands on your waist to keep you close. He said your name gently, his tone bordering on questioning. “Did I… Did I push too far?” he said.

“No, no, not at all,” you rushed to correct him, already having caught the guilt in his eyes. “I just want to know what you said earlier, before you— you know.” It felt almost taboo to say ‘before you kissed the life out of me’, not wanting to break this delicate balance you found yourself in.

The Russian hummed, already catching on to your bashfulness and deciding to tease you for it. “No, darling, I think you need to remind me,” he brought a hand up to loosely wrap around your neck, the contact keeping you grounded. “On what I did before what?”

“Andrei,” you said, immediately dropping eye contact as your face flushed red. “You’re being a tease,” you muttered.

He dipped his head, brushing your lips together as he spoke. You felt his breath against your skin and had the sudden desire to taste him again. “I can do this all night, but the question is can you?”

You gave up at that because the moment he spoke he drew back and you couldn’t stand the feeling of not having him close to you anymore. “Andrei,” you sucked in a breath. “What did you say before you kissed me? In Russian?”

“I love you,” Andrei didn’t miss a beat as he crept his other hand farther up your waist. “That is mostly what I said. And more.”

“More?” you squeaked out as he drew closer.

The hockey player hummed, then suddenly stepped back and grabbed your hand. “Much more,” he confirmed. “Now—bed?” Short, sweet, and to the point Andrei always was…

Just one of the many things you loved about him.

Twenty minutes later you lay in Andrei’s bed, swallowed in another one of his shirts, and curled into his chest. His arm was wrapped around your waist, stroking gentle circles into the skin exposed to the room. It was silent, null except for the steady hum of the air conditioning and the gentle breathing of two humans reveling in each other’s presence.

“I miss it,” he said, suddenly speaking up. You lifted your head only slightly from his chest, already missing the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. “Hockey. And I miss playing with my brothers.”

Brothers. Your heart broke at hearing the longing in his voice, because every single player on the team he played with was his family, in one way or another, and now he was being forced to watch them play the sport he had no chance of helping them win.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he was feeling.

“I know, Andrei,” was what you finally settled on. Your voice was soft, gentle, trying to convey your understanding with actions rather than words. You drew tiny circles on his chest, taking pride in the way goosebumps rose in your fingers’ wake. “I know.”

He tightened his grip on you, holding you closer to him as if he were afraid you’d disappear. “Will you be here?” he suddenly asked, frowning. Andrei knew he was being slightly irrational, feeling so vulnerable, but he really hadn’t felt secure in himself since first tearing his ACL.

What was his purpose in life, really, if not to play hockey and have you with him?

You hadn’t yet spoken, so he quickly clarified. “In the morning. And all the mornings after.”

A smile broke across your face as you buried your head into his chest. You felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled, and then he shifted to where you were laying on top of his chest so he could see your face. “All the mornings, huh?” you asked, feeling bashful.

Andrei grinned, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth, knowing the effect he had on you. “Every one,” he replied. “If you will have me.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

And you meant it, truly, with every fiber of your being. The next months were going to be rough, the ones where you’d have to be there for Andrei as he watched his team ultimately compete and fall through in the playoffs especially.

But you knew the two of you could do it. Andrei was nothing if not committed, even through all the arguments, tears, and emotional breakdowns, you were there for each other through the long haul.

And Andrei, meanwhile, after many difficult months down the road, had the biggest smile on his face as the doctors told him it was a miracle.

Because he had healed from his ACL injury in five.

fin

A/N: Before my medical professionals come at me, YES I KNOW acl injuries take up to a year to recover from almost all of the time, but for the sake of this fic just pls ignore that little fact 😭 in all seriousness though, I can’t wait till our favorite Russian gets to play again bc I miss him sm. As always, please leave likes, reblogs, and comments. Ily all <33

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decagondice · 3 months ago

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༓ Astra's Dark Bargain ༓

༓ Pairing. Zayne x Reader

༓ Synopsis. In a desolate, snow-covered mountain pass, Zayne kneels beside the still form of the one person he had vowed to protect, grappling with the weight of his failure and the relentless demands of Astra, a deity whose cruelty haunts his every step. As the frost of Astra’s displeasure creeps across his own skin, Zayne finds himself confronting the quiet, somber ache of a love lost to forces beyond mortal control. His voice is a quiet plea to the uncaring heavens, a whispered promise to carry the burden left in your wake, and to defy the god’s merciless hold—even if it means bearing Astra’s frost alone in the empty silence.

༓ Content. sfw, I've mixed both of foreseer and regular zayne into this one, it's hard to describe Zayne here... Zayne and reader in an alternate life you might say, Angst (?) no comfort, Emotional distress, Loneliness, Resentment, Mentions of death, Hurt, Mentions of pain, Zayne's woes, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 1.3k

༓ A.N. Bargain doesn't even read legibly on the cover image -_- But! I wanted to write a slightly dramatic piece about Zayne and this is what I could conjure up...I hope to come up with more ideas for him and the other characters in the future, as they often occupy my thoughts. I am not sure how I feel about this piece (again…) but I just wanted to test the waters to see if I could write for any of the L&DS men :)

[Artwork by Arkhip Kuindzhi - 'Elbrus. Moonlit Night', 1895]

The snow fell in a gentle, unbroken drift across the desolate mountainside, casting the world in a pale, unyielding silence. Zayne knelt in its midst, his breath misting in thin clouds before him, his body still but his mind filled with restless echoes. Beneath him, a thin sheet of frost began to form along the edges of his hands, creeping across his skin as he held still, resisting the hollow summons of Astra’s will. He could feel it—Astra’s cold displeasure, sinking into his bones, a reminder of the god’s claim upon him, of the obedience expected.

But his focus, his thoughts, lay with you.

His gaze traced the jagged peaks rising around him, black shadows against the whiteness of the sky, as if the mountains themselves bore witness to his failure. The snow lay untouched, pristine, save for the faint indentations left by his knees and the faint outlines of where you lay beside him. Zayne closed his eyes, breathing in the frigid air, letting it scrape against his lungs, sharp and raw, as if it might somehow mirror the feeling within him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a quiet murmur, almost lost in the vastness. “You once told me,” he began, his words nearly inaudible, “that if anything ever happened, you trusted me to keep you safe. You believed in me, even when I faltered.” He lowered his gaze to the snow-covered ground, to the faint outline of your form, unmoving. “I wanted so much to protect you from all of this…from him. From the fate he had written for us.”

He reached out, his hand hovering just above you, close enough to feel the bitter cold radiating from your skin. Astra’s frost was already settling there, weaving a cruel web of ice and decay, a visible reminder of Zayne’s defiance, of his quiet refusal to yield fully to the god’s demands. The frost had become Astra’s punishment, each crystal a reminder of his supposed disloyalty, a testament to his human weakness.

Zayne took in a slow, ragged breath, and his fingertips trembled, holding back the impulse to touch you, to draw you close. He knew he couldn’t; the frost would spread, seeping from him to you, an insidious reminder of Astra’s power, and he couldn’t bear to add to your suffering, even in this silence.

“Astra,” he murmured, slowly looking up to the bleak, slate-grey sky. “If this is your design, then why must I be forced to bear it like this?” He could feel the ache of his words in his throat, the raw sorrow pressing down on him, heavy as the snow that fell, cold and unfeeling. “What purpose is there in this silence, in this…punishment?” He let his hand fall away, fingers digging into the snow, as if the sting of cold could numb the helplessness clawing within him.

The silence held his answer. Astra’s presence loomed, distant and implacable, as cold as the landscape around him. Zayne had spent years under that shadow, bound by threads of fate that he had never chosen, threads that tightened around him with every passing moment, reminding him that his defiance was futile. And yet, he had never truly surrendered, not in his heart. Not with you beside him.

The snow began to settle more heavily, blanketing the desolation around him in a shroud of quiet, oppressive white. Every breath Zayne drew tasted of cold metal, of something bitter and unforgiving, and he could feel his strength waning under the weight of the knowledge pressing down on him: he’d failed. This time, he hadn’t been able to shield you from Astra’s wrath, from the god’s harsh and unbending will. This time, the nightmares he had fought so hard to keep from you had spilled into the waking world, and he had been powerless to stop them.

He looked down, his eyes tracing the delicate lattice of frost spreading along your skin, tracing lines that seemed cruelly beautiful in the way they marred the familiar warmth he’d cherished. His voice softened, barely a whisper. “I never wanted this to be your burden,” he murmured. “I wanted to be enough, somehow…enough to keep you safe, to carry the weight of it myself.” He felt the ache of unspoken words, the memory of countless promises he’d made to himself to protect you, to give you shelter from Astra’s storms, no matter what price he had to pay.

But Astra’s price had been exacted nonetheless, claimed in silence and shadow, leaving only emptiness in its wake. Zayne’s jaw tightened, the grief pressing harder, sharper, as he forced himself to look upon the frost-laced contours of your face. How many nights had he watched over you, guarding you from the dark, from the nightmares he carried in his own soul? How many times had he whispered quiet reassurances, promising a safety he was never certain he could give?

And now…now that safety was as distant and unreachable as the stars that hid behind the grey sky.

He let the silence stretch, feeling its weight, listening to the quiet crush of snow beneath his fingers as he shifted closer, unwilling to leave your side even as Astra’s frost continued its cruel work. “You believed in me,” he murmured, more to himself than to the god whose shadow lingered over him. “Even when I questioned myself. You had faith that I could keep you from this fate, that I could somehow outwit a god’s will.”

He shook his head slowly, a faint, sorrowful smile ghosting over his lips. “Maybe that was your kindness…believing in me like that, letting me think I could protect you from him.” His voice softened, breaking. “But even kindness has its limits, doesn’t it?”

The snow fell thicker now, beginning to blur the line between earth and sky, erasing the distinctions between each jagged peak and hollowed valley. Zayne could feel the stillness settling over everything, blanketing him in an almost unbearable quiet, as if even the mountains shared in his grief. His hand drifted to his chest, resting over his heart, as if trying to hold onto the warmth that was slowly leeching away in Astra’s icy wake.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories fill the silence—the warmth of your laughter echoing against stone, the way your hand had slipped into his with quiet confidence, as if the gods’ wrath could never touch you so long as you stood beside him. He’d found himself believing it, if only for a moment, forgetting that Astra’s shadow could reach anywhere, even here in the desolation, even here in his arms.

Zayne’s shoulders fell, the weight of the silence pressing in. He looked to the mountains, their impassive faces cloaked in snow and shadow, and he spoke once more, a faint whisper of resolve threaded through his voice.

“Astra may hold my fate in his hands,” he said softly. “He may demand penance, loyalty, whatever else he wills.” His fingers brushed the cold ground beside you, almost tender, but he did not dare disturb the stillness that bound you now. “Some things will always remain beyond his reach—even for him.” His hand pressed to his heart, the only warmth left in the unforgiving chill.

In the solitude of the mountain, with only the wind and snow as witness, Zayne leaned down, his forehead nearly touching the frost that laced your own, his breath ghosting across your brow. “Rest now,” he whispered, the words barely breaking past his grief. “What you leave behind, I'll bear.”

And as he knelt there, alone in the unyielding cold, he felt the frost sink deeper into his skin, creeping in warning, as if Astra’s hold tightened with each moment he lingered by your side. But Zayne stayed, unwavering, unwilling to surrender his last moments with you, no matter the price.

Snow covered you both as the mountains stood silent, unmoved, keeping watch over the broken vow that lay quietly between you.

A.N. I was researching a bit about Astra when writing this piece and his theories seem...interesting.... I do want to write something about astra but I'm not too sure since he is still a shrouded figure. Anyways~ I hope you enjoyed this piece! Thank you for reading! Have a lovely day/night:)

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uss-edsall · 5 months ago

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Band of Brothers and the Holocaust

Speaking as someone who has studied the Shoah, but her focus was on what Allied soldiers did when they discovered a concentration camp? Band of Brothers' Why We Fight is the most accurate portrayal of liberating a concentration camp in any WWII media.

It has every single element of what happened, while also conveying the human experience of the tragedy.

In the following post I am going to write out the general nature of what happened when an Allied unit found a concentration camp. Interspersed will be dialogue in indents and italics direct from Band of Brothers.

The war is coming to a close. The soldiers are looking forward to going home. The mood is fairly upbeat, morale is high. There's been rumours that some bad stuff's been happening, it's known Jews and others were being persecuted, but it's not something on the mind of the average American or British enlisted soldier. Your farmboys and streetrats want to go home. They want mom's food, dad's firm hand, to play with their kid they haven't seen in three years - six if they're British.

Then...

It sure is quiet. He is right, fellas.

They find it.

A camp situated far from anywhere else. A camp in a wholly deforested area. A camp where no birds sing, no animals make noise. Ashy smoke on the horizon. Skeletal figures in striped clothes, staring at them, averting their eyes like beaten dogs. The smoke of burning buildings, dead bodies just laying about.

Major Winters! Uh, we found something. We're out on patrol and uh, we came across this. What, what, what, what? Frank, Frank, what is it? I don't know sir. I don't know.

The reaction, of course, is sheer horror. The deaths these men have seen were almost all in combat. This is not combat. They don't have a word for it. This is genocide, but they don't know that word. Genocide as a term has not been invented yet. It will be specifically to describe what they are now bearing witness to.

Look at their arms. Like cattle. Goddamn.

