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pedrospatch · 8 months ago

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a safe haven l ten

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze.

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #tw dv #tw domestic violence #tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction

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sunshine-daisies-library · 11 months ago

Text

starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader

author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol

summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.

warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst

word count: 11.0k

It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it.

“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink.

“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”

And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama.

But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it.

“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.”

Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”

“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.”

Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.”

“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question.

Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless.

“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.”

“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.”

“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.”

Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.”

“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?”

“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.”

Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.”

The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed.

“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.”

Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.”

“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?”

“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”

Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath.

“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame.

He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back.

“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back.

–

Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you.

The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan.

Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile.

Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”

“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.

“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway.

You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws.

Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness.

You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed.

Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory.

“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled.

You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity?

Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.”

“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.”

“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it.

Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.

“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned.

“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable.

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle.

You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.”

Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one.

“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated.

You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”

Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.”

The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career.

You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.”

You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you.

“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear.

“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!”

You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in.

The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was.

You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food.

“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.”

Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations.

“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.

You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all.

“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”

You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.”

“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned.

You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”

Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.”

“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back.

You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”

Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.

Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.

“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face.

Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home.

You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.”

Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed.

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before.

“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”

Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed.

“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”

–

“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror.

It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold.

On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi.

Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though.

“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?”

Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”

“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?”

Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun.

Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”

“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics.

Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.”

Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with.

“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way.

“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.

–

The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties.

“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?”

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought.

“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.”

“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation.

Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.”

“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”

The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.”

Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head.

Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult.

“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview.

“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon.

“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”

Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that?

“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.”

“Ash-” Calum said meekly.

“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.”

“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.”

Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst.

“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them.

Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology.

“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?”

You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too.

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–”

“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.”

“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.”

You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.”

You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern.

“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.

“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”

“I know right?”

–

You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park.

You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention.

But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.

You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground.

“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.”

Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling.

“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.”

“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.”

“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!”

What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public.

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!”

Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted.

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds?

You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”

Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.

“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”

“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.

Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

–

He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.

But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least.

Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster?

Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart

End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected

Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break.

#y/nl/nisoverparty

#y/nl/nisasnake

#y/nisthebiggestbitch

#y/nl/nisOVER

On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked.

Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.

The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost.

“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting.

Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.”

Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create.

“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.”

“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.”

Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit.

“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.”

Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.”

“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”

“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.”

Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.”

–

You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s.

Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were.

Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you.

Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space.

“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.”

Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.”

The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside.

“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse.

Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?”

Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?”

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.”

Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.”

“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.”

The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”

“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly.

Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.”

Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.”

Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him.

“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”

Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?”

Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.”

Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink.

Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish.

“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.”

Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.

–

Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability.

Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself.

To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why.

The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding.

The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable.

You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage.

Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains.

But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more.

“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you.

“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole.

“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding.

Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?”

At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you.

But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first.

You felt your Ashton.

Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.

You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure.

Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself.

“What are you–”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”

Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”

You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.

“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.”

In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour.

Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.

Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?”

Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?”

The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his.

“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face.

This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.

–

Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.

You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.

“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert.

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more.

“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?��

Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained.

Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away.

“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied.

You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.”

Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.”

“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”

Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”

“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.”

The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”

You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”

The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries.

“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”

You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.”

“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest.

You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.”

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#5sos #ashton irwin x reader #5sos fic #5sos imagine #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin imagine

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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 1 year ago

Text

Seungmin x reader

Genre: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Word count : .8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Penetration, Public Sex, Unprotected sex ( you must never do this)

Summary: when you wake up from a hot and heavy dream, your boyfriend decides this is the perfect time to join the mile high club.

You must have fallen asleep on the plane because you woke up to your boyfriend, Seungmin Lighting, shaking your shoulder.

"Honey…wake up", you heard him.

"What's wrong?" you said frantically.

"Nothing…you were just moaning in your sleep," he said, lowering his voice so none of the other boys could hear him.

"Really?" You couldn't quite remember your dream, but you do remember it starting to get a little hot and heavy.

"Mmm....it was starting to make me kind of jealous." He said, placing his hand on your thigh.

Usually, you would feel uncomfortable with Seungmin cracking onto you on a plane. However, flying business class has its perks. You felt your heart race as you felt the warmth of his touch. You felt yourself getting turned on, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment, and you felt yourself starting to get butterflies in your stomach.

He slid his hand up your thigh and under your dress. "Must have been a hell of a dream", he said, starting to rub your wet pussy.

"Min…." You said, grabbing his hand to stop him.

"Why would you want to dream about cock, when you have mine right here?" he whispered into your ear.

You gulp, "Close the shutter….and come sit on my lap," his lips are still pressed against your ears.

As he says, you quietly close the shutters so no one can see you both.

As you turn around, Seungmin is undressing his lower half. Using his finger to call you over to him, you stand in front of him as he slides his fingers under your dress, tugging at your underwear. Shimming them down your legs, "Come here," he whispered as he pulled you down on his lap. Making out passionately, Seungmin's hands wander around your body, his lips trailing down your neck and back up again. He's exploring every inch of you, and you can feel yourself getting even more aroused as he continues.

"We have to be quiet, okay…no sounds at all", Seungmin says, breaking the heated kiss.

You nod your head as you slowly slide along his shaft, causing his head to fall backwards against the seat.

You could tell this would be a challenging task to complete, especially when it already felt this good.

Rolling your hips, you couldn't help but start breathing heavily. Seungmin leans up and presses his lips to yours.

You slightly lift your body and line his cock up with your centre, and then you slowly sit down on his hard cock. He grunts quietly as your walls stretch your mouth. "Shhhhhhh", as you begin to roll your hips again. You lean in and kiss him deeply, your tongues dancing with each other as you feel your bodies move in tandem. Your breathing is heavy and his hands are exploring your body as you ride him.

Stopping briefly so Seungmin could adjust himself in the seat better.

Seungmin sucks on his fingers as he begins to stimulate your clit. He pulls one side of your dress down so he can boost your nipple at the same time.

You loved that he knew exactly how you liked to be fucked. Licking your nipple, you catch yourself about to let out a whimper. Looking down at Seungmin, he smirks as he latches onto your breast. He sucks on your breast, flicking his tongue over your sensitive skin. You can feel the pleasure radiating from your body, and you take a deep breath as you arch your back in ecstasy.

Your eyes begin to roll as the urge to moan becomes harder, his fingers circling your clit as you slowly bounce on his cock.

He leans up to kiss you as he feels your walls clench around his dick. "I love you" he whispers.

I love you was something Seungmin had never forgotten to say to you. "I love you too," you whisper back before feeling a wave of pleasure take over your body.

Seungmin kisses you in an attempt to mute the whimper that escapes your mouth as you cream down his cock. You start rolling your hips, knowing Seungmin isn't far behind you.

He holds his breath as he cum fills you up. He breathes out as his eyes roll to the back of his head. You start to place kisses down his neck as his skin tingles in pleasure.

"Good girl", he hums into your ear as your body relaxes on top of his. You both cuddle afterwards, your bodies still warm from the pleasure you had just experienced. He holds you close, and you can feel his pulse slowly returning to normal. You both sit there, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence.

Thank you all so much please like and share my work :)

Taglist: @daceydeath @krishastumblernow @cakeracha @bakedlilgoonie @marrivmel @9900z @choisoorin @armystay89

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hell-drabbles · 7 months ago

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Mock-up Card 1

Basically it's just an L Card with the Embittered Companion and Lucifer working together because my brain is stuck on that for some reason? It's weird. Anyways, when you activate the Ultimate Skill of this card, you switch to either Lucifer or the Embittered Companion. A sort of, two-in-one card. Embittered Companion is all about dealing damage while Lucifer is all about healing. There's a boost to their ATK for a good while after switching. Don't ask about the numbers, I didn't think of them at aaaall.

Also I don't have it in me to write prose right now, so here be lines!!!

[First Encounter]

YOU: Hey. It's been how many years? You know, since I last took up a weapon to chase people away? It's pretty nostalgic, honestly. LUCIFER: …are you already forgetting what you promised us? YOU: I'm not gonna charge in head first, you two. Get off my ass.

[Level Up]

YOU: What I lack… LUCIFER: I'll make up.

[Evolve]

YOU: It would be nice, to have less lives lost. LUCIFER: But all we can do is continue on, until the very end.

[Ultimate Skill 1]

YOU: Go ahead and take a nap, Lucifer.

[Ultimate Skill 2]

LUCIFER: Sit. Rest. You're bleeding.

[Upon Death]

YOU: I'm still shit at keeping promises huh? LUCIFER: It's not your fault. Let's go.

[Victory 1]

YOU: Glad to see you've been focusing on the task at hand, Ra-on. Well, battle's over, so you can do whatever the hell you want.

[Victory 2]

LUCIFER: This is something to celebrate about, isn't it? …yes, you'll be invited to the party.

[Defeat]

LUCIFER: A mortal body such as their's does not deserve to have injuries like this. Keep quiet, they'll wake up. I know they will.

[Lobby Interaction 1]

YOU: It's kind of funny to me that, after all that, my normal body hasn't really changed one bit. Still the same strength, still the same weaknesses. LUCIFER: It doesn't make it any less remarkable to me. YOU: So you and Ra-on say. Well, I've been in this body longer than anyone, so I wouldn't know what to be impressed by. Everything about this body is just uninteresting to me. Doesn't make me any less happy that I'm back in it, though.

