#Olive helped her stand her ground

[forecast-rain]

you know what... maybe that song is who Lilly would've been had she not met Olive

[sansaorgana]

— FORBIDDEN FRUIT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Baron Vladimir Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — After your planet was conquered by The Harkonnens, you are sent to Giedi Prime as a war prize to marry one of The Baron's nephews. However, Baron Vladimir changes his plans at the sight of you and decides to take you as his wife. Feyd-Rautha does not give up easily, though.

REQUEST — (1) // (2)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It's finally here! I got carried away, not gonna lie... Look at the word count! 🙈 I might have forgotten about some warnings, just keep in mind the fic is dark and twisted 😝 By creating the Reader's homeworld and its customs I was loosely inspired by the mediterranean and islamic cultures but of course her physical appearance is not being described. 🤍

WARNINGS — arranged/forced marriage, blood, death, Baron Harkonnen being an absolute and non-consensual creep, Feyd-Rautha being non-consensual as well in the beginning, SMUT, fingering, oral, breeding (artificial and natural), incest undertones (they're not related but he calls her Aunt and she calls him nephew) + Feyd's traumatic past briefly mentioned, Reader is a few years older than Feyd but he is aged up to 20

WORD COUNT — 13,560 (🤡)

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Your homeworld used to be a Paradise. The sky was always blue, the weather warm but not too hot due to the light breeze coming from the Ocean. Cypress trees, pistachio nuts, olive branches and fish were what Pairi Daêza was famous for in the past centuries. It was a small planet that remained unnoticed and neutral in most of the conflicts. The Imperial Family loved to spend their holidays on Pairi Daêza and import their goods in a form of a tribute.

That was history. And although you were born on this beautiful planet, in your teenage years the whole world crumbled down and you were exposed to the true reality of the war. When one of the Imperial geologists had found a huge spice deposit under your planet’s Ocean, the destructive war began.

Your parents tried their best to avoid the conflict. They offered the Emperor to dry a huge part of the Ocean to harvest spice from there. In fact, your father the Sultan saw an opportunity of getting wealth and influence in this situation. And that probably was his downfall. The Emperor wanted all the spice for himself.

But The Emperor was not the one to get his hands dirty. No, he hired the most fearsome warriors and assassins to teach your planet a lesson. The Harkonnens.

While the battles were taking place on the ground, their special machinery was drying out the Ocean and harvesting the spice hidden underneath the water surface. The whole planet began to die off due to the lack of water. The crops were evaporating in the heat, people were starving and their homes destroyed. The Harkonnens were kidnapping your citizens to be their slaves and your father and his army were too weak to protect them. The subjects of the Sultan started a rebellion with the help of The Harkonnens and after long years of the ongoing and destructive war, it was the final blow for your father’s weak reign.

You were an adult woman now, standing proudly with a veil covering nearly your whole face with only eyes being on display like all unmarried women of Pairi Daêza traditionally wore. Surrounded from all sides by The Harkonnen army in your father’s throne room, holding your mother’s hand. The dignified and beautiful Sultana with the last piece of jewellery she had refused to give away – a majestic headpiece made of gold and sparkling gemstones of all the possible colours. They reflected the dim light creeping inside through the windows of the ruined Pairi Daêza Palace where you had been born and resided for your whole life. And where you would die with only a few the most loyal guards protecting you.

The front doors opened loudly and a huge, beastly looking Harkonnen man stormed inside with a few of his identical soldiers. You had heard of him, he was the terror of Pairi Daêza in the past few years. The Beast Rabban himself. He dealt with your guards completely on his own, feasting on their deaths with a psychotic smirk. You swallowed thickly at the size of his hands; so big and strong they could break you in half. You hoped for a swift and quick death – as a Shehzadi of Pairi Daêza you had your privileges and you counted that the mercy of Beast Rabban would be one of them.

He started to approach you confidently, his black armour stained with the blood of your guards, contrasting with his sickly pale skin. Your father stepped out to cover you and your mother with his own body as if it would stop the Beast. Rabban froze at the sight and let out a contemptuous laughter that echoed through the throne room.

“Your reign is over, Sultan (Y/L/N),” he announced. “Pairi Daêza and its spice is under The Harkonnen rule.”

“Pairi Daêza no longer exists. You have destroyed my world and you want to rule over the ruins,” your father drawled through the gritted teeth.

“We do not care about your world. We care about the spice. But you… You will be remembered as the Sultan whose reign was the last. The death of your world will forever be attached to your name,” Rabban pointed out and reached for his blade. “Come to me and fight like a man, I shall give you the privilege of defending yourself. Do not cling to the skirts of your wife and daughter. By doing so, you put them in the path of my blade.”

“Don’t hurt them,” your father approached him, despite your hands trying to stop him. “The planet and the spice are yours. You can kill me but spare my family,” he pleaded.

“Your wife will be given to the new Governor of Pairi Daêza and he will do as he pleases with her. Your daughter is our prize I will take with me to Giedi Prime,” Rabban laid his terrifying eyes on you and you froze out of fear. You’d rather die than be taken away to The Harkonnens. He could only see your eyes but it was enough for him to smirk and lick his lips in a disgusting manner.

This scenario was worse than the death you had been expecting.

“You will die,” he told your father and pointed at one of the deceased guards for your father to take his sword and be able to defend himself in a fair fight.

But you knew already it would be a slaughter you did not wish to see.

“Don’t kill him! Don’t kill my father!” You screamed and took a step ahead. Your mother sobbed behind your back.

“(Y/N), don’t…” your father shook his head.

“I will offer myself to you willingly if you spare his life and let him govern this planet in The Harkonnen name. He will obey your orders and so will I,” you promised.

It was common for parents to sacrifice themselves for their children. No one would ever question such an act. Why couldn’t it go both ways? You loved your parents just as much as they loved you. Especially in the last years of the war, you had grown very close having basically no one else by your side.

If you were all to die together, it was not a bad ending. But if they tried to kill your father, send you away and give your mother away to a stranger… you could not let that happen.

“What makes you think we care about women giving themselves to us willingly, Shehzadi?” Rabban snorted at you but he approached you slowly with his blade held up. “You’re confident to offer so little for wanting so much in return,” the tip of his blade lifting up the hem of your face veil as you trembled out of fear.

“There is no need for bloodshed. My father will bend his knee and I will go with you, my Lord,” you choked out, trying to hide your obvious fear.

Rabban tilted his head and laughed at you. Then, in one swift move he cut the veil open and you gasped as the fabric fell down on the floor, leaving you exposed in front of him and his Harkonnen soldiers. It was one of the greatest humiliations for the Pairi Daêza woman for her to reveal her face in front of a man outside her close family before her wedding. It was her husband who was supposed to lift the veil off of her face on their wedding day and see her first before every other man would. To take the veil off of an unmarried woman in an aggressive manner like this was the greatest disrespect that back in the day men had been punished for by the law.

Embarrassed and humbled down, you stood still, trying to stare back at the Beast Rabban with your shoulders straight and your lips pursed out of anger and determination.

“You are not mine for the taking. I am to take you to Giedi Prime and my uncle shall decide what to do with you. Most likely he will want you to be my younger brother’s bride because it is him who will inherit the title one day,” he told you and you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

You hated Rabban but he was the devil you knew from the stories and now personally as well. His brother was a new character in the story that you feared. What was he like? 

“Why is that not you?” You asked him. “You have just conquered a planet for your uncle, have you not, my Lord?”

“It is not I who argues with my uncle’s decisions,” Rabban snapped at you but you saw in his cruel eyes that you had touched a sensitive subject with your question. “Will you bend your knee, Sultan (Y/L/N)?” He asked your father.

He was staring at you with a terrified expression on his face. He couldn’t believe what you had just done. But you knew he wouldn’t throw a fist now. He would bend his knee because your father was a weak man.

Deep down, despite your love for him, you hated him for his weakness. Most of your problems, most of the failures in this war were caused by this trait of his. You couldn’t blame him, though. The Sultans of Pairi Daêza had never been trained to fight or lead military campaigns. There had been no need for that in the past.

“I, Sultan (Y/F/N) of The House (Y/L/N), pledge my allegiance to The House Harkonnen,” your father kneeled and bowed his head down.

You watched Rabban closely. He could accept this offer but he could also simply behead your father.

“In the name of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, may your service be accepted, Sultan (Y/L/N),” he nodded his head. “We didn’t know who to make the Governor of this wasteland anyway,” he snorted. “I guess this is solved. However, you will be watched carefully,” he squinted his eyes at your father. “I will leave my guards here and you will be spied on every second of your pathetic life, Sultan.”

“Yes, my Lord,” your father nodded. “What about the rebellion you helped to start? The citizens of Pairi Daêza do not wish me to stay in this Palace anymore.”

“You have my army to command now. You can slay them,” Rabban shrugged his arms and your father stood up clumsily.

“You helped them to start the rebellion against me and now you’re giving me your army to slay the rebels?” He asked to make sure.

“All we care about is your spice,” Rabban’s voice sounded casual and then he turned around to look at you again. “And your daughter,” he added with a smirk before approaching you and grabbing you by your arm roughly. You squealed as he started to walk you out of the room.

“Let me go!” You protested.

“You’re already breaking our arrangement, woman. You promised to be obedient,” he barked at you.

“I want to say goodbye to my parents,” you told him.

“It’s not the last time you’re seeing them. That is, if they play nice and don’t start anything,” he threatened as he looked at your scared parents.

Your mother risked it, though, and she ran up to you. Her shaking hands grabbed yours as she sobbed. She couldn’t say much because of her state but she didn’t have to.

“I will be fine, mama. I will survive and you have to as well, do you hear me? Otherwise my sacrifice won’t matter,” you told her and she nodded her head, silently choking on her sobs.

“That’s enough,” Rabban threw you over his shoulder swiftly like you were a sack of potatoes and he took you out of the Palace – straight to the huge Harkonnen ship that was destined to go back on Giedi Prime.

You were a war prize.

You didn’t know much about Giedi Prime except for scary legends and myths. The heavy industrial landscape was something you had not been used to nor was their black sun that was making everything on the planet black-and-white when you were spending time outside. Not that you had spent lots of time there. You were transported from the ship to the huge black fortress and into the chambers with a few female servants waiting for you. They bathed you carefully and put you in long black robes with a veil mimicking the ones that were traditional for the Pairi Daêza unmarried women. Only your eyes were visible when you looked at yourself in the mirror, but barely – the veil was decorated with dangling silver chains. They were making you look even more mysterious and kind of dangerous but the whole outfit felt like a mockery of the traditional robes of your people.

The unmarried women of Pairi Daêza were hiding their faces but their dresses were often made of a few layers of sheer and colourful materials. Just because they were under a cover, didn’t mean they were not cheerful and full of life. The dresses would be often decorated with lace, flowers or embroidery. They were flowy and ethereal when the women walked down the streets and all the married women who no longer had to hide their faces were envious as they remembered their younger days. On Giedi Prime you looked as if you were in a deep state of mourning. But perhaps you were. Your planet was destroyed, your family humiliated. And no one knew what would happen to you.

You were taken by the guards and followed by the servants to a huge throne room of The Baron Harkonnen. You had heard of him from your father so you expected the worst but his unnaturally huge and floating form still made the blood in your veins run cold. He was enormous and repulsing; sickly. Kept alive by the machinery behind him and the undying will to rule forever.

He was accompanied by Rabban who smirked at you when you walked inside. There was another man standing there, too. He was young; strong and muscular but also slim. Tall and proud in the way he stood. His face was full of cruelty and mockery but you had to admit he was rather attractive… at least for a Harkonnen male. His lips were full, his eyes reminded you of a snake but they were decorated with a long set of eyelashes. You hoped he was the younger brother that Beast Rabban had mentioned before.

You stood in front of the stairs leading to The Baron’s throne and you bowed down, waiting for his reaction.

“Shehzadi (Y/L/N),” he greeted you in a harsh, deep voice that sent shivers down your spine. “Finally I get to see you… Or not,” he added and you raised your head to lay your eyes on him. He was observing you carefully and so was the young man. “Take her veil off, Rabban, show me what you’ve brought here,” he snapped at his nephew and the Beast approached you. “She better be pretty enough for Feyd-Rautha if you decided to spare her father’s life for her,” The Baron teased him. 

“Who would have thought that women were your weakness,” the man named Feyd hissed at his brother and you got startled by the sound of his voice. It was identical to The Baron’s in a twisted and uncomfortable way that formed a knot in your stomach.

You felt oddly bad for the Beast Rabban. He was the one to conquer your planet and he was the one to take you. Yet, you were a prize that he had won not for himself but for his spoiled younger brother. You couldn’t quite understand the dynamic of this family yet.

He stood next to you and grabbed the fabric of your veil in his fist in his usual brutal manner. By the pace of his breath, you could hear that he was as nervous as you were. If The Baron would not like you, he would be punished for going soft on your father.

Rabban’s hand hesitated before tearing the veil off of your face. It caught his younger brother’s attention. He hissed and walked up to you with a short knife in his hands that he had been playing with as if out of boredom. He smirked at you and revealed black teeth that made you flinch at the sight. Your reaction only excited him.

“How long do I have to wait, brother?” He asked as he cut the veil open, impatiently. Rabban took a step back and allowed his brother to take a better look at you. The Baron tried to peek in but Feyd was standing right in front of you and covering your face completely from his uncle’s sight.

The young man hummed to himself and tilted his head both sides. He raised his hand up and grabbed your chin to squeeze it gently.

“How old is she?” He asked his brother as if you could not speak.

“Shehzadi (Y/N) is twenty years old like you are,” Rabban tried to recommend your virtues the best he could, like he was a slave seller.

“Five and twenty,” you corrected him confidently, not feeling any shame about your age. Rabban took a sharp breath in as Feyd gave him a scolding look.

“A bit old, isn’t it?” The Baron’s voice interrupted them.

Feyd looked you up and down with so much fire in his eyes that you started to feel your cheeks heating up. You had never been looked at this way not only because of the custom of covering your face but also because it was not a way that men on Pairi Daêza would court women in.

“I’ll take her,” Feyd shrugged his arms as he announced to his uncle. He turned around to look at him and you sighed out of relief. So did Rabban.

“Move aside, Feyd,” The Baron barked at his nephew, impatiently. “It is I who decide,” he added and Feyd took a step to the left, revealing your form to his uncle. You had both of the brothers standing on both sides and their hideous uncle looming over a few steps ahead of you.

In complete silence he was watching you for a long while, puffing on his pipe. Finally, he beckoned you over to come closer. You gathered the fabric of your skirt in your hands and took a few steps ahead with your heart pounding in your chest.

“I shall take her,” he stated as the whole room went dead silent.

“What are you talking about?!” Feyd protested and you chewed on the insides of your cheeks, trying not to burst into tears. “She is mine for the taking!”

The Baron was a disgusting creature but you were aware that being his wife would give you more power and influence than marrying any of his nephews. It would protect your family better, too.

And every power came with a sacrifice.

Still, your dignity wanted to join Feyd-Rautha’s tantrum. You had been expecting to be given in marriage to a young and healthy warrior. Not an old and sickly piece of greasy meat in front of you.

“Shut up, boy!” The Baron yelled at Feyd and you flinched. “Don’t startle, my Shehzadi,” he cooed to you in a malicious whisper. “As you can see, none of my nephews are worthy of you nor my throne one day. You shall give me an heir,” he told you and you nodded, obediently. Fighting him had no purpose.

Feyd was furious. You heard him walking out of the room angrily and slamming the door behind him.

“You have just made an enemy, my Shehzadi,” The Baron reached his swollen pale hand with the green and blue veins popping out. You gently took it and nearly gagged at the feeling of it.

“Me, my Lord?” You tried to bat your eyelashes at him. Your voice shivered out of fear and he smirked at you.

“Feyd-Rautha will no longer be the Na-Baron when our son is born. He will do everything to get rid of you and the child. You shall be careful, sweet Shehzadi,” he warned you. “I have my ways of keeping him obedient. When he’s not showing you proper respect, you will tell me, yes?”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” you nodded.

“Good,” he squeezed our hand gently and you felt your stomach turning. “Go, prepare for the wedding,” he let go of you and raised his finger to touch your cheek. It was getting difficult to hide your repulsion but on the other hand it was oddly satisfying to know that you were chosen by The Baron himself.

You bowed down and walked out of the room with the guards and servants. They all were staring at you with widened eyes, as shocked with the outcome of this day as you were.

You hadn’t seen The Baron for the past few weeks of the preparations for the wedding. In fact, you hadn't seen anyone. You had been kept a prisoner in one part of the fortress but you did not mind that at all because you had lots of servants and your chambers did not lack any luxury. The only thing you missed was nature – the greenery, the sound of birds, the feeling of the sun on your skin, the light breeze of the Ocean. But there was no way of coming back to it. Pairi Daêza had none of it anymore.

Spoiled as a child, you were harshened in your teenage years by the war taking place in your homeland. Despite your father’s weakness flowing in your blood, you had learnt how to adapt and survive. You would survive just well on Giedi Prime, you decided.

The only thing you dreaded about your marriage was the physical aspect of the union. However, you had been informed by the medic visiting you every morning about the nature of your future duties.

“These injections are supposed to prepare your body for carrying a son,” he told you after sticking a syringe with an odd liquid into your vein. “After the wedding you will be bred to carry The Baron’s heir, my Lady.”

“Bred?” You swallowed thickly.

“I will insert the seed during a swift and painless procedure, my Lady,” he assured you.

“So… I will not be…” You didn’t know how to say it without offending The Baron.

The medic knew, though. He looked up into your eyes as your face was covered with the black veil. The Baron had liked your homeworld’s tradition and allowed you to cover your face until the wedding.