These soldiers don't know what to do. They've never seen anything like this before and there are no contingencies. But they are men of action. Trained to act no matter what. After the initial shock, after the initial arrival, they spring into motion. These prisoners are starving, obviously. They need food, they need water, they need medical attention. The soldiers distribute what they've got on them, try to help where they can, how little they can.

All right, boys. These people need care. Give them water and any spare rations you might have. Grab me some blankets, quick.

They find and procure more food and bring it to the camps.

Let's go, let's pick up the pace, come on! Sergeant Martin, get whatever we can fit on the deuce and a half.

Their desire to help, to save, it kills people. Refeeding syndrome - the severely malnourished, the starving, feeding them rations meant to keep a man at the top of his physical fitness going every day, the rich bread and cheese of a regular bakery, it overwhelms the stomach. Survivors on the day of liberation do not survive it - dead from the actions of their saviours. This is something Band of Brothers does not, perhaps thankfully, depict on the big screen - instead speaking of it.

Proper medical authorities arrive. They are the men who stop the haphazard nature of the liberators' actions, creating systems. They've never seen anything like this either. They're also working off the cuff - but they do know what they're doing, much better than your average kid from Brooklyn.

We need to stop giving these men food right now. They're starving. If we give them too much to eat too quickly, they'll eat themselves to death.

These medical authorities come with the establishment of proper authority in the region. And it's quickly determined there's nowhere to take these survivors who suffered so grievously. There's no place big enough, centralised enough to keep them safe from others, to keep them in one place to be properly fed and properly treated. No place, except...

We need to keep them in the camp til we can find a place for 'em. You want us to lock these people back up?! We got no choice, Nix. Otherwise they might scatter. We need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better...

The soldiers who have come to the rescue must force the liberated back into the camps. Back into the sight of all their horrors that they want to leave so badly. They have to, to help them get what they need.

The initial forces have to move on. The war is still continuing. They are combat troops, the spearhead of their respective frontline. They aren't guards, they aren't doctors. Their expertise lies in killing, not saving. Yet they tried to do so, to save those they could. When confronted with that, who couldn't?

Tenth Armored are gonna supervise clean-up. What about us? We head out for, uh... Thailheim, Thalheim, tomorrow.

The morale of the men has been shattered, having become first-hand witnesses to the Holocaust. So too, however, has their resolve to see this thing through been hardened, sharpened into a blade that will cut out the heart of fascism in Germany. They react with anger, enraged at the fact that German civilians insist they did not do it.

I said shut up, you Nazi fuck! You're not a Nazi? My mistake, you fat fucking prick. How about a human being? Are you one of those? Or are you gonna tell me that you never smelled the fucking stench?

Martial law is enacted. Commanders give orders to force the populations of nearby villages, towns, cities, to come out in their Sunday best. Everybody who can walk must come - come to the camp, come to see the horrors that they had ignored. Imprint the memory in their brains and know they let this happen. Then, with their own hands, pick up the bodies and bury them. This is what Nixon sees when he returns to the camp after Easy moved on - the 10th Armored enforcing it.

People of Ludswiglust were made to bury the bodies on the palace grounds of the Archduke of Mecklenburg, for example. At Ohrdruf, Colonel Hayden Sears yelled at his soldiers herding German civilians around a makeshift crematorium. "Make them look at the hooked poles for turning over the roasted bodies. Make them stand closer and look!" This is a term used by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum as Forced Concentration. It was a policy, at first made by battlefield commanders and then moving up the ranks. No person old enough to comprehend it was allowed to live in ignorance.

Something not depicted in episode nine but is depicted in episode ten are reprisals.

Some troops reacted to the devastation with bloodlust, a vindictive need to take matters into their own hands. Historian Max Hastings wrote of a British tank commander who drove into the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, pulled out a pistol, shot several guards and drove away. At Dachau, soldiers of the 157th Infantry Regiment machinegunned between 35-50 SS camp guards in a spontaneous reprisal. Heinrich Wicker, the commandant of Dachau, was summarily executed. An official investigation concluded, "in the light of the conditions which greeted the eyes of the first combat troops, it is not believed that justice or equity demand that the difficult and perhaps impossible task of fixing individual responsibility now be undertaken."

What if this guy’s just a soldier? What if he’s an officer with no ties to the SS? What if he’s innocent? You know what? What if he’s a fucking Nazi commandant of a fucking slave camp? Which one? Which camp? You don’t have any proof. Were you at Landsberg? You know I was. You think he’s a soldier like you and me? A fucking innocent German officer? Where the hell have you been for the past three years?

Notice that I have mentioned all these things and then gave dialogue from Band of Brothers for them? How I have barely added more detail of things that were not depicted? It's because Band of Brothers is the only series, movie, or anything else I know to depict the Holocaust and then accurately depict how the liberators of the camps reacted to them - in every single way:

Discovery. The urge, the need, to help - somehow. Distributing food and water too rich for the starved. Orders to stop and herd them back into the camps. Continuing the advance. Forced concentration. Reprisals.

Band of Brothers has it all - I've never seen anybody do it better.

#Band of Brothers #Why We Fight #long post

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slimybeth69 · 25 days ago

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Que Será, Será: Part 7

Rating: Explicit- Smut, violence, drinking/drug use. MDNI!! Summary: It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that...Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult.What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss? Warnings/Tags: DaddyDom!Joel/ you. no use of y/n. No physical description of the reader besides one tattoo. Reader has a background story. Drinking/drug use. Slow burn. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Graphic depictions of violence. Eventual loss of virginity. Use of nicknames/pet names (lil girl, baby girl.) DD/lg dynamics. BDSM play. Unbeta'ed. WIP. Cross-posting from my Ao3. Chapter Warnings: nothin' crazy, just some sensual shower stuff. ANGST. SAD.

Sorry if the texting is like, hard to understand. Joel is BOLD and INDENTED. You're just regular-degular.

<- previous chapter

Series Masterlist

You slept not one wink. Not one single fucking wink and guess who slept great? Mr. Miller.

His alarm goes off early as shit. So early. You’re mad at him when he crawls over the bed and snuggles into you. Your eyes are so tired but they just wouldn’t shut. You are praying he doesn’t ask how you slept because you won’t be able to tell him not well.

“Mornin’.” He kisses the back of your shoulder gently. He can go kiss bricks for snoring as loudly as he did. Morning? Like you weren't up all night? Okay.

“Morning.” You’re so short with him and you don’t even mean to be.

He notices immediately. This must have been a common issue in his past relationships or... he hasn't fucking had any, or he dated deaf women.

“Snorin’ all night?”

Oh. So he knows? Cool. Didn't wanna warn you about it? Get you some ear plugs? Awesome.

“Yeah, kinda.” You roll over and lay on your back beside him, he’s on his side, looking down at you.

“Sorry ‘bout it.” He mindlessly rubs the back of his neck before he leans down and kisses your forehead gently.

Suddenly all the anger is being melted away. All gone.

“You don’t need a fan to sleep? You just sleep in the dead quiet?” You blink up at him tiredly. Just tired. No more mad. He's so handsome and he has sleep still attached to his voice so it's deeper.

“I can fall asleep anywhere. Doesn’t matter.” Joel chuckles softly. “I didn’t think y’cared ‘cause y’never complained or nothing when I stayed at your place.” Joel slides the hand that's not supporting his head across your stomach over the t-shirt he gave you last night. “Sorry. I keep ya' up all night?” He feels bad, but…you don’t care that you didn’t sleep. If this is how he’s gonna wake you up every morning? Shit. You’ll get a sleeping pill or something. Ear plugs. A fan.

“It’s okay.” You’re the one smiling stupidly now. Grinning up at him like no ones ever touched you anywhere ever before (not like this, they haven't). “I don’t care.” Your hand mindlessly rests on the one he has on your stomach, he keeps moving both of them slowly.

“What time ya gotta work?” He asks softly.

“Eight. What time you gotta go in?”

“Whenever I want.” He grins at you and leans down to kiss you softly. “Do you gotta shower before work?” He asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I usually do. I brought stuff to shower here if that’s okay?” You’re talking to him like he’s going to say no. He just asked if you needed one.

You don’t like how nervous he makes you, not at all. But he is already climbing out of bed and pulling the covers off of you.

“It’s only six thirty…Do you want this old man to make you come before you go?” He whispers down to you softly, his hand inches down towards your center. You nod. “C’mon. Follow me.” He is already headed into the bathroom.

You scramble out of bed, grab your little shower bag and follow him. He’s already getting the water turned on and ready. and it’s incredible. The inside is… big. For what reason? There's two fucking shower heads in here–two! No fucking way.

“You did this bathroom?” You ask as you climb in before he does. Getting naked was so easy. So fast. Two things.

Now, this is the most naked you guys have been around each other and you might end up just calling out of work. You’re going to stay in here with him all day. You've seen him naked when he showered in front of you last time you were here. But now you get to touch him.

“I did… y’impressed?” Joel smirks and turns on the other shower head.

“Shut the fuck up. Different temperatures?” You eye him suspiciously because who is he? How did he do all this.

“Yeah. The ex’s request. For no reason. We never did this.” Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you under the water with him. Lil colder than you’d like but that’s fine, still warm. You’ll heat your side up perfectly when he’s done kissing you.

His morning breath isn’t bad and you wonder what god sent him to this earth. You know your morning breath is, and he’s kissing you anyway. He might be a god, honestly.

Joel's tongue slips past your lips and he licks at your teeth and the inside of your cheeks. It's a deep, desperate dance of open mouth kisses as his hands roam across every inch of you he can reach.

You mewl when his fingers and hands cup and grope your tits gently, his palms rubbing across the nipples teasingly as he moves his hands around the curve of your breast.

“How you want me t’do it?” Joel looks down at you with water dripping all out of his facial hair and his hair is so wet. Fuuuck. Okay. Play it cool.

“Fuck me.” You whine up to him quietly but he snorts at you and shakes his head quietly. “Whyyyy?” You cry softly but with no real tears or sadness. This is a fun lil game– for right now. It will not be if he keeps this up forever. You’ll revoke your offer.

“Oh are you gonna complain ‘bout it?” Joel narrows his eyes on yours but his smirk never leaves. You freeze. “No. Yer’ not.” Joel decides for you. “How do you wanna come? Mouth? Fingers? I could use the shower–”

“What?” You blink.

“What?” he blinks back at you.

“The shower? How–” Joel answers your question and removes the shower head from the holder. There is another shower head still going. This is just an attachment appaenrly. You wonder if this was something his ex-wife requested as well and wanna throw up. But then he does a thing and the shower attachment comes to life and spurts and sputters. “You never had one of these?” Joel ask, twisting the dial around the nozzle. So many different setting. Regular shower head. A fucking super concentrated jet of water that if Joel tries to put anywhere near you… you’ll never speak to him again. It's like a fucking pressure-washer. No. Not that one. Then one that just is fucking… looks broken. What the fuck? Just dribbling out? No pressure? Who uses that one? It makes you actually upset to see that because it’s actually pointless.

“No. Just a regular, boring shower.” You’re staring at the attachment in his hand and then he finds the perfect one.

Like a fucking lawn sprinkler. One quick, short, fast little blast of water. Not nearly scary as that fucking jet stream. Jesus. Joel already knows that this is the one. Which makes you mad but you have no time to question how he knows the perfect setting before he’s kicking your legs apart. The shower handle is behind held only inches away from your already buzzing and throbbing clit.

Dear God.

It is a leg crumbling pleasure that almost drops you to your knees because you’re not expecting it. Joel grabs you under one arm and pulls the shower attachment away.

“Good or bad?” Joel needs to know.

“G-Good. D-Do it again.” You can barely comprehend how you've been shower handled into stuttering.

What just happened?

Before he does it again he has you place your hands on his shoulders for support- ya know in case ya fucking fall over. What the hell did you get yourself into with this man?

“Keep goin’?” Joel holds the shower head so it’s massaging the front of your thigh and even that feels fucking amazing. Oh god. He could do this all over your body…and then you could do it to him.

“Pleeease,” you whine, holding onto his shoulders.

Joel kisses you again in a slow, searching-for-something embrace as the short, fast bursts of water find your bundle again.

Holy shit.

You can’t even kiss Joel back anymore. He licks at the inside of your mouth while you vibrate against him. It’s incredible and so fucking amazing and almost too much…so concentrated.

You move your hips back and forth to give it some rhythm and that-- well that's just amazing.

The moan that gets pulled right out of your chest is filthy. It's a sound you've never made before, not with Joel, not on your own. You're embarrassed as soon as it leaves you.

"Oh ya' fuckin' like that?" Joel moves his wrist in a small circle, the stream of water focused solely on your clit. "Say my name," he growls down at you.

There is apparently nothing to be embarrassed of, Joel loves the enthusiasm.

"Daddy," you mewl up to him as he leans in to press his forehead to yours.

"S'my good girl," Joel snakes his free hand around the back of your neck and holds you-- grips you-- so you look up at him. He crowds you in the shower, his whole body towers over you. "Ya' s'fuckin' cute. Love watchin', baby."

Everything feels like it's being swept away, pulled out from under you. There is a tautness in your belly and it's threatening to snap.

You clench your eyes shut at the rapture inside of you, but it’s short lived. The water between your legs is gone. “What!?” You exclaim, snapping your eyes open to look at Joel.

“Yer gon’ look at me when you come…” Joel whispers softly. “I wanna see ya… been relaxed ‘bout it… not anymore. I wanna see them eyes when you fuckin' come,” Joel leans down and you right between the eyes. “You want Mr. Miller to make you come now?” He whispers it against your forehead, and now your knees are weak for a whole new reason.