[Lobby Interaction 2]

YOU: Hmm? What are you staring at us for, Ra-on? We that good of a sight? …happy, huh? Yeah, I suppose Lucifer and I make each other pretty happy. Don't discount yourself though, buddy. Wouldn't be in the place that I am without your help.

[Lobby Interaction 3]

LUCIFER: Your hands. Let me see them. YOU: Huh? Alright, but why? LUCIFER: Ra-on told me you forgot about your blisters. YOU: Oh. Oh! No, yeah I did forget. Whoops. But hey, at least I'm wearing gloves this time around, so they're not that bad. None of them popped, so they should heal nicely.

[Lobby Interaction 4]

LUCIFER: If you wanted to destroy Heaven, would you? I wouldn't blame you if you answered 'yes.' YOU: …maybe a younger, more freshly wounded version of myself would've said yes, but as I am now, no. The fate of Heaven is not mine to control. I can only control the distance between me and that place. Besides, I'll hold onto hope that the angels will eventually weed out that sickening need to be superior.

[Lobby Interaction 5]

LUCIFER: Shh. They haven't rested well last night. Whatever it is you want to ask, save it for later. Hmm? Mm. Yes, they're… still haunted by everything. Not even in sleep can they be allowed to escape. A curse that not even my powers can relieve.

[Lobby Interaction 6]

YOU: You know, I haven't heard the name Solomon in a while. Did you finally put your foot while I was away, Ra-on?

[Lobby Interaction 7]

YOU: Another angel almost snatched me up today. Even in this human form they hate so much, they still want to whisk me up right back to that suffocating cradle. Thanks for the warning by the way. LUCIFER: While we were all once siblings connected through our love for God, I won't allow them to repeat that torture. If I must make my words absolute, then I will.

[Lobby Interaction 8]

LUCIFER: Have you adjusted yet? YOU: To what? LUCIFER: To your lack of extra limbs. To that body of yours. Is there any pain? Any noises that want to invade your eyes and ears? YOU: …There's nothing. Sometimes I'll feel like I'm missing something, but it's all blissfully silent.

[Lobby Interaction 9]

LUCIFER: Do you have no intention of staying here? YOU: I have no intention of ever forgetting you, Lucifer. But, I can't stay here. This is not my home. Our home, is right where Minhyeok is. Where our beloved earth is. Hell is nice, but I'm pretty sure Ra-on and I miss the comfort of our home's air.

[Lobby Interaction 10]

YOU: Lucifer? LUCIFER: Yes? YOU: If, one day, I decide to visit, would you welcome me? LUCIFER: …always. A small visit, or a promise to dedicate our existences to one another, I'll welcome it all the same.

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad #drabble #hell-drabbles #hell-drabbles exclusive #paradise lost #lucifer #embittered companion au #reader insert #mock-up card

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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 8 months ago

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Calming Waves

Hunter x Reader

Summary- After finding out Omega has been taken for the third time, you and Hunter must comfort each other. Set at the end of s.3 ep.11

A/N- I AM FERAL FOR THIS MAN!!!!! It didn't turn out exactly how I wanted. The idea wasn't as fresh in my head as I would have liked. Nevertheless, enjoy!

Word Count- 1,439

Your chest heaved, desperate for air as you ran. Your feet hurt from how hard they were hitting the pavement. The Empire ships were leaving, that meant either two things.

Omega was dead, or Omega was taken.

Tears burned your eyes as you still raced for the top of Pabu where Shep's home was. That was the designated hideout.

You were close to hyperventilating, but seeing the humble cottage in the distance gave you the last boost you needed. You had to know what happened.

With a fury you didn't know you had, you slammed the door open.

"Where is she!" You yelled out when you saw only Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

Hunter was the first to face you, his own eyes glossy. He said nothing, just pulled you into a tight hug.

With realization you sobbed. If it wasn't for Hunter holding you up, you would have fallen.

You cried and cried, Crosshair could only look down in shame.

"Shhh, Shhh, we will find her..." You managed to catch your breath at his reassuring words. Hunter rubbed your back soothingly, even though he was barely hanging on himself.

"What... What happened?" You stood by yourself again, tears still silently falling. You wiped them away violently.

All eyes turned to Crosshair at your question. You noticed and followed their gazes. "What did you do?" You asked, words laced with poison.

"She, Omega, she gave herself up." He revealed, your heart sank again. She was so brave...

With a single stride forward- SLAP!

Your hand stung, bad. You just hoped Crosshairs cheek hurt worse. Your stare sent daggers to him.

He saw the hit coming, he really did. He just agreed that he deserved it, letting you deliver the blow.

"And you let her? You were supposed to protect her!" You pressed, unable to grasp how he could do such a thing.

"She.... She felt guilty, all of the lives that were going to be lost-"

"Do you think I give hell about anyone else?" You argued. "If we start to think about strangers, then we'd all be dead."

He looked remorseful, but not apologetic. "Omega saw the bigger picture."

This set you off, grabbing your blaster from its holster. "She is a child," a sob threatened, "She is too busy seeing the good in people to know how much bad there truly is."

Wrecker sat silent, watching. He was still injured from the bomb.

You weren't actually going to shoot him, in your fury you just acted irrationally. Hunter knew this as well, but still came to your side.

His hand wrapped around yours, gently lowering your weapon and hand.

"I can't even look at you right now..." At that, you turned on your heel. You didn't exactly know where you were going, just that you needed some air.

Hunter was at your side, a hand trying to wrap around your hip. "No, just leave me alone. I cannot believe this!" You pushed his hand away, admittedly harsh.

"I won't let you run off. We need to stick together right now." He managed to grip your wrist, you let him.

You sighed deeply, "Then come with me."

"Always..." He moved his hand down to grasp yours lovingly.

While the thought of marching back in and demanding a plan crossed your mind- Wrecker was hurt and you had no ship. The best you could do was wait for Echo or Phee to return your messages. Your mind still wandered at ways to find her.

You found yourself at the shoreline, right by Omegas hideaway cave. You didn't mean to stop there, but you guessed your subconscious wanted to be closer to her.

With a puff you sat down in the sand, hands mindlessly feeling the grain beneath you.

Hunter stood by your side, still on guard. You, however, were too worn out to care anymore.

"Three times..." You stated, not looking up. The wind blew your hair back. It could have been a scene from a holo-movie. The light breeze only made your heart ache more. The countless times you'd spent in this every spot with Omega grieved you.

"I know." You could hear him shuffle. You only responded by bringing your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them.

With a sniffle, you'd decided to speak again. "I hope she's not too scared. Even if it was her choice to hand herself over, she must still be scared." Tears welled at the thought of her.

Hunter moved forward, squatting down to rest a hand on your shoulder. "She's a tough girl." Silence again.

You knew she was tough, but the 'biggest' and 'strongest' of men wavered at The Empire. What could a single girl do against a whole Imperial army?

Hunter tried to ease your nerves, "We've done it twice before, we will save her again. Her and the other captured clones." This only fueled your anger.

"And then what?" You snapped, jerking your head up at him. "The Empire will never stop looking for her! They will just come again and again."

He looked down, avoiding your gaze.

"Hunter, I just want to be normal." You rested your face in your hands, still leaning on your knees. "Is that bad? To not have anyone after us. Just you, me, Omega...I mean, of course the guys too..."

"No. No, not at all." He said.

Your shoulders shook with your crying. "I'm sorry, i'm trying to keep it all together." You said messily, wiping your eyes.

At this, he finally embraced you. Pulling you completely into his arms. You were practically in his lap. He tucked your head into his shoulder.

"I just want our daughter back." You sobbed out, holding onto Hunter hopelessly.

"Even if it is the last thing I do, I will bring Omega home. We will bring her home." He pet your head gently, his calm and serious voice started to soothe you.

Your voice was muffled by his skin, but you spoke on. "I am so tired of running."

"I know, me too."

You both just held each other for awhile, the sound of the waves helped you steady your breathing.

Hunter broke the silence. "After this, after we save her... I think we should all disappear."

"Disappear?" You questioned, even though you were sure what he meant.

"Wouldn't be too hard to fake our deaths." He said stoically, staring across the water.

You leaned up at this, shuffling so you could look at him. "What about all of your connections? Phee, Shep, I mean-" You sighed, "...We can't tell them can we?"

"It's like you said, when we start to think about strangers we risk ourselves." He was turning cold.

You eventually agreed, resting your head back on his collarbone.

"We've got an incoming message from Phee." You both heard over Hunter's comms.

"Headed your way." Hunter replied.

He squeezed you a last time, hands still on you gently. "Let's go, talking to Phee will bring us a step closer to Omega."

You nodded, heart swelling when Hunter reached down to swipe the last of your tears away.

You pulled back, touching the sand with your hand a last time. Your tears were dried, all that was left was fury. A fury that could rival The Empire.

After talking with Phee, she agreed that she would head your way. You hoped she wouldn't mind helping you four, just until Echo could fetch a ship.

Tension was high, you all waited for her to arrive. Crosshair kept looking your way, but you didn't return it.