“The Baron’s health does not allow such activities,” he informed you and you sighed out of relief. “Which does not mean he will not demand some… other duties.”

You nodded your head at him. Some other duties, whatever they meant, you could survive. It was the haunting image of him hovering over you or taking you from behind that was keeping you sleepless recently. You had come to Giedi Prime completely innocent in that subject but you made your Harkonnen servants tell you all about it. They were experienced, especially the ones who had been called late at night to Feyd-Rautha’s chambers. The young na-baron apparently liked sex a lot. The more you were finding out about him and his nature, the more glad you were that it was his uncle you were marrying. At least he was not so young; not so full of adrenaline and testosterone as his nephew.

Giedi Prime had not had a Baroness in a long time. The ceremony was about to be the grandest you had ever experienced. The leaders of the great houses had been invited – your parents amongst them. Even The Emperor himself had sent an envoy to take part in the event in his name. You had never expected to hold such importance in the Galaxy. After all, you were only a Shehzadi of a small and unimportant Pairi Daêza. The spice deposit had truly changed everything.

Your servant women worked on your huge wedding dress. It was black, too, of course. Everything was black. But there was some meaning behind it, in fact, since the wedding was an occasion to mourn your maidenhood and your previous life. The veil covering your face was decorated and attached to the upper part of your bodice, so when your face would be revealed and the veil taken off, your dress would stop being so modest and show off your breasts squeezed by a corset. You didn’t feel comfortable with that idea. Women on Pairi Daêza were not known for revealing their physical virtues in such a way. But Harkonnen women were their husbands’ prizes and trophies. You wanted to make The Baron proud because it would keep him happy. And keeping him happy meant the safety of you and your family. You didn’t want to play many games. You just wanted to survive.

You actually wanted to give him a son. Because giving him a son would seal your fate as The Baroness. Your position would be untouchable and that awful Feyd-Rautha could throw tantrums about it but it would be your son who would inherit the title of The Baron.

You were allowed to see your parents before the ceremony because they were supposed to leave early in the morning on the next day and in the evening there would be no occasion to be left alone with them like you were now. Alone in a room with your mother and father whose faces looked worried and exhausted. Their clothes were different than you remembered. Less colourful as if they were grieving, too.

“Are you alright?” Your mother asked you. She approached you and tried to lift the veil off but it refused to move.

“It is attached to the dress. I am fine,” you assured her. “Do not worry, my face is not bruised. You will see when he takes it off,” you nodded.

“It is an honour for you to marry The Baron himself,” your father smiled at you gently. “A great honour that he has liked you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother scolded him. “It is awful, awful news. You know what he’s like. He’s destroyed our planet!”

“She can handle that for all the power she’s going to have now,” he shrugged his arms.

“How easy it is to say for a man,” your mother sighed. “You owe her your life.”

“I do and I am grateful,” your father nodded his head at you.

“And yet you demand more,” you whispered to him. He froze. “You demand of me to keep The Baron happy so he doesn’t get rid of you. But that is your part of the deal. You shall obey him and play nice as you promised. As long as you do that, there is no threat and my protection is not required.”

“If you think this way, why are you here, all dressed up to get married?” He raised his eyebrow.

“For mother,” you held her hands gently, “because you will not be able to protect her like me,” you added sternly.

Your father looked away, frustrated. He wanted to snap at you but he could not. Not when you were The Baron’s bride. You were no longer his daughter but almost another man’s wife. And the man was too powerful to disrespect.

The ownership of women. Once your father’s, then your husband’s. Freedom would come only in the case of a man’s death. And yet, men wondered why so many women were so angry and bloodthirsty.

“Time’s up,” one of the guards entered the room harshly. “Shehzadi (Y/N) is asked to attend the ceremony,” he announced and nodded at you. You nodded back and squeezed your mother’s hands for the last time before following the guard into the dark and cold corridor of the fortress, trying to keep your veiled head high.

Out of the people gathered for the ceremony, one pair of eyes was locked on you the most intensely. The dark eyes of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen were observing your every move, every gesture, every breath and every word. You felt suffocated by his gaze. It was full of fire like the first time he had seen you but also full of hatred and contempt. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to claim you or kill you. Perhaps both answers were true. You wouldn’t be surprised after hearing all the stories about him.

You feared him the most out of all The Harkonnens. Beast Rabban was the devil you knew and you were his weakness because you were the prize he had conquered himself. The Baron was terrifying and dangerous but he was rather calm and he treated you like a pet so as long as you were quiet and obedient, he did not take pleasure in tormenting you. Feyd-Rautha was different. He was psychotic and your wedding to his uncle was making him lose the greatest deal – his inheritance.

The worst part of the wedding ceremony was the kiss. Not that The Baron had been particularly passionate about it but something about his lips touching yours – even though briefly – was making your insides twist. Perhaps being married to him wouldn’t be as easy to survive as you had been hoping.

When The Wedding Games had begun, Feyd-Rautha joined them eagerly with all the fierceness a warrior could possess. It was an old and dreadful tradition full of blood and violence, a display of power and murderous Harkonnen nature. The men, usually gladiators, were fighting for life and death. Only one could remain and become the winner who would be forever remembered. When his nephew joined the fight, your new husband didn’t look very pleased and he followed every movement of his boy carefully, keeping his eye on the guard, too. He was scared of losing his heir after all.

You watched Feyd-Rautha fight as well. His moves were swift and confident. It was bringing him joy to both hurt and be hurt. He was playful in combat – smirking, winking, occasionally looking back to make sure you were watching. And whenever he was the one to take the blow, he would let out a laugh and hiss in pleasure. He was an odd, scary creature because he had no fear of any sort of pain. Not even death most likely.

Eventually, he killed the last opponent right in front of your eyes, wanting for you to flinch, you suspected. You did not give him such satisfaction. All the years of the war on your planet had made you immune to the sight of such violence and death.

He let out a triumphant yell and raised the bloody knife before bowing down and reaching his hands out with the blade towards you. You stood up and accepted his offering as you had been taught by your servants the past few weeks during your preparations.

“Thy display of power and bravery has been noticed, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you told him the words you had learnt by heart.

“For my Baroness I will shed the blood of my enemies,” he looked up intensely at you and you swallowed thickly. You hated when he was staring like this. You only nodded and turned around to hand the bloody blade to one of the guards who would secure it. The blade would later be on display in the Memory Room.

You sat back down and forced a small meal upon yourself. In the meantime, your husband had already left the party. Not that you minded.

Feyd and Rabban were sitting nearby. Both were staring at you but the older one actually looked as if he was sorry for you. He hadn’t spoken a word to you ever since his uncle had decided to be the one to marry you. It was nearly funny how back on Pairi Daêza everyone feared the Beast Rabban but here on Giedi Prime he was the least important pawn of the game.

Around midnight, one of The Baron’s servants leaned in to whisper into your ear to inform you that your husband had been waiting for you in his chambers. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head before standing up and leaving the dining room as fast as possible.

In the dark corridor you slowed down, though, not wanting to walk too fast and approach the dreaded room too soon. The guards were not following you but you knew the way, you had been taught it by your servants even though your chambers were in a different part of the fortress. Now, as The Baroness, you would get the new ones – even more splendid and luxurious. But you had been told you would not share them with your husband which was a great comfort.

Halfway there you heard footsteps behind you and you angered. Whatever humiliation was there to come, you did not want any witnesses. The corridor was dark and empty and yet some guard decided to follow you. You turned around furiously, ready to scold him. But it was no guard. It was Feyd-Rautha.

He leaned on the wall with a smirk and squinted his eyes at you.

“What do you want?” You asked him and clenched your jaw.

“Like a sheep for slaughter,” he snorted at you.

“That is none of your business, I believe,” you straightened yourself and raised your chin up.

He didn’t like your remark as he moved away from the wall and approached you quickly. In no time you felt his face looming over yours, mere inches away.

“I know what he’s going to do to you,” he whispered as you tried to remain cool but his words made you terrified. There was an odd sparkle in his eye, like he was enjoying your torment. He probably was.

“Fuck me?” You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.

“Well, well, well, look at how dirty your mouth can be, Shehzadi,” Feyd-Rautha grabbed your cheeks to squeeze them and your eyes widened at his insolence.

“To you, I’m The Baroness,” you mumbled out.

“Sure you are, little snake. How else should I call you? An aunt?” He teased. “I shall,” he added. “No, he’s not going to fuck you. But he’s going to touch you and this reeking, slimy feeling won’t ever leave your skin. You will feel him always,” he moved even closer to you. You wondered how he could know such things. Then you felt how hard he was underneath his leather pants. You were scared he would hurt you now, which would make your husband furious and toss you aside, surely. 

“Sounds like you’d like to watch,” you drawled, regretting it instantly. He took a sharp breath in and pushed you against the wall, still holding your cheeks but now you were trapped between his body and the cold marble.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he warned you. It was surprising there were things he was finding gross. He didn’t look like the type. “You’ve no idea what’s waiting for you, aunt,” he hissed.

“Aw, you’re worried?” You cooed and he let go of your cheeks angrily. He remained close to you, though. You felt his hot breath on your face. He smelled like blood and leather.

Feyd’s hands dropped to your waist. Before you could stop him, he was pulling up all the layers of your dress, desperately trying to get the access between your legs. You grabbed his wrists, trying to stop him quietly.

“No, no, no, please, no,” you whispered in a panic. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, aunt. He’s going to do it,” Feyd snorted at your words and froze when all the layers of your dress that had been on the way were finally moved aside. A cold shiver went down your legs at the feeling of your exposed thighs. Feyd cupped your womanhood covered with black silky underwear. You gasped at the feeling as your eyes widened when you looked at his face. His lips curled into a smirk as you shook your head.

“Relax, Baroness, I’ll ease you for him,” he told you as his fingers hooked on the edge of your underwear. You felt his cold fingertips brushing your pussy softly and a set of shivers went down your spine at that sensation.

You didn’t know how to feel about it. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were getting dizzy. Your mind wanted him to stop but your body did not. Despite the lack of experience, you knew that The Baron would not make you feel the same way as his young nephew would.

“I won’t fuck you,” he let out a raspy whisper, “he would kill us both for that.”

“He wouldn’t know,” you told him and Feyd tilted his head at you. “I’ve been examined by the medic this morning to prove my innocence. I doubt he will examine me now again.”

“Believe me, he would know,” Feyd let out a laugh as he moved your underwear aside and exposed your womanhood. It was too dark for you to feel ashamed of it but it still felt incredibly wrong. Yet, you didn’t ask him to stop. Not that it would change anything.

He raised his hand up to his full lips and licked them while staring deep into your widened eyes. Then he put his hand between your legs again and began to touch you in your most intimate place. You sighed at the feeling of his wet and cold fingers trying to get between your folds.

“Open your legs further,” he ordered and your body obeyed by moving the legs more apart before your mind could take over and make a responsible decision to run away. Not that you could run away because with his free hand he grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it to the wall above your head.

Once he got a better access to your pussy, Feyd focused on massaging your sweet spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head, occasionally dipping his finger carefully inside of you to gather some of your wetness. You moaned softly and dug your fingernails into his bicep, feeling a close release. He was smirking at how fast he could make you reach your high but you didn’t care. You hated him but his fingers were skilled, making you stand on your toes as the muscles of your abdomen tensed, desperately wanting more friction.

“I’m gonna…” You gasped and that was when he took his hand away, fixed your underwear and took a step back, letting the folds of your dress fall down to their place. It took you a moment to collect yourself and realise that he had left you without a release but with a deep and urgent need. “What was that?” You asked.

“Now it won’t hurt when my uncle does the same to you, aunt. Maybe you’ll even cum with his fingers inside you as you remember my fingers on your cunt,” Feyd chuckled contemptuously and licked his fingers clean as you watched with terror in your eyes. “Sweet. Like I’ve imagined a cunt from Paradise to be,” he commented and turned around to walk back to the party, leaving you breathless and dizzy with an ache between your legs.

For a while you forgot where to go. You kept taking wrong turns before finally approaching the doors leading to The Baron’s chambers. At your state you weren’t even scared anymore. Feyd-Rautha had eased your mind indeed and reduced your body functions to one primal need.

You pushed the door open softly and entered your husband’s chambers. They were nearly empty and very cold. In the middle of it, there was a big bathtub full of a black substance. He was bathing in it and puffing on his pipe as he squinted his eyes at you.

“What took you so long, Baroness?” He asked and you cleared your throat, trying not to sound too shook up. The sight of him in that bathtub made your desire much lesser, though. Even the memory of Feyd-Rautha’s cold fingertips brushing your clit lightly and teasing you with pleasure could not make you feel the same excitement again.

“I’m sorry. I got lost,” you answered, which had been only half a lie.

“Don’t worry, Baroness, you will soon remember the way,” he wasn’t angry and he beckoned you over with a move of his wrist.

You approached him obediently although your limbs were getting numb. You were left completely alone with him and you had no idea what he would want now from you. As your husband he could demand anything and you’d have to follow.

“Undress yourself,” his voice was softer than when he would address his nephews but it was still an order as he watched carefully with squinted eyes.

You nodded shyly at his words and began to clumsily take your gown off. It was a complicated piece of fashion and you did not have any servants to assist you. However, your husband was not rushing you, he simply watched and he was visibly content.

When you were naked, you covered yourself with your hands as you stood in front of him. He looked up from his bathtub and puffed on his pipe with a smirk.

“No, no, don’t hide,” he shook his head. “Come, join me,” he invited you in and you swallowed thickly at the black slime he had been bathing in. You doubted it was harmful but you didn’t want to sit in the same substance as him. “Join me,” he repeated, more sternly this time and you bit on your lower lip as you nodded and entered the bathtub.

Your body was shaking but the odd liquid was nicely warm and relaxing. The feeling of it helped you ease a bit. You sat as far away as possible from him.

“Come closer, Baroness. You see, I’m old now and not of the best health. I sadly cannot perform my marital duties and satisfy you like a husband would,” he pretended to feel sorry for you. “But I want to play with you a little and admire my new wife,” he reached out his hand and you took a deep breath in before holding it and letting him pull you closer. “Do you know why I took you for myself?” He whispered and you shook your head. “Because he wanted you so much.”

When you left The Baron’s chambers, there were two scared female servants waiting already behind the doors. At the sight of you leaving in a hurry, they entered – most likely to finish what you had started. You hurried to the rooms that were supposed to be yours now. They were empty since your own servants would come in the morning.

You had been barely dressed because you wanted to leave his room as fast as possible. This time taking your dress off took you a few seconds and you jumped into the bathtub in the bathroom and filled it with warm water. With a sponge laying on the counter you started to scrub your body harshly, causing the skin to bleed in a few places. You wanted to get the black slime off of you and – most importantly – your husband’s touch.

Feyd had been right. What his uncle had done to you was not the worst – he had been touching and teasing, sniffing your scent and caressing your skin as he had whispered about the beauty of youth and innocence. But the fact that it had been him doing so, it made it the most disgusting thing you had ever experienced. You gagged at the very memory of it and now, after your wedding night, you no longer felt comfortable with the idea of being bred with his son even if it would be an artificial conception.

You started to sob uncontrollably. You hated The Harkonnens. They had destroyed your planet and your childhood. Now they destroyed your innocence and womanhood. You would never get free of them.

But death was not an option. It would be an easy way out. You had to be strong.

The medic’s procedure had truly been quick and painless but you felt disgusting leaving the medical wing of the fortress knowing that The Baron’s seed might be already growing in you. To make it worse, on your way back to your chambers, you spotted Feyd-Rautha coming back from the training yards. He smirked at the sight of you as you froze, still remembering the last night’s blasphemous act of intimacy that he had performed.

“Aunt,” he greeted you with a nod of his head.

“Nephew,” you answered in a similar manner as you looked him up and down.

Sweaty from the combat and still wielding a blade, he looked incredibly magnetic at that moment. His youthful and fearless energy was unfortunately drawing you in. The way he was staring at you made you remember how good his fingers had felt on your pussy and it brought the heat up to your cheeks. You wished he would stay away from you because his very presence was a torment.

“How was it?” He leaned in when he spoke to you, his eyes carefully watching your figure. You did not give him an answer. “Did you cum?”

“You’re an insolent brat, Feyd-Rautha,” you told him sternly and he straightened himself. You spoiled his fun by not being scared nor disgusted. “I want you to stay away from me since I might already be carrying your uncle’s true heir,” you added.

The playfulness of his eyes turned into anger very quickly. He pointed at your abdomen with his blade and you flinched. The guards standing a few steps behind you, hurried to your side immediately.

“You will soon realise, aunt,” Feyd drawled, “that he is your enemy – not me. He will destroy you like he destroys everything he ever lays his hands on.”

“Like he destroyed you?” You raised your eyebrow curiously and he lowered the blade. His jaw clenched but there was a shadow of hurt in his eyes at that moment, which surprised you. You didn’t expect a man like him to ever feel hurt.

Feyd-Rautha did not reply to that. He walked away without a word, followed by your guards’ eyes.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” One of them asked you and you nodded. “Shall we tell The Baron about the incident?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “His nephew’s antics must be tempered.”

Six months had passed since your wedding day and you still were not carrying The Baron’s heir. Your husband was growing impatient and the only thing stopping him from getting angry at you was the medic’s declaration that it had not been your fault but the seed’s quality was weak due to your husband’s age and condition. Even enhanced artificially with the Harkonnen science, it could not settle well in your womb. At this point you were so drugged with their injections to the point that you wouldn’t be surprised if a simple touch of any other man than your husband would put a son in you. How ironic.