“Yes, Mr. Miller. Please make me come.” You whisper into his chest. Joel doesn’t hesitate or make you ask again.

The water and the pressure and everything are back. Right where you want it and you start to move your hips again. His shoulders feel so fucking strong under your hands. His skin? Fucking smooth. Like, incredibly smooth and soft.

Shit. That water is hitting you in all the right spots and leaving you almost breathless.

“Good?” Joel pulls his lips back from your forehead and looks down at you. You’re already looking up at him, nodding. Unable to speak. “I bet it does. Y'ain't gotta ask me to come…yet. Just gotta look'it me f'now." He rumbles deeply, leans down to kiss your lips, and is met with a moan, a real one as the water touches you in all the best fucking ways. It’s warm like Joel’s mouth. Fuck. “Yeah, lil girl. Move them fuckin’ hips.” Joel is looking down between the two of you and sees your body undulating at his watery command.

“Feels s-so good, D-Daddy,” You sound come-stupid already… but you’re close. He’s pushing you there. Pointing over your shoulder which way to go to feel good. You’re so thankful for him ‘cause you did not know where to go. "Yes. Y-Yes. P-Please keep going..." Fuck, your legs are already trembling and you can barely think.

“I love makin’ you moan and feel good," He growls down to you and that just pushes you right to where you wanted to be.

You stare at him and try so hard to get your words out before it actually happens.

"You'regonnamakemecome,” you spit it out quickly as all one big word.

Joel is grinning, and nodding his head softly like he’s giving you permission even though it was going to happen regardless.

“Ohgod-- Ohgod-- Ohfuck-- Fuck! Mr. Miller!” Each exclaim followed by a gasp for as because you are moaning, so loud.

Joel’s eyes are lock onto yours, never leaving as you come. You barely blink. You’re hypnotized by him. You feel too good and your hips are doing things they’ve never done before. Moving in ways they’ve never twisted and turned while rolling them back and forth. You gush and it’s the first time you’ve done that standing up so, it does make your knees buckle but Joel has you. Had you the whole time. “Ohthankyou.ThankyouDaddy.Fuuck.”

It's only whimpers and whines as he holds the water to you as the orgasm disperses and now you’re left with now just mind buzzing and jolting electric shocks of too much pleasure. You’re twitching with each one and Joel is smirking down at you as you stare up into his big brown eyes. He pulls the shower head away and kisses your lips.

“Good?” He smirks and lets you go gently, making sure you’re on your feet and not going to fall. You got it. Can’t fucking think straight…but you can stand. Joel replaces the attachment and gets right to showering. You’re still swallowing hard, standing there. Breathing heavy. You have to move. Have to shower. You have to work.

“Are you…good?” You ask Joel as your body remembers how to move again.

“Whaddya mean?” Joel asks as he washes his hair and beard. You also start to wash.

“You don’t need to.. Ya know?” You nod down to his very obvious erection and smirk. He chuckles and rinses the suds out of his hair.

“Nah. I’ll be fine.” He chuckles and starts to wash his body with a bar of soap. You..don’t like this answer. Dunno why.

“Okay.” Is all you say though.

Why? Why will he be fine?

He finishes his shower first and leaves you in there to finish up. To overthink. Shit. Okay. No. You're not doing that. No way. Things are fine. You think and hope and pray to Satan because, fuck. Why didn’t you do something with that big swinging thing between his legs while he was working on you? Idiot, too focused and selfish to worry about Mr. Miller. Sonofabitch.

He’s gonna hate you.

Nooooo, you don't want that. You… kinda like him, actually.

Humph— No you do not.

You get out of the shower angrily… like you have a right to be. You grab the towel Joel hung up outside the shower for you and dry. Fast and angry.

You go into the bedroom where Joel is already pulling on a black t-shirt over his head; you only catch the last glimpse of his beautiful, sculpted back before he's fully dressed.

You both are quiet as you finished getting dressed. You bring your little make up bag back into the bathroom and brush your hair and your teeth.

Joel comes in while you’re trying to put on mascara. He reaches over to your mirror and presses a button on the side and all the lights come on.

“That better?” He smiles at you goofily. So stupidly.

“Why wouldn’t you let me touch it!? Why are you fine?” You do not keep your composure at all.

“Uh– wha– I–.. I would’a let y’touch it. I get why y’didn’t but— we gotta work now. Don’t really got time.” Joel snorts nervously and shrugs his shoulders.

Oh.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” You turn to him and feel stupid, of course. “I wasn’t even–” Joel doesn’t let you finish.

“Hey… I’m not mad ‘bout it. I’ll get through the day jus’ fine.” Joel smirks and gives you ass a soft smack. “Make it better fer’ when I see you again. More.” Joel smacks your ass again and then starts to brush his teeth.

“I’m still sorry. I was distracted and not thinking.” You feel goofy for being so upset. Jumping to conclusions.

“Listen Birdie, you ain’t gotta apologize. M’not mad. I wanted to make y’come before you went t’work. I don’t normally…do that…to myself before work.” Joel shrugs his shoulders. “Makes me tired.” He smirks and cleans his graying beard up with his electric razor. “I was tryin’ to distract ya.” He adds when he turns his razor off. “If I needed you to touch me…I’d tell ya. I didn’t need it.” His reflection is talking to you through the mirror. You’re standing behind him, done getting ready minus the wet hair.

“You’ll really tell me?” You double check to make sure he isn’t lying to you.

“T’be honest… if we were already in that situation… and I know ya wanna…I'd make ya touch it.” He winks at you through the mirror and puts on deodorant and then he turns around. “Never gonna force you… unless you wanted me t’force ya…know what m’sayin, baby?” He leans against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest.

Fuck. He’s… fuck. Nothing. He is nothing.

“I would try that sometime.” You smirk at him– can’t fucking help it. Just happens.

“I wanna be th'one ya' try it with.”

“Ok.” It comes out short and fast and excitedly. Joel chuckles. He pushes himself off the sink and walks to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Yer’ real fuckin’ cute. Makin’ it hard t’wanna wait.” He leans in and kisses you softly.

“How long you gonna make me wait?” You ask tentatively. Joel shrugs his shoulders.

“I ain’t gotta time frame. Jus’ want it t’feel right n’ make you comfortable…” Joel kisses you again. “Give ya a lil confidence so yer’ first time is real fun. Yer’ a lil-cute-shy-thang sometimes…” He murmurs against your mouth and, now you’re never leaving his house.

Never. He’ll have to call the police. There will be a domestic disturbance here if he makes you leave.

“Okay… ” You’re officially obsessed with him. You could kick your feet and hug your pillow and literally giggle. Giggling. Oh god. This is bad. You just got a cat!

“Fuuck. I wish we didn’t have t’work.” Joel groans and so do you but you are going to be late if you stay here any longer.

Joel walks you downstairs with your bags in his hands like the most perfect, handsome gentleman that he is. You love this. Never want it to end. It’s all happening…he puts your bags in your truck, opens the door for you. Stands by the open door when you’re in so he can kiss you. Then he says goodbye and shuts the door and you have to watch him walk back into your future house without you.

UGH.

This is getting out of hand. Out of hand. No. You’re not doing this– he is twenty years older than you. He has been married, and has a daughter your age. He is NEVER going to introduce you to her. He’d probably be so ashamed… oh god. Okay. No. Don’t do it. You buy yourself another overpriced coffee as a treat, for nothing.

You’ve done zero good things today so far. Neglected your ‘has-yet-to-fuck-you' buddy this morning. Got all pissed off about that for no reason. Now you’re making up scenarios in your head.

Gotta call Patti tonight after work. Maybe on the way home even. Fuuck. Okay. Shit.

Thank god you got that coffee. You needed it because it's so busy. So busy all day for no reason. So many people all buying dumb, stupid tools you know nothing about.

There isn't much you know about home improvement, but the things you do know, you can list off on one hand.

Screwdriver. Hammer. Nails. Shingles. Saw.

Boom! Done! Did it!

Fuck this job.

You stand in the back room and just give the wall that faces the sales floor the finger for a solid thirty seconds. It does the trick and makes you feel better. A little.

It’s almost time to go and you snuck away for a lil break. Haven’t had one all day. Bullshit. Okay. It’s not that bad. The day went by real fast. Just… hate looking at fucking tools all day. Bleh. Rather be lookin’ at Joel if you’re being honest which you know you are. So. That’s fun. You check your phone for the first time today. Three messages from Joel. Two from Cody. A voicemail. One missed call. From Cody. You call him back before anything.

“You workin’?” Cody sounds distressed.

“No, I’m home.” You lie so that he will just tell you and not wait until you’re not at work.

“Okay. Listen t’this. Sam is being admitted into a mental health rehab here in Munich for a while. Carson n’ I are gonna stay close by in an AirBnB or whatever. You good out there? Need any cash or anything? Truck good? House good?” Cody needs to get off the phone and honestly so do you, but you have so many questions.

What the fuck?

‘She’s okay, right?” You ask nervously. “She didn’t do anything stupid, Cody... did she?”

“No. Fucking dumbass. She’s fine. Sad. Real sad. Maybe not fine but she didn’t do that. Her doting husband is helping, asshole. Are. You. Good?” He asks again because he is clearly busy.

“I’m fine. I’ll call you later or call me or something I dunn-” Cody hangs up on you like a dick but you get it. He’s probably dealing with shit. Fuck. Thankfully she is somewhere people can help her. You can’t imagine not being able to get help with that. S’gotta feel hopeless. Joel’s messages.

Better have a good fuckin day brat… ima be thinkin bout you

Shit. Okay. He is so cute. Fuck. The next one.

i'm thinkin bout you right now. when i can see you again?

Oooooooh. Oooooooooooohhhh. Okay. You’re fineeeee. The last one says.

tonight maybe? I can come to you.

OH SHIT. He likes you too! OH. OH. This is so good. Such good news.

He sent those messages hours apart, which means he thought about you multiple times during the day.

You have to sigh. A big deep one. A happy one. You’ll still call Patti when you get out of work, but for a different reason. This could be the start to your first real relationship, and it's with a decent man.

How exciting!?

Work is expecting you back (they didn't ever expect you to disappear), so you'll just call Joel when you get home. There is only an hour left of your shift and it goes by fast.

Unfortunately for you-- Patti isn't the person you call to tell your good news to.

It's the police, and you have no good news for them.

Someone broke the window to Cody's truck and took your ‘spend the night’ bag with your laptop in it.

There wasn't anything incriminating on that laptop, and it's not like they could get into it easily. It's password protected. There's that feeling of 'nothing-can-ever-go-right' feeling creeping up in your stomach as you explain what happened on the phone to the dispatch person on the phone.

The laptop wasn't your whole life, it's just an electronic-- but you did use it every single day. To read your fan fictions, and your murder blog and to video chat with Cody and Carson.

You just want to cry. There is broken glass all over the seat and floor of the truck, and the police officer is very nice and tries to help you get it all off before you climb in and start the annoying drive home with no window.

As if your day wasn't bad enough, when you open the garage door to park the truck inside, there is a mountain of stuff you have to move so there is room. It's not like the truck would get stolen if you left it in the drive way, but with your luck? You're not taking the risk.

It takes you almost forty-five minutes before there is a space large enough for the truck.

There's an excessive amount of tears the entire time.

You finish and head inside, and about to get in the shower when your phone rings. You answer without even looking at the screen.

“S’wrong with you?” Joel doesn't give you time to say hello and he sounds upset. “Mad at me or something’? I thought we were good when you left t'day. Th'fuck is wrong with you?”

You groan loudly- you forgot to call him or even text him.

Why is he being so unforgiving!? He doesn't even know what happened, and he's going to make you start crying all over again! Even in this state, you know what it feels like to be ignored, and to overthink, and to have the worst thoughts running through your head.

Now you feel bad for making him worry, even if he is being an asshole.

"N-Nothin's wrong w-with me," you sniffle in an attempt to try and keep your composure, but it's a sad attempt. "I just h-had a b-bad day. I'm sor-sorry." The words are choked on, and it's very obvious that you're trying to hide your tears from him.

“What're ya' cryin' for?” Joel sounds much less mad. “S’wrong, lil girl?” He coos to you through the phone.

You whimper, and feel like an idiot, unable to speak.

"Baby girl..." Joel trails off like he's in physical pain at hearing your discomfort.

The shower is still going in the background, and now you're just sobbing against the sink, completely naked.

What a humbling experience.

"Were ya' 'bout t'shower?" He asks softly.

"Yeah," you whine out softly. "S-Sorry--"

"Hey, shhh, s'okay, s'alright. Get in the shower, get nice 'n clean. Relax. Calm down a lil, and call me when ya' get out, 'kay?" His voice is so soothing and it makes you feel so much better than when you had originally answered the phone.

"'Kay," you sniffle and wipe your nose, nodding in agreement, even though he can't see you.

"I'm gon' talk t'ya real soon, baby girl."

You hang up because the tears continue to come even now, when he's being so sweet and nice to you.

You don’t even know why you’re so upset.

You have the money to do both things… fix the window and get a new computer. It’s just all your extra money– saved money. So, that’s fun and it just feels like you can’t catch a break.

It’s always been like this.

You spend longer crying in the shower than you would like to admit. It felt good though. You get out of the shower and are puffy and red faced from crying. Of course. You dry off and go to get pajamas on before you call Joel. When you do he doesn’t answer. Of course. Now you’re sad again.