You had thought about your exchange, and was feeling pretty guilty. You knew Crosshair wanted Omega safe, that he was only doing what he thought was right.

"Crosshair?" You called out to him, he stood at his name.

"Can we talk outside?" He nodded and followed you.

The two of you leaned over the railing outside of Shep's house. Both looking over to the water. "I'm sorry-" He started, but you interrupted.

"No, I'm sorry. I know it was Omegas idea. Her heart is too big to watch the people of Pabu get taken. I.. I wasn't actually going to shoot you.." You fiddled with your fingers, ashamed.

"I know. I'd have done the same. She, she just wants to make everyone happy." You smiled at his words, the description of her bringing you comfort.

You leaned closer to him, nudging his shoulder. "I might have a way to find the Tantiss coordinates."

You ushered him back inside, perfect timing to see Phee approaching. A plan was soon demised. You'd find a way back to Omega, no matter what.

A/N- Okay, let's be real. Hunter was not as mad as he should have been about losing Omega FOR THE THIRD TIME! That is my excuse for writing this! Thank you so much for reading!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @dangraccoon @knight-of-flowerss

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jellyfishsthings · 1 year ago

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Warnings: um smut... wrap it before you tap it, piv, fem!reader, academical rivals to lovers, probably the filthiest thing I have ever written... if you know me, no you don't

Part 1 , Part 3

Things since last week haven't changed much. Remus and I still had our rivalry going stronger than ever. Especially after the hallway incident, which ended up with him having a large red handprint on his cheek, indicating a really strong slap. In my defense, he was getting close. Ever since we haven't stopped arguing with each other, until…

"I can't work with her."

"It's impossible to work with him."

As quickly as the words left our mouths, we sharply turned to glare at each other. Completely missing Professor's McGonagall proud look.

"You are working together on this project. And you will present to me the best project in the class because you are both Perfects and have to give the right example. I don't care about whether you like each other or not."

Seething I exit the room with a newfound speed, and Remus closely follows behind my heels.

"Can you just slow down a bit?" He asks, and I instantly stop walking, turning towards him, waiting impatiently to hear what he has to say. "She's right, you know. We have to make this fucking project as perfect as possible. So I think we should call a truce." He slowly proposes as if this will simply fix our problems. I stare at him blankly, and I see his nostrils flaring. "Look. I don't like this either, ok? But I need the grade, and if it were someone else, I would just make the project myself. But since it's you … if we work together we could… We are at the top of every class for a reason. Just…." His voice eventually gives up.

"Fine," I say, "meet me at the library at 7. We have a lot of research to do"

This was how I found myself meeting with my all-time rival every day in the library for two months. The insults never stopped flying from one to the other, but surprisingly, we made a good team, and the project was almost finished. We are now accustomed to each other and our habits. Like Remus… when he read something for a really long time, he would remove his glasses and rub his eyes and his nose, smoothing it out after being scrunched up. Or when we got tired, he would share his chocolates to boost our morals and energies.

Many comments have been floating around the halls."How long until they fuck it out?", "God, he could eat her alive, for what she said to him.","He must be really smitten with her for putting up with her." ... Well, you got the gist of it.

Now, as I was getting ready for bed, a thought occurred. We never looked in the secluded area for any useful information. So, I put on my slippers and headed towards the library once again.

I slowly walk down the hallways, trying to get past Flinch. The great mahogany walls of the library greet me with a loud groan. I grab one of the oil lanterns that rest on the librarian's desk and head towards the restricted section. I find books related to the project and start reading them. Keeping notes under the candlelit room.

I could be reading for hours or mere minutes when I hear footsteps. I quickly blow out the flame and hide in the darkest spot I can find between the bookcases. As the sound of footsteps comes closer my breathing turns faster and more panicky. Good God I am going to get caught? Am I going to get detention? What am I going to do?

That's when I feel a hand close around my mouth. Silencing me. Wait …what? Silencing me? A familiar scent fills my nostrils.

"Stay quiet or else we are going to get caught." He whispers in my ear. His Welsh accent dripped like honey, his voice raspy and almost deathly quiet. Heat pools in my core as a dream resurfaces in my brain. "Stay quiet or else we are going to get caught." He says as he pounds into me while he has my hips in a tight grip, guiding back and forth.

As I snap out of my trance, I push his hand harshly off me. "What the hell are you doing here?", I whisper-yell at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?", he fires back. We stare at each other with our eyes slitted as we both breath heavily.

"How did you even know I was here?", I ask him accusingly, even though I have been caught in the act.

"The marauders map." He answers back easily as if that answer would ring a bell and not cause more questions.

"The what ?"

"I think he is gone."

"Oh really?"

"Why do you like to test me, woman?"

"Possibly because of your super nice personality or better yet because you're a prick."

He just returned the favor with a wolfish grin, notice the irony.

"Why are you smiling?" I snap at him.

"Oh because you are so nicely close to me and you haven't uttered a word about that." Just as the words leave his mouth I feel my cheeks heat. Jesus why am I blushing? At least he can't see it. "And yes I can see you blushing"

How did he…? Is he a mind reader?

"Also I am no mind reader, i just know you that well." His face is dangerously close now. The empty, now, library is ominously quiet and I can almost feel our breaths echo in the room. There is no escape, is there? His mouth is almost atop of mine, his breath fanning my face.

"Gosh why are you like this? Why must you test me until I snap? Why do I love it so much?" He says as his lips crush into mine in a bruising kiss that steals my breath away. He manhandles me so that our chests are pressed together and I am promptly sitting in his lap, feeling a long hard cock press against my clad yet soaking wet pussy. Insults fly out of our mouths in-between every heated kiss.

"Punk"

"Jerk"

"Dickhead"

"Oh you are going to feel that soon."

"Bite me, Lupin."

"If you insist."

We discard our clothes as fast as possible until he grabs hold of my thighs and he slams me on the flat surface of the bookcase.

Right opposite the window, it's so dark outside that our reflections fill my eyesight. His scarred, white freckled back in contrast with my tanned legs, due to all the sun exposure, that are wrapped around his waist and my arms in his shoulders. One of my hands is buried deep in his brown curled hair that is now buried in my neck leaving bites and hickeys as he bites, laps and sucks, leaving permanent marks behind his trail. While the other scratches his back, as my legs draw back and my back arches.

Horrified gasps sound in the room, mixing with my moans and his groans. My eyes open immediately, leaving their half hooded state, searching the room for intruders but not finding anyone until…. Of course, the portraits. Great I am about to get royally fucked by Remus Lupin and not only will I have to live with the memory of it but now the portraits saw what we were doing, I was catastrophically doomed, I laugh at the thought.

And Remus leaves his task and draws slightly back, enough for him to keep impossibly close but still be able to see my face.

"I love your laugh. And I absolutely hate the fact that I am not the one causing it. But that is going to change. Everything is going to change from now on, you bellend." The breath is being knocked out of my lungs. "And now I am going to fuck you. I reckon you are wet enough so as not to hurt." He says as his fingers play with my clit. "I would say you are quite drenched actually. You know I have been thinking of this, dreaming it even. Fucking you hard and deep, until you are nothing more that a brainless brat." Gasps and moans are his only answers.

"Thank God you seem to like that because I don't think I can hold back any more." He seals these words with a kiss as he enters me in one fluid motion until he is balls deep. Our mouths are open now as we try to catch our breaths and I stare at his eyes, trying to find the familiar mischievous dark green that haunted my every thought. His forehead dropped to mine as he started to move inside me at an insane pace. His balls are slapping against my clit as he hits all the right spots.

My back arches and my head falls back as my eyes close. I feel one of his hands slide up my back and rest somewhere between my ribs, commanding me to stay in place as I feel…. No this can't be right. My gaze moves to the window and what I see almost brings me right over the edge right there and then. His head is buried in my chest hiding all the toying he is doing at my breasts, paying extra attention to my nipples. Marking them up too.

"God I wish I could mark up our thighs and pussy too but that will have to wait."

"Remus, you prick, how dare you…" I say in a breathless voice my insult is lost in all the pleasure I am feeling.

"Yes, how dare I make you feel all this pleasure. Huh?" He mouths in my chest as he has his lips wrapped around one of my tits.

"I am close" I whimper

"I know, sweetheart. Let go for me. I've gotcha."

I don't know what actually sent me over the edge. The nickname, the command, reassurance, a mixture of all of them? Well whatever it was it rocked my world. I never thought an orgasm could last that long or be so powerful. It was literally dripping down my thighs to his and then falling to the ground. Embarrassingly so. He had finished too. His face was buried in my chest trying to catch our breaths.

He turns to look at me, smirking. Oh no. I already know what he is going to say. And I won't be able to say no.

"Ready for round two?"

words: 1.741

#remus lupin #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin fluff

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rollforthings · 6 months ago

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I’ve come across confusion with how Fabula Ultima’s character creation works, especially in people coming to it from DnD5e, so here’s a post to break it down and show how awesomely customizable FabUlt PCs are straight from the hop.

In 5e, pretty much everything about your class is decided immediately. Take it at level 1, it drip-feeds you the same features in the same order. At 1st - 3rd level, you pick a subclass from a short list, and this sprinkles in a few more set-in-stone upgrades. A Level 10 Champion Fighter will have all the same class features as every other Level 10 Champion Fighter. If you multiclass, you get to add in some other features, but always the same features in the same order for every class you do this with.