You had no idea what The Baron had done to Feyd-Rautha but after the corridor’s incident the young man had been avoiding you. He had been watching you carefully from afar with eyes full of hatred like an ominous shadow following you behind wherever you would go. But he would not approach you nor talk to you unless he had to in an official situation. He would always address you with respect as The Baroness or Aunt. You had noticed that it brought him a twisted pleasure to call you by that name.

Your husband hadn’t been spending much more time with you either. He would be next to you during the official events and he would ask you to join him in his chambers about once or twice a week but other than that you had been spending your days alone with nobody but your female servants and male guards, occasionally with the medic. It was a lonely life but at least you weren’t exposed too much to the dreadful Harkonnens… except for the nights you were expected to perform some sort of marital duties.

No amount of time had made you used to The Baron’s touch. You would flinch every time he caressed your body or admired it while whispering the filthiest things. But after the first month your body had developed a defence mechanism of dissociation during those acts.

Technically speaking, though, after six months of being The Baroness Harkonnen, you remained a virgin. The marriage had not been consummated properly so The Baron could divorce you without consequences any day. Giving him a son was the only thing that would legitimise your union. And as much as you dreaded his spawn growing inside of you, you wanted to secure your position. The frustration of not getting pregnant had brought you to tears many times before.

It did now as well. An hour after finding out that the last week’s procedure had failed and the seed had not settled in your womb. The medic had been both sorry for you and himself because he had known that The Baron’s rage would mostly be aimed at him for not doing enough. Soon, though, you were sure, it would reach you as well.

Your chambers were being cleaned at the moment and you wanted to be alone so you wandered to a different part of the fortress and hid in one of the empty study rooms. You kicked your shoes off and sat on a black leather armchair by the wall as you sobbed into your hands, curling up with your feet up on the seat. You felt so small and unimportant at that moment; you missed home and you missed your mother’s embrace. You missed any sort of affection.

Focused on self-pity you did not hear the doors opening. You only startled at the sound of them closing loudly and you froze at the sight of Feyd-Rautha who had just entered the study room. At first, he stiffened seeing you as well.

“What are you doing here, aunt?” He asked, carefully.

“It is none of your business, go away,” you ordered, trying for your voice not to break and reveal your crying state.

“You cannot command that,” he snorted at you.

“I am your Baroness. I can and I will,” you sniffled your tears back and you hugged yourself tighter as if you wanted to protect yourself from him.

Feyd ignored your words, though. He approached you confidently and smirked after realising what you had been doing.

“Yes, feast on the sight of me crying,” you snapped. “What a pleasure it must be for you. Let me please you further, dear nephew. I am still not expecting an heir that would take your place. Happy now?” Your voice trembled.

“Look at you, you’re glowing,” he crouched down to be on your level as he whispered in an oddly seductive way. You furrowed your brows at his words and he reached his hand out to brush your cheek stained with tears. “They’ve injected so many hormones into you, Baroness, you’re practically begging to be fucked. You’ve no idea what the smell of you does to men around you…” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked the tip softly. “The taste… Even your tears are an aphrodisiac,” he looked up at you and you swallowed thickly. It was making you uncomfortable but for the first time in a long time you felt seen. “What a torment it must be. Do you touch yourself, aunt?” He asked and the insolent question snapped you back to reality.

“I’ve no idea how he punishes you but you’re asking to be punished again,” you warned him.

“I can show you how he punishes me,” Feyd did not wait for your answer as he took his black shirt off, revealing his pale and strong chest. His hard muscles were simply beautiful, you had to admit it. But when he turned around to show you his back, he revealed dozens of thin scars scattered all over. Some were white and bumpy, visibly old. But some were more fresh and still reddened. You hissed at the sight and he turned his head around to look at your face.

“I’m sorry, I did not know…” You admitted and reached your hand out to touch some of them gently. You let your finger follow the lines and he smirked.

“Don’t be sorry, aunt. I enjoy the whipping,” he grabbed your wrist and turned his body in your direction again.

“It is hard to believe, Feyd-Rautha,” you admitted. “I thought his punishment was based on threats.”

“His methods are more sophisticated,” Feyd sneered. “Now, I’ve revealed myself to you, Baroness. Will you reveal yourself to me?” He asked and you furrowed your brow. “Do you touch yourself?” He repeated the question that caused your cheeks to heat up.

“Sometimes,” you answered. “I start but I never finish because somewhere in the middle I get haunted by the visions of his hands touching me and they make me sick,” you whispered your secret.

“Poor aunt, you must be so tense,” Feyd cooed to you and let go of your wrist. “So ready and eager to welcome a child in her womb and yet so unsatisfied.”

You hated to admit that he was right. The amount of hormones that had been injected made your breasts and womanhood sensitive, a single brush of your servant’s hand during the bathtime was enough to fill you with desire. Most of the time you were walking around with an itch deep between your legs, a heavy burden that could not be removed by any means.

Now, Feyd-Rautha being so close to you and talking to you in such a manner was not helping. In fact, it was making your condition worse.

“What do you care?” You asked. “I thought you don’t want me to carry him a son. If he tossed me aside or even killed me, it would be your victory,” you pointed out.

“My greatest victory would be humiliating him by putting my son in your womb,” Feyd watched your reaction carefully but you didn’t even flinch at the sound of that.

He was young and so full of life. You were sure he’d succeed during the first try. It would secure your position and keep The Baron Happy.

“What if he finds out? He’d kill us both,” you bit on your lower lip.

“And you think I would allow that?” He snorted at you, revealing his black teeth. You were so shook up that in this state you even found them attractive. The fact they were so black, so different, so extraordinary, symbolising his brutality. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted his toxic saliva to poison your innocence. You wanted to be trapped under him as he ravages you.

He had to notice the shift of your gaze, the way you face changed its expression. He smirked triumphantly, already knowing that you craved him.

“The medic… He will see I was deflowered,” your last hesitation made you speak up your concerns.

“The medic?” Feyd-Rautha chuckled contemptuously. “The same one who is working for me? The same one who is making sure that my uncle’s seed is not succeeding?”

“Wh-what?” You choked out but he only smirked as he shushed you.

“Don’t forget you were supposed to be mine, little snake. I do not give up easily,” he admitted and with one rapid movement of his strong hands he pushed your legs apart as your thin silky dress pulled up, revealing you to him. “Let’s give you a quick release before I properly breed you. You must be in such pain and torment,” he cooed.

Your eyes widened at his actions but you did not protest. Your limbs were getting numb out of the overwhelming desire and feeling his breath on your pussy was nearly enough to make you cum on spot.

Feyd dropped to his knees and leaned in even closer, biting the soft flesh of your thighs gently with his black teeth and leaving trails of saliva. You felt your womanhood pulsating, begging for his attention. He had to notice the twitching muscles underneath your underwear as well as he chuckled and took it off of you greedily. He froze for a moment with his eyes fixed on his prize and he slowly licked his lips.

“So swollen and eager. The smell is enough to put only one thought in my head,” he admitted. “Make you swell with my seed. Come here,” he crooned in his coarse voice that sent shivers down your spine as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer to the edge of the armchair’s seat. He threw your feet over his muscular shoulders and opened his mouth to stick out his long and slim tongue to show it off for you as you took a deep and shaky breath in.

Feyd leaned in and buried his face between your wet folds that had been anticipating any sort of release for weeks now. You gasped loudly at the sensation of the tip of his tongue tickling your sensitive sweet spot. His mouth was so skilled that he did not require the assistance of his hands as he placed them flat on your thighs to keep steady. He would gather your wetness with his tongue and then dip it all inside of you, making your back arch and hips rise slightly for more friction. There were times when his whole face was buried deep into you but he did not even flinch from the lack of air as he was devouring you, licking you completely clean like a starving dog and then focusing again on your swollen clit. Whenever he teased it, you were sure you’d cum now but then he would move his tongue away over and over, keeping you on the edge.

Your gasps and soft moans filled the room. You were trying to hold yourself back a little, ashamed of being so displayed for him but on the other hand it was him kneeling down to lick your pussy like a servant. It was you who was in control and the thought of that alone was enough to turn you on even more.

Your hands had been squeezing the armchair’s leather fabric but you dared to place them on the back of Feyd’s bald head and he did not protest. In fact, he moaned at the feeling as a pleasurable vibration went down your body. Your toes curled when you pushed his face even deeper and you felt the pressure of his nose on your clit when he was fucking you with his long tongue.

The overwhelming desire stripped you out of shame as you began to move his head up and down, rubbing your pussy all over his face while your moans grew higher and louder. Fuck it, you thought, you deserved it. After months of such a sad and awful marriage, being The Baron’s trophy wife, unsatisfied and yet violated by his repulsing touch, you deserved to cum on his handsome nephew’s face. It was the least Feyd-Rautha could do to make it up for you.

With a loud moan, shaky breath and trembling legs you finally reached your peak. Although the movements of your hips came to a halt and your hands stopped pushing his face, he was relentlessly sucking on your clit throughout your high, until you begged him to stop and he hesitantly let go of your glistening pussy with your sticky juices vulgarly dripping down his chin as you looked down at him with hazy eyes.

“I could feast on you for days, Baroness, you’re as sweet as a ripe fruit from your homeworld,” Feyd did not bother with wiping his face. He took your limp feet and calves from his shoulders and threw them back on the floor before placing one last kiss upon your wet mound as your pussy twitched uncontrollably in an aftershock.

You didn’t know what to say. You could see the hunger in him, he expected more and you wanted it, too. You wanted to feel his cock inside of you, you wanted him to fuck you like The Baron could never do.

“Claim me, Feyd-Rautha,” you ordered in a weak voice. “I want to remember with satisfaction each time he asks for me that it is you who have claimed me and fucked me. Put your son in me and smile every time you see me walking swollen with your seed as you know that it is yours and not his. If you’re a good boy now, I might reward you and let you feast on my fruit every night in my chambers,” you promised, like it would bring him more pleasure than you, which was not true at all. You craved it as much as him, if not more.

Your words elicited even greater hunger inside of him as he grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down on the cold marble floor. The coolness of the stone brought some relief to your feverish body, your dress was still pulled up and you watched Feyd positioning himself above you as you bit on your lower lip and realised he would truly claim you now, on the floor of an empty room in secret. There was something barbaric about it and the fact you were an innocent lady from a planet known as Paradise who would be taken by such a brute warrior was making you go dizzy. You didn’t even fear the pain that would come with it because you wanted it – you wanted him to stretch you out and fill you.

When such thoughts were invading your mind and exciting you all over again, Feyd got his cock out of his leather pants and stroked it at the sight of you waiting for him with your legs open. With his free hand he gathered the wetness of your pussy and coated his length with it before hovering over you with his face inches away from yours.

“It’s going to hurt, my Lady,” he warned you with a smirk, there was absolutely no worry in his voice.

“I want you to hurt me,” you nodded and grabbed his biceps, ready to dig your nails in them as he’d slide inside.

Your spent and overstimulated pussy was relaxed enough to welcome him but the burning sensation made your back arch and your eyes roll, you were sure your fingernails made his shoulders bleed but you did not care. The pain was overwhelming and mixed with pleasure, you felt as full as you could and yet he still had more and more to give you, sliding it inside slowly, inch by inch, with a raspy moan and his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so tight,” Feyd breathed out, “open your eyes,” he commanded and your eyes fluttered open to stare into his cold and intense gaze. “I want you to look at me when I fill you up with my son,” he added and you nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak but already getting used to his size as if your pussy was made for his cock.

Once you nodded, he started rutting into you with all his force without any warning. You dug your fingernails even deeper into his flesh and moaned out of pleasure as the spasms of pain travelled through your body. His moves were fast and rough, relentless; nearly automatic like he was a machine and not a human. With each stroke he was hitting a spot inside of you that was making you gasp and writhe underneath him, leaving you a drooling and whimpering mess. Feyd used one of his hands to grab your cheeks and squeeze them gently to shut you up before joining his lips with yours in a sloppy and possessive kiss. You could taste yourself on him and you moaned at the taste – it was sweet indeed from all the hormones you had been injected with. It was no wonder he got addicted already, you would get, too. In fact, you explored his mouth with the tip of your tongue in order to clean it off of your juices completely, greedily licking them away from him as you were letting out muffled moans into his mouth.

His hips were brutal and his mouth was aggressive but you wanted nothing else but this. Hearing the stories about his sexual appetite you had been scared but now you wanted to laugh at your old self. It was nothing to fear, it was something to anticipate.

The fact that the act was forbidden, that he was your husband’s young nephew and a rival of some sort, was making it even better. You were welcoming each of his rough thrusts with eagerness, hoping it would fill your already swollen womb. Your whole body was ready to take the seed and as much as you dreaded the idea of carrying your husband’s son under your heart, you found the idea of carrying Feyd-Rautha’s heir much more appealing. If he would be like his biological father, he’d be handsome and fearsome, psychotic and depraved. You’d see your lover in him – not your husband – and it was giving you satisfaction.

Feyd’s hands dropped to your breasts as he tore the fabric of your dress open to expose them for himself to squeeze and pull on your hard nipples. You broke the kiss and cupped his face to push it down to your neck where you needed his open-mouthed sloppy kisses and soft bites of his black teeth. He obeyed and then he moved his head even lower to give the same treatment to your breasts, occasionally accompanying your moans with his low grunts.

You could feel that your second peak was coming close and you wanted to make him finish, too, so you spoke up in a shaky, hazy voice.

“Fill me up, give me a son,” you pleaded in a raspy whisper. “I want it so bad, I want to swell with your baby.”

Feyd moved his head up once again and joined your lips in another kiss – this time it was messy with teeth clashing and uncontrollable moans as the movement of his hips became less steady. In a few short spasmodic thrusts he spilled his thick black cum inside of your pussy. The feeling of his hard cock filling you deep inside straight into your womb was enough to bring you to your second peak as well.

Once he was definitely finished, he broke the kiss between you two and moved up to slide out of you and hide his cock back into his pants. You whined at the empty feeling and watched him put his shirt back on while breathing heavily, still laying on the floor, exposed with your dress torn up and your hair a mess. Feeling like a whore and absolutely loving it.

“You will go to the medic tomorrow and tell him that he had to be mistaken and the seed had made its way inside of you,” he informed you oh-so-formally.

“You’re so sure of your success?” You asked.

“I am,” he leaned in to look at you. “Don’t worry, I shall still visit you at night whenever you invite me. I’m a dog at your command now,” he admitted shamelessly and you sat up, resting on your elbows to take a better look at him.

That fearsome warrior was completely under your spell and all you had to do was to let him taste your pussy. You laughed at him. He had so many other women, yet it was you who made him this way. You knew why. It was because you were a war prize, because you were from Paradise and because you were an off-world Shehzadi. But most importantly he wanted you because you were his uncle’s Baroness. He craved you to spite him.

“And if I command you to never touch me nor speak to me again? I have already used you for my own gain,” you teased and raised one of your feet to caress his thigh with it.

Feyd angrily grabbed your ankle and looked into your eyes intensely.

“Don’t think I will allow my child to be called his heir and watch myself being tossed aside as my son is remembered as Vladimir Harkonnen’s spawn,” he threatened.

You didn’t answer that, unsure about the meaning of his words. He gave you one last angry gaze and pushed your foot away before walking out of the room as if nothing had just happened.

Of course the medic did not believe your words but he pretended that he had. He couldn’t know that Feyd had told you about the fact that he was working for him so he just played along and informed the Baron that he had been mistaken and you were, in fact, finally pregnant with his son.

You had been hoping that once you’d be pregnant, your husband would leave you alone. But no, how wrong you had been. He was now keeping you around him nearly all the time as if you were a precious cargo. He invited many great leaders for official banquets and showed you off. He would sit you on his lap and keep his huge hand on your swollen abdomen proudly.

But you did not even mind that much – not when you knew that the child was not his. You would often catch Feyd-Rautha’s gaze somewhere in the room and give him a mysterious smile as he would give you a smirk. It was your secret, your revenge on The Baron Harkonnen.

And late at night he would creep inside your room and please you however you wanted him to, only to disappear before the first rays of the black sun would hit you, as if he was only a dream or a ghost. You would recognise his smell now everywhere, though. The feeling of his touch differed so much from others. There was nothing but pure and raw desire bonding you two together and yet, when you watched him in the gladiator arena next to your husband, you feared for his life and you would startle at the sight of his opponents attacking him.

You knew that if something or someone threatened your life, Feyd-Rautha would protect you and he was more physically capable of it than his uncle. You needed him alive to keep you and your son safe.

You admired his body and his strength, the amount of his devotion to you and his little revenge plan. He was magnetic and you almost felt lucky to be chosen by him even though it was you having the upper hand in this relationship.

Some nights he was not coming to you, too busy with other things or perhaps too exhausted after the training. You didn’t mind since your body needed a rest as well, especially now when you were six months pregnant already. That night was one of those lonely nights and you had problems with falling asleep, so when you were woken up abruptly in the early morning by your servants, you didn’t hide your annoyance.

“What is it?” You snapped and rubbed your eyes.

“It’s… It’s The Baron, my Lady,” the girl’s black Harkonnen eyes were widened out of fear.

“What about him?” You yawned and sat up, squinting your eyes at the sun creeping inside through the windows. Another servant was already opening the curtains.

“He… He drowned last night, my Lady,” the girl informed you and you froze.

“What?” You asked, blinking slowly, not sure if it wasn’t a dream. “What are you talking about? What do you mean drowned? My husband is dead?”

“Yes, Baroness… He drowned in his bathtub. My condolences,” she bowed down. “You are awaited by the lords for the council,” she informed you.