It’s late-ish. Almost nine now. He’s not gonna even wanna come over anymore. Fuck. You don’t even bother trying to call again in case he fell asleep or something. You read your scary blog on your phone but it’s not the same and you just get more sad.

The TV is good for Jersey Shore reruns. That’s it. You need some good Ron and Sam drama. Need it. So good (it’s not). It made for such good TV(highly toxic). It’s almost nine thirty when the doorbell rings and now you’re in attack and protection mode. You run up the stairs and fling the door open.

“Stop it.” It just comes out of your mouth before you can help it. The sigh in front of you is so perfect.

Joel has his stupid 'spend the night' bag in his hand.

“Y'don't want me to stay?” He asks nervously, like maybe he made the wrong choice coming over… but isn’t mad that you might not want him to. He’ll do whatever you say.

“I need you to stay, I thought maybe you fell asleep. You never called me back."

“I realized fifteen minutes into the drive that I left that stupid phone at home… n’ I don’t need it. Yer’ here.” Joel shrugs his shoulders. “Didn’t think ya were.. Tucks not in the driveway…”

It’s inevitable after he says that! Waterworks. Tears.

Joel doesn’t wait for you to invite him in this time. He just wraps you up in his arms. “S’wrong? Somethin’ happen? I gotta go kick someone’s ass, lil girl?” Joel sets his bag down and leads you into the upstairs living room because it’s just right there when you walk into the house and there is a couch. He sits you down beside him and brings your legs into his lap.

“Just a b-bad day.” You whimper as he rubs his hands across your thighs slowly.

“How? What's makin' you cryin’ like that?” He is so worried for you. He probably thinks you got attacked or something.

“Just a long day a-at work. Someone b-broke Cody’s truck window. Took m-my c-c-comp–” You can’t even finish.

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, baby. Don’t cry. I know someone who can fix yer’ window.” Joel is working on this right now--working on solutions for you. “I’ll text ya his number tomorrow when I get my phone, ‘kay?”

“Thank you.” You sniffle and sigh loudly. “N’ thanks for comin’ over. I did really want you to come and was… a lil sad when I thought I couldn’t see you.” You whisper.

“I thought y’were fuckin’ mad at me all day.” Joel huffs in annoyance and it makes you actually laugh. “Thought y’were ignorin’ me. Spent most of the day wonderin’ what I did!?” Joel leans his body over yours so he’s partially on top of you. “I didn’t do shit.” He sneers and kisses you lips softly. “Got me actin’ all big n’ dumb,” He snickers against your lips.

“Acting?” You tease him and he pinches at you sides but you point at him in warning. “No. Tickling.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Neither of us get tickled… fair?” You try to come to an agreement on it.

“What? Jus’ ‘cause you gave up easy means I gotta?” Joel pinches and tickles at your sides anyway and has you cackling. “S’what you wanted t’do t’me last night? N’ you couldn’t. Too bad, lil girl.” Joel is growling at you as you laugh beneath him. “Might be big n’ dumb… ya know what else I am?” Joel pauses and looks down at you, waiting for a response.

“I dunno. What?” You ask breathlessly.

“Bigger n’ stronger than you.”

Then then more tickles start on your sides and stomach with his big, strong fingers.

“Noooooo. Dooooon’t.” You whine, and Joel’s fingers stop. “I haaate it.” You’re giggling even though you do not like this. It's torture.

“Okay. No ticklin’. Uhhh, you hate bein’ carried ‘round like a lil baby?” Joel smirks down at you.

You pause…having to think about it for a moment. You shake your head no up at him while he climbs off of you. Standing beside the couch, Joel scoops you– literally a swift swooping motion and he’s got you behind the back of the knees and behind the back– up to his chest. “Hey pretty girl.”

“Why’re you doin’ all this?” You sigh softly as he carries down to your room.

Joel shrugs. "I dunno. Don't like seein' you sad?"

You love that he doesn’t want you to be sad. You hate that he won’t tell you why, or that he doesn’t really know why he's doing all these things.

Sounds like a crock of shit to you. Just once-- like in the fucking movies (it's stupid, you know it, doesn't matter), you want someone to tell you exactly why they care. It's the confession, it's the desperate need for you to hear them proclaim their feelings for you.

Even though Joel hasn't done that, he’s here. So…. that might be the answer?

UGH.

It doesn’t really matter right now, Joel is laying you down on your bed and he takes two steps back and doesn't do a lil tease or anything— it’s not even a conscious thing he does, you don’t think. Joel just starts to strip. He’s unbuttoning his flannel shirt, smirking at you a little while he does it. You sit up on your elbows as he rids himself of the button up. His thick, strong fingers work on the buckle of his belt and soon he’s just in his boxers and a t-shirt and white socks which is just… ugh.

“Come here.” You whisper and Joel twists his head around like you could be talking to someone else and then looks back at you curiously and points to his chest.

“Me?” He teases and looks flustered. “Ya want me in yer’ bed?” He sounds like he cannot believe you. He’s being so fucking cute and you’re punching everyone who even comes close to him. He’s too fucking cute. He doesn’t make you ask him twice as he crawls into bed with you.

“Sorry I have just a regular sized person bed.” You whisper as he presses himself to you gently. Joel shrugs.

“I’ll deal with it.” He’s not smirking or being cute anymore. He’s so close to you and there is something different in his voice. “I like bein’ here with ya.” He leans down and kisses your lips softly… but he lingers. His mouth opens slowly, almost like he doesn’t know if should but you part your lips to let him in– graciously accept his tongue into your mouth– greedily even. He exhales heavily through his nose as your tongues touch and sinks into your mattress besides you. His whole body melts and you lean into him as his hands find your waist. “Get on me.” He growls into your mouth, tugging at your shirt as he rolls onto his back.

You get on Joel quickly and desperately, crawling to be straddling his waist and leaning over him to kiss him again. His fingers spread across your cheeks on both sides as he moves his hands into your hair so it’s not hanging down around either of your faces. He grips it gently in both of his hands as you deepen the kiss, moaning softly into his mouth. He is breathing heavily and pushing his hips up into yours as you grind down into him– feeling how excited he’s getting.

“Are we gonna?” You whisper quietly as one hand drops from your hair to between your legs. He’s rummaging around down there like he’s looking for something. He smirks against your lips as he adjusts himself to be more comfortable. Not touch your pussy or put his dick inside you.

“Nah. But I know when we are.” he whispers quietly, his lips barely moving as he speaks against your mouth. Then he sighs deeply and his other hand leaves your hair and finds your waist.

“When?” You moan softly as he starts to move your body against his.

“Soon.” He smirks. “Sit up.” When he speaks it’s not a demand or an order but he’s firm about it and his fingers dig into your hips through your pajama shorts softly. You do what he wants, and run your hands over his chest– still hidden behind his t-shirt– as he pushes and pulls your body along his slowly. You help him this time. You weren’t able to the first time he did this but now you’re not stuck and in shock on his lap. You’re ready for this and want to be the reason he comes in his boxers again. “Fuck.” Joel strains it out softly under his breath as his arms stop having to work and your hips take over.

“Do you like this?” You coo down to him, pushing your hands against his chest softly so you can lift your hips off of him lightly and with a gentle and slow sweep forward of your hips, you can push your body down against him and drag the heat and softness of your pajama covered pussy back down his shaft over his boxers.

“Jeeeeeesus fucking Christ...yes.” Joel sighs loudly as you do this. He lifts his head so he can watch where your bodies meet even though there is nothing to see. “Yer’ doin’ so good, lil girl. D-Don’t fuuh-cking stop.” You stammer his speech as you do it again, a little rougher now when you grind down into him.

“Yes, Mr. Miller. Whatever you say.” You purr softly and Joel has to close his eyes tight and stifle another moan.

“Fuck.” He snaps breathlessly as you move against him, his hands are still on your waist but they’re moving with no meaning, searching your sides helplessly as you start to lead him to euphoria– for the first time on your own and you’re excited.

“You like my young pussy on you like this, old man?” You whisper down to him and his eyes snap open and his hands stop moving and grip you tighter, he looks… a little shocked at first. “What?” You're just as shocked by his reaction.

“Dunno… say that again..” He whispers softly and pushes the hardness of himself up into you, his eyes never leave your face as you whisper it to him again, more hesitantly now because of his reaction, but your hips keep moving and he keeps bucking up into you rhythmically.

“Y-You like…m-my…young pussy—” You can’t even get the rest of the sentence out before Joel’s mouth drops open slightly and his tongue glides across his bottom lip but he stays silent, just gazing up at you with his smoldering brown eyes. “...on your big, hard cock like this, old man?” You put a lil twist on it this time and get a very positive reaction from the man underneath you.

“Fuck. Fuck." He chants quickly. "Yes I do.” He whimpers. “P-Please don’t stop.” He begs you. You almost go completely still because he’s a different man underneath you right now and you fucking love it.

“You gonna fuck my tight little pussy soon, Mr. Miller?” You lean over and watch his face, pinning him below you with your hands on his chest as you rock your hips against his rhythmically and drag a low groan from the back of Joel’s throat before he can speak again.

“So f-fuckin’ bad, lil girl. F-Fuck.” His body is quivering underneath yours. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” He begs more and it’s doing something to you.

“Open your mouth.” You coo to him and he doesn’t question you at all. While still moving your body against his, you grips his face under his chin and hold him to look at you while you work your mouth together. Joel is moaning softly, looking up at you while his body starts to twitch and jerk underneath him. His cock is throbbing already between your legs. You lean in close and spit onto his tongue.

Joel grips you tightly, closes his mouth and groans loudly, keeping his eyes open so he can look at you while you make him come. He swallows and then he talks for you.

“Fuck yeah, bad lil girl. Oh fuck. Fuck. Yer’ so fuckin’ naughty, baby. Jeeeesuuss.” He is breathless and panting those words loudly as his stiff body twitches underneath you. He holds you like that down on him– keeping you still, pushing his hips up into yours. You inch your hips forwards slightly and make him hiss sharply and clench his jaw as his eyes clench shut. “Shiiit.” He sighs softly as you lift your body off him. He lets you, his hands falling to his sides.

The room is silent besides him catching his breath. You don’t climb off of him yet, you just look down at him as he lays on your bed, his brow beaded with sweat as is the base of his neck. His eyes are still closed and he is just breathing.

“You ok? Do you want a water?” You snort softly and lean over to kiss him. His hands come to your hair again and he kisses you with those big, slippery, open mouthed kisses that feel like a tidal wave when he kisses you. Feels like you’re drowning in the best way. His tongue– fuck, is so soft and warm and strong as he slithers it around yours. He kisses you like that for only a moment before he pulls away.

“I’m good.” He smirks and his hands start to trawl up and down your sides and hips and the outside of your thighs. “How you wanna come?” He asks, nodding up at you with a smirk.

“I don’t.” You grin down at him but he frowns.

“You got me this morning. I’m paying you back now. N’ now you can be tired n’ sleep real good and snore in my ear all night.” You’re smirking harder and feel silly but he smiles now and tilts his head up to steal another, gentle kiss.

“Yer’ somethin’ else, baby. Really are.”

Joel’s snoring that night isn’t that bad with your jet engine sounding fan blasting as high as it will. You sleep fine. You just need to get one for his house… You’re trying to not…freak the fuck out? Because…this might be the first guy who you like…really start a real relationship with. Which makes you sad because…why are you just starting now? Silly. But…everything you ever did led you right here…sleeping next to Joel Miller the carpenter and the sex god. Jesus. The sweetheart. The dirty old man. Fuck. Okay. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. It’s fine. Having fun. Takin’ things slow. It’s good. Fine. You’re good.

The next morning Joel’s watch alarm goes off and you don’t want him to go. You don’t have to work today and you’d rather just him not leave. He turns his alarm off without rolling over to you and goes back to sleep. You don’t question it. The next time you’re waking up it’s him touching your stomach and thighs gently.

“Hey. Get up.” he’s shaking you gently.

“Why?” You groan quietly.

“We gotta go get yer’ window fixed.” he whispers quietly. “C’mon I’ll get you an iced coffee.” He smooches your face and you finally open your eyes. He’s changed into clean clothes and showered already. It makes you smirk and you dunno why. “I don’ gotta work today. Jus’ takin’ care of ya. S’my only job today.” He stands up and pulls the covers off of you.

“What?” The sleep is still rolling all around in your brain. “Why?”

“I dunno.” Joel shrugs his shoulders. “I don’ gotta job today. Next one doesn’t start ‘till next week.”

“No why are we doing the window?” You’re so confused. So tired still honestly.

“It’s broken, right?” He’s just as confused as you are. “Ya need t’shower? I can wait. Roll up fer’ us, if ya want.” He suggests, standing at the end of your bed. You stare at him, blinking. You rub your eyes and wipe the crusties out of them.

“Okay.” You get out of bed and shower.

Joel is going to take you to get your window fixed and get you coffee… sonofabitch. Motherfucker. He’s too good. Something’s wrong with him. Has to be. Not just him being an asshole either. He’s perfect. Why wouldn’t some hot bitch have snatched his ass up sooner? It’s too suspicious but you… don’t even really care. That man sitting on your couch– which lets not forget, is located in your older sister's basement— could ruin your entire life and you…wouldn’t care. You’d be sad about it, obviously…but he’s so hot you might thank him as walks out of your life forever. No. That’s…unhealthy. Obviously. You’re swallowing hard in the shower by yourself thinking about all of this.

Joel is waiting for you with two joints and a smile when you come out of the shower.