In Fabula Ultima, each Class is a bundle of features called Class Skills, and in most cases these Skills can be taken in any order and as much or as little as you like. Each level your character has represents such an investment in a chosen Skill in a Class that you have. (There’s an example of all this later that makes it clearer.) Some Class Skills are one-and-done -- spend a level on it and it’s yours. Others Skills have multiple tiers to them, allowing you invest multiple character levels into them to make them more powerful. (Each class also has couple of Free Benefits, little boosts you get for having at least one level in a class.) You can also skip a class skill altogether, if it isn’t something you want for your character build.

Looking at each class, they seem a little barebones. Only five Class Skills, not a lot, and each class is kind of niche. The Rogue doesn’t get martial ranged weapons, and the Entropist's only damage spells deal Dark damage. But you see, in Fabula Ultima, multiclassing is mandatory. At character creation, you get 5 levels and you must invest them in two to three different classes, in any of the skills available from those classes. This does two very important things. One, it ensures a character is good in at least two ways straight out of character creation. Two, when combined with the previous point -- that class features can be taken in any order and arrangement -- it creates this unprecedented level of variety, including with starting-level characters.

Like okay, as an example of all this, I’m going to make two builds for starting characters. They’ll have the same number of levels in the same two classes (Guardian 2 / Weaponmaster 3), and not only will they not step on each other’s toes, they’ll play completely differently.

Our first character is going to be a teamwork-oriented tank, focusing defensive support and enemy debuff. The combined Free Benefits of Guardian and Weaponmaster grant +10 max HP, plus martial armor, shields and melee weapons. From Guardian, we’ll take Protect so we can jump in the way of attacks and spells aimed at our allies. We’ll also take Dual Shieldbearer, to give us some insane Defense scores and let us dual-wield those shields as brawling weapons. Now for Weaponmaster. First we’ll grab Counterattack. This grants us a 50% chance to hit back at enemies when they attack us with melee, including the attacks we block with Protect. And we’ll invest our last two levels in Bonecrusher, so we can choose to swap out damage with status effects and MP drain (lots of it because we invested 2 levels) when we hit. Guardian 2 / Weaponmaster 3 who’s tanky as hell, can intercept and punish enemy attacks, and debuffs enemies with shield bashes.

Okay, same Guardian 2 / Weaponmaster 3 spread, same Free Benefits. However, instead of a tank this character is a simple but reliable damage-dealer. From Guardian, we’ll take one level in Defensive Mastery and one level in Fortress. These skills give us a bit of damage reduction and a bit of extra max HP, respectively, and we’ll probably level these up over taking new Guardian skills in the future. As cool as it is, Dual Shieldbearer won’t work for this build since we’ll use a two-handed weapon like a Katana or a Waraxe for bigger damage. From Weaponmaster, we’ll invest in Bladestorm and two levels in Melee Weapon Mastery. Bladestorm lets us spend MP to hit multiple targets when we attack, and the two levels of MWM give us a +2 on our melee attack checks. Guardian 2 / Weaponmaster 3 who’s got a little padding as protection while they focus on accuracy, damage, and hitting multiple targets at once.

So there you go. Same classes, same number of levels in each, completely different playstyles. And these are just starting characters. PCs gain a level every session or two, and they can invest in up to three classes at once (and 5-6 classes over a level 5-50 career). On leveling up, the tank could double down on Guardian to get even tankier, or level into Orator or Spiritist for more support options. The damage dealer could lean into Fury for increased crit chance and bonus damage, or into a magic-hybrid spellblade build via Elementalist. Or either of them could take on Wayfarer for an animal companion and increased travel/exploration aptitude. The possibilites are truly amazing, and you can get super creative with them as you find synergies and build up team combos. And I didn’t even get into Quirks, custom weapons or Heroic Skills.

So yeah, if you haven’t yet, check out Fabula Ultima. Character building is insanely fun and it’s honestly spoiled the 5e equivalent for me.

#ttrpg #fabula ultima #dnd #dnd5e #d&d 5e #dnd 5e #character creation

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viperwhispered · 8 months ago

Note

New fic idea: Jamil VS the ex

Context: Jamil and s/o have been dating for while. Things are going great and everyone is just happy. There are no real jealousy issues on either side cause they trust each other and Jamil is confident he's the best catch around. If there is any jealousy, they talk it out like mature human beings since being petty doesn't solve anything. Though there is defintley possessiveness, it never leaves the bedroom and they both enjoy it.

Introducing the ex: just a complete toxic dump. As in, shitty romance novels stereotypical male lead toxic dump. Just controlling, verbally/emotionally abusive, physically intimidates people, tries to use sex to fix things, doesn't know when to leave their exes alone, gets physical with love rivals, etc. For reference feel free to look at Christian Grey from 50 Shades, Hardin Scott from After, and Edward Cullen from Twilight. Honestly it didn't last more than a week yet the ex continued to stalk our poor reader and ruin any attempt at a finding a new lover.

Cue them getting to NRC and finally having a chance at a relationship with our boy Jamil. But unfortunately all good things must come to an end when reader invites Jamil home to meet their family. Let's say that if the reader is not from TWST then they have a way to dimension travel and the family is in on it.

Jamil is quickly welcomed into the family and they make it clear that he's the best boyfriend the reader has had so far. The reader and their family are quick to warn Jamil about the ex and the sabotages. He learns the details from his albi's angry rants about all the bullshit this guy did.

At one point the reader turns to him and goes: "you have my permission to be as much of a possessive scheming bastard as you want. Ruin his reputation, frame him, humiliate him, I don't care! He's messed with my life far too much for me to care about him anymore. If we run into him, feel free to shove it in his face that I am yours. Hold me, kiss me, leave hickies, whatever! I trust you to know my boundaries and when to do it. Hell, if you manage to get rid of him, then we might as well skip the formalities and go straight to the alter."

Cue Jamil plotting:

1. Get the ego boost from going PDA in front of your lover’s ex. Note: make sure beloved is wearing his hoodie/jersey for maximum boost.

2. Get rid of the abusive ex who's been harming his beloved for YEARS.

3. Plan the wedding.

Meanwhile, the reader is just enjoying the extra affection while munching popcorn as their dear boyfriend gets rid of the biggest nuisance in their life. Yes they get turned on by it, especially the smirk. They're planning to thoroughly spoil him when this is over, both in and out of the bedroom.

Bonus: in your professional opinion, what route would Jamil take to get rid of the ex and how sadistic does he get?

Hasdkföjask yes just let Jamil loose on the problem and enjoy the fireworks.

Also hasdfads in my professional opinion, huh? I feel honored. 🥺👉👈

Oop this got long so below the cut it goes.

(Also boy am I glad the ex did not get to do too much lasting damage to reader’s ability to have a healthy relationship. Jamil already has enough baggage for both of them to go through. Still, someone get a restraining order on that ex, stat.)

“Yes they get turned on by it, especially the smirk.” Just… too true. Man’s just way too hot when he’s all confident and cocky I swear.

Also ngl this brand of possessive I can definitely get behind.

Also I love that tasklist, just not sure which one I love more, the note to task 1 or just the entirety of task 3. Tho of course, Jamil being Jamil (and I may or may not be projecting here) I’m sure there’d be plenty of subtasks / -steps to each of these.

(Also sidenote yes Jamil definitely would know how to turn up the charm for the in-laws for extra approval points. What a charming well-behaved young man, just delightful 😇)

Now, the options coming to my mind are:

Something “private”: only the ex (and reader) needs to know what happened exactly, but it’s enough to spook the ex and keep him in line. (I mean, getting snake whispered? Should be pretty scary, especially depending on what Jamil does with it. Oh boy, the potential.)

Something public: ruin this guy’s image, future prospects, credit score, everything, make everyone see him for the cretin he is. Might cause backlash depending on just how concerning this guy is, but also long-lasting consequences.

Ignore the gnat, just rub things in his face by just being super sweet and loveydovey wherever he happens to be without ever directly confronting him because he’s not worth the effort (not too likely, Jamil’s definitely way too petty (or incensed) to just leave it at that).

Now, getting information on people may be Azul’s specialty, but I’m sure Jamil won’t have too much trouble finding out enough (like where the ex works, lives, stuff like that. If this is a different world (or even just different country), I’m sure reader can help him with the details of what is possible and all).

And by the sounds of things, this particular jerkwad is bound to turn up anyway. So maybe it’s just a case of waiting and being ready, setting up the favorable circumstances.

So Jamil and s/o would be going out and about. Maybe to the shops, maybe just a walk outside, whatever they know is likely to land them on the ex’s path.

The thing about the hoodie is that it’s not necessarily obvious (to the ex) that it belongs to Jamil, rather than you. So he’d probably go for the jersey (since that name obviously isn’t yours (at least yet)), or weather permitting he’d only loan out his hoodie to you at an opportune time.

Like, as soon as you two realize the ex is around, you’re all oh, it sure is a little chilly isn’t it, have my hoodie my dear, it’ll keep you warm. Cue makeout session (and definitely no smug glances from Jamil to the ex, no siree. Nothing of the sort when he holds you tighter, pulls you closer, lets his hands trail along your back, into your back pockets or perhaps even under your shirt. Definitely.).