You were speechless as you allowed them to dress you up in a humble black dress of mourning. They did your hair up and put a light make up on your face to hide the dark bags underneath your eyes. Your mind was spinning with an endless train of thoughts.

One thing was certain – it had been no accident. It had to be Feyd-Rautha’s doing.

And as much as you were relieved to hear about The Baron’s death since he would never touch nor hurt you ever again… you were scared of what would happen now. There was no way the lords would allow you to rule as the widow. You were an off-world woman who had been married to their Baron as a war prize. You were a pet, nothing more. You only hoped to convince them to let your son be an heir as they call someone else a regent in his name. You couldn’t hope even for the regent title.

You were escorted to the council room by the guards and when you entered it, every man inside went silent. They bowed down and gave you their condolences but their eyes held no sympathy. Feyd-Rautha was not amongst them.

“Thank you, my lords,” you took a seat at the end of the long, black table. “It is a great tragedy but thankfully before his death, my husband has managed to produce an heir,” you brought up the topic immediately as the men looked at each other. “What is it?” You asked.

“The boy is not even born yet, my Lady,” one of the lords spoke up and pointed at Rabban. “If we announce Count Rabban the next Baron… or Feyd-Rautha as the late Baron wanted… Well, then they might produce their own heirs in the future. They are both young and capable.”

You got dizzy at those words and the reactions of other men. They seemed to hum in approval.

“So, I am to be tossed aside?” You asked, angrily. “I am carrying your late Baron’s son and you’re tossing me aside? The child inside me is a rightful heir,” you protested.

“And what would you want?” A different lord asked without even addressing you properly. You realised you had already lost. “Perhaps you want to be The Baroness Regent? Over my dead body I will let a woman – let alone from Pairi Daêza – to command me.”

“Enough!” The doors opened and Feyd-Rautha walked inside with his head held high and a playful smirk on his face. The way he confidently walked and scanned the room with his eyes was enough proof for you to know that it was him who had killed your husband. “The child is not yet born, that is a fair point,” he looked at the lord who had addressed the matter, “therefore at the time of my uncle’s death I was still the Na-Baron,” he added and you gasped softly. You couldn’t believe that he betrayed you. You chewed on the inside of your cheek at the realisation how stupid you had been to think you were playing on the same side.

You had never discussed any details of his plan with him. But you were carrying his son and you hoped he would protect you and the child. Apparently, he only tormented you for his own fun. You wanted to cry. You had lost everything.

Then he looked at you and his face softened a little at the sight of your trembling lip and sad eyes.

“I will wed my uncle’s widow to be my Baroness as the old levirate law says,” he announced and you froze out of shock. Levirate was a law about brothers but you guessed an uncle with such an important title counted as that, too.

“Respecting that law is not expected from you, my Lord Baron,” one of the lords informed him. “You can choose any other bride.”

“I can,” Feyd nodded and stood behind your chair as he rested his hand on your shoulder, “but I will not. I’m choosing Baroness (Y/N) Harkonnen to be my bride,” he announced as the lords looked at each other, as surprised as you were. Out of relief you reached your hand up to hold his and squeeze it in a grateful manner. “I also want to make it known,” Feyd raised his voice and everyone went silent as they looked at him, “that the child she is carrying is mine and not my late uncle’s, therefore her son is my heir.”

Your heart started to pound in your chest. The eyes of the lords were staring at you with such intensity that you were afraid they would make a hole inside of you. You swallowed thickly, knowing perfectly well that you just had to admit to your sins now.

“I confirm,” you nodded and they began to whisper between each other. Feyd’s hand squeezed yours.

“If you do not believe me nor The Baroness, the medic might make a public announcement of the paternity test but I do hope you will not humiliate your Baroness like that,” Feyd told them and they all went silent again.

“N-no, my lord Baron,” one of the lords stood up and bowed down in your direction. “We accept the child as yours and we will let others know.”

“I do not want this matter to be discussed nor questioned,” Feyd stated harshly.

“With all respect, brother,” Rabban spoke up suddenly and you laid your eyes on him, curious about what he was going to say, “the matter that has been discussed and questioned so far was our uncle’s fatherhood. The only thing we have found out today was the identity of the man our Baroness has laid with.”

“Rabban,” Feyd barked at him.

“It is quite alright,” you said. “I am rather relieved that I do not have to lie about it anymore as I am proud to carry Feyd-Rautha’s son under my heart,” you smiled at the lords. Some of them rolled their eyes but they still nodded their heads at you.

“Then it’s settled,” Feyd announced. “Go back to your chambers as we settle the details about my uncle’s funeral and the rest of the upcoming ceremonies, my Lady,” he looked down at you and you nodded. He helped you to stand up and placed a kiss upon the palm of your hand before taking your seat by the table.

You were taken back to your chambers accompanied by the guard as you caressed your womb gently, very content with the outcome of that council.

The excitement made you less tired so you just ordered breakfast. Once you were finishing it, the doors to your bedroom opened and Feyd-Rautha entered your chamber. For the first time by daylight, without making it a secret. You stood up from the table and approached him with a smile before you threw your hands around his neck.

“My darling,” you greeted him. “I have doubted you for a short while this morning, you know that?”

“Have I not told you that I would not allow my son to be remembered as his heir?” Feyd smiled at you and pulled you closer by your hips – as close as he could with your swollen womb between you two.

“But the lords were right. You do not have to marry me. I can give you a son, he can be your heir. There is no need to wed me,” you pointed out.

“Don’t you want it?” Feyd tilted his head.

“I’m asking do you want it,” you pointed out.

“I wanted to marry you a year ago when you came here, after I lifted up that veil. Why would I change my mind?” He put his hand on your abdomen and caressed it possessively. “You were supposed to be mine. You would have been mine if he hadn’t wanted to spite me.”

“Why do you want me?” You asked. “As a Baron you could have anyone. One of the Imperial Princesses even.”

“You’ve got what it takes, my Lady. You’re stubborn and strong. I’ve claimed you, you are mine,” he insisted.

You cupped his face and caressed his cheeks with your fingertips. It was hard to believe that he was yours now. Your husband. You would no longer dread these words.

“I will be a good wife to you, Feyd-Rautha,” you promised, genuinely. You did not want any games nor conflict. “I want only one thing from you.”

“And what is it?” He squinted his eyes at you, curiously.

“Safety,” you pleaded. “Of me and my family.”

“Your family is now my family,” he nodded and you sighed with relief. “I want a few things from you, too,” he added and you bit on your lower lip.

“What is it?” You asked.

“You will share your chambers with me,” he started and you nodded, “you will give me more heirs,” he added and you smiled at that, “and you will never mention him again,” he finished sternly.

“Never mention who?” You asked softly and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips. “There is only you and I.”

MASTERLIST

[iliketangerines]

Kuai Liang and Tomas with a reader who was sent by bi-han to assassinate them but reader is not intimidating AT ALL- like she’s small but has the perfect body for carrying a child. So both of them instantly are like “well time to put her to good use” basically both of them knock reader up and now reader is apart of the shirai ryu walking around carrying twins- like I imagine small reader in some Hanfu that’s white and yellow and is struggling to do stuff because of her stomach size. ((My breeding kink is going through the roof and all I can imagine is Tomas and kuai with a small reader sandwiched between them))

good use

a/n: god, i want to be sandwiched between them too

pairing: tomas vrbada x afab!reader x kuai liang

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), breeding kink, fingering, thigh riding

Kuai Liang and Tomas look at you with a quirked eyebrow

you’re small, about half a head shorter than the both of them, and you hold your weapon in one hand as you hold yourself in your stance

but they notice the hesitation in your steps, almost as if you didn’t want to hurt them, and Kuai Liang wonders where he’s seen you before

for a second, nothing happens between you two, but then you leap forward and the two are forced to defend themselves

you put up a much harder fight than either of them had anticipated, and it’s only when Kuai Liang finally recognizes you and calls your name do you flinch and let your guard down

which allows Tomas to come in with the attack that disarms you

you sit on your knees, hands tied behind your back and mask pulled down and eyes downcast as you await death while Kuai Liang and Tomas hold a quiet conversation

they come back toward you, and you bow your head forward, asking them to make it quick and clean so that you wouldn’t have to suffer

Kuai Liang instead offers an olive branch to you and asks if you would like to join the Shirai Ryu, and you look up at him in surprise

you take a few breaths as if contemplating your decision before you give a small nod, and Tomas unties you and helps you stand up

the next few weeks Kuai Liang stares at you from across the training grounds and has a foot soldier trail you to make sure you weren’t double crossing them

but you don’t do anything, you follow his orders, work hard in training, go to bed, and work your way up to sparring with Tomas and Kuai Liang

he remembers you from when he was a child, training alongside him despite your parent’s disapproval and had made a name for yourself in the Lin Kuei before disappearing for a few years

Kuai Liang remembers feeling sad, and Tomas had felt the same way as well

in the present, you spar with Tomas, and he pins you down, face smashed into the dirt and hands held behind your back

you concede, and Tomas lets go

you roll over onto your back and let your chest heave up and down in the air as you try to calm down from the rush of adrenaline from fighting

a sudden thought enters Kuai Liang’s head, the thought of you pinned down underneath him, hands gripping onto your wrists as he fucks into you

how sweet you would sound and how obedient you would be

Kuai Liang turns away and shakes the thoughts from his head, he cannot afford to be distracted by his own soldiers

and yet, he finds himself drawn to you ever since that day, and he notices Tomas shying away from you and growing flushed whenever you two spar

Kuai Liang talks with him, and Tomas rubs the back of his head and admits that he does like you and wants more with you

for a moment, Kuai Liang isn’t sure how to proceed, but he figures brothers should share

and so the two of them watch you carefully, and they notice how you lean in closer to their touch, how you flock to them easily, how much smaller you are to them

you’re not too short, just about half a head short

and yet, you still have to crane your head to look up at them, and Kuai Liang always has to turn his head away to not crack underneath the pressure and fuck you right then and there

and then one day, you finally pin down Kuai Liang in training, and you have the biggest smile and Kuai Liang can’t help himself and calls you beautiful

you freeze in place, and Kuai Liang watches you blush and get off him

you hold out a hand, head turned to the side to try and hide your blush, but he can still see the way your face flushes

Kuai Liang smiles and takes your hand to stand up, kissing the back of it softly when he gets up off the floor, and you let out a small squeak before bowing respectfully and scurrying off

the next few days, Tomas and Kuai Liang make moves on you, kissing the back of your hand, bringing you in closer, piling food onto your plate during mealtimes

and finally, at the end of the week, Tomas and Kuai Liang sit in the head office, going through papers and sorting all the information when they hear a knock on the door

they call for them to enter, and in you come in your sleepwear, a thing night robe that does nothing to hide your figure

Tomas and Kuai Liang immediately stop what they’re doing and ask you to come and sit down next to them, patting the space between them

you sit between the two of them and fiddle with the hem of your robe before asking if they’re actually making advancements on you, if you’re not imagining it?

because you like them too, but you don’t want to ruin their relationship or anything

and you start to ramble, and Tomas grabs your chin and brings you into his lap for a kiss

you let out a small yelp of surprise before melting into his arms and letting him support your weight as you deepen the kiss

Kuai Liang comes up behind you and kisses your neck, and you whine into Tomas’s mouth as Kuai Liang gropes you from behind

you start to grind into Tomas’s thigh, looking for some friction, and whimper into his mouth as he gropes your ass

Kuai Liang slips off the shoulder of your night robe and salivates at the realization that you’re not wearing a bra, and he wonders…

he slips a hand down the inside of your robe, and confirms his suspicions that you’re not wearing any underwear either

he grins at you and asks if you were looking for this in the first place, and you whine in Tomas’s mouth, turning warm as Kuai Liang slips off the rest of your robe from your body

he squeezes your chest, taking your sensitive nipples and rolling them between his heated fingers, and your bare cunt jerks against Tomas’s rough pants

Tomas groans into your mouth and grips onto your hips and slides them back and forth, making your head tilt back as you whine into the air

your clit drags against the rough material, and Tomas ducks his head down to suck hickeys into your neck as he drags you against his pants

Kuai Liang coos at your strained moans and continues to tease your nipples as your hands trail up and Tomas’s arms, not sure whether to let go of you or continue to tease you

you squirm in Tomas’s leg and let out a pant, asking them for more please in a desperate voice, and Kuai Liang coos at you

Tomas lets go of your hips and holds onto your shoulders, detaching his mouth from your neck to kiss you

Kuai Liang grabs onto your hips and drags them back towards him, so that you’re on your hands and knees between them

he can see the wet patch you’ve left on Tomas’s pants, and Kuai Liang chuckles at you and squeezes your plush ass between his calloused fingers

he runs his fingers through your folds and finds them soaking wet already

he chuckles at you, asking if you really got that wet just from Tomas letting you hump his thigh, and you place your face into Tomas’s neck and mumble something

Kuai Liang asks you to speak up, pinching your clit as he does so, and you whine loudly before telling them you had played with yourself earlier, needed them so bad that you fucked yourself open on a toy

Kuai Liang digs his nails into your ass, making you whimper and your hips buck backward, and he has to stop himself from imagining the thought of you fucking yourself desperately on some toy and moaning his and Tomas’s name

Tomas seems to find pleasure in the thought and bites into your neck, running his tongue over the mark, and he grips onto your shoulders tightly as if to control himself

you pant into Tomas’s shoulder, hips jerking as Kuai Liang slips his fingers into your wet pussy and slowly pumps them in and out of you

somehow, you’re still so tight around his fingers, and he decides you need to be stretched a little more if you want to take the both of them

Kuai Liang curls his fingers to try and find that little sweet spot that he knows that you have, and when your hips rock backward, and the top of your body collapses onto Tomas’s, Kuai Liang knows he’s found it

he massages his fingers into the spot, and he can feel your pussy growing wetter around him and dripping onto the floor as he continues to fuck you open on his fingers

you moan into Tomas’s shoulder, and the gray assassin coos at you and palms at his cock as he lavishes your neck with hickeys and bite marks

he groans into your skin as your hand wanders downward to take his cock out of his pants, and you pump Tomas, spreading the pre-cum all over his shaft

he grunts at the feeling and holds onto your wrist, simply holding on as he lets you stroke him

Kuai Liang continues to fuck you on his fingers, and he adds in a third finger, relishing in the sound of your high-pitched whine at the stretch

you pant and wiggle your hips around, and Kuai Liang has to grip onto your hips to hold you still for him

he fucks you on three of his fingers,and he feels your needy cunt clamp down on his fingers as you let out a loud keen and cum on his fingers

you thumb presses into Tomas’s slit, and the gray assassin bites your neck again to try and control himself from cumming

although that becomes increasingly harder with the way you quicken the pace of your hand, desperate to have him cum with you

Tomas takes your hand off of his cock, shushing you when you let out a small noise of complaint

Kuai Liang removes his fingers from your cunt and sticks them into his mouth, running his tongue over your taste and moaning at it

next time, he would have to taste you properly, but for now, he needed to fuck you and stretch you open on his cock

he slides your hips forward, and you straighten your back so that your chest presses flush against Tomas’s and Kuai’s chest presses into your back

Kuai Liang takes out his cock and slides it in between your folds, and you squirm as the head of his dick catches on your puffy clit

you moan for him to fuck you, please you need it, and Kuai Liang chuckles at you but concedes and slides into you

you grip onto Tomas’s shoulders, moaning at the stretch, and Kuai Liang isn’t much better, holding onto your hips tight enough to leave bruises as he tries not to cum

he thrusts into you shallowly, waiting for Tomas to slide his cock into you as well

the gray assassin takes his cock and notches it next to Kuai’s, and slowly slides in, kissing your face as a few tears slide down at the pain

you pant into the air but neither of them stop moving, fucking into you shallowly as you adjust to their size

Tomas groans at the sight of your stomach; he can see how their cocks bulge from your stomach, and his hips jerk harshly into you

you moan loudly, and the both of them take it as a cue to start fucking into you roughly

Kuai Liang brings his hand around to press a hand down on your stomach, and it makes you whine and throw your head back as you become jello in their arms

Tomas watches as the bulge disappears in and out of you, and he wants to see more, to see you big and round with their children, his children

he tells you so, telling you that you’d look so pretty with his children, all big and round and beautiful when you’re pregnant

it fills Kuai Liang’s head with thoughts of his children, and he can feel himself get harder at the thought of you pregnant and full of him

he holds onto your hips roughly as his hips grow erratic, thoughts of you leaking with his cum, stuffed with his heirs and so sensitive and pliable underneath his fingertips

Tomas isn’t much better, groaning as he holds onto your shoulder and tells you how pretty you look, how pretty you’ll look with their heirs

you whine and sob as your hands wander over Tomas’s arms and Kuai Liang’s hands, unsure of who to hold as you keen and cum on their cocks

they fuck into you harshly, chasing their own highs and cumming deep inside of you

they don’t slide out for a moment, taking a second to calm down before finally slipping out and letting you fall down and cuddle on Kuai Liang’s chest

Tomas watches as their cum drips out of you and onto the floor, and he takes his fingers and pushes it back into it, insistent on not wasting a single drop

Kuai Liang pets your hair as you whine, and he picks you up into his arms to take you to the hot springs and help you relax and clean up

he helps you clean up, and when he carries you back to your bed, Tomas has the bed made and helps moisturize you and dress you in some light clothes

they tuck you into bed and cuddle up next to you, a protective hand over you as you all fall asleep together

months later, Kuai Liang tuts at you and picks up something off the floor and hands it back to you, and you smile at him gratefully

you rub a hand over your round belly, baby kicking hard, Tomas comes over with a few fruit slices and kisses your forehead

you smile at the both of them, basking in the sun, happy that you had met the both of them again

[lyjen]

Duty calls

Summary: A sergeant and Evan keep on running in to each other but their conversation always gets cut off.