“I uh… took th’liberty of…” Joel trails off and looks at your bed and doesn’t say anything else. You turn to see what he’s looking at and he… picked an outfit for you while you were showering. “Hope you don’t mind. Don’t gotta wear it. I think it’s cute though.”

Uuummmm. Okay . He picked such a simple outfit. Black denim jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. Low cut. He also picked out your undergarments. A pair of light pink cotton panties and a black bra. Fuck. He is perfect.

“I don’ wanna do it all the time… just… dunno. I was peekin’ at all yer’ stuff.” Joel smirks as you get dressed. He watches the entire time. “I do alright?”

“You did. Somethin’ I’d pick.” You try and sound not in love with him as you go to blow dry your hair and do some quick sprucing up. Whatever you’d normally do to get ready. When you walk out of the bathroom, Joel is ready– joints in hand and his cute little spend the night bag in the other.

Joel drives back to his place to get his phone, gets you an iced coffee and on the way back to your place calls the guy who can fix the truck window. When he gets off the phone he smiles over at you.

“Lucky yer’ man knows so many people. He said t’bring it over now and he’d be able to get it back t’ya tomorrow.” Joel is smiling and resting his arm on the center console, his wrist facing up. You know what to do. You scratch your nails up and down the underside of his arm. You’ve seen the scars on his arms and back before. Assumed they were from years of carpentry but…looking at them now…they’re weird. Patterned.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” You say, still inspecting the slightly raised lines of skin on his arm. More pale than the rest of him. “How’d you get all these? Work?” You ask curiously, flicking your eyes up to him. He pulls his arm away, swaps his grip on the steering wheel and rests his other arm on the open window.

“Yeahhh. Been in the trade fer’ a long time. Get cut up real good.” Joel doesn’t look at you when he says this. Doesn’t sound very genuine about it. You don’t push it because he either doesn’t wanna talk about it or doesn’t want you to know. Either way… scars are scars… you have a bunch, don’t always wanna talk about how you got them. So you respect him and let it go.

“Well, if you ever get scratched up again like that, I’ll come clean it up for ya. Take real good care of ya.” You wink at him and make him smile. Now he turns his head to take in your face.

“I’m holdin’ y’to that.” He growls and drives back to your place. You’re about to climb out of your truck when an unknown number starts to call you. You answer.

“Hello?” You’re curious.

“Hey, it’s Matt from the cat shelter…” His voice is like nails on a chalkboard and you start to shake like a leaf. Your phone isn’t on speaker but it’s not quiet. And Joel's truck is quiet.

“Hey…” You don’t know what else to say and Joel is staring at you.

“Hey…uh… Agatha is ready for you to come pick up whenever. Today or tomorrow. Whatever works for you.” He says simply.

“Oh!! Oh god. Okay! Thank you. I’ll be in either tomorrow or the day after– is that alright?” You ask less nervously now, more excited but still…don’t wanna be talking to Matt. Not in front of Joel.

“Yeah. She’ll go back up for adoption if you don’t get her by next week though.” He explains not sounding mad or annoyed that you blew him off.

“No. I’ll be there for her before then. I will.” You speak firmly now so he knows you’re not having second thoughts.

“Yeah, sounds good. Have a good rest of your day.” Then Matt hangs up. You glance over at Joel who is watching pretty intently.

“My cat.” You smile nervously at him and he smirks, shaking his head.

“You wanna go get her?” Joel asks curiously. “I’d take ya….” This is an excuse for him to go eye up Matt. See how you act around him. You know it.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind… I’d like her here and not in a small little cage.” You nod at him slowly.

“Alright. Let's go meet Matt." Joel sounds so excited.

Joel leads you to the car repair shop, Agatha’s carrier is in his backseat and you’re going to pick her up after you drop Cody’s truck off. This is the first time you’ve been around Joel and seen him interact with someone else. Joel shakes his hand with vigor when the men greet each other.

“Heyyy buddy. How ya’ been?” The taller, older man pulls Joel into a hug and slaps his back with just as much vigor as the handshake.

“Ken. Nice t’see ya man. Been good. Jus’ workin’. How’s the old lady? How’s Mags?” He asks curiously.

“Shiiit. Mags is ‘bout to be graduatin’. Headin’ off t’college soon. Goin’ to Penn State. So fuckin’ proud of her.” Ken does sound proud of his daughter. So fucking cute. You’re a little jealous but whatever. “Ole Lady? She’s fuckin’ perfect as always.” Ken smiles again. He’s kinda handsome. Older than Joel– not as handsome as him. But he takes care of himself it looks like.

“S’fucking good to hear, man. I ‘ppreciate you gettin’ the truck in here s’fast. Needed it done pronto, so thanks.” Joel tips his head to the side slightly when he thanks him. You love his little mannerisms.

“Shiit. No problem. Ain’t busy so it’ll be quick. Get it back t’ya tomorrow mornin’.” Ken nods. “It yer’ truck or the young woman’s?” Ken asks, giving you a small nod and a smile.

“Shiit, I’m sorry. This is Birdie.” He introudices you with his pet name for you and you…melt.

“Nice t’meet you.” Ken holds his hand out and you shake it.

“Nice to meet you too. Thanks for helping me out. Takes a lot of stress outta my life.” You chuckle and are very appreciative.

“Anything for Joel. Did work on my house when me n’ my wife n’ daughter moved t’Austin a couple years ago. He’s a good guy.” Ken talks him up to you and Joel’s pinky finger brushes against yours so gently it’s almost like he didn’t do it. But then he does it again. And again. Then he holds it there against yours.

“He’s alright .” You joke and rub your pinky against his as you say it and get goosebumps…all over. Ken laughs, a good laugh and points at you knowingly.

“We’d love t’stay and chat…but she’s got a cat waitin’ fer’ her at some sad shelter. We’re gonna go get her’, right ?” Joel looks down at you for confirmation.

“Sure are. Spend the rest of the day lookin’ for her, ‘cause she’s probably gonna be scared and hide.” You are excited and as you speak your excitement leaves because you know you’re not gonna see that cat once you get her home for at least three days. You researched it. She’s gonna be scared.

“Well go on then, go save that lil pussy cat!” Ken exclaims and gestures with his hands to leave. You smirk and Joel slides his fingers between yours and walks you back to his truck– opens your door for you.

“Thanks.” You smirk as you climb up. It’s getting easier now. Joel gives your ass a soft smack as you get in.

“No. Thank you. ” Joel is grinning as he shuts the door.

The ride to the shelter isn’t long. It’s close by. You hadn’t been nervous at all but now… you’re shitting your pants as you walk in and Matt is right fucking there to look at and now ‘yer’ man’ is right behind you. Matt looks confused as to why you brought him, but doesn’t… say anything weird or act out of sorts when he takes the carrier from you. He puts Agatha in there and hands it back to you.

Joel is right behind you the entire time, standing so close you can feel him breathing down your neck but it’s not bothersome at all. You like it– like how his fingers graze at your lower back under the hem of your shirt.

“She’s gonna be a little spooked for a couple days. She’ll come out n’ eat at night when you’re sleeping. Just make sure she uses the litter box within the first couple days. If she doesn’t… let us know. She’s had some kidney issues— nothing crazy! It’s why she has that special food–”

Joel pinches your ass gently. It makes you shiver before you cut Matt off.

“I know. We talked the other day about it. I’ll call if I have any issues or anything. Thank you,” You’re so polite and respectful and nothing weird happens. It’s perfect. You and Joel are walking out, Joel is about to put his hand in yours when Matt calls to both of you.

“Hope you and your dad have a good rest of the day.”

You stop dead in your tracks and look back at Matt and he’s not even looking at you anymore. He’s already walking into the back area behind the counter.

Joel does not grab your hand after that and you die inside.

The walk to the truck sure is quiet after that. Most of the ride too, minus Agatha howling like she is being tortured inside her spacious and comfortable carrier. He speaks halfway back to your place.

“Uh– so… did you have any place, uh…else ya’ needed t’go?” He asks, with hesitation all over his words.

“No… I’m fine. Thanks though.” You answer nervously. “ Sorry –”

“Nope. It’s fine.” Joel doesn’t let you finish.

“I don’t care. I know you’re not , so—”

“Yeah… but does everyone else?” Joel scoffs softly and now. You’re dead. Fully dead. A dead body with a screaming cat on her lap. Fuuuck. Joel pulls into the driveway and doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn the truck off. Nothing.

“Do you…still wanna come inside?” You don’t even wanna ask. You know he’s not going to.

“I know I said we’d hang out—”

“It’s fine. I hope you have a good rest of your day. Talk to you later.” You do not let him finish. You get out of his truck and carry your screaming cat up to the front door. Joel rolls his window down but doesn’t get out.

“I’ll call ya later, ‘kay?” He calls out as you put your key in the door.

“‘Kay.” You call back to him and slam the front door shut.

Stupid fucking Matt. Fuck Matt. And his stupid tattoos. Fuuuuck. You wanna run back outside and tell him not to leave but when you look out of the window he is gone already. You’re doing nothing to try and hold your tears back. You bring Agatha downstairs, shutting the door at the top so she can’t explore the rest of the house yet.

You get the litter box ready in the bathroom and set it out of the way. You get her fresh water and open the food you got. Angrily. All of this is done so angry. The tears you have aren’t even sad ones. They’re mad ones. You’re a woman. A grown fucking adult woman. Who gives a shit how many years there are between you and Joel? You’re both grown. Fully. No more growing left to do. Why is there an issue? Why is it weird? It’s because he has a daughter your age. Almost. She’s younger than you, yes. But not by much .

Agatha doesn’t bolt like you expect her to when you open the carrier. She pokes her little head out and looks around very curiously and takes one hesitant step out, sniffing everything. Very intently. She looks right up into your face and meows. It’s high pitched and adorable. Sounds like she says ‘hello’.

“Hi.” You sigh to her sadly. “You don’t care how old or young I am. Do you? ” You let her smell your hand and she does, for two seconds and then rams her head into your fingers and rubs her head all over you. This fills you with love and now…you’ll die for this cat. Fuck, she is perfect. Small and sweet.

The next four hours are spent playing with her because she doesn’t hide. Not one time. She eats her food and drinks her water. You show her where the litter box is, but she doesn’t use it right away. S’fine. You’ll keep an eye on it. You might keep checking your phone to make sure you didn’t miss a call or a text even though your phone is on the loudest ringer setting. You listen to your sad music and cry a little because you might have lost ‘yer’ man’ before he was ever really even yours.

You cry a lot. Sad tears now. Jersey Shore reruns don’t even help and they always do.

“ Are you friends with her? Lemme know know. Are you friends with her?.... Are you?” TV gold and it didn’t even touch the sadness inside of you. You wanna call Joel but he doesn’t wanna talk to you. Obviously. You call your job around five and let them know you’re not coming in tomorrow because of your truck. They understand, they’re not mad. They feel bad that the security cameras didn’t catch anything. Didn’t see who did it.

Joel doesn’t call you all night. The next morning he texts you.

Your truck is ready.

And gives you the address. You text him back.

Thanks.

That’s it. He doesn’t offer to give you a ride or ask how you are. Nothing. You order an Uber to the repair shop. Ken smiles when he sees you.

“Lady Bird, how are you doin’?” He asks happily. You do your best to not sound like your insides are being pushed into a wood chipper.

“I’m good. Thank you again for doing it so fast.” You smile at him half-heartedly and he gives you a small sad smile and hands you the keys.

“Don’t look s’sad. I dunno why yer’ sad, but… just don’t. Try n’ smile.” Ken offers some kind words but they do nothing.

“Thank you. How much do I owe you?” You ask, reaching for your wallet.

“Oh. Nothin’? Joel paid for it over th’phone this mornin’” Ken explains.

“Oh– okay. Thank you again.” You thank the mechanic and jump into your truck. You text Joel immediately.

Thanks. Didn’t need to do all that. I can pay you back.

You will pay him back if he has no intentions of seeing you again. You’ll drop an envelope with like four hundred dollars at his door and run away. Joel doesn’t text you back right away. You know he’s not working. Said he doesn’t have to until next week. So he is just ignoring you. Cool

Joel doesn’t text you or call you for four days. You are fuming. So mad. Not sad anymore. Rage filled. But you only text him one thing on the fourth day and nothing else.

Cool.

And then you almost throw your phone against the wall but…you can’t afford a new phone and a laptop. Not even with Joel paying for the window. Your phone dings and it’s him. Your heart flutters until you open it.

Sorry.

taglist: @immyowndefender @korikolove @untamedheart81 @fanficlover1414, @creepycorbeaux (i'll add or take you off, just let me know!)

#pedro pascal characters #smut #fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #long reads #no outbreak au

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funeralpartyclown · 5 months ago

Note

dale has got to have insane kinks…… like this man is going to want to have cameras on you and shove random shit up you and make you say weird stuff to him . I LOVE HIM I CANT

SO TRUE…

Sorry if this is too much for you guys im just writing anything I think of 😭 pls lmk if it gets to be too much,,

I think he would be into a lot of worse stuff. Blood, knife play, bondage (unsafe probably) corruption, marking you up, age gaps (LEGALLY. Not that kinda freaky)

Cameras for sure, he’d love that. Pull your hair and force you to look right at it while he rams into you from behind. The way it makes it feel so much dirtier, his own personal pornstar. He’d watch them over CONSTANTLY and make you watch too while whispering filthy things into your ear.