When ex comes over, you’re conveniently in a public place (probably conveniently within sight of cameras, too, so there’d be something on record to go to authorities with, if needed, and for extra consequences).

I’m thinking Jamil might be all “innocent”, at least overtly (and as much as he can hold himself back - he’s used to mingling with the high and mighty and keeping face, but this is more personal) - tho there might be some underhanded barbs with plausible deniability, or just all the casual things about how you’re Jamils and how you’ve been together for however long and how Jamil just met your parents etc. Basically just reminding the ex of what he can’t have.

Tho once Jamil distances himself (and you), from the guy, I could see Jamil going to somewhere more secluded (with or without you, depending on how you agreed in advance). And if and when the ex follows, he gets a very different side of Jamil. Sharp tongue, no holds barred, told in no uncertain terms how pathetic and despicable he is, and to keep away from you, your family, and anyone else who has any connection to you. But especially you.

The only problem I have is thinking of just what he’d do to seal the deal. I mean, probably Jamil would make the guy do something bad / unpleasant with snake whisper. Like, make the dude do something humiliating, film it and leave it on his phone for him to find later? Make him go out into the crowds to make a fool out of himself? (Perhaps in a location with his friends / family / whatever around?) Get him to send some very terrible messages to some folks?

I think I’m a bit too nice to think of just how far Jamil could go, and snake whisper does have its limitations, too. Like to really ruin someone, you need to do something more impactful than just one unfortunate action.

(I mean I suppose maybe he could make the dude kill someone and go to prison for that but yeah let’s not.) Robbery, tho? I’m sure there’s some sort of a crime we can squeeze out of the guy that would not be too bad for bystanders (not that Jamil would be that bothered, tbh) but would still be enough of a consequence, and which could still be achieved with snake whisper.

That, or just make the guy walk into a cesspit or something, especially if it’s right before something important.

I’m kinda just spitting this out (and brain’s a bit fried) but also this was such a juicy concept I had to jump on it.

Honestly I feel like there’d be so much more to be said just for the PDA part and the possessiveness and protectiveness Jamil would feel and everything else, and maybe I’ll get back to that another time.

Did you have any particular thoughts of how you think it might go?

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #ner talks #chatting with folks #lex752 #feels like there's so many more things I could be touching on here but this already is long and also my brain is hitting capacity #eta: tumblr why do you insist on dragging my readmores halfway down the post from where I place them? 😤

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alimaybankkk · 2 years ago

Text

fraud

summary: summer flings to enemies to best friends to lovers with jj.

warnings: light mentions of sex, abuse, uhh, idk except MAJOR ANGST

pairing: jj maybank x kook!pogue!reader

jj liked sarah. he liked her a lot. sure, he would have never have given her the change john b did, but whatever made his best friend happy made him happy, too.

and soon, sarah was his best friend, too. he liked her a lot more now, thankful that his friend had brought her with him. he liked getting new friends.

things with sarah were going great. she was a great friend. there was nothing he hated about her until she showed up with another kook at the chateau.

kiara must have recognized her, too, cause she ran up to her and hugged her tightly.

jj recognized her. it was one of the girls he slept with a few years ago and led on for a few weeks. she had had feelings for him, and it made him infuriated. now, he hated her .

when sarah walked in with her, he immediately stood up and walked away. she recognized him as well, biting her lip as she watched jj avoid her gaze. she’d tried to say hello, but he just looked at her and rolled his eyes.

weeks later, it was the same routine. eye contact, dirty look from jj and a smile from her and silence. sarah was bringing her around every day, and jj could not be more mad.

the traditional pogue boat night was coming up and unfortunately for jj, sarah had invited her to come.

“john b, how do you let sarah bring that bitchy ass kook around all the time?” jj asked, touching john b’s shoulder.

“you have to stop this, j. we talked about this. be nice to her. she’s a really nice person!”

jj scoffed. “like hell she is.”

“why are you such a jerk all the time? she’s coming today whether you like it or not. you’re going to get along with her.”

jj let john b walk ahead of him, slowing down and kicking the stump of a thin tree that fell immediately after. he smirked, his confidence boosting his mood.

* he watched you from afar, gritting his teeth. his head was spinning as he watched you dance with kie and have deep conversations with pope.

he’d watched the entire day. sitting there, thinking of all the reasons he hated you, but when you walked up to john b and started calling him “bird,” he flipped.

“get out of here!” he yelled, stepping up to you.

you were taken aback, watching jj’s eyes as they practically turned red. “‘scuse me?”

he shook his head. “you can play dumb all you want, kook princess. stop acting like you’re perfect. you’re nothing but a fraud.”

“i’m..”

“don’t wanna hear it.”

“jj!” kiara meddled, slapping his arm.

you raised an eyebrow. “i don’t even know what i did to you. you always have a problem with me. what is it?”

“stop it, guys!” sarah squealed, pushing jj. “what is the matter with you?”

john b stepped forward. “all you do is give each other dirty looks—”

“i’ve never done anything to him!! i’m always so nice to you, and you treat me like shit!” you yell, tears coming from your eyes. “i apparently don’t belong anywhere. too poor for the kooks, but too rich for the pogues. nobody wants me. and your little group was the only one that did. the only problem is you, maybank.”

he took a deep breath, stepping closer to you. you thought for a moment he would apologize, but instead he licked his lips and nodded his head up. “get out of here, princess.”

tears welled up in your eyes as you shoved him away, kneeing him in the nuts. he groaned and bent over.

“fuck you, maybank.” you said before mounting his bike and riding away.

* you curled into a ball in your sheets and listened to your parents fighting. you wished you could go down and get them to stop, but you knew it would result in you getting hurt.

sobbing, thinking about what happened today surely would make you upset. jj had banned you from seeing your friends and it hurt. they were the only people that accepted you and you didn’t know what to do.

you gave up on caring. you got up out of bed as fast as you could and sprinted downstairs when you heard a glass break.

your dad swayed, drunk, and when he say you, he walked to you. “hey, peach!”

“dad,” you whispered, looking past his shoulder. “what did you do to mom?”

he chuckles. “you mean that little bitch? don’t worry ‘bout her. she’s just sleepin’ little thing.”

“no, no,” you said, trying to push past him. “mom!! dad, what did you do?? what did you fucking do?”

he shrugged. “bitches get stitches. threw a bottle at her. no big deal she just passed out at the shock, peach.”

“dad,” you cried, tears welling in your eyes. “please, please let me see her.”

“‘don’t think so darling. wanna watch a movie? food old fashioned popcorn, yeah?”

you shook your head and when you tried to push past him the last time, he shoved you to the ground.

“dad, stop!” you cried, slapping his shoulders.

he laughed, punching you in the mouth. “look, peach. this is for ya own good, got it? not gonna stop hurting you until ya realize your mom’s a bastard.”

“no, she’s not!” you managed to cry. he only chuckled and banged your head on the ground once more.

“ya gonna regret this, peach.” he backed out of view for a moment and you squeezed your eyes shut. suddenly, you felt a sharp pain in your stomach.

it shocked you into action, screaming at the top of your lungs as you opened your eyes. he was dragging a broken piece of glass on your stomach, otherwise he was digging his fists into it.

“dad,” you breathed. “wh-da-dad, stop it. i get it. i get it. mom’s a bastard.”

“say it louder.”

“MY MOM’S A BASTARD.” you sobbed. he dropped the glass and stood, leaving the house immediately.

you laid there for five minutes, sobbing and aching until eventually you got the strength to take care of your mother. after cleaning her face which was painted in cuts, you slowly took her to the guest room where your dad would not find her and tucked her safe and sound under the covers.

you bit your lip. the plan was worse. you looked down at your shirt and saw a big red puddle forming. “shit.”

you ran to the bathroom and put pressure on the wound, moaning in pain. eventually it stopped bleeding. you had cuts and bruises on your face that were able to be covered so you let them be. besides, no one would see your stomach anyway.

you wobbled to your room and slid on a pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt, turning on your lamp and crying in silence for a little bit.

you heard footsteps outside of your window. cursing, you sobbed, “dad?”

the window opened and there was not your dad, but jj. you couldn’t even explain why you were relieved to see him. you just were.

“jj,” you said, wiping your tears. you looked over at the lamp and turned it off so he wouldn’t see your cuts. “what are you doing here?”

“came to steal my bike back and decided to drop in and check out your crib,” he said sinisterly.

you frowned. now, of all times, was not the time to argue with him. “jj, i need you to leave.”

“why? can’t i check out the bitchy princess’s home?” he snarled.

you shook your head and stood. “jj, please. i’m serious. go.”

he shoved you and you stumbled against the wall, your body aching so bad you let out a glass breaking cry.

he raised an eyebrow. “pussy.”

you opened your eyes and started at him, wishing you could yell at him. he had no clue what was going on.

“get out of here,” you said, falling to the ground.

he shrugged. “fine by me. you stink like a brat.”

you sobbed so hard as he closes the window after leaving. * he pinched himself.

he punched himself.