A/N: English is not my first language so don’t hate on me lmfao. Also just thought this was a cute story ish. Enjoy!

Part 2

Part 3

…………………………………………………………………………….

Just as (Y/n) steps out of the door with her usual coffee order, a car smashed into the side of an other car. The collision happened right in front of her eyes. She immediately drops her coffee to the ground, and she runs on to the scene. “Dispatch this is 442-L23, I need an RA unit on the corner of West 9th street and south olive street. I have a two car collision.” (Y/n) speaks into her walkie.

(Y/n) gets to the car of the person who crashed into the other car. The window of the car was opened when it crashed. “Sir are you okay?” The man stares forward, and after a few seconds he turns towards (Y/n). The man was clearly in shock. “Are you in any pain?” She asks while she quickly inspects the man. The man shakes his head as a sign for “no”. But if the man was really in shock, then he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain. “Sir I need you to sit still, and stay where you are. The fire department is on their way, they will assist you getting out of the car.”

Due to the crash, the door of the drivers side got an impact which made the door unable to open without heavy equipment. She pointed to a bystander, watching from the sidewalk. “You. Come here, and keep this man talking.” she needed to get to the other victim in the other car, but needed the driver to stay conscious. And the best way to do that, was keep him talking. The man fastened towards the car and nodded as an answer to her order she gave him. While the man kept standing at the window with the driver.

Y/n hurries to the second car, which was in much badder shape. (Y/n) saw that the driver of the second car was a young woman. Due to the impact of the crash a large piece of glass had gotten itself free of the window and landed in the neck of the woman.

“Ma’am are you alright?” (Y/n) asks while she tries to get to the window of the woman. The woman touches her neck. “I have to get to my mom” she says, starting to panic. “Ma’am do not tou-“ before (Y/n) could finish her sentence, the woman pulled out the large piece of glass and a wave of blood came out of the wound. The woman screamed out an ear deafening scream.

“Shit, shit, shit!!” (Y/n) hurried to the passenger door, opens it and gets in the car next to the woman. While getting in the car, she feels a few pieces of glass lightly scraping her hand. But she didn’t care, all she cared about was helping the woman who was basically bleeding to death in front of her.

She puts her knee as support on the passenger seat, “okay ma’am I’m not gonna lie. This is gonna hurt like hell.” And with that said she pushes both of her hands on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, the woman screams out but gets used to the amount of pressure (Y/n) put on the wound.

“What’s your name?” (Y/n) asked, trying to take slow breaths to keep herself calm. (Y/n) knew she had to keep the woman conscious, so she asked the most simple question she could think of. “Liv” the woman the woman spoke softly between the sobs. “Okay Liv, my name is (Y/n), help is on the way. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing.” She tried to calm the young woman down. Tears kept streaming down the woman’s face. “So you were on your way to see your mom?” she asked. Liv tried to nod, “We were supposed to go shopping.” She says through her sobs.

In the distance (Y/n) could hear the fire truck sirens and ambulance. Just trying to keep Liv conscious, (Y/n) asked “where were you planning on going shopping?” “We were going to the mall, shopping for some decorations for my dorm room.” She told her, gasping for breaths. (Y/n) also noticed the woman had trouble with keeping her eyes open.

(Y/n) was so focused on the woman, that she didn’t noticed the LAFD were already on scene. One of the firefighters got in the back of the car, so they could give Liv the help they needed. (Y/n) kept pressure on the wound like she did from the first second.

“Woman around 20 years old, name is Liv. A piece of glass from the window broke off and got stuck in her neck. And I think because of the shock, she pulled it out. It started bleeding like crazy.” (Y/n) spoke to the firefighter in the backseat. “Sounds like the glass hit her artery. How long have you been putting pressure on the wound?” The female firefighter asked while she went through the medic bag beside her. “About like three minutes I guess.” (Y/n) answered.

“Ma’am I’m Hen, I’m with the LAFD.” She said to Liv, the victim who was still conscious but could go out any second. Liv hummed a small okay. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Keep pressure on the wound, on the count of three you let go, and I will take over from you. Then you get out of the car and one of my colleagues will assist me further.” Hen said. (Y/n) nodded. “One.. two.. three..” (Y/n) let go of the wound and not even after a half a second Hen’s hands were putting pressure on the wound. (Y/n) got out of the car as fast as possible. She wouldn’t want to be the one to hold them up doing their job. As (Y/n) stepped aside, an other firefighter took (Y/n)’s position in front of the car while they worked on Liv.

(Y/n) walked a few meters away from the car. Leaning her back against the wall, to come to her senses. She sighed, and took a few deep breaths. “Hey, are you okay?” A voice asked. She looked to her left to see a firefighter walking towards her. Slowly. She nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine… just a little bit of blood.” (Y/n) said softly. Her trembling hands were covered in blood from the woman, with a few other cuts she didn’t noticed before. That must have happened when she entered the car in such a hurry. “Can I take a look at that?” He asked carefully, while he pointed at her hands. (Y/n)’s face was doubtful, she wanted to say no, because there are people out there who might need the care more than she did herself. That was typically (Y/n), always putting other’s needs first. “I’m specialised at scratches.” He continued, trying to convince her. She sighed, and nodded.

The firefighter put the medic bag he had hung over his shoulder on the ground. He started to get some gauze out and a bottle with a little spray head. As he stood up, he smiled at her and he started carefully to clean the wounds on her hand. “I don’t know how I didn’t noticed I’ve cut my own damn’ hand.” (Y/n)’s voice speaks, while she hissed at the staining feeling she got while the firefighter was cleaning the wound. He grinned, “There was so much going on… you were alone, in the moment and full of adrenaline. Of course it can happen that something slipped your mind.“ The guy says with a worried look spread on his face. (Y/n) was looking at the scene, the other firefighters of the team were trying to get Liv free. “But right now, all that matters is that you’ve saved that woman’s life with these two hands.” He continued, while pointing at Liv, the girl who was finally getting pulled out of the car. (Y/n) smiled slightly at his comment, and stayed silent.

“You know, i don’t think we’ve ever met before.” He says after a few moments of silence. He looked at (Y/n) with a small smile, trying to wrap up the hand with the few cuts. (Y/n) didn’t know what to say, “No… I don’t think so…” she says, unsure what to say. “I’m Evan, but people call me Buck.” he says to her with a reassuring smile, while he finished wrapping up her hand. “(Y/n)”.

“Buck come on let’s go!” A voice roared over the scene. “That’s my cue to leave.” The firefighter says, while he closes the medic bag. “Well.. Evan… thank you for the pep talk. And this.” (Y/n)’s voice speaks while motioning with her hands. A smile spreads across Buck’s face while he swings the medic bag over his shoulder. “Please, call me Buck. And no problem, us first responders should be there for each other.. right?” Evan says.

“Buck! Let’s go!” An impatient voice yelled now, while the horn of the fire truck sounded through the streets. Probably to get Evan’s attention. “Coming!” He yelled back slightly irritated. He turned his head back to (Y/n). “I’m sorry. Duty calls.” He says. And he jogged towards the fire truck, while halfway he turns towards (Y/n) so he was basically jogging backwards. “It’s was nice to meet you sergeant” He yelled, trying to get above the sounds of the LA streets. She wanted to say that it was nice to meet him too. But before she could do that, he was already climbing into the rig. All she could do was smile, and get back to her work.

…………………………………………………………………………….

A few days later, (Y/n) stepped through the doors of the hospital to go to the emergency room. There was a robber who got shot in the chest by a store owner. She was here to make up a police report and to make sure the man didn’t make a run for it.

As she walks towards the desk where one of the nurses was sitting down. She greeted the nurse and told her for who she was coming for. The nurse nodded and told her to wait for a few moments, she had to check with someone else of the status from that patient.

As (Y/n) waited and watched a few people walk in and out of the emergency room. As she hears the sliding doors of the ER open again, with lots of people walking through it. She turns her head, and sees a few paramedics and firefighters enter through the doors. A loud voice filled the room with the voice of a man “Unknown male, around 50 years old, BP is…-“ the words, along with the medical terms the paramedic was calling out seem to fade. When her eyes meet his.

He smiles and walks towards (Y/n), while he for a second looks at the ground and back at her. His face was covered in ashes. He has his florescent jacket in his right hand. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” were the first words to leave Evan’s mouth. She laughs, while fidgeting with her fingers. “I’m only here to write a report.” is the only thing she can seem to bring out with words. A small laugh left Evan’s lips.

He pointed at her hands, “How are your hands?” He asked, trying to change the subject. It was a weird question to ask, especially if people didn’t knew the context of it.

She smiled and put her hands up, so she could show him. “Like you said, you are specialised in scratches.” He smiled. “Oh they look great!” He says as he grabbed one of her hands and pulled it a little closer so he could get a good look. (Y/n) was a little surprised by the touch of the firefighter.

“And how was your call?” She asks him this time. He wasn’t at the hospital by coincidence. He was here for a reason, because a few moments earlier they wheeled a patient in.

He took his eyes of (Y/n)’s hand. But kept his hand cupped underneath hers, with her palm up. “Just a house fire” he smiled at her, like it was nothing new. While his other hand fingers wandered over the scratches of her hand. And she just nodded. Unsure what to answer to that.

“Ma’am?” The nurse called her. “The gun shot wound patient is in bay 14” she continued as (Y/n) looked at her. She nodded “Thank you”.

“Well, duty calls.” (Y/n) spoke, as she was slowly backing up entering the ER. But still facing Evan. “Guess we’re even now! Last time it was me, now it’s you.”

All she could do was smile and roll her eyes.

“See you later?” Was the only thing he said with an hopeful smile.

“Yeah, see you later.” (Y/n) gave him a small smile, and turned around. And walked away.

Evan felt his smile grow wider and a spark of warmth go through his body.

A hand landed on his shoulder, as he turned his face to the right he could see Eddie smiling and shaking his head.

“What?” Evan spoke, stating that he didn’t do anything.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Sitting on a chair at the bar, (Y/n) leaned with her right elbow on the bar. Fidgeting with the empty glass in her hands.

After a day on the job, you always need a place where you can come to yourself. She was here all alone. Because that’s what she needed. But she wouldn’t want to be alone at home. It was hard to explain.

She can see in the corner of her eye, that someone took place on her right side. “You couldn’t stay away from me, couldn’t you?” A familiar voice asked.

Still fidgeting with the glass in her hand on the bar, she smiled and feels her cheeks flushing. “Technically, you’re the one who keeps coming to me.” (Y/n) says, while her eyes remained on the glass she was touching.

“I was the first in that collision scene, and the first at the hospital when you wheeled that patient in. And I also think that you were the one who came sitting next to me just a second ago.” She continued. She smiled as she looked to her right. Evan held his hands up in defence. “Okay you got me there sergeant” he says. And he smiled. While he looked her in the eyes. Those beautiful sparkling eyes.

“But why are you in a firefighter bar then?” He smirked. Yeah. How was she going to explain that.

Her eyes drew the attention of a man who was closely walking past people and reaching out next to them. The guy was stealing money. “What the fuck” she whispered. Evan’s face got to a confused look. (Y/n) got up from her chair. “Hold that thought” (Y/n) said and she walked towards the guy.

Just as the guy tries to put out his hand and to steal from another person, (Y/n)’s hand touches the man’s shoulder. “You’re under arrest.” Is the only thing she says. The man reaches his arm out to hit her, but she ducked. She locks the man’s arm, put it behind his back and pushes him down on the table with all her strength.

A crowd starts to form around her, while she puts the man in handcuffs. She sees Evan staring in disbelief. She gave Evan a glance.

“Duty calls” she said.

Why is it always that, when they have a conversation duty calls.

[joelsgreys]

weakness l part ii

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Back in the Boston QZ, you confront Joel about what happened at Bill and Frank’s place.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s) two idiots who have feelings for each other, one idiot is in denial, Joel is kind of an asshole, confrontation, confessions. little bit of backstory on how they met, very brief mention of attempted SA. SMUT. reader loses her virginity, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (practice safe sex, pls and thank you), post sex cuddles (ish) and more feelings.

word count: 6k

You splash several handfuls of warm water onto your face and scrub, making sure to be as thorough as possible as you rinse off all the suds from the cleansing soap that you’d used to wash the makeup off your face. You had also changed out of the dress that Frank had you wear for his special lunch earlier that afternoon and back into a much more appropriate outfit for your pending return to the Boston QZ with Joel—as always, Frank had kindly encouraged you to take a peek through a number of cardboard boxes full of women’s clothing in your size that he’d collected from the boutique and insisted that you go on and help yourself to whatever your heart desired out of them.

 After plucking a pair of dark wash blue jeans from one box, a long sleeved olive green blouse from another box, and a matching, white lace underwear set from a third box, you’d gone into the bathroom and started making the transition back to your usual appearance, minus the dirt and the grime for the time being.

There’s a part of you that’s relieved to see yourself looking a lot more—well, looking a lot more like yourself. On the other hand, there was another part of you that almost grieved the short lived feeling of what it had been like to look like a normal woman. Perhaps that’s the reason why, instead of putting your hair back into its usual braid, you decide to leave it down, loose around your shoulders.

“I told you it suited you,” Frank states with a little grin. Affectionately, he runs his fingers through it one more time before pulling you into his arms for a warm hug. “Thank you for coming over for lunch..”

After you and Joel had said your thank you and goodbyes to Bill and Frank, you started the journey back home. Not that the QZ was really a place that you wanted to consider home, but it was where you had spent the better part of the last six years. The truth was, you couldn’t stand living in the Boston QZ, but it was probably the closest thing to a home you’d ever have again.

 And it only felt like that because of Joel.

He’d crossed your path when you first arrived in Boston after Providence had been overrun with infected. Like most of the other survivors, you had found yourself in Boston, as it was the closest operating QZ and only about fifty miles away. It was a rougher crowd in Boston than in Providence and you’d found that out the hard way on your third night there when you’d been walking back to your quarters after that day’s work assignment had run late into the evening.

You had been trying to get to where you needed to be before it went past the set curfew hour and you remembered being so preoccupied with trying to avoid a disciplinary lockup that you hadn’t noticed the two goons who had been following you from the work site.

It happened in the blink of an eye—one minute you were walking and the next you’d been shoved into some empty alleyway. They roughed you up, and although you had tried to fight back, you ended up being overpowered and found yourself pinned down to the ground on your back by one of the assailants; meanwhile, his partner in crime eagerly unbuckled his belt and reached for the button of your jeans. Before it could go any further than that, the sound of a much older man’s deep voice threatening the promise of two broken jaws sent them running into the darkness as fast as their trembling legs could carry them.

That was the night you’d met Joel Miller. 

The one man in the zone that nobody in their right mind would ever dare fuck around with.

He’d scolded you for being stupid enough to walk the streets alone so close to curfew hour and then took you back to his apartment where he’d cleaned up all of the cuts and scrapes on your face with a torn, cotton blue handkerchief and some cheap whiskey. The two of you hadn’t been apart from each other since that night for longer than a day, if that.

So, the bottom line was that Boston wasn’t home. It never was home, and probably never would be.

It was Joel. He was home. 

It didn’t matter where you laid your head to sleep at night. Whether it was on a clean pillow in Lincoln or on that old, shoddy mattress that you’d noticed was starting to sprout bits off fluff through open tears in Boston—hell, you could lay your head down in the dirt at night and as long as Joel was there by your side, you wouldn’t give a single shit about it.

Gripping the straps of your  hundred liter pack, you glance up at Joel, your eyes meeting his own pack that he carried on his back. For a majority of the walk back, he’d stayed at least a few steps ahead in front of you. He hadn’t really said much of anything to you since your shared kiss in the middle of Bill and Frank’s living room.

Somehow, even several hours later, the feeling of his lips on yours still linger and you had to wonder, did Joel feel the same? Was it on his mind too? Or was he trying to forget that it ever even happened now that you two were heading back into the cold, hard reality of living in the QZ?

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it wouldn’t devastate you if that were actually the case.

The two of you make it back just after nightfall. You and Joel sneak past the authorities and despite the fact that it was well after FEDRA curfew hour and the zone is crawling with guards on night patrol, you manage to make it all the way back to your shared apartment without being caught. Being thrown in lockup would have put quite the fucking damper on what had otherwise been one of the most decent days that you’d had in a while.

Joel’s silence towards you holds on pretty strong as he shoves his way through the front door, dropping his heavy pack with a loud thud on the floor. He stalks over to the couch and drops down onto it; his legs and feet are aching from the long, nearly five hour trek back to the QZ. Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel leans his head back and then closes  his eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath of recovery he takes.

Taking off your own pack from your shoulders, you set it down beside his, and then walk over towards the couch too. However, instead of joining him as you usually did, you stand in front of it—in front of him, and although his eyes are still closed, you know damn well he can sense you standing there. 

And yet, he refuses to acknowledge you.

Shuffling your weight from one foot to the other, you wrack your brain in search of something, anything to say—though you know he’s exhausted, it’s still incredibly obvious that there’s a tension that lingers over the both of you. In reality, it had followed you and Joel the entire way back from Lincoln, but at least out in the open, it hadn’t seemed that bad. Now that you were back in the apartment and confined to such close quarters together, it could be sliced with a fucking machete. 

Finally, you speak, saying his name softly. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” comes his reply, his head still resting back on the couch.

“We should—um, we should probably talk.”

His eyes snap open, but he fixes them on the crumbling ceiling of the apartment. “Talk ‘bout what?”

“About the fucking weather outside,” you answer, flatly.