Random stuff in you, I can see that. I imagine him having very few limits,, as much as I do love him. You cannot look at a picture of him and go yeah that’s a regular guy. He is into anything and everything fucked up and weird. If you’d let him do that he’d abuse the opportunity and just see what he can fit up there for fun and you’re probably ending up injured or with an infection to be honest..

Making you say weird stuff,, I can see too but it would probably be realll fucked up with him. He knows exactly how to make you uncomfortable and what gets you flustered and hes forcing you to repeat the nastiest things he can think of just to watch your face flush in red, stumbling with your words.

I think he’d really enjoy wax play too and he had plenty of candles. Idk if this is true because I wasn’t paying attention to it but I’ve seen people say the gun Lee has at the end of the movie isn’t hers, and was probably dales. Gun play…. With Dale… cold metal being slowly dragged across your skin. Loaded pressed to your temple safety off. Fucking you with the barrel, finger on the trigger, better sit still for him.

Size difference for sure, which is great for him because hes huge. The one shot of him and Lee from the side in the interrogation room where hes slouching and his legs are bent but hes still SO much larger than her? I need him to lay on top of me and suffocate me.

I think he’d enjoy making his partner cry (only during anything sexual) just watching you squirm and beg incoherently with tears running down your face, listening to your voice crack.

Marking up for sure, especially if afterwards he can make up an excuse to drag you out in public and show it off. In most longlegs fanfics it takes place in a small middle of nowhere town, he’d love risking your friends and family having to see you not only with him but covered in a painting of bruises and indents. No shame no restraint no respect for others comfort or social norms. He’s being awful in public, and with most of the fandom from what I’ve seen being like early 20s-30s the age gap would be VERY visible.

One sweeter thing I think he’d especially enjoy, have you in top for specific reasons. He’d be used to the treatment he gets from most people by now and have a hard time believing you actually want him, he needs a lot of reassurance. Esp if you initiate things, having you on top would have him in tears. Facing him, nails digging into his clothes, hot breath on his neck, repeatedly making the effort to bring him closer to you. Every sweet second you spend moving on top of him is just more confirmation to him that you want and need him.

Non-sexual but, I think he’d really like to do things for you as well. Having you need him, reaching things off a shelf, opening containers, lifting something heavy.

Bdsm, bondage, whips, paddles, restraints, all of it anything you ask hes okay with trying. If you’re really vanilla, good luck I don’t see him being able to adhere to that. If you reciprocate his feelings it will take very little time for him to feel serious about your relationship and he looks at you almost like his property, though that extends both ways. He’s just assuming you’re okay with whatever he wants, because he’d do the same for you. I think at first he’d ask if you’re okay with it before trying something but eventually he just does what he wants and waits for your reaction.

#dale kobble #longlegs #longlegs movie #dale kobble x reader

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ashs-cardboard-box · 10 months ago

Text

Street rat

~ Hosea Matthews/Teen!Male!Reader

~ Familial (found family)

~ 3.2k words

Request :3

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Growing up a street urchin was far from easy, much less, when you’ve just barely turned fourteen. Often spending your nights scrounging the city of Saint Denis for any sort of food or shelter, only to get spit on and degraded as soon as the sun rose the next morning. You could count on one hand the amount of meals you’ve had in a month. Like most orphaned kids, having to turn to thievery as a means of survival.

Usually, you could get away with it all, growing a knack for pickpocketing. It was easiest to pick off the stupid or the drunk, but they didn’t always have the most money on their persons. When you got particularly desperate, you’d snatch someone’s coin purse and just pray you could outrun the lawmen. Taking shelter in whatever crack or crevice you could slink your nimble body into.

Naturally, when you saw a group of strange individuals one evening, wandering around the streets of Saint Denis, bickering about the lifestyle of the folk living here, you thought you struck oil. They all stuck out like a sore thumb between the whores and the rich pricks. Your eyes picked over each and every outfit, taking specific note of the worn, leather satchel, strung across one of the taller gentlemans’ torsos. Surely these folks had something to offer?

While you hadn’t been taught to read nor write, you were smart and resourceful. Yet, in that same instance, desperate for anything. It had been a couple days since you'd last eaten; having to hide out in an old alley in that time to avoid the hunt across Saint Denis that had been sparked against “that little street urchin robbing folk”. You didn’t want to imagine what would happen to you if you got caught– from lawmen to regular civilians– to you, they were all bad.

Watching. Waiting. Hiding behind whatever objects you could with your eyes locked on that one goal– the man’s satchel. You could practically feel the leather underneath your fingertips. The indents of the coins inside. Unfortunately, you got careless and sloppy. Feeling your blood run cold as soon as the group started to head back to their horses, all tied to an old hitch rail, you knew your time was limited before there would be more eyes on you than you could count.

Rushing out from your hiding spot and weaving your way through the group, only to finally get your dirt caked hands onto that satchel. Digging your fingers around it firmly and tugging, pulling it from the man in just two short pulls. You were surprised that the strap had snapped. Staring at the satchel now in hand, it took only a few milliseconds to register what it is you had just done, before you actually gathered your bearings and took off running.

“Damn it, kid!” you hear a gruff voice shout from behind you, but you don’t stop. Your bare feet hitting the rough, cobblestone road below, listening to the scuffing of several boots behind you. You were used to the chase. It was damn exhilarating, practically feeling the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

You thought you had made it away successfully. No longer did you hear the bickering nor shouting of angry men and women as you ran from them. That was, until you hit something akin to a wall, knocking you off your feet and right onto your ass on the pavement below. Instinctively, you clutch the satchel to your chest like your life depends on it. Panting heavily as you look up at what stopped you.

A strangely stressed man with a weird scar on the right side of his jaw and cheek, interrupting the growth of his facial hair. His face was contorted into a scowl, his chest heaving just as yours was. You could hear a few more people approaching quickly, and you could only imagine they were a part of the same group the man was. Your wide eyes don’t leave his own.

“Gimme the damn bag,” the man demands. His voice sounding hoarse and breathless as he glares down at you like you were nothing more than scum underneath his boot. Stubbornly, you shake your head. He didn’t like that in the slightest. He crouches down to your height and yanks the collar of your shirt, pulling you face to face with himself.

“I ain’t askin’, brat. Gimme the damn bag or I swear I’ll–” the man is interrupted by another, but you’re too focused on the man grabbing you to look away. The satchel clutched tightly to your boney chest. “Let the boy go, John. He ain’t hurtin’ anyone..” the new man sighs, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, whom you now know is John.

John looks over his shoulder towards the other man, he looks quite a bit older than John, you note. Reluctantly, John scoffs and lets you go with a shove to your chest, standing back up again and folding his arms over his chest.

Instead of demanding the satchel from you, the older man digs around in his pocket for a brief moment before pulling out a roll of banknotes. Flipping through them as he counts mentally. Cautiously extending them down to you as if you were rabid. Your eyes flick down to the money, then down to the leather satchel in hand, before up into the old man’s eyes. He looks sincere and gentle. Something you’re quite not used to. Either run the risk of having the satchel be empty and keep it, or take the money from the man and run the risk of passing up a large sum.

You hesitate for a long moment, making the group grow impatient and groan, silently demanding you to make a choice. The man’s gentle gaze never wavers from you, showing you that it’s okay to take your time. Sighing heavily, you tentatively reach up in an attempt to try and take the money from the man, only for him to pull it away from you.

“Satchel first,” he says quietly as he extends his free hand to take it. He was wise, you note. Possibly assuming you would take both and run off. You huff through your nose before roughly setting the satchel into the man’s hand. Grinning warmly, he sets the roll of banknotes down into your lap. “Arthur,” he says gruffly as he stands back up with a small groan. His movements are stiff and uncomfortable, probably due to age. A third man with longer, sandy blond hair– Arthur, snatches his bag out of the older gentleman’s hand, earning a hearty chuckle from the man.

You inspect the roll closely. It’s almost hard to believe he just..offered it to you. No doubt it was to pay you off, but you had never earned anything that wasn’t stolen before. You look back up at the man in confusion as his friends walk back down the street to their horses. Slowly rising to your feet and clasping your new money protectively to your chest. The pockets on your overalls having long fallen off.

“What’s your name, boy?” the man inquires as he looks down at you. Your eyes narrow as you look back up at him. You didn’t trust this in the slightest. People weren’t nice to you, that’s just not how things were. The man sighs and looks over your head to where his group is retreating into the saloon.

“Fine. I’ll start. My name is Hosea Matthews, and you are-?” He, Hosea, trails off. Looking back down at you encouragingly. You grumble strings of profanity under your breath and look away from him, your trust issues on full display. Closing yourself off as you cross your arms over your chest, your money still clutched protectively in one of your hands.

“Y/N..” you mumble, shuffling uncomfortably underneath Hosea’s warm gaze. It felt crushing. Having been left without care or guidance for so long, any sort of kindness was foreign.

“Atta boy!” Hosea praises with a chuckle, slowly reaching forward and ruffling your greasy hair through his bony fingers. You scowl as you stare up at Hosea underneath your eyelashes. “How old’re you, Y/N?” he asks calmly, entirely unfazed by your piercing eyes as he pulls his hand back.

“You ask too many questions, old man.” you bark, taking a step away from Hosea. It’s not that you didn’t want the kindness, far from it actually. You just didn’t know what to do with it. You were never taught proper manners or politeness. No mother to teach you how to read nor write. No father to teach you to hunt nor shoot. It’s always been just you.

Hosea, however, finds great amusement in your outburst. Grinning widely as he takes a knee in front of you, getting down to your eye level. Pressing his palms into the denim of his jeans over his knees.

“Can’t say I disagree with that.” He muses with a chuckle. His eyes flick over your scrawny form entirely. Picking apart your mud and sweat stained shirt, underneath your tattered and torn denim overalls, of which he can only assume used to be blue. He can practically see your bones due to not eating properly, and it only makes him feel sympathetic to you.

“Listen, kid. You got potential and I know we ain’t exactly..acquainted, so to speak- but what’d you say if i offered you a good meal everyday and a place to sleep?” Hosea asks abruptly, causing you to grow even more confused. What did this guy want from you? There was no way in hell he was just..offering these things to you, right?

Seeing your reasonable apprehension, he continues. “I can- I can talk to Dutch and get everything situated if you’d like?” he suggests hopefully, to which your eyes widen with a realization. Dutch.. Where have you heard that name before?

“Dutch?” you echo, allowing him to nod in confirmation. “Heard the name before, I reckon? Dutch Van Der Linde?” Hosea inquires, cocking his head to the side as he studies your reaction, a grin playing across his chapped lips.

You swallow thickly and nod hesitantly. Dutch is well known around Saint Denis. Horror stories being told amongst townsfolk of the atrocities their gang has done. In that moment, you felt a mixture of confusion and fear. You regret attempting to steal from an outlaw; from Arthur– known for being so closely tied with Dutch himself. Yet all of this begs the question:

“What do you want with me..?” you mumble, feeling your heart race nervously in his chest. It was strange. Usually, it only beat like that after getting chased by the law. Standing here now, in front of Hosea, you felt a conflicting tsunami of emotions crashing inside you. Beginning to mindlessly fidget with the money in hand.

“Like I said, boy. You got potential to be a fine young man. We could use that around camp, y’know. You’d still have to work like the rest of us, but you’ll be fed ‘n cared for.” Hosea grins, carefully reaching forward and placing a supportive hand onto your shoulder. His thumb gently rubbing over your shoulder.

His touch was foreign to you. His kindness was like no other. You’d never admit it, but for the first time in your life, you felt like you actually had a father. While not trusting this strange, new man entirely, you couldn’t deny the innate curiosity to check out what this “camp” has to offer. Maybe it’d beat living out on the streets, vulnerable to the elements. Tentatively, you nod.

Hosea chuckles as he stands back up straight, his joints audibly cracking with each movement. He moves his hand back into your hair, ruffling it once more before walking off, silently telling you to follow. Walking next to him, you’re nervous and tense– a stark contrast to his calm demeanor, as if he’s done this before.

This was an incredibly stupid idea, you think, one of your most yet. Despite this, you allow him to help you mount his horse. Shifting uncomfortably atop the saddle as he takes his seat right in front of you before taking off. Startled, you wrap your arms around his waist tightly, your cheek pressed against Hosea’s back, earning an amused chuckle from him.

“Scared?” He teases, to which you shake your head subtly. He can feel your racing heartbeat against his back, it’s clear to him you’ve never ridden a horse before. With one hand on the reins, he moves the other down to your arms around his waist. His calloused hand rubbing up and down your forearm soothingly, careful to not nudge your bankrolls and make you think he’s trying to take them back.

The ride from Saint Denis and through some old woods is mostly silent. The various sounds in the surrounding environment is the only thing heard. Sounds of wildlife, occasional gunfire and screams, the horses’ hooves trotting against the dirt path below, paved by the past voyages of many. Taking in the different foliage, you only wish you could keep those flowers burned into your memory forever.

Hosea slows his horse as they approach a small clearing. Grumbling a small “sit tight” as he carefully dismounts his horse, leaving you sat on his saddle in confusion. Your eyes watching over his every move closely. His boots brush aside different weeds and plants until he crouches down, looking over his shoulder towards you.

“You see this, kid?” He chimes as he gestures to a strange plant amidst the rest of the foliage. Having small clusters of red berries over it’s large leaves. Without waiting for your response, he continues. “Ginseng. Good for a buncha shit.” he clarifies confidently. Digging his knee into the dirt as he grabs the plant by the base, attempting to tug it up but with no success.