“what the fuck is wrong with me?!” he yelled, punching his wall.

he was overly aware of his being a jerk to you. he was punishing himself hard for it. he never chooses to do it, it always just comes out. every time it happens, he ends up crying in regret.

not a single word is true.

not a single “i hate you” is true.

he wanted to kiss you. only recently.

at first, he really did hate you. he knew you were pretty and he knew your body was pretty with his experience before meeting you again, but he never thought you were a good person.

your smile made him sick. your laugh made him angry.

until a few weeks ago.

your smile made him lovesick. your laugh made him angry.

that he was such a jerk to you.

and he knew. he knew he could not stop, no matter how hard he tried.

he knew that it would forever be like this and he could never hold you in his arms and kiss you until you felt better. it would not be fair to you.

so everyone he was a jerk to you, he would come home and wreck his room and his walls, each hole in them representing each word he regretted.

there was no going back now. he knew you would never forgive him. and it was fair. you didn’t deserve someone like him. but the problem was—

when you had told him you loved him when he was sleeping with you a few years ago, he froze. he never heard those words before from someone who wasn’t family or friends. he never saw you that way. he felt guilty about it.

so he pushed you away and eventually, the distance made him hate you.

but now, every time you get on the boat and flash him a shy smile, he only rolls his eyes because of how pretty it was. or how he knows that you will never be his and it hurts him so bad.

“i’m stopping this now,” he whispered after a while, sitting on his bed.

he was sick of hurting you. he put his hands on you in a hurting way and when he watched you cry because of him, he wanted to off himself then and there.

“i’m so, so sorry baby.” he whispered, hoping that maybe the feeling that he didn’t hate you would somehow be carried into your heart.

* in the morning, you dressed in baggy clothes and started your car. after jj basically jumped you yesterday, you didn’t care what he thought.

he was just like a kook.

a bully.

you winced at the pain as your back hit the seat and your stomach touched the wheel. your eyes almost filled up with tears but you blinked then away and drove to the chateau.

when you got there, jj was chilling in the hot tub, but you’d didn’t say anything.

“hey, princess,” he said, making you stop. the tone of his voice was different. “i’m sorry about last night. did i hurt you?”

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, jj.”

he licked his lips. “right, yeah, i deserve that. um.”

“jj, don’t you care that i’m human? kook or pogue, i’m human. i think i deserve to be treated like one.” you said.

he noticed you weren’t even speaking to him. your eyes were filled with tears and your voice was distant. you weren’t even looking at him. you were looking in the direction you came from.

jj’s heart dropped and hurt like a bitch. he wanted to cry and hold you in his arms, but he knew you hated him.

“y/n,” he breathed. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you said quickly.

he sighed. “wanna come in the hot tub?”

you blinked, thinking of the gashes and bruises on your stomach. “i think i’ll pass.”

“come on, princess,” he whined and took a puff from his joint. “you can have a j, too.”

“jj, i can’t.” you said after a minute of silence.

he sat up. “why, don’t want me to see your curves? i’ve seen them before, pretty girl. in fact, i saw every bit of them.”

you almost folded. you couldn’t let him see your bruises, though. “jj, i have to go.”

you tried to walk past him, but you were stopped when he grabbed your hand. “stay, baby. please.”

“why are you being like that?” you asked.

he shrugged. “i’m sorry about everything. come in.”

you sighed and stepped into the hot tub with all of your clothes on.

“are you kidding me?” he scoffed.

you shook your head. “gimme a sec.”

you slid your sweat pants off and then your sweatshirt, discarding the soaking clothes over the side of the hot tub.

you immediately brought your knees against your chest, hiding your stomach.

he giggled and splashed at your face, wetting your hair.

you giggled back and rubbed your face in your hands and took them back down, spotting the concealer on them. it was not waterproof.

“y/n?” he asked. you looked up, expecting him to be frowning at your face, but instead, he was looking down at your stomach.

“shit.”

he gasped, standing up. “who. did. that.”

you shook your head. “jj, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“i said, who did that?” he asked.

“no one, jj. why do you even care?”

he grit his teeth. “cause i will kill whoever touched my girl.”

you looked up at him as he caressed your face. you sighed. “my dad.”

he looked to his right, cursing. “i’m sorry. and me too.”

“what?”

“my dad does it, too. it’s okay. i got you,” he said as he hugged you, careful not to touch your stomach.

you sobbed into his shoulder, knowing this was the start of a friendship with jj.

* months had gone by and he was your best friend. you were with him all the time. if you were to tell him you were going home, he’d say, “your dad home?”

and if it was yes, he’d say, “‘m comin with you.”

* he sat on your bed, holding your hand as you cried about your dad. “it makes me happy he hasn’t touched me in a while, but… man, he has a mouth.”

“‘m gonna kill him,” jj said, starting to stand.

“jj, no. we talked about this.” you said, grabbing his hand.

“just makes me s’mad, y’know? i wish i could kick his ass.” he said, sitting back down on the bed.

“i could never do that. i’m too scared of him.” i said, batting my eyes.

“good thing your best friend is jj maybank.”

“the one that tells you you’re a fraud?”

he stared at you for a few moments, and you stared at him back. finally, he laughed. “sorry about that.”

you grinned. “i don’t care now. it was in the past.

“hey, by the way,” jj said. “i have to work for midsummers and i was wondering if you wanted to come as my date.”

you looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “how kooky of you.”

“not funny,” he whined. you could tell he was nervous by the way he shifted around in his seat and tapped the bed with his finger.

“sure. i just know you can’t stand to be without me,” you teased.

“i can’t.” he said back with hooded eyes.

you grinned, ignoring him. *

“i look like a total mess, sarah,” you said, tugging at the bottom of your dress. “this dress is like two inches. my butt cheeks are literally out.”

sarah only gigged and adjusted the necklace on her neck as kie closed the door. “exactly why jj will love it so much.”

“shut up!” you screamed, although you couldn’t hide the blush building on your cheeks.

“it’s true, though,” sarah agreed. “and by the way, remember when you guys hated each other?”

“remember it all the time.”

“what even happened?” kiara asked.

“nothing,” you said, remembering the scar that was still on your stomach today.

* jj wrapped his arms around you at the bar, pointing at your head. “this one’s my girl.”

“your girlfriend?” a kook asked.

he grinned. “yeah. she’s all mine.”

“how much did you drink?” you whispered to him. you looked back at the kook. “i’m not his girlfriend.”

“thought so. have fun,” he said before walking off.

you sighed, grabbing jj’s hand. “jj, how many beers did you have?”

“okay, so like,” he stopped, counting on his fingers. he looked up with a 10 showing on them. you covered your mouth.

“holy shit, j, i have to get you home,” you said, dragging him to the twinkie and being stopped by the rest of your friends on the way.

“where are you guys going?” pope asked.

“he’s hella drunk, i have to take him home.” you said, pointing to jj.

“holy shit, do you want me to come?” john b asked.

“no!” jj interrupted. “just y/n. just my girl, please.”

everyone exchanged looks and you rolled your eyes, knowing you would be screaming at jj in the morning.

you dragged him past the crowd and slapped his hand away from a gray when he reached to grab a beer.

“no more, boy.” you told him. he groaned and leaned his head on your shoulder.

eventually you made it into the twinkie where jj collapsed into the passenger seat, hitting his head off of the roof.

“i’ll get you home, ‘kay?”

be looked at you as you started the car, admiring you. “you’re so pretty.”

you stopped . “jj, please. you’re drunk. don’t say shit like that.”

“‘m being serious. you’re so damn beautiful baby.”

you sighed and ignored him, turning around to back out of the parking lot.

“i love you.”

you weren’t taken aback—he said this all the time. “i love you too, jj.”

“no,” he said.

“no what?”

“not like that. i love you. you’re my girl. love you, baby.”

you shook your head and exhaled. “in the morning, jj.”

* you had to help jj shower. he was not able to stand on his own and youMd already seen him a few times because of those many times you laid together in bed those summers ago.

you helped him out if the bathroom with his arm and most of his body weight on top of you and dropped him onto the bed.

“goodnight, jj.” you said before kissing his head.

“wait, princess, please,” he whispered, tapping your arm. “stay, please.”

you stared at him for a little bit, enjoying the pinkness of his nose and his lips and the blush of his cheeks and the twinkle of his eye. muon sighed and he immediately moved over as you slid into the bed.

he held out his arms and t you took that as a signal to lay in them. he smiled, drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

* when you woke up, jj was not there.

you groaned and stood out of bed, bringing yourself to the kitchen were jj was rummaging through the fridge.

“what are you looking for?” you asked, obviously startling him as he jumped.

“um, ‘m just looking for an ice pack.” he said. “shit. none in here.”

you sighed and moved him out of the way, rummaging through the fridge with your own hands. eventually, you pulls out a blue ice pack and pressed it to his head. “hangover?”

he nodded and kissed you on the cheek as a “thank you” and you froze. his kiss felt more intimate than usual.

“can we talk?” he asked. you bit your lip and nodded.

the two of you walked back into the chateau guest room. he laid down in the bed and patted the room next to him.

once you are at least close to where he wanted you, he piled you down and brought you extremely close to him, cuddling you like it was the last thing he could do.

“about yesterday,” jj said. “i’m sorry…”

“you were really drunk.” you reminded him.