Joel lifts his head from the couch, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, is someone feelin’ like being a smartass tonight?”

You sigh irritably. You should have known better than to think Joel would actually make this easy for you. “Listen, about what happened back at Bill and Frank’s house earlier today—”

He’s quick, too quick, to cut you off. “It was nothin’.”

You feel your heart drop down deep into the pits of your stomach. “It was nothing?” you repeat after him, wondering if you’d looked just as stunned as you had sounded. “Really, Joel? It was nothing?”

Joel gives you a subtle, but curt nod. “We both know it was nothin’ at all. Best we just forget about it. Pretend like it never happened.” He stands up from the couch and kicks off his worn, faded leather boots. “S’real late. We should probably get to bed.” He brushes past you and starts towards the bedroom.

You spin around on your heel, and while your words are gentle, they hit him in the back like a ton of fucking bricks. “It wasn’t nothing to me, Joel.”

He halts abruptly in his tracks and freezes, his wide shoulders squaring.

“And you know what, I don’t think it was nothing to you either.”

Slowly, Joel pivots on his heel and turns around to face you. “You listen here. I ain’t exactly too sure where you went off and found the fuckin’ balls to even think you can speak for me, but I’m gonna need you to go put ‘em the fuck back right now or else we’re gonna have a problem, darlin’. That understood?”

A chill runs up the length of your spine. Though he keeps his voice calm, there’s slight, dangerous edge to his tone that almost makes you back down—somehow, you will yourself to stand your ground. “You said it to me yourself, Joel.” You lift your chin slightly. “Earlier in Lincoln. You said you don’t want a life without me. Remember that?”

Joel’s jaw clenches.

He couldn’t deny the exact words that had come out of his own goddamn mouth, now could he?

You take a careful step towards him. “Am I your weakness, Joel?”

Instantly, he drops his eyes away from yours, his voice lowering as he asks you, “Now where the hell would you get an idea like that?”

“Frank told me—” You stop  as he lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “He did, Joel. He said that I’m your weakness.”

“Did he now?” Joel’s eyes are now on the floor.

He can’t even look at you.

“Yeah. He did.” You take another step forward, and then another. And even when you stand right in front of him, your body just mere inches away from his, he forces himself to keep from meeting your gaze. “Joel?”

He stiffly shakes his head. “Don’t,” he utters through tight lips. 

You try again. “Joel?” Knowing he would be too stubborn to give in, you bend slightly at your knees, crouching down in front of him just a few inches or so, low enough to place yourself into his view. You then slide your index finger underneath his chin and lift it, forcing him to look at you as you draw yourself back up to your normal height. Your expression softens once you see the battle he’s fighting behind those tortured dark brown eyes of his. “Just tell me the truth, Joel. Please,” you beg him, softly. “Am I your weakness?”

Joel reaches up with his hand, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. He tears your hand away from his face and holds it down at your side, but doesn’t let it go. “Why the fuck are you askin’ me that? Huh?”

“Because,” you reply, the gentle tone of your voice causing his grip around your wrist to tighten. “You sure as hell are mine.”

Your eyes glaze over his parted lips, and before you can even think about making another move, Joel releases your wrist and both of his hands fly to either side of your face as he brings his mouth down to meet yours. Just like back in Lincoln, you thought he would attack you, devastate and ruin your lips with his—though he kisses you with fervency, you can feel that he’s being careful, almost as if he were afraid he would break you into pieces if he became too rough with you. You almost want to speak, let him know that there was no need for him to hold back, but you’re too preoccupied, far too busy getting yourself lost in the taste of him.  

Desperate to be even closer to him, your arms find their way around his neck and you close the remaining gap of space between the two of you by pressing your body flush against his.

This causes Joel to suddenly break away from you, your name falling from his lips in the most delicious way you’d never heard before.

“What?” you question him, breathlessly.

When he says nothing back to you, you take a step backwards, away from him, and lift your hands to the buttons of your blouse. Slowly, almost seductively, you undo the first top button and then move on to undo the second one. When the third one comes undone, you use your index finger to move the material of your blouse aside, revealing your bra underneath—the white lace sits delicately on the soft curve of your breast, igniting a blazing fire deep in Joel’s lower belly.

Though he longs to let you finish so he can see more of you, Joel catches both of your hands in one of his halfway down, stopping you from going further. “Don’t,” he warns you, his voice strained, hoarse. “Don’t go doin’ somethin’ you’ll regret, darlin’.”

You tilt your head slightly, giving him the most innocent, angelic look he’d ever seen in his entire fucking life. “You think I’ll regret this?”

Joel can only nod helplessly at you as you tug your hands out of his and turn your attention to his shirt instead. His breath audibly catches in his throat as your fingers start working on the buttons of his brown plaid flannel. Heart hammering painfully in his chest, he looks down at you as your hands move on from one button to the next. He’s become borderline intoxicated by the sweet, sweet scent of whatever shampoo you’d used back in Lincoln to wash your hair, and it’s causing him to lose his grasp on what very little common sense he has left.

Joel feels the heat flood to his face when you push his shirt off of his shoulders and take a long moment to admire his form. Sure, his physique may not have been what it used to be now that he was in his fifties in comparison to his younger days, but he’s still in decent shape. His upper body isn’t ridiculously built or muscular, but thanks to hours of physical labor in the QZ, he still had this broadness to him—Joel’s back, his shoulders, and his arms, fucking hell, those arms of his that you could just melt right into, arms that you would feel so safe in, no matter what.

Your eyes drink him in, and you find yourself memorizing every last distinguishing mark on his upper body. You make a mental note of every single freckle you see, of each and every one of the battle scars that he possesses and commit them to memory. You were certain that most of Joel’s scars had come from this life, but you had to wonder if any of them had come from his past life. His first life.

“I ain’t a pretty sight,” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly.

“Says who?”

“Says me,” Joel replies without missing a beat. He inhales sharply as you reach out and place the palm of your hand on his chest.

You can feel his heart slamming against his chest wall right against your hand. “Your heart is beating so fast,” you whisper. You step towards him and gingerly press your lips against his neck, causing him to draw another sharp breath of air.

Unable to fight his desire to touch you any longer, Joel reaches out to finish undoing the rest of the buttons on your blouse. He discards it on the floor along with his own shirt in one quick, swift movement.

“Fuck,” he breathes out as soon as his hands met your bare skin.

The contrast of his roughness and your softness just about drove him wild. He leans down, claiming your mouth with his once again, and although he tries to keep himself from being too rough with you, Joel can’t help how hungry his kisses are—he almost feels as if he’s a starving man who hadn’t had single crumb to eat in weeks, and you’re a three course meal that had miraculously fallen into his hands. He wants to devour you, and yet, Joel uses every ounce of strength he has in him to show at least a little bit of restraint. He knows you aren’t delicate, but he fears that if he isn’t careful, you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands much like a doll made of porcelain.

His teeth lightly nip at your bottom lip, his silent demand for more and you give it to him. He slides his hands up and down your sides, and while his touch is doing inexplicable things to your body that feel so fucking foreign, it also feels so fucking good. And you want more. 

So, so much more.

Joel groans into your mouth as you rake your fingernails down the front of his bare chest. “Baby.”

Your heart skips an eager beat.

Never in this lifetime did you think Joel Miller would call you that. But then again, never in this lifetime did you think you two would ever be in this position. Half naked, wrapped up in each other’s embrace.

“Baby.” He says it again, pulling away slightly.

“What’s the matter?”

“If we don’t stop right now—” Joel trails off mid-sentence, letting his two hands continue to roam and explore your upper body. He finds it in himself, finally, to push the delicate straps of white lace down your arms; you decide to lend him a hand and reach around your back to unhook the lingerie, adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the stained linoleum floor. Pulling you flush against his chest, Joel groans again and then tears his lips from yours, moving them down to the sensitive flesh of your neck.

As he does  so, you start to guide him backwards towards the bedroom.

“Careful,” Joel mumbles against your skin, causing you to exhale a tiny, breathless little laugh.

Somehow, even with his arms wrapped around you and his lips fused to your neck, the both of you manage to get around the wide, single wall that divides the bedroom from the rest of the apartment. As Joel feels the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress—the very same mattress that you two had been sharing for the last few years—he lets out an odd noise, something in between a groan and a sharp exhale of breath. He snakes an arm around your waist and turns you so that he’s able to carefully lay you back onto the mattress. He follows in suit and crawls on top of you, his body hovering over yours.

“It ain’t too late, you know.” Joel pauses and brings a hand to your face. He brushes a lock of your hair out of your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his finger grazing your cheek as he does so. “It ain’t too late to stop.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to stop?”

“Yes.”

Your heart sinks. “You want to stop?”

“No.”

A puzzled expression crosses your features. “But you just said—”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t even fuckin’ know.” He closes his eyes, furiously shaking his head.

“Joel. Look at me.”

With a heavy, frustrated sigh, Joel obliges. His pools of intense, dark brown swim with an array of different emotions, from lust and desire to concern and fear. “Things won’t be the same,” he tells you, shaking his head again. “We cross this line and there’s no goin’ back for us, do you understand that, darlin’?”

You chew nervously on your lower lip. Your hand is at the back of his head, your fingers anxiously toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. Of course you knew that there was no going back—but hell, you didn’t want to go back, not if it was to a time where you went about your days thinking that you meant nothing to Joel Miller. Not to a time where you didn’t know what it was like to be kissed by him, or to be touched by him.

Finally, you will yourself to reply to him.

“Is it shitty of me to say that I don’t care that we’re crossing a line we can’t come back from?” you ask, quietly. “It doesn’t fucking matter to me, Joel. I want this and I can tell that you do too.” The same hand that had been in his hair moves to the side of his face. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Losin’ you.”

You honestly hadn’t thought that he would actually give you a reply, at least not one that contained the truth, so when he does, it takes you completely by surprise.

“You won’t lose me,” you assure him, though you know better than to make a promise you weren’t absolutely certain you could keep in a world like this one. Joel had lost people, you had lost people, but you would do everything and anything that you could possibly do to keep from losing each other. “It’s like I told you in Lincoln, okay? We are in this together. I’ll never leave your side, Joel. Never.”

“But—”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

Joel leans down, letting his forehead rest against yours. “I want to. I want to believe you, I swear it. More than anythin’ in this world, I want to believe you. But my mind is sayin’ there’s just no fuckin’ way.”

You delicately touch your fingers to his chest, feeling his heartbeat again. “What about this, what does this say? This thing in here that I can feel racing against my fingertips as we speak?”

“It’s tellin’ me to make you mine.”

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you tilt your face up towards his for another kiss. This kiss is different from any of the others you two had shared that day.

No, this kiss was softer, it was tender—sweet like honey.

Loving, even.

“Then do it,” you encourage against his lips. “Make me yours.”

“Only if that’s what you want.”

“I do. More than anything, Joel.”

With your reassurance, he finally releases any hesitations he had, and Joel gives you a subtle nod of his head, one you almost didn’t catch.

He gingerly pushes you back onto the mattress and kisses you lightly on the lips one more time before he begins to trail his way down your neck. He continues to move down your chest and stomach, and as his nose skims against your skin with each kiss, Joel can still detect a hint of soap from your shower earlier that afternoon. As soon as he reaches your waist, his hands reach for the button and zipper of your jeans, undoing them both with ease. He lifts himself up on his knees, silently beckoning for you to lift up your hips so he can slide your jeans down your legs. You’d never been more grateful that you’d chosen a pair of pretty lace underwear instead of the usual cotton shit that you wore.

Joel hooks his index finger underneath the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down your legs as well before tossing them aside. He lets his eyes lock themselves on every part of you, his burning desire for you only fueled by everything that he sees.

Much to your own surprise, you aren’t all too shy. There you are, lying before him completely bare—Joel can see everything, but you cannot possibly care less about any freckles, any stretch marks, any scars, or any other so-called imperfections on your body.

He’d let you see him—now you were letting him see you.

Joel would be lying if he said he’d never thought about this—thought about you like this. He had often tried his best to keep those thoughts at bay considering how much older he was than yourself, but fuck, he could never deny the fact that you were the prettiest damn thing he’d laid his eyes on since the world had gone to shit. Joel often imagined that every inch of you was nothing short of perfection and hell, he’d been right. He brings himself back down over you and lets his mouth make its way back down your body.

“Joel.”

The sound of your voice as you say his name is unrecognizable, to both you and to him. 

It’s low, husky, and like sweet music to his ears.

“What is it, baby?” He asks you as he stops right in between your legs. He glances up at you for a brief moment. His gaze meets yours, as if looking for permission to proceed. The instant he receives your nod of approval, Joel starts to plant another trail of burning kisses along the inside of your thighs, going back and forth from one to the other.

His beard scratches the delicate skin there as he carries on, moving slower and slower the further he goes up your legs in an effort to get your anticipation built up. You only find this agonizing and you’re just about ready to lose your goddamn mind. The moment you open up your mouth to tell him to cut it out with all of the teasing, Joel dips his head, his mouth finally moving to the apex of your thighs.

You gasp out his name, your back involuntarily arching off the bed.

Joel moans into you—something about how he just knew you would taste so fucking sweet—and lets his tongue swirl around your arousal, eliciting the most heavenly noises from you. He switches off between using long, firm strokes of his tongue over your clit and taking you into his mouth, his chosen technique causing your hips to buck upwards, asking for more. He hums against your cunt and lifts his arm, draping it across your hips to hold you down in place. The sounds escaping you, every curse word, every whimper, every little cry of pleasure, bounce off of the paper thin walls of the apartment.

Even though you’re certain your neighbors are getting an earful, the truth was that you couldn’t give two shits as to who heard you or not. Hell, there was a woman a few doors down the hallway who often threw suggestive glances at Joel when she saw him and you can only pray to the heavens above that she can hear what he’s doing to you.

You feel the beginning of an orgasm coiling up inside of you in your lower belly. It’s tightly wound, mere moments away from snapping and springing forward. With no sheets on the mattress for you to grasp, you clenched at air, trying your best to fight it in a futile attempt to draw the pleasure out for as long as you can. You never want this to end. Joel didn’t get the memo and he keeps on at it, and before long, his lips and tongue send you tumbling over the edge.

As you cry out his name over and over again, his mouth continues to keep at it slowly, helping you ride out the high of your orgasm. Once the sensation of the intense climax begins to subside, you drop your head back down onto the mattress and focus on trying to catch your breath.

Joel looks up at you and forces  himself to bite back his groan.

It’s  dim in the room, but the moonlight that filters in through the window illuminates what had to be the most stunning sight he’d ever fucking seen. Your hair wild, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your mouth plump, swollen from his kisses.

Joel pulls himself back up to you. His mouth meets yours, letting you get a taste of yourself. He then lets his thumb graze over your bottom lip, asking you, “You alright?”

“Just a bit breathless is all.” Suddenly, it dawns at you—what comes next. Up until this moment you had been fine, and now, your nerves feel like they had been lit on fucking fire. You swallow harshly, knowing you had to tell him. “Joel?”

Sensing the sudden shift, he frowns. “What’s wrong?”

 “Joel, I’ve never—the thing is, I’ve never—”

You stop, clamping your mouth shut, unable to say it out loud.

It takes  him a second or two, but he finally understands.

You’ve  never been with a man before. 

Not like that. Not like this.

“As much as I want you, we don’t have to go any further than this,” Joel assures you, his nose skimming lightly against your cheek. “You tell me to stop and I’ll stop, darlin’. No questions asked.”

And you believe him.

You know he would only take what you were willing to give him.

At this point, you were willing to give him everything.

Your hand reaches down between your bodies, brushing against the waistband of his jeans. “I don’t want to stop,” you tell him. “I really don’t.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you—?”

“Damn it, Joel! I said what I fucking said, now can you please get rid of these? Or am I going to have to do it for you?”

Joel drops his face into the crook of your neck for a second, letting out something mixed between a scoff and a chuckle before he finally obliges to your request.

He stands up from the mattress just long enough to unbuckle his old, worn out leather belt—he then unbuttons his jeans and pushes them off before climbing back over you.

You place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards you.

As you do, you feel his hard, thick cock brush against the inside of your thigh.

 “Joel,” you gasp out his name, wetness pooling between your legs all over again.

“Askin’ you one last time, sweetheart.” Joel’s mouth ghosts over yours. “You sure ‘bout this?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you’re beginning to feel. “Please, Joel. I want you.”

You couldn’t have been anymore sure that this was what you wanted.

Still, that didn’t exactly stop the wave of apprehension from washing over you as you felt him settle himself between your thighs and against your entrance. Joel must have sensed your nervousness, because he pauses, pressing his lips against your forehead. He lets them linger for a moment, as if silently reassuring you that he would take it easy. He pushes himself inside of you, slowing down the further he goes. It hurts, at first. It’s a sharp feeling of discomfort unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Painful. You can’t help the small cry that escapes you, causing Joel to abruptly stop his movement. 

“Relax, baby,” Joel murmurs, taking your hand in his. He laces his fingers together with yours and gives it a gentle squeeze. He remains still as he waits, willing his body to listen to yours before picking up where he left off.

It takes you a minute to adjust to him, and while the discomfort doesn’t completely go away, a new sensation joins in, one of searing heat and the sudden urge to feel more of him.

Joel’s opposite hand is curled into a fist at the crown of your head, and he finds himself having to silently remind himself to get a grip. As much as he wants  to take you the way his body is telling him to take you, he refuses to do anything that can potentially hurt you. Though he’d given you his hand for the sake of comforting you, he found it ended up being more for his benefit than for yours. He holds it tightly as he gives another gentle, experimental thrust.

“Joel, move. Please. I need you to move.”