Huffing as he pulls his hand back from the plant, digging his thumb into his sore palm as he looks back over his shoulder towards you. Taking the hint, you hop down from Hosea’s horse. Stuffing your money into his saddlebags for safekeeping before shuffling over towards him.

Crouching down just like Hosea, you wrap your whole hand around the base. Only to have him gently guide your hand down to the very bottom, closest to the roots and the dirt below. With his guidance, you start to tug on it. Your hands shake from the force until eventually, the roots snap free. Sending you backwards and right back down onto your ass in the dirt.

Looking down at the plant in your, now sore, hand, a satisfied grin spreads across your face. Hosea laughs as he pats your back. “Good job, son! Ain’t seen one that big in a long while” he praises before slowly standing back up, helping you up as well.

It felt..oddly nice. Being called son. Having some sort of father figure in your life. Instead of getting pissed off like you normally would’ve, you can’t help but to share Hosea’s sentiment. You’re proud of yourself. You had never even considered harvesting such things before, as Saint Denis isn’t exactly known for its foliage. Glancing back up towards Hosea brightly, offering him the ginseng plant.

“How’d you know what it- y’know- was.. I guess?” you ask curiously as he takes the plant from you, walking right back over to his horse and placing it into his saddlebags. “Been ‘round quite a long time, kiddo. You learn a couple things over the years.” Hosea responds with a soft chuckle. Briefly inspecting his palm before offering to help you back up onto the horse, which you accept gratefully.

“Can you teach me ‘bout all that stuff, Hosea?” He nods eagerly. It was a hassle trying to teach Arthur about the medicinal value of different herbs and plants. He was glad someone was taking interest in it. He was unsure of just how long he had left, after all. Mounting his horse and sitting in front of you once again as you take off.

It’s a long while until you make it to, what you can only presume is, Hosea’s camp. All sorts of tents, wagons, horses, and people around a large clearing between the trees. Practically starry eyed as you looked over it all. Yet, unfortunately, everyone else didn’t share the same sentiment.

While not stopping their tasks, you could feel their eyes boring holes into your skin, only serving to make you nervous. Following in Hosea’s shadow as you dismount his horse once more. Having him pull out a few strange objects, the ginseng, and your money, before another gang member approaches and takes his horse. The man seemed timid, much like you felt, but you tried to be the strong-headed boy everyone wanted you to be.

Hosea is confident in each and every step. Unwavering under the stares of his colleagues. Marching right up to one of the open tents, with you following behind like a lost puppy. Your eyes flick across the interior as Hosea begins to speak with the man, whom you can only assume to be the owner. Taking in everything you can before you finally look up to meet the man. None other than Dutch Van Der Linde himself.

You could feel yourself shrink in his presence. He wasn’t as scary nor demonic as people made him out to be, but his stature was intimidating no less. You could hear Hosea speaking to him, trying to convince him to let you stay, but his words were jumbled to you. All you can focus on were Dutch’s eyes. It was as if they held no emotion behind them whatsoever. His expression remaining stoic as he looks down towards you, hiding behind Hosea’s leg, before back up to his co-founder.

Utter silence. You couldn’t tell what was running through the man's head in that moment, but Hosea seemed to be able to read him like a book. The only response Dutch gives is an exasperated “fine,” much to Hosea’s surprise.

Hosea beams as he gently ushers you forth into Dutch’s direct line of sight, his hands gently on your shoulders as if a proud father. You give a sheepish wave with your free hand, your other clutching your roll of banknotes tightly– almost too tightly. Hosea’s hands reassure you slightly, but not enough. He introduces you to both Dutch and anyone around to listen.

As much as they distrust you, some of them can’t help but notice how similar you are to them when they were kids. Namely, John and Arthur. Picked up by Hosea off the streets, introduced to Dutch, and given the closest thing any of them call home.

Naturally, over time, everyone grew closer. No longer suspicious of you being an O’Driscoll in disguise, treating you as one of their own. Learning all sorts of new things from the only man you could ever know as your father, Hosea Matthews.

He would reassure you on those lonesome nights where the thoughts ran rampant through your head. Holding you close to his chest and letting you cry it all out until you, inevitably, fall asleep right in his arms in his bedroll. You were his pride and joy ever since his dear Bessie passed on. He could only focus on giving you the world as much as he was able.

............................................................................................

This ones a long one </3 but I hope you like it :3

#hosea matthews #Hosea matthews x male reader #Hosea Matthews x reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader

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huramuna · 11 months ago

Text

banshee's lament - chapter 6.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.6k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing, descriptions of injuries, allusions to suicide

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Instead of sleeping that night, Shera read over Aemond’s notes, unable to start once she started. She lit a few candles, shoving Moongeist over in bed. “Taking up too much room, bubby,” she huffed, sitting cross legged and stacking some blankets and pillows into a makeshift book stand. Finally, after adjusting the candles position a few times, she could finally see. She began to read.

‘Ser Symeon was known to wield a long staff with blades at both ends and would spin it in his hands to chop down two men at once.’ the text said. Aemond had written, very crudely and sloppily; ‘Ask Criston about double ended staves. What about double ended morningstars? Is there such a thing?’

Between notes and annotations, he would have pieces of plain parchment shoved between the pages. Upon it were no words, but drawings. They started simply, a shaky depiction of a box, an etching of a vase in charcoal. As the years progressed through the book, his drawings improved. He never strayed from the medium of simple charcoal on parchment, but they were still very good.

Shera tilted her head, inspecting the folded papers. She wouldn’t have expected Aemond to be the artistic one, she always thought Helaena to take up that mantle with her intricate embroidery of various insects and beyond. But these were on par with etchings pressed into a maester’s journal, or something displayed in a posh palace in Essos. She realized that besides a creative outlet, these served another purpose— it hit her quickly, he used drawing as a way to train his lone eye back into a sense of depth perception and attention to detail. Those two things were what Shera suffered with immensely, still. As adept as she’d become with sewing, she still pricked her finger or accidentally sewed into her skin because she couldn’t see the correct position of the needle. Her designs for her clothes were intricate but hardly ever symmetrical and never able to be duplicated.

It was so… smart. It was so smart of Aemond to pick up the skill of drawing, something so inherently reliant on sight, to train himself back to some sense of regularity. It was so… Aemond.

Shera clenched her hand, her nails sinking into her palm. Why didn’t she think of that? Why didn’t she do anything— her sewing was hobbyistic at best and not nearly enough to train her eyesight. She’d spent all that time wallowing in self-pity instead of doing something.

She felt an acute feeling of despair, then. I should have written to him more. I should’ve bombarded him with letters and given him no choice but to reply. I should’ve pried to Helaena to see what he was doing beyond niceties.

Letting out a sigh, she pushed those thoughts away.

Out of curiosity, she flipped to the end of the tome and looked for the latest drawing. Three pieces of paper fell from the back, onto her lap.

Opening the first one, it was a depiction of Helaena holding Maelor near the window. There were streams of light coming through the window and the sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. Maelor was smiling, his chubby fist held out to the curtain, the small indent of his dimpled cheeks even visible. The detail was… exquisite, it was like looking at a mirror of such a situation.

Opening the second one, it was smeared with charcoal dust. Unlike the first drawing, this one took up the entirety of the page. It was hard to discern for Shera what she was looking at, at first. Leaning more to the light, it became clear. It was a portrait of Vhagar, evident in the pallor of her scales and lack of horns. Each scale was detailed impeccably, some wrought with scars and marks from her old age. The sag of her throat was held up in regard, her teeth jagged and crooked, opening in a sneer or even a laugh.

Shera imagined what Vhagar’s laugh would sound like— something out of children’s stories, like a cackling witch, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she swirled a cauldron of bubbling green ichor. It made her giggle, the thought of Vhagar hobbling from a hut in the woods with a cane made of gnarled oak, waving away the children who dared to set foot on her property. She would need to tell Aem— someone about her depiction some day.

She never did have the chance to see Vhagar up close, as much as she had wanted to. Aemond had promised to take her for a ride when it was daytime, so she could see the expanse of the ocean from the sky. But he never did. He wasn’t able to. Something in her heart clenched as she thought of the fact that Aemond only got one ride upon Vhagar with his full sight, one ride upon his destiny while he was still whole. Before it was taken from him— from… both of them.

She unfolded the third paper. It was a drawing of a woman, someone Shera didn’t recognize. But they… felt familiar. The woman had billowing curls and a snarky smile on her face, eyes lit up with fire and fervor. The positioning of the piece made it feel like she was looking back to someone— her arm outstretched in an offering, as if to beckon the person looking towards them.

Shera wasn’t sure what to make of it— the other two drawings had been something she knew and could understand. But she didn’t understand this one. She wondered who the woman was, even after she’d drifted to sleep.

—

“Shera, are you warm?” Helaena asked softly as she observed Shera fanning herself with her hand, while Moongeist was panting furiously.

“She ‘ought to be,” Aegon grumbled, arms folded over his chest as he looked out the slats of the wheelhouse window. “She’s still dressed like she’s in the North. Winter isn’t coming down here, Shera. You can take off the fur.”

“… a bit warm, yes,” Shera muttered, narrowing her gaze at Aegon. It wasn’t simply just the climate temperature, but the fact that there were so many people in this wheelhouse at present, all warm bodies exuding heat.

Helaena had Maelor on her lap with Aegon to her right, and the twins to her left, who were constantly swapping seats. Aemond was sitting across from Helaena and next to Shera. He tried to give her as much room as possible, but their thighs were still touching. Moongeist was sitting on the floor, riding out the bumps.

“Who’s bloody idea was it to stuff all of us into one wheelhouse?” Aegon continued, a bit crabby due to his lack of wine.

“We’re almost there, Aegon. You can stop your whining at any time.” Aemond finally uttered. He had been quiet the whole ride up to the Kingswood, focusing solely on looking out the window.

“I will stop whining when there is a breeze, a bottle in my hand and that dog is about ten feet away from me,” the oldest prince huffed. “He smells.”

“Aegon, you smell bad on the best of days. Moongeist just needs a bath— do you even know what those are?” Shera interjected, coming to her wolf’s defense in a heartbeat.

Helaena, Maelor and the twins giggled heartily. Aemond cracked a grin at the joke.

“Uncle Aemond should dunk you in the river again, kepa,” Jaehaerys tittered, still laughing away. “You might catch a fish in your mouth again!”

Aegon rolled his eyes and sighed— his lips perking up into a soft smile. “Maybe Uncle Aemond and the dog can fish in the river instead. Isn’t that what wolves do? Catch fish?”

“… that’s bears,” Shera said with an unamused tone.

The wheelhouse came to a creaking stop and Aegon was the first outside. Moongeist was next, followed by Maelor, then the twins.

Helaena helped Shera down the steps, Aemond behind her.

In a turn of events, Shera unclasped the fur stole from her shoulders, as well as the outer layer of her dress, tossing it back into the wheelhouse. She instantly felt lighter, the breeze cooling her shoulders. She had on a gray silk dress with cutout shoulders and a high throat clasp. It was flowy, almost weightless material. She adjusted her hat, which was a gift from Helaena. It was a sun hat with a veil sewed around it, coming down just below Shera’s jawline.

“Ah, finally, you look somewhat like Shera and not a furred beast,” Aegon whistled, walking backwards towards the clearing.

“I don’t wish to be encumbered any more than I already am in the wilderness. If I am chased by a boar, I don’t need ten pounds of fabric weighing me down.”

“If you’re chased by a boar, then we will be eating roasted boar that very night, won’t we, Moongeist?” Hela cooed to the wolf, who was letting Maelor climb on his back.

“It feels strange,” Aemond murmured behind Shera, his hand ghosting over the small of her back to help guide her, as Moongeist was playing nanny to Maelor– which she didn’t entirely mind. “To be back here after all of this time– all of us.”

“Except Daeron,” Shera reminded him gently, her hand going down to pat Moongeist on pure instinct, but upon realizing he wasn’t there, she let out a noise of discontentment, her hand going to her chest to rest upon her furs, which weren’t there either. “Ugh, I don’t know what to do with my hands when I’m walking alone.”

“Moongeist is the new Daeron,” Aegon called back, now having Jaehaera upon his shoulders, while Jaehaerys was on Helaena’s shoulders. “I’m sure your dog can squire just as good as Daeron, anyhow.”

“You could always hold Aemond’s hand, Shera, like you used to,” Hela giggled, Aegon howling in turn.

“Oh, please, you didn’t get me anything for my nameday, brother– count this as my gift if you and Shera skip through the flowers hand in hand!”

Aemond scowled. “If my niece weren’t upon your shoulders, brother, you’d be on the ground, preferably with a black eye.”

Aegon stuck his tongue out mockingly and Jaehaera imitated him.

Soon enough, the troupe was sitting down in a grassy clearing, blanket over the dirt. The twins were stained blue already from the amount of blueberries they consumed, laying on their backs in the sun like two turtles.

Aegon had managed to open a bottle of wine, sipping on it frequently while snacking on cheese and crackers.

Helaena had a leaf insect crawling on her fingers, murmuring to herself as she observed it carefully. “They do not bleed… the mulberry leaves, they walk, animated upon mine hand… when crushed, they do not bleed, no blood… the leaves have no blood,” she hummed, the foliage-like creature.

“Do they change color with the seasons, Hela?” Shera asked as she, too, watched the bug.

“Yes, they do,” the princess replied, violet eyes not moved from the insect. “In Winter, they die and crumble like the leaves, becoming gray and desiccated under the earth… but they’re just sleeping.”