“i know. exactly. i’m sorry.”

“you don’t have to be. i knew you weren’t really feeling that way. you almost kissed me and stuff.. i couldn’t let you do that.”

“no,” jj said. “y/n, i do love you. i am in absolute love with you. you said we could talk about it today and we are, and i’m telling you that i am still in love with you as much as i did yesterday. i’m only sorry about the fact that i told you when i was dunk. i wish i waited.”

you blinked, not knowing what to say. “really?”

“really, baby. probably from the moment i saw you. i’m sorry i pushed you away.”

you smiled and leaned forward, kissing him. he kissed you back, making it last for around a minute. it was passionate and neat. he was willing to take his time with you.

when you finally pulled back, you only smirked at him. “i love you too. you should know that. told you it years ago. it never. changed.”

#jj x reader #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj obx #jj maybank x reader #obx imagine #obx fic #outerbanks #obx #outerbanks fic #outer banks

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felice-jaganshi · 8 months ago

Text

Alastor's Leash

Chapter 1

(Sequel to both His Pet and My Fallen Apple)

(Warnings: later chapters will contain torture of beloved characters, and major character death. Be prepared for pain before you go into this one.) (Also a little one-sided radio static because i crave angst right now apparently.)

__________________

Everything was on fire, more than usual, considering it was hell. But, Alastor was having fun! And that's what's important. As it turns out, angel blood gives demons a temporary power boost!

After his rampage of blood and destruction ended, including more souls being ripped apart for his broadcasts. Charlie tried to have a talk with him.

“Heyyy, Alastor… While you're doing a great job protecting the hotel, and I really appreciate your efforts, I was wondering if you could… be less… murdery with it? Please?” He smiled fondly at her nervous request, ah how adorable she was.

“Hm, no.”

She groaned in frustration, “Zariah, can you please talk to your boyfriend-”

Zariah failed to hear another word out of Charlie's mouth. Her eyes dilated as she spotted someone she never thought she'd see again and ran full sprint to them, snatching the unsuspecting angel in a hug!

“Becca!! Becca Becca Becca! I've missed you!” She was purring so loud everyone in the room could hear. The light green haired angel responded,

“Zariah! You've been here this whole time and didn't call me?! I've missed you too!!” She hugged Zariah back tightly.

“Sorry, my phone broke when I fell into hell… and you know I'm bad at remembering numbers… and then I forgot to say anything to Lucifer the one time I met him because like, well, you know…” Zariah didn't want to talk about that with Alastor in the room, he'd get dangerously jealous.

In fact, you could already hear his radio static going off, indicating his frustration.

“Ah, an old friend of yours darling? You must introduce me.” His smile was strained and while his tone was pleasant, Zariah knew him well enough by now to know he was a bit pissy to have the center of attention stolen away.

“Alastor, this is Becca, my bestie beyond life and death! We used to call each other soulmates when we were alive. I still think we are, honestly! Becca, this is Alastor, the radio demon! Remember when I texted you about my research?! I found him!” She made her excitement obvious, and she could hear his teeth grind for a second. Did this angel know his human life as well?!

Becca looked the demon up and down with disapproval, “I heard you sold your soul to him.” She then grabbed Zariah by the shoulders and shook her about! Zariah went lax into the motion, making it look more vigorous and aggressive than it actually was. “Make! Better! Decisions!” Zariah laughed along at the shaking, making her seem even more mad to everyone.

Alastor found it quite charming, but also felt a tinge of rage at this woman for laying hands on his pet. He only held back doing anything because it seemed she genuinely was enjoying the attention.

“Beccaaaa!” Zariah finally stopped her when she'd had enough. “I may not be smart, but I'm not dumb! I know how to word a deal to not get burned. Al won't hurt me, anymore than Lucifer would hurt you.”

After hearing this, Alastor couldn't resist chiming back in. If she was really something special to Lucifer, it would benefit him to win her over. If only to torment the king of hell.

“Miss Becca, I believe we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I only kill sinners. Even in life, that was true. So please, do calm down. I would never harm my darling. She is more precious to me than you realize.” His words sounded so genuine.

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Fine, but I don't trust you. If you hurt her, I'm coming for your head!” Her gaze held a fire that made him feel Inspired! He laughed maniacally and his grin grew more lively!

“Agreed, if I fail my dearest, you have every right to seek restitution on her behalf.”

“Oookay, well this was exciting!” Charlie jumped in, “But now let's focus back in on some positives!” She wanted to stop any potential fights before they broke out.

“Right, Zariah, I actually wanted to ask you something really important. Remember how you promised to be my maid of honor if I ever got married?” Becca then held up her left hand, a bright red engagement ring on her finger.

Zariah squealed and hugged her tight, “Yes! He proposed?! I'm so happy for you!!”

______________

After catching up for a bit, Zariah had Alastor follow to her room, she still had that second present to give him.

He sat on the edge of her bed, and got nervous when she was looking underneath it for his present. “Ah, isn't that where you said you keep your… lewd materials?”

“What better place to hide a present than a place I know you'd loathe to look.” She laughed, and he couldn't help chuckling with her.

“Very true… my clever little fox.”

She came back up holding a wrapped box the size of a shoe box.

“This present… I had to sneak into heaven to get it for you. I did that as soon as my wings had grown back.” She looked a little nervous as she said this, and his eye twitched in irritation, just as she'd worried it would. “I know, you didn't want me to leave the hotel without you, but… when you see what it is, you'll understand.”

He held out his hands for the box. “My pet, do I need to remind you who is supposed to be in charge here? Our deal plainly states I am to be your caretaker. I feel I may need to punish you if you keep acting so recklessly.” He was extremely annoyed as he opened the box. Inside was a book, a letter, and a cellphone. But not a voxtech one. It didn't look like any of the models in hell.

He set the box on the bed and started with the letter. He opened it, and his hands immediately began to tremble as he recognized the handwriting. It was from his mother!

“Dear Alastor, I heard about where you ended up. And while it hurts to hear, I gotta admit I'm also relieved. I finally understand why you haven't visited or called all these years. I still love you, you're still my sunshine on a rainy day. I gave your little girlfriend a copy of my recipes. Just like I planned to if you ever got married one day. She's such a sweetheart, and I know you'll take good care of her. Now you call me up on that heaven phone sometimes and let's chat once and awhile. Don't break your old lady's heart! With love, Mama”

Tears fell onto the page. She… she still… he could call her! He looked at the phone in the box, it was from heaven then! And the book! He set down the letter and took up the book, opening it to find more of her handwriting. These were all her recipes with notes and stories about him added in. He looked up at Zariah through blurry tear filled eyes, she was a true angel. His personal angel. What did he do to deserve her?

“Al, do you want some time alone to talk to your mom?” Her voice was soft and caring, but not pitiful. He sighed and dried his eyes.

“I've never used a cell phone before. How do I…” He picked up the device and looked it over. She smiled and showed him which buttons turned it on and showed that his mother's number was already saved and labeled as “Mama”.

He then went to his room to have a very… difficult chat…

#hazbin hotel #alastor's pet #alastor x oc #ace alastor #alastor x reader #aroace alastor #alastor #platonic alastor x reader #fallen apple #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #Alastor's Leash

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shinynewboots · 9 months ago

Text

Staring at the Sun / Adam x Lute Chapter 3

Summary: After the battle, Lute attempts to flee with Adam. They find themselves unable to return to Heaven and must adjust to life in Hell.

AN: Welcome to chapter 3! Def one of my favorite chapters so far. I loved writing the dialogue for this! I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Violence, gore, 18+ eventually, Adam-typical misogyny eventually

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Hell Princess allowed Lute to stay with Adam for the following days (though Lute did not give her much of a choice). She sat vigil by his bed in a chair that the Princess had given her so that she would no longer have to sit on the floor. The Princess had even had a cot moved into the corner of the room so Lute could get some sleep.

Sleep very rarely came for Lute, though.

Exhaustion did not exist in heaven. Winners slept mostly due to the routine and comfort sleeping gave them from their previous lives. Heavenborn slept less frequently as it was not necessarily needed, but it did offer a boost in power. Lute would always sleep for days post-extermination.

But now? This overwhelming exhaustion was unlike anything she had experienced in her long life. She sat in the chair at Adam’s side and could feel her head droop and her eyes grow heavy. She fought against the grip of exhaustion only because if he woke up she wanted to be there at his side, giving all the support she could.

The Princess would hand-deliver meals to Lute, with Vaggie always 2 steps behind. Lute normally did not eat the meals, but Charlie tried all the same.

The day Charlie brought bandages to change out Adam’s dressing was a bad one. Lute had snatched the bandages from her hand.

“What the fuck,” Vaggie exclaimed, raising her spear. Lute sneered at the fallen angel and turned towards Adam. She could do this. She could change his bandages. She could keep him safe.

“Lute,” Charlie said softly. “We can help.”

Lute didn’t turn but instead pulled down the blanket covering Adam and began to remove the soiled bandages. It was difficult to do with one arm and she wasn’t able to pull the bandages out from under his body. Her wounded arm strained up the pressure it was put under. Tears welled in her eyes but she would not dare turn to face them. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and the taste of iron filled her mouth.

A hand gently touched her good shoulder. Lute flinched.