“Baby—”

“Please,” you all but plead him. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and push your hips forward, wanting to feel every inch of him that you could.

“Fuck!” Joel curses out in a moan. As careful as he wants to be with you, he knows that if you keep it up, that would all go out the fucking window.

Any discomfort or pain that you might have felt initially vanishes completely, having been replaced with nothing but explosive waves of ecstasy that come with each and every single one of Joel’s thrusts.

There isn’t one single part of you that isn’t lost in just the most heavenly haze as he picks up his pace and delivers swift, smooth strokes. Just when you think it cannot possibly get any better, Joel dips his head and begins whispering into the hollow of your neck. “You feel so good, baby. Fuck, I’ve been dreamin’ of this for years now, y’know that?”

“Joel,” you whimper his name.

“You’re mine, you understand me? You’re all fuckin’ mine,” Joel whispers breathlessly. He continues to pick up the pace as he demands, “Tell me you’re mine, sweet girl. Need to hear you say it—”

Biting your lip, you look up into his eyes and nod your head, managing to find your voice in between your moans. “I’m yours—all fucking yours, Joel.”

You’re close and so is he, you can feel it.

“Fuck!” Joel curses out as his entire body begins to shudder. He gives you one last, deep thrust that brings you both to come at the exact same moment.

Joel collapses beside you onto his back, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and recollect himself.

You’re in a similar state, though perhaps a little more shaken.

“C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him, tucking you into his side. “You’re tremblin’ a little. You alright?”

“I’m alright.” You look up at him and raise an eyebrow. “Are you?”

He remains silent, as if thinking over his answer.

Your throat goes dry—he didn’t regret it, did he?

“Joel—”

“Earlier, you asked me if you were my weakness.”

You nod. “Yeah…”

Joel pulls you so that you’re laying across his chest. He holds you close, squeezing you as if he’s afraid someone’s going to come along and snatch you out of his grasp. “Pretty sure you know by now that you are,” he says, his fingers subconsciously running themselves through your hair. “You’re my weakness, my Achilles’ heel, whatever the fuck you wanna call it—all I know is that if somethin’ ever happens to you, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Joel.”

“What if I can’t keep you safe?”

You frown. “Joel, I’ve been by your side for what, six years now? And you’ve always kept me safe. Hell, you saved my ass on the night we met. If it hadn’t been for you showing up and scaring those guys away—” You stop, shoving the thought of what could have possibly happened to you that night out of your mind. “I told you. I’m the safest when I’m with you. I know I am.”

“But—”

You silence him with a kiss. “Joel, stop looking for a reason to push me away.” You toss him a small, exhausted smile. “Besides, I think it’s a little late for that now anyway, don’t you think?”

You lay your head back down onto Joel’s chest and he continues to run his hand through your hair, over and over again. He surely must have known that he’s lulling you into a deep sleep.

“Joel?” you say his name, drowsily.

“What is it, baby?”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you mumble into his chest. “Ever.”

Joel holds you closer, trying with every fiber of his being to set aside his fears as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

[princessbrunette]

I feel like if one of the twins is having a tantrum and jj is like so overwhelmed, would he call reader to calm them down or would he not? - 🤙🏼

before i dive into this i want to say i decided on the twins names. going off my own headcanon (i don’t wanna hear it) that jj stands for jesse james, im gonna say the twins have names taking inspiration from other figures too. jj’s little brother is called billy, named after another cowboy billy the kid (much like jesse james.) jj usually calls him bill for short, depending on his mood. jj’s little sister is called liv, or olivia — based on olivia newton john. her mother loved grease when it came out so it felt right. jj often nicknames her olive ‘cos it makes her laugh.

˖⁺‧₊🐭𝜗𝜚

but yes, sometimes it does just get too much for jj. as soon as you pick up the phone, you hear the wailing of two children in the distance— and before you even greet your boyfriend he’s rambling down the phone at you.

“hey, hi — you picked up, okay so— y’know i really hate to ask this of you i mean really, you’re not a babysitter by any means n’i don’t want you to think i just keep you around for — whatever, the issue is— i’m goin’ insane. both of these kids are screamin’ and i’ve tried everything man i just can’t do it—”

“jj, slow down. do you want me to come over?”

“please? i mean i’m not one to beg but i will literally get on my knees right now dude i can’t do it.”

“okay! i’m coming, just hold tight okay?”

they were both in hysterics when you arrived. there were toys all over the floor, a pair of pants, some food too. you step through the mess and find them, rolling about — screaming the house down whilst jj tries to intervene.

it turns out, billy was the first to get upset— and billy being upset and loud made liv get all overstimulated which caused a whole kerfuffle. you separated them, taking a child each and calmed them before putting them down to have an afternoon nap— knowing jj would need the peace and quiet for a little. once you’ve entered their shared bedroom and checked on them, you tip toe out to find jj sat on the couch amongst the mess with his head in his hands.

“theyre out cold, exhausted themselves i think.” you smile softly, easing yourself down next to jj. he jolts, like he didn’t know you were there and sits up suddenly, trying to be subtle about the way he wipes his eyes and sniffs, huffing out a bashful laugh.

“yeah.” he chuckles, cheeks splotchy and pink. you exhale out your nose, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you rub his back. “sorry it’s just, ah— one of those days or whatever. m’not cut out for this, man.”

“s’okay, jayj. it’s hard raising two kids that aren’t even yours. i think you’re doing good.” you muse and he shakes himself off, not wanting to get too vulnerable as he stands up— surveying the mess.

“yeah, it’s whatever. i should probably clean up around here, looks like a bomb went off at the lego store.” he sniffs, averting his eyes as he twists his body to look around. you stand, moving infront of him and placing both hands on his chest.

“or… i clean up, and you also take a nap.” you grin, tilting your head sweetly in a way you knew would help convince him.

“tempting, buuuuut i can’t let you do that, young lady. this is my very humble abode n’i gotta take care of it. so if i could just—” he goes to move you aside but you dodge him, standing your ground with a grin.

“well, you’re my boyfriend and i gotta take care of you. so now what?” you challenge and he huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head as he whips his hat off his head— slightly vulnerable still.

“i’ll have you know, i’m meant to be taking care of you, girlie.” he pokes your waist and you giggle, trying to force him back on the couch.

“you’re difficult.”

“rude, you’re sexy.”

you bust into quiet laughter, careful not to wake the kids as you finally manage to wrestle him back down on the couch, straddling his lap to make sure he stays down. “hm, i like where this is going.” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“its nap time. go to sleep.” you cover his eyes with your hands and he smirks, his lashes tickling your palms.

“effective method babe.”

˖⁺‧₊🐭𝜗𝜚

[your-regular-toast-enjoyer]

The only one: Yandere Damian Wayne x reader

Damian Wayne x reader or Damian Wayne/reader

Yandere!Damian Wayne x reader or Yandere Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 11 368 words

TW: GN reader, Yandere, kidnapping, adult Damian Wayne (inspired and mostly based off of Damian in Batman beyond & Injustice 2: Gods among us), toxic family relations, obsession. Other than that, there's no s*x or anything of the like.

This was requested by @simligul

“How lovely…” Damian sneered.

You were all standing together in the Titan tower lobby, ready to go out to eat dinner, and Jaime had just explained to the green-eyed Robin how he had booked a table at a steakhouse, which didn’t serve any vegetarian dishes other than salads.

“I mean, you could just get a salad and instead focus on hanging out with us”, Jaime attempted to argue, it was clear that he didn’t want Damian to agree though. Damian was already annoyed and blew his team members off with a rough, “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just stay back.” You felt bad for him. It was unlike the others to be so non-accommodating, but they seemingly always had it out for the team’s leader, and you had yet to be let in on the reason why. Sure, he could be rude! But was that really rationale enough to treat him like the plague? 

You were new to the team, Black Canary’s long-time protégé. 

Dinah had been apprehensive when it came to letting you be on the Teen Titans. She had always acted like a protective mother-hen, and as your mother’s best friend, she felt obligated to keep you safe, despite your work as a vigilante. Both your mother and Dinah had been worried about you becoming a vigilante sidekick all those years ago, but with your growing meta-abilities, giving you the ability to control and create ice, it had seemed like the best way to help your then-ten-year-old self. You had been shipped far away from your mother and over to Dinah. The blonde hero had pretty much taken care of you ever since. You would never admit it, but Dinah was the first person you thought of when asked about your mother, not the woman who gave birth to you and whom you only ever saw for the holidays. It was a sad reality, but you realised why your mother, who knew nothing of how to handle superpowers, couldn’t deal with a child running around and freezing all her furniture to the ground, all her food into icicles and risking one day freezing a person to death. Oliver had handled the legality of it all, ultimately, money does speed up the process of a partial adoption, just a smidge. Eight years later, though, you were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Still, being next to a seasoned superhero and being in a team led by a boy no more than a year older than you were two very different things. Your mother had argued this point up and down, pushing it through your ears and hoping it’d stick in your mind. You didn’t care though, you wanted to be part of the team. 

You had always seen how all the other sidekicks had such close bonds and yet the only other sidekick... Well, ex-sidekick… You ever managed to befriend was Roy Harper. He often came by Dinah’s place, which was your home too, when his mentor wasn’t there. However, Roy was more than ten years older than you, he acted like your older brother, not your friend. On top of that, he had a kid and was technically his own hero now. You couldn’t relate to him. Your classmates in high school were of no solace either. None of them knew anything of your secret double life. On top of that, it was hard to keep any friends among them, since you were constantly absent, (off on a mission with Dinah). Academically you did great, Dinah taught you herself whenever you were away, but socially? You were failing miserably. As an eighteen-year-old, your youngest friend isn’t supposed to be a decade older and fathering a kid. 

You had become desperate to find company amongst the other sidekicks. You had practically begged Oliver one evening to help you convince Dinah to let you join the Teen Titans, (which didn’t actually contain a lot of teenagers anymore, but they were still within a relatively close age range to you). 

The blonde-bearded hero had relented after a while, (having known you since you were a kid, he had never been very good at denying you anything). However, he only did so on the condition that you’d deal with some of the more mindless paperwork related to Queen industries. He had been sure that your dedication to being part of a new team wasn’t as big as your disdain for the asinine task of sorting, filling in and shipping off hundreds of reports. Yet, you had, and he had been obligated to hold up his end of the deal. Oliver spent hours buttering up Dinah to finally make her relent, but she was still on high alert and had even offered to buy you anything you’d want if you just stayed with her. However, you were determined to form new bonds with fellow young vigilantes, it was time to break out of your shell after all these years.

When you entered the large T-shaped tower along with your mentor, you felt a strange mix of total horror and unbridled excitement bubble in your lower abdomen, like the first time you fought alongside Black Canary. On the outside, however, you appeared unimpressed, perhaps even disgruntled. The other Titans had assumed that you were being forced to join, a comically ironic departure from the truth. Still, as you packed out your stuff in your new room, a secret smile betrayed your true feelings about the situation.

You met the team as it currently stood, it had gone through many iterations, but this was your team, the one that you would fight alongside.

You first met Jaime Reyes, he was a few years older than you but was ultimately a sweetheart. You had caught both him and another young man, Garfield Logan, playing a video game which you recognised from Roy’s apartment. Garfield was friendly as well, perhaps a little too friendly… He had jumped to hug you upon first meeting you, completely forgetting about his game with Jaime and crossing any personal space you might’ve wished to uphold. You let him though, it was nice feeling welcomed. 

As Dinah walked you further through the tower, she introduced you to Rachel, who had simply given you a court nod, before returning to one of her leather-bound spell-books. 

Koriand’r, Victor Stone and Dick Grayson had been next up on your list of members to greet, all being found together conversing. Technically, Dick wasn’t part of the team, however, since Kori was and she spent most of her time at the Titans tower, so did Dick, at every chance he got. He was like a puppy who couldn’t stray too far away from her side, lest he be lost forever. They all gave you warm smiles and firm pats on the back, they were all in the middle of their twenties, far older than any of the others, but still, they remained on the team. Koriand’r mostly being there as a mentor and a much-needed adult presence, whereas Vic simply couldn’t remove himself from the team, which had picked him up from his lowest points more times than he could count. 

It gave you a sense of security that actual adults were part of the team, not just a handful of seventeen to nineteen-year-olds. It felt like a much-welcomed safety net, just like Dinah had always been for you. 

The last on the list had been the team’s official leader, Damian Wayne. He had been in the position since he turned thirteen and had kept it well for over six years, it gave prestige to his name and it made you look forward to meeting him. However, as Dinah let you into Damian’s office, (a small room at the end of the hallway containing the bedrooms), you quickly realised that he would be the most unpleasant aspect of working with the Titans. He had simply given you an annoyed glance before referring to your teacher, “I suppose you want me to take your little sidekick under the team’s wings?” 

Dinah had scoffed, uncaring whether Damian heard it or not, “Me? No, I’d prefer to keep my sidekick by my side, but Olli thinks it’d be good for them to interact more with people their own age”. Damian had raised one thick dark eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to let out a sarcastic insult, but decided against it. Dinah was, after all, a member of the Justice League, Bruce would have his tongue if he offended the blonde hero. “Fine, but I’ll send them back to you if they don’t have the skills required for our team”. Dinah had agreed to his conditions with a frown, she knew that they’d keep you, no matter how much she was going to miss having you by her side, she had to let you go and let you go on your own adventures. 

Damian hadn’t ended up being very pleasant to you for most of your stay at the Teen Titans. He wasn’t a bully, but he never let his opinions pass through a filter. As a confidante, he would be horrible. Still, you respected his fighting and leadership abilities, and just because he wasn’t easy to get along with, didn’t mean that he was a bad person. The other young titans didn’t seem to grasp this concept, however.

“If you’re going to be so dramatic about a restaurant choice, then it’s probably better anyways”, Jaime spat at Damian. His aggression towards your leader shocked you, never had Jaime even come close to raising his voice at you, much less sounding so spiteful.

“Whatever” Damian shrugged, turning around and starting to walk out, gently whispering under his breath, “كل قهرا (Kol Khara)...” No one except you heard it, and his tone of voice made a pit form in your lower abdomen, tucking on you to do something, anything, to stand up for the young man. Right before Damian left the room, you exclaimed “I’ll stay back too”. Garfield tried to argue, “No, y/n! Come on! I’m sure Damian will be fine on his own!” His coercion didn’t work on you, and you stood your ground, shaking your head firmly. “No one should be left alone in the tower. Besides, I’m not too into steakhouses, anyways.” Garfield seemed deflated at the thought of you not joining them, looking pleadingly at the others for backup. 

Victor or Jaime would’ve usually helped Garfield convince you. However, when your eyes briefly met Jaime’s, your scowl made your disappointment in him clear, and he backed down with an apologetic look. Victor tried to push out some statement that might change your mind. However, by the time he had found the words, you were already waving them off and walking over to Damian’s side.

As the rest of the Titans slowly filtered out of the tower, you turned to Damian. The shy smile that you had previously worn around the others slowly melted into a deadpan. You knew Damian would find your smile mocking, so you didn’t force yourself to hold up any pretences. “Pizza?” You asked as you dug your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. The young man’s green eyes studied you briefly, searching for any hidden meanings behind your act of kindness. “Why did you do that? I can be on my own, no problem. You don’t have to babysit me.” He spoke through his teeth, making him resemble a robot as his lips barely moved. “I don’t like steak-”, you shrugged nonchalantly, “-Did you want pizza or not?”

Giving you a suspicious look, Damian shook his head, “Sure. I’ll pay”.

You knew that Damian had a hard time letting others pay for him, he despised the feeling of being indebted. That was the most profound thing you knew about him, which you honestly found concerning, you practically knew nothing of your team captain. Calling up the nearest pizza place, you had them deliver the pizza to a corner close to the tower. Neither Damian nor you could risk anyone knowing your secret identities, and you didn’t feel like getting into your costumes just for a pizza delivery. 

Slowly trudging down to the agreed-upon corner, you forgot to keep an eye on the traffic as you passed the road to the corner. Suddenly, you felt a harsh yank on your arm and a rush of air beside you. As per instinct, you fired a fist towards the direction of your assailant, only to have your hand caught by Damian. He had been the one to pull you back, and as you gave him a confused look, he flicked his index finger into your forehead. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?!” You exclaimed, massaging the affected area with the fingers of your left hand. Damian seemed agitated as his grip on your arm tightened, “What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You almost got run over by a car, you idiot!”

You slowly blinked at him, letting out a quiet, “Oh…Thanks”.

Damian scoffed, tugging you across the road, still holding your arm in an iron grip, “Don’t worry about it”.

Damian was still holding your forearm tight when the pizza delivery guy arrived. The teenager in the blue pizza-place uniform gave the two of you a wary glance. It looked as if Damian was holding you against your will as you both held agitated facial expressions and the green-eyed man simply pushed the money you owed into the delivery guy’s hands, taking the pizzas and pulling you away. In reality, Damian had claimed that he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t get yourself into danger again if he let go of you. You supposed that it was a kind gesture, but your arm was starting to ache and Damian’s sour countenance made it look like you had just killed his new puppy. 

When you and Damian re-entered the Titans Tower, he finally let go of your arm, setting the two steaming pizzas on the kitchen counter, before he started to rummage through multiple cupboards, looking for a pizza slicer. You discreetly rubbed the area that your team leader had squeezed so firmly. You didn’t want to complain to him, afraid he might make fun of your weakness. Still, he seemed aware, despite having his back turned to you. “Did my grip hurt you?” His voice was precise yet a certain calmness rounded his otherwise harsh tone. “Don’t worry about it”, you tried to reassure him, but he refused to let the topic go. “I didn’t ask you whether I should worry or not, I asked if your arm hurts?” 

You stared at the dark tufts of hair at the back of the man’s head, a sense of bitter annoyance filling your throat. Why did he need to know if it hurt or not when you had already told him that it wasn’t a big deal? “A little, but it’s nothing compared to any of the injuries I get on the daily from sparring with Kori”, you giggled softly at the thought of how Koriand’r often left anything from tiny burn marks to black and blue bruises of varying yet considerable sizes. You had often wanted to spar with someone more on your level, like Garfield or Jaime, but you and Koriand’r were natural sparring partners. Her ability to shoot rays of fire perfectly contrasted your snow-themed meta-abilities. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you”, Damian muttered as he finally found the pizza cutter, turning around and meeting your eyes. For a second you were rendered gelid, his eyes were the deepest shade of forest green you had ever seen, with specks of a minty blue and rich gold spread throughout. You almost breathed out a woah, but managed to catch it mid-air by taking a deep breath. You had never realised that eyes could be so stunning, they almost seemed artificial. Forcing your gaze away from Damian, who himself had stood still, staring into your eyes, you turned to the food. Walking to the counter and unpacking the pizzas, you tried your best to ignore how Damian’s searing gaze was burning holes into your backside. It almost felt like he had aimed a laser at you while you were trying to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of him. “Can I have the pizza cutter?” You requested airily, it felt as if your team leader’s wonderfully green eyes were sucking out the oxygen from your lungs with their intensity. Making his way to your side, Damian pushed you away from the pizzas, “I’ll do it. You’ll just end up cutting yourself”. Finally, his fierce gaze dragged off you and onto the food in front of him. A chill went down your back and you realised that you had accidentally cooled down the entire room with your powers. You could’ve facepalmed at yourself, thinking, ‘that’s probably why he looked at me like that. I was literally turning the entire kitchen into a freezer!’ 

Calming yourself down and letting up on the use of your powers, the room slowly heated up once again. Damian didn’t comment on the sudden temperature changes, instead platting three slices of both your pizzas and taking them to the dinner table. Standing still for a while, seemingly pondering something, Damian finally put down both of your plates next to each other. “Come over here”, he commanded softly, dragging a hand through his thick hair, the muscles under his golden skin flexing in turn. With hesitant steps, you made it to the chair where your pizza had been put in front. Before you could drag out your chair, Damian did it for you, gesturing for you to sit down. Giving him a suspicious glance, you acquiesced. It wasn’t like Damian to be such a gentleman, or at least you didn’t think it was. Truth be told, you didn’t actually know much about how he usually acted. Damian always kept to himself or hung out with Dick when he was there, he hadn’t given you much of a chance to get to know him on any more than a surface level. When your thighs hit the pillow of the seat, Damian gently pushed the chair in place, before taking his place beside you. You ate in silence for a while, until Damian suddenly spoke up, “Thank you, by the way”. You were confused, why was he thanking you? Because you stayed silent? That wasn’t much to thank you for, your lack of social experience usually kept you relatively quiet. Deciding to be bold and ask him, you almost faltered as you turned to see Damian staring at you again. “What are you thanking me for?” 

Raising a single mocking eyebrow, Damian tried not to sound harsh as he explained, “For staying behind to keep me company. I know that you didn’t just do it because you dislike steakhouses or whatever. It was nice of you, thank you.” His use of short and concise sentences almost made every word he spoke sound like an important disclosure, like something you’d expect to come out of the mouth of a scientist explaining the danger of a chemical substance.

“Oh, no worries. They were being arseholes anyways, they usually aren’t that way, I don’t know what happened with them today-”, Damian interrupted you with a loud scoff. “Perhaps they’re nice to you, but to me? They’re always like that, I’m not even surprised anymore”, his tone seemed like a mix of scorn and lament. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know”, you had no idea what else to say, what could anyone say in that situation? It was a lie, obviously, you were quite aware that your other teammates didn’t treat your leader particularly well. What you didn’t know, however, was that it actually affected Damian. He had always seemed like this indestructible wall, no emotions, all logic. You had never resented him for that, you had honestly respected it, but what you had never done was consider him human like the rest of you… well, except Koriand’r.

“Don’t apologise for others. You’re being kind to me… As the only one”, the last part barely came out as a whisper, it was clear he didn’t want you to hear it, but had to let it out, or else he’d burst. 

Taking the last bite of your third pizza slice, you took the plate to the sink. You had no idea how to deal with Damian at that moment, you had practically grown up with Dinah, a licensed therapist, and yet you had no idea how to tackle the Wayne boy’s display of emotions. It was such a rare occasion, you knew, and with his hardened composure, it was obvious that he hated being vulnerable. You wagered that he’d probably have preferred to have this minor breakdown with anyone else except the newest member of his team. However, since you were the only one there, you supposed you’d have to do. Roy did always tell you that you were a great person to rant to, lending your ears to anyone willing to speak their woes.

Going over to Damian, you offered him your hand. He looked almost offended at the gesture, with his eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched all the way up. Still, he gently placed his rough palm in yours, forgetting his last pizza slice. Hoisting him up, you lead him to your room in complete silence, except for the thumps of your feet hitting the floor. Closing the door behind you, you led him to your bed, and plopped on top of your duvet, dragging him down with you. “Speak”, you gently suggested, hand still intertwined with his. “What?” Damian questioned, looking at you like you were mad. “Talk about how you feel about the others, please. It usually helps to get it out. I promise, whatever you say in this room, stays in this room”, you requested with a sweet smile, urging him to open up, if only a bit.

“No.” Damian refused immediately, he wasn’t the type to share his worries and woes, so why was it any of your concern that he felt unfairly treated by his teammates? That he already preferred you, the newest member, over the others, because the others always assumed the worst about him and simply treated him like a robot sent to make their lives difficult, despite him just trying to keep them all safe?!

“I can see why that’d make you feel alienated by them”, you muttered peacefully, your thumb rubbing calming circles into the skin of his hand, just like you had always done with Roy.

“Shit-”, Damian breathed out, he had said all of that out loud. ‘Way to go Damian!’ His mind screamed at him. He felt exposed and vulnerable like he had just ripped his skin off and presented you with all of his bleeding organs. It was disgusting and he felt the need to backtrack. Yet, the rhythm of your finger tracing lazy shapes on top of his skin made him enjoy the moment just a bit too much to let it go.

“Why are you doing this?” Damian asked with no small amount of scepticism.

“Everyone deserves someone to listen to them, that’s what Dinah always says. Besides, my best friend is literally Roy Harper”, you answered casually. Your last sentence made Damian laugh, despite himself. It was no thunderously bellowing laughter, as you knew his brother had from the few times you and Jason Todd had visited Roy at the same time, but rather a contained yet harmonious chuckle. Still, your argument was valid, Roy’s mental instability and former partiality towards drugs were infamous within vigilante circles.

Damian considered you for a moment, before leaning in closer as if what he told you was a rumour to be whispered. Starting off slowly and carefully, Damian admitted feeling as if had no one at the Titans to speak with, as if they all compared him to his older brothers and were disappointed. He felt as if he was oftentimes the only one who saw matters logically. As evidence of this claim, he cited incidents such as Terra’s traitorous nature slipping through Kori’s fingers because the woman refused to do background checks, or how just last week Jaime had almost gotten all of you killed because he refused to attack a crying henchman soliloquizing about his family, who turned out to simply be acting to divert the team’s attention from the bomb planted close by. He was frustrated by their idiocy and the way he spoke so passionately on the issue, you were able to deduce that what really frustrated him was the fear that the team would get themselves hurt. 

You let Damian vent out all of his frustrations until the sound of the front door opening harshly followed by Jaime and Garfield’s yelling filled the entire tower. Damian shut his mouth like a clamp immediately, yet he sent you a grateful smile, which revealed the deep dimples on the side of his cheeks. “Thank you for listening to me, صديقة/صديق, (Sadeek/Sadeekah)”, Damian squeezed your hand one last time before sneaking out of your room, unseen. A weight lifted off his shoulders and a curious pit formed in his stomach.

You and Damian started talking sporadically after that, it was never in front of the other teammates, but Damian seemingly always managed to catch you alone for a few minutes every few days. You’d exchange a few hushed jokes or comment on the latest mission. It almost felt as if your newfound friendship was illegal. As if the others couldn’t know that you found Damian’s company pleasant and almost refreshing compared to the hyperactivity of Garfield, Jaime’s constant laments about his previous friends, Brenda and Paco, or Kori’s disturbing lack of filter. Damian was a delightful contrast to the constant tumult that the others provided and you felt as if he already knew you better than yourself. His music recommendations were always bangers, his favourites in everything from food to movies always seemed to match up perfectly with yours, and if a particular teammate had been an irritation that day, he always commented on it, which felt nice as it confirmed your own feelings on the matter. It almost felt as if the two of you were made to be friends.  

The truth was, Damian did in fact know you pretty well. It was hard not to after having hacked into your computer and phone, looking through your google searches and favourite music, and sneaking into your room while you were on patrol, going through all of your things, as well as discreetly observing you whenever you were in the same room as him, (had he not been a trained assassin, he was sure that he would have been caught staring by at least one of your team members).

After your earnest kindness during that evening when the others had left for the steakhouse, an unfamiliar feeling had started to spread through his body. At first, he had thought he got sick, but after having gone to the doctor and been cleared for any physical ailments, he had started to panic. What was going on with him?! The image of your face never left his mind, a strange pain went through his chest every time he was far away from you and whenever either Jaime, Garfield or Victor touched you, he experienced a rage unlike any other. 

He had gone directly to Dick the moment his brother visited. The older man had chuckled at first, explaining that it was probably just a crush, but Damian disagreed vehemently. The green-eyed man had experienced crushes before, he once had one on Rachel and even some of his fellow assassin trainees as a kid, but this was entirely different. 

Dick had shrugged and waved it off as Damian’s first time falling properly in love, comparing it to how he had been with many women throughout his life because he was attracted to them, but he had only ever been in love with Barbara and Koriand’r. Damian hadn’t really understood the explanation, but he did gather that he could perhaps have with you what his brother had with the two red-heads, just… more exclusive. 

Maybe Dick would have been more careful with his explanation had he known his brother’s obsessive tendencies. In later years Grayson would defend himself with the phrase, “Who assumes that about their brother?” But at that point it would be much too late, after his talk with Dick, Damian had gained a new insight into himself. He was definitely in love with you.

Still, Damian had felt the need to do as many background checks on you as possible, hence his first visit to your room without your permission. He refused to let his feelings turn him into danger, ever the sceptic. Yet, when all came back green, he let his heart guide him for the first time in his entire nineteen years of life. It felt freeing and he became deathly afraid of losing the feeling.

Still, this overwhelming sensation came with its drawbacks. Never had Damian felt so jealous of anyone or anything, not even Tim. Most of his jealousy was aimed at his green teammate, the man going by the moniker Beast-Boy, Garfield Logan. His newest enemy, in a long line of them. The man was clearly your best friend on the team, always plastered right by your side. It was cruel how you were so open with your friendship with Garfield, but hid away your affiliation with Damian. On top of that, it was so obvious that the little green freak had a crush on you, it was almost too much for Damian to bear. Garfield didn’t deserve you, Damian did. The green-eyed Robin was simply looking for a reason to do away with the beastly man. No matter the severity.

It was a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, you were relaxing on your bed, reading a book that you had recently lent to Victor, but never gotten around to finishing yourself. It was on these days that your ice powers were the weakest, you had barely been able to shoot a single beam of ice at Koriand’r during training earlier and had needed to resort to hand-to-hand combat within the first ten minutes. It had you exhausted and your powers totally drained. So tired were you, in fact, that you hadn’t even bothered to pack away most of your melee weapons. Knives laid on your desk and bedside table, out in the open, it was against almost every rule in the protocol. However, you were just so exhausted that you would rather deal with the consequences of getting caught leaving your weapons out than stand up and do any work for a single second more.  

A loud knock ripped you out of your reading. A shame really, you had just reached the good part. 

“Come in!” You urged with a deep sigh, and the door opened to reveal Damian. 

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, displaying a smug smile, knowing you wouldn’t mind his light teasing. 

“Just my book reading. What’s up?” You replied as you sat up properly. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d slid so far down with your back, your neck practically leaning against your bed’s headrest.

“Just wanted to hang out with you, and thought you probably wouldn’t mind”, Damian made his way into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, making sure that none of the others saw him enter.

You hummed in confirmation as Damian lifted your legs, plopping down on your bed, before laying them over his lap, not changing your previous position.

Relaxing your body again, your eyes drifted to the page you had gotten to, continuing to read the story, but Damian had a different idea, plucking the hardcover from your hands and turning the pages towards himself. You dragged your legs back towards yourself and leaned closer to Damian, trying to grab your book back. However, once you had gotten relatively close, the green-eyed man leant back as well, a clear smirk bending his plump lips. You continued to pursue your book until Damian was on his back, book covering his face, and you leaning over him, an arm on each side. From behind the cover of the book, you heard his muffled voice, proud and taunting, “My, my, Y/n. I didn’t know you felt that way-” Your face started to burn like a fire, unaccustomed to the flirtatious tone in Damian’s voice. Using your powers, you attempted to cool your skin down before your friend saw, but it was too late, as Damian had already moved the book away from his face. “Wow, Y/n. Is it that bad? You’re getting all worked up”, his smug expression worsened, which told you that he had planned for something like this to happen. Yet, as you were examining his face up close, you were momentarily caught off guard. You had never realised how beautiful Damian actually was. You knew that Bruce was considered attractive by pretty much anyone who was into men, heck, even you could admit that he was good-looking. And from the few pictures of Talia that you had seen on the Justice League supercomputer, you could confirm that she was gorgeous. So, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Damian was absolutely stunning, but still, it somehow surprised you how everything on him just seemed visually appealing. His eyes, which were so green that you’d think he wore contact lenses. His thick dark hair, currently spread out on the foot of your bed like a mini halo. His skin, which held such a beautiful golden colour, even if it was dimmed significantly from being inside writing up reports for the Justice League most of the time. Reaching forward slowly, you let a single finger trace along his nose, roman in shape, which gave his face character along with his sharp jaw. He was like a Greek statue. Damian’s gaze was focused on you, eyes blown wide. Yet, as you continued to trace your finger down his face, as if in a trance, his long eyelashes started to flutter, gradually closing his eyelids and enjoying the sensation of his face being caressed. He wasn’t used to physical affection and had been sure that he wouldn’t like it, even if he got it. However, when it came from you, it just seemed so gentle, so… correct? Like you were supposed to touch his face like this. Like if you didn’t, the world would go down in violent flames. But as soon as the moment began, it ended. When you realised what you were doing, your hand sprang away from his skin like a frightened spider. You almost pulled away, but Damian’s strong hand grasped your wrist, eyes still closed. “Don’t stop, please”. If your face hadn’t been warm before, it surely was now. How could he be so casual about asking for that? Was this not too much for a pair of friends? Well, you actually weren’t too sure... You hadn’t really had an actual friend since you were ten, maybe this was entirely normal friend behaviour. Who were you to say?

Letting Damian guide your hand back to his face, you gently allowed your palm to brush his right cheek. Leaning into your touch, Damian made a content sound from the back of his throat. Both of you were surprised that he was capable of such a thing. Putting his free hand between your shoulder blades, Damian coaxed you closer, getting you to put your weight on your elbows instead of your hand and wrist. You were so near each other, all one of you had to do to meet each other’s skin was to lean a little up or down, depending on which of you took the initiative. After you had continued your tender ministrations on the right side of your friend’s face for a while, Damian carefully moved your hand to his jaw, turning his face and leaning up to meet your lips. His attempt at a kiss was broken when your bedroom door swung open to reveal Garfield standing in the opening. A beat of silence occurred and if anyone had dropped a pin, it would have made a resonating clatter. 

The green boy stood still, shocked at the scene and with a look of outrage on his wide-set features. “What the heck are you doing to them?!”

Looking at your position, you understood how this could be perceived as Damian forcing you upon him, especially with his hands placed controllingly on your hand and back. Couple that with Garfield’s total lack of knowledge of your friendship. It wasn’t a pretty look for the man under you. 

You quickly tried to explain Damian’s innocence, but the man himself jumped in to defend himself, or so you thought. Instead of explaining the situation to Garfield, who stood in the doorframe, ready to turn into a tiger and maul the green-eyed Robin on the spot, Damian simply spat out an annoyed, “Get out!”

Garfield didn’t move, however. He instead entered the room, slamming the door behind him. “No! Let them go and get away from them!” 

Again you tried to explain, but before the words even reached your lips, Damian tugged you closer, burrowing your head in his shoulder and sending his green comrade a challenging look. “Or what?”

Garfield was taken aback, he didn’t expect things to escalate this far, but he adored you, thought of you as a dear friend, and there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his friends, which he decidedly didn’t consider Damian to be. “I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to touch anything again”. 

Realising how bad things were getting, you attempted to push Damian off you to diffuse the tensions, but he kept you in place and you began beating on his chest to let you go. “You’re just acting like this because you want them for yourself! You’re trying to take them away from me!” Damian sneered at Garfield as he sat both of you up, still keeping you close to him. Both you and your fellow team member were shocked at Damian’s words. They came out of the blue. “What?! No- That’s not- You know- I don’t-”, Garfield was too stunned to speak, but Damian wasn’t as he again commanded the green man, “Get out”. The man in question growled, “No way! Let them go, you psycho! I’ll tell Grayson how creepy you are!” The mention of his brother made something within Damian snap, he carefully let you go, making sure that he didn’t hurt you, the last moment of silence. Before you even had time to react, Damian grabbed a