“Mumma, mumma, tadboles,” Maelor squealed as Moongeist padded into the clearing with the toddler upon his back. “There’s… tadboles!”

Helaena was snapped from her reverie by his squeak. She extended her hand to offer the bug to Shera for a moment before an expression akin to recognition came over her face. “I’ll… put him back on the plant.” she murmured low.

Shera thought about her… disassociation spell from the previous day while staring up at the sky. They were in an enclosed clearing with tall trees all around them, the scent of pine sap wafting through the air. She watched birds pass overhead in the sky— they looked like robins, always in a flock.

There was a large, dead tree near the edge of the forest. Its bark was stripped from its trunk, laden with woodpecker holes, cracked and splintered. It had a larger opening in it, showing that it was hollow inside. She wondered if a family of raccoons lived there.

Turning her head to another part of the Kingswood, she felt that waft of breeze over her face again, just like yesterday. The same cream colored blur whizzed past her without any noise, merely the sensation of movement. She tried to follow its path, jolting up suddenly with alarming speed.

She lost track of it.

Putting a hand to her head, she groaned. She sat up way too fast, sending her brain into a tizzy. Glancing around, everyone else was gone— save for Aemond, who was staring at Shera.

“Where did they go?” she asked, her mind suddenly off of the creature evading her vision and moreso focused on the fact that everyone was gone.

“They left half an hour ago, Shera,” Aemond said, a brow raised. “They went to the creek.”

“Oh.” Half an hour ago?

“Helaena said you do this,” he continued. “Disassociating?”

“It’s… new. I think.” she muttered, pulling her legs up to her chest.

“You should go to a maester about that.”

“Mm. And why are you still here?” she tried to ask politely, but it ended up coming out a bit harshly.

“Well, I couldn’t very well leave you alone here while you were… occupied. That’d be depraved indifference.” he huffed.

“Depraved indifference? Like leaving a dog tied up outside in a storm?” she grumbled, digging a finger into the dirt. “Is it so hard for you to say you care about me?” she uttered suddenly, slightly mortified that it came out of her mouth without thinking. Well, I suppose the cat is out of the bag now.

Aemond stared at her, the pupil of his eye waned to a slit. His jaw clenched and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t need to say it for it to be true,” he said. “Words mean nothing, they’re empty and meaningless. Actions are everything— keep that in mind.”

“You write a lot for someone who says words are empty and meaningless,” she pressed, the flare of indignation broiling in her— something that only surfaced when talking to Aemond.

“You misunderstand me, Shera,” he said her name like a blessing and a curse, his lip twitching again. “Someone can say all they like. That they care, that they will do something, that they will fix something— but their words are empty unless they actually do it.”

Her eye drifted once more, seeing the cream blur dive into the forest. She didn’t know what came over her, her limbs spurring into action as she got up with a start, bolting after it. She heard Aemond’s garbled voice behind her as she ran through the forest, eye unable to focus on it, but she could see it. Glimpses of it, calling to her as it bobbed and weaved through the branches.

Shera, Shera. She heard the whispers of some unfamiliar being in the back of her mind like an itch, a buzz at the base of her skull. It was calling to her, pulling her to it. She lost her shoes somewhere along the way, bare feet traipsing on the ground, cutting into jagged rock and sharp branches.

Aemond’s voice was more urgent now, but she still couldn’t understand what he was saying. And she… she was outrunning him. She felt like a doe, agile and free and the pain of her feet, bleeding and punctured, didn’t even bother her.

Come, come, little wolf! Come.

The dark of the forest let up into a wide expanse of blue sky, blue sky and the scent of the ocean… the blur was gone and all she felt was open air as she skidded off of the cliff. It was freeing, those splinters of wings bursting through her elytra, cracking and flitting. She treaded nothingness…

Then her wrist snapped, pulled right out of its socket as she was yanked back, her ears ringing as the adrenaline died down. The breeze of the sea stopped as she was enveloped in warmth, in fire. She glanced up– Aemond was staring down at her with a wide eye, hair sticking to his forehead with the sheen of sweat.

“What the… fuck, Shera?” he breathed, his chest heaving. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No– n… no,” she croaked in turn, her uninjured hand grasping into the leather of his doublet with such force that her knuckles were white, veins bulging against her skin. “The… it…” her tongue felt tied, throat dry as the pain of everything caught up to her at once. Her bleeding feet, her ballooning lungs that couldn’t catch enough oxygen, her dislocated wrist, hand aloft at an odd angle.

Moongeist barked somewhere in the distance, howl echoing through the forest.

She did not remember much after that.

—

The next moon was quiet for Shera as she recovered from her outing. The maesters set her wrist back into place and set it taut with a sling. Her feet were bandaged and she was prescribed bed rest for at least a week. They tried to give her milk of the poppy, but she refused– she couldn’t stand how it made her head swim, swim more than it already did.

Cregan blamed Aemond, threatening to take Shera back to Winterfell until the wedding. Rhaenyra calmed him, citing that Shera wouldn’t go out of the keep without a more attentive chaperone.

Once she was mostly recovered, lunched with Helaena every day and watched Aemond spar with Criston every other morning– but she usually hid behind the ramparts to where he wouldn’t see her– she felt oddly shy about watching him. She hadn’t had any disassociation spells, nor saw anything of the mystery blur. However, she did have Ser Erryk Cargyll as her sworn sword, issued by Rhaenyra herself.

She hated being followed, being observed under a lens like she was a child. Indignation broiled in her chest– but one eve, while passing Aemond in the hall, he didn’t say anything to her. They hadn’t spoken since the incident, where Shera was fairly sure that Aemond was convinced she tried to kill herself by jumping off the cliff– she wanted to explain that wasn’t the case, to explain everything she’d been experiencing. But he would think her mad. Surely.

She pulled herself out of the corset after, slipping into a more comfortable, loose fitting garment. Shera had sent away her maids and told them not to return until the morn. She didn’t wish to be fretted and pulled at like a sickly hen, feathers plucked before the slaughter.

Slowly, she untangled the veil from her hair and set it aside. Fingers gliding through her braids, she let her hair fall in curled tresses down her back, resting well past her bottom once it was all out.

The last thing to come off was her leather choker— she placed it on her boudoir, the tips of her nails ghosting over the still prominent scar there. She abhorred looking in the mirror, seeing nothing but a banshee looking back.

Even though she had retired to her chambers, she didn’t sleep. She found it hard to sleep most nights and ended up pacing. It was late in the night and most of the Keep were asleep, save for the occasional guard. She found it the perfect time to sneak out to the tunnels that crisscrossed throughout Maegor’s Holdfast.

She wished to test and see if she truly remembered the path that led to the water gardens— which she hoped still sparkled just as wondrously under moonlight as they did before.

Moongeist was curled up atop her bed, snoozing away. He worked so hard to guide Shera that she loathed to wake him, so she didn’t. She wasn’t completely hopeless without her wolf guide, but it could be teetering on the edge of stupidity, to wander the dimly lit secret corridors without her safety net. Stupidity that masked itself in bravery in her mind.

Glancing back at her veil and choker, she left them behind as she descended into the tunnel— she would be out of sight, and wished to let herself breathe for once, uninhibited and unveiled. She pressed to the wall for balance, her nightgown fisted in one hand, the other committing the curve of the stone to her mind, for later. If her memory served her correctly, she should be passing the royal apartments and the other guest rooms.

The sound of hushed voices caught Shera’s attention. In hindsight, it is rude to eavesdrop upon conversations– but she couldn’t help herself.

The somewhat familiar gruff sound of Daemon’s voice met her ears as they perked up, pressed against the wooden backing of a bookshelf that led to the tunnel from, what she could assume, was Rhaenyra and Daemon’s chamber.

“She won’t be beholden to us, Nyra,” Daemon’s voice whispered in an urgent, hushed tone. “She was raised under them, she has no reason to like us.”

“The North is a powerful ally we need on our side once the time comes, Daemon. Cregan is already beholden to us by the oath of his father,” she breathed, “This is merely another way to bring the Starks into the fold. I’d rather them be ready to defend us, Shera, at a moment’s notice.”

“Beyond the allegiances, the betrothals, the treaties; she is hardly a worthy vessel of Valyrian seed. A baby with dragon’s blood would tear that soft bellied wolf apart. Even then, are we so sure she isn’t still… in favor of Alicent’s brood? You saw her with the two at the dinner.”

“You’re thinking too far ahead, Daemon. I suppose I do love your… farsightedness, but we must focus on nearsightedness. We will deal with the issues of the girl’s mettle after I’m on my throne,” Rhaenyra turned, a finger pressed to Daemon’s jaw, which was clenched in agitation. “You needn’t worry. If her constitution proves weak, she shan’t survive the court— and any trace of allegiance she might have to my half siblings shall be snuffed out swiftly when the time comes.”

Shera felt her sudden burst of confidence fester into bile rising from the back of her throat. Once the time comes? Her stomach churned– she knew that there had been tension between the two sides of the King’s family but she hadn’t expected such planning and cunning already, before the gauntlet had even been thrown down, before the King had even passed–

And she was a part of that plan, apparently. Moreso a link to her brother’s allegiances and by extension, the North.

The tunnel she was in suddenly felt very small, like the walls were closing in on her. Panic bubbled in her chest like frothing sea water, the undercurrent threatening to drag her out to the endless expanse, water filling her lungs until they burst.

Her bare feet stumbled as she continued forward, trying to recognize any of the exits from the labyrinth, but it seemed fruitless. Tears welled, stinging and blinding her even further. She wasn’t quite sure how long she had been lost for– but it felt like the better part of an hour before she finally pushed one opening forward, falling out onto the stone ground of another room in the holdfast.

Shera sniffed, her hair falling in front of her face like inky tendrils, clinging to her tear streaked face. Her knee was skinned from how hard she’d fallen, blood trickling down her skin and staining her nightgown. Glancing around, her vision was beyond fuzzy, her head spinning.

Idiot, idiot. She chastised herself further, fists supplanted into the ground, her nail beds scraping against the unforgiving stone as she attempted to pull herself up.

She hoped to every God, the old and the new, that the room wasn’t occupied.

“Alicent? Alicent… is that you?”

Fuck.

Shera froze, the croaking voice directed at… her? It was like hearing the Stranger speak, whispering in her ear. Surely it was a figment of her imagination.

“Ali-cent,” it spoke again, followed by a hacking cough and a drawn out moan. “My… my medicine— have… you brought it?”

Shaking her head, she ventured closer to the bed where the voice was coming from, a lone beeswax candle lit on the bedside. Some incense was also burning, an intense smell of concentrated herbs that was almost too much for even Shera— what was this? Finally reaching the bedside, she was in horror at what she saw.

Was this… the King?

He looked more corpse than human, cheeks sunken and teeth missing and blackened. His body mass was half of what it used to be— he… he was so small now, his labored breathing, moreso wheezing, wracking his body. His eye was missing.

She held back the urge to vomit as she got closer, now knowing what the incense mask was for. He smelled terrible— complete of death and rot, as if his body was already withering and decaying. It was on par with the scent of a dead elk she and Moongeist had found a few years before while exploring just outside of Winterfell. Its body was bloated and stinking, maggots writhing from the orifices of its body. It was one of the most disgusting sights she’d ever seen— ‘twas tainted meat, as the ravens and foxes wouldn’t even touch it.

The King— Viserys the Peaceful. He was no more a king presently, akin more to fodder for vultures. No, she didn’t think that vultures would taint themselves with his rotten flesh.

She peered on. Viserys wasn’t much older than Daemon, was he? And… as much as she hated to admit it, Daemon was only just past his prime, mayhaps still even in it. But Viserys… looked aged to about eighty or ninety, his skin liver spotted and plagued with… some disease she couldn’t identify. His hair was all but gone, sticking to the skin of his skull in small patches, like a child’s doll that’d been mutilated.

“… y-your grace?” Shera whispered, unsure of what to do.

“A-ah, forgive… me… dearest, there is a glint upon… your eye.”

Yes, and you lack one, decrepit corpse. Shera resisted the urge to huff.

“The… the vial—,”

“This one, your grace?” she murmured, seeing a small phial of liquid. She sniffed it, the overwhelming scent of milk of the poppy hitting her nostrils.

“Mm.”

She handed the medicine to him, watching him struggle to even lift his bony, gaunt hand. She brought the lip of it to his mouth, listening to him greedily drink it as if it were the most delicious of wines.

“Much… better, thank you,” he breathed, putting his hand back over his forehead. “Have… you thought much more upon… Rhaenyra’s proposal?”

“Her proposal, your grace?” Shera responded meekly. She still wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, where the king thought she was Queen Alicent. Her hands shook as she put the empty vial back on the nightstand.

“Helaena… and Jacaerys… ‘tis a fine match… it would… reunite our… the… the house of the dragon.”

Gods, what year did he think it was?

“... I am still mulling it over, my king,” she responded, glancing around the room for any way out.

“And… have Otto… send a raven to Lord Stark…” he wheezed. “Propose a union… between your ward… and Aemond. The North… has stayed out of the… realm for far too long…”

Aemond? There were talks of a betrothal to Aemond? Her heart began to race, even though she knew that the king’s mind was at least twelve years in the past or more– the mere thought of… it could’ve been true, it could’ve happened–

She bit her lip until blood welled to the surface. Everything could have been different.

Did Alicent refuse? Was there… even a raven sent?

“Yes, your grace,” she sniffed, holding back tears. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Alicent.”