“Let me help,” Charlie pleaded softly. Lute did not meet her eyes but instead shoved the bandages back in Charlie’s hand and backed away from the bed, her gaze never leaving Adam. She could feel her wings furl around her body in an attempt at comfort.

She felt useless, more so than she ever had in her long life.

She heard Vaggie sigh behind her. “You need your bandages changed too.”

Lute turned to glare at Vaggie. “I’ll do it myself.”

She glanced down at her bandaged arm and took in the cloth soiled with dried blood. The arm ached and throbbed, but she would never tell Vaggie that.

Vaggied scoffed and rolled her eye. “Fine, get an infection. See if I care.”

The pair turned their attention to Charlie who had begun to hum very loudly as she changed the bandages. Lute could have sworn she heard Charlie sing the words It starts with sorry…

Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose and took in a deep breath. “Don’t be an idiot and just let me change your bandages and then I promise we will stay out of each other’s general vicinities for the next few days.”

“Fine,” Lute replied, unfurling her wings from around her body. She sat in the chair at the bedside as Vaggie cleaned the bandages. Lute bit her lip at every touch to keep from crying out in pain. When Vaggie took off the bandages, Lute was able to assess the true damage to her arm. It was not a clean amputation (which, why would it be when she pulled it out from under the rubble). It had crude stitches placed on it haphazardly. The stitch sites themselves were surprisingly clean with no sign of purulent drainage.

Vaggie cleaned the wound with a look of intense concentration on her features. Lute was immediately taken back into a ghost of a memory of Vaggie decades prior with that same look on her face. She couldn’t remember the setting or the event but that look sent an awkwardly uncomfortable feeling down Lute’s spine. She couldn’t help but stare at the “x” where Vaggie’s eye used to be.

She looked away from Vaggie and turned her attention back towards Adam. In the past few days, his skin had regained some of its color but his face still had a deathlike pallor. His mouth was set in a slight grimace and his eyebrows scrunched.

“Done!” Charlie exclaimed, gathering her materials. “Would you like to come down to dinner and meet everyone?”

Lute sent Charlie a cold look. “I can assure you Princess, no one wants to meet me.”

Charlie wrung her hands awkwardly. “Well I mean, um, it's not like anyone is opposed to meeting you uh, I mean um, you should come join us. Everyone is really excited to meet you!”

“I doubt that,” Lute deadpanned. She turned her attention back towards Adam. Lute heard Charlie take in a deep breath to further try and convince her to join. She heard Vaggie softly mouth “Let’s go”. Lute breathed a sigh of relief when the couple left the room.

She moved from the chair to the edge of the bed. She ran her hand through his hair softly. His facial features relaxed as she did so. “I’ll get us out of here. I promise.”

Lute had at some point during the night returned to her post (i.e. sitting in her chair) and dozed off. She had switched out her previous weapon of choice (the lamp) for a fork that she held clutched in her right hand as she slept.

“Fuck,” She heard the pained whispers of her beloved leader. Her eyes shot open to see Adam thrashing on the bed. His work of breathing had increased and quick pants were escaping his mouth. His eyes were still closed, though this time scrunched together in pain. She jumped up from the chair and stood at his side.

“Fu-ck,” He breathed out again.

“Sir.” Lute whispered in an attempt not to scare him. He began thrashing around even harder. Realizing he would open his stitches, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She could feel all of her core muscles engage as she balanced over him to not fall on his wounded torso.

“Adam,” She said again, this time louder and more forceful. His golden eyes opened and Lute was immediately reminded of a wounded animal looking for a place to hide. He did not focus on her at first, his eyes instead darting around the room.

“Adam,” She said again softly. He turned and looked up at her; his breath beginning to settle into a normal rhythm. His thrashing ceased, though she did not change the pressure she held on his shoulder.

“Lute,” He breathed out. “Fuck. What—what?”

“You were stabbed and fell unconscious. I sent the rest of the exorcists back to heaven and tried to take you back there with me. The portal closed before I could make it and we fell. Hell Princess had Lucifer save us. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save us.” Lute said slowly, a gnawing feeling of anxiety and despair finding a home in her stomach.

“Fucking, shit, you tried to take me back?” He whispered (as quietly as Adam could whisper) and attempted to sit up. He groaned and grabbed for his wounded torso. His face contorted into pain. She pushed down on his shoulder harder.

“Don’t try to move. You’ll open the stitches.”

“Why would you try to save me?” He breathed out. Lute felt an odd flutter in her chest at the way he looked up at her. Her eyes softened.

“I couldn’t leave you.” She answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. And to her, it was.

“You crazy bitch,” He whispered, his tone holding more affection and awe than the words themselves. She smirked, never having been more happy to hear Adam’s crass language. He reached his hand towards her bad arm. She flinched away and released his shoulder from her grip.

“What happened to your fucking arm?” He asked, eyes wide. Was that concern she saw? Anger?

“I-uh, was trapped under some rubble. It was the only I could escape.” She admitted, her cheeks growing red at the revelation. She knew she was weak. A disgrace. Admitting so to him made it all the worse.

“Lute, that’s so fucking badass!” He exclaimed, jerking his body closer to hers. Of course, this led him straight into a coughing fit due to the sudden movement. “Fuck that hurts.”

“I said don’t move, dumbass.” She said before she could help herself. “Sir,” She added for good measure.

Adam grinned up at her, his boyish features finally revealing themselves out from under the pain.

“You fucking saved me,” He said, more to himself than her, and shook his head. “Where the fuck are we anyway?”

“The Hell Spawn’s Hotel.”

Adam frowned. “You mean that lame-ass hotel?”

Lute pinched the bridge of her nose with her hand and sighed. “I didn’t have a say in where we ended up.”

“I know,” Adam said, his tone more understanding than she had ever heard. “We’ll just have to get out of here and head to the embassy.”

He moved as though trying to sit up but Lute stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. “You’re not well enough to go anywhere. I don’t like the idea of staying with these freaks either, but there’s no way we would make it to the embassy in our current states. I’m useless without my arm and you can’t even sit up without popping a stitch.”

“Hey, don’t ever fucking say you’re useless ever again.” He replied, his eyes darkening. Acknowledging defeat, he laid back down on the bed and sighed.

That weird flutter in Lute’s chest grew and all she could do was nod at his words. She pulled her hand from his chest and sat back down in the chair.

“I thought I heard talking!” A voice at the door exclaimed. Speak of the Hell Spawn and she will appear (with her pathetic girlfriend in tow). “I'm so glad you’re finally awake! And like not dead! You did kill one of my friends though. Sir Pentious, was on track to be one of our first redeemed souls. But oh my satan you’re not dead!”

Adam eyed the hell-spawn warily, his eyebrows scrunched. Lute had jumped from her chair and grabbed her fork weapon, standing at his bedside.

“You have to get the rambling from your fucking dad because Lilith didn’t run her mouth like that.”

Charlie sent him a strained smile. “What a weird thing to say to someone unprompted.”

“Especially someone who saved your life,” Vaggie added, her tone biting. Lute and Vaggie glared at each other.

“No no, someone who tried to kill me, almost succeeded, and then decided to save my life. Let’s get that shit straight.”

“I really don’t think you want to have the conversation about who tried to kill who right now,” Vaggie sneered. Adam smirked but conceded.

“Positive thoughts, positive energy!” Charlie exclaimed, clapping her hands to try and regain control of the situation. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone stabbed me in the fucking back.”

“Well, I,—I guess that's an appropriate feeling,” Charlie replied, her cheery facade slipping with every second she stayed in the room.

“Did you two want something,” Lute asked, her voice low as she stared at Vaggie’s spear.

“Uh, just checking since we heard voices. Um, dinner? How about I bring dinner. I can bring dinner, I can bring you both a great dinner. Um, and, uh cards! I can bring you two some cards to play with since you’re still recovering.” Charlie tripped over her words, her face turning red as she turned towards Vaggie. “Why don’t we just go and get that?”

Vaggie nodded at her girlfriend, though her gaze never left the two angels. The pair left the room, even going so far as to close the door due to Charlie’s embarrassment. Lute could hear them whisper out the door:

“They’re so unfriendly and I feel like I keep saying the wrong thing. Were you this unfriendly as an angel?”

“Charlie, I’m unfriendly now.”

“Fair point.”

The voices outside the door got too far away for Lute to hear. She turned to Adam and lowered the fork in her hand. “Nice weapon, Danger tits.”

“I’m always resourceful.”

“Hell Spawn is literally the most awkward person I’ve ever met. That conversation alone almost makes me wish they had killed me.”

Lute frowned.

“Lighten up, bitch. I said ‘almost’.”

Lute sent him a wry smile. “You should get some rest.”

“You’re not my mom,” He said though before he could keep a yawn from escaping. Lute raised an eyebrow. “Okay yeah, fine maybe I should. But not because you said so.”

“Of course.”

He settled back into the bed and yawned again. He sent her an odd look, some unknown glint in his golden eyes. “Lute, I really appreciate you. No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

She smiled softly. “Of course. Adam.”

#fanfiction #hazbin hotel #fanfic #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin #staring at the sun #hazbin hotel adam #adam x lute #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam x lute #helluva boss #guitarspear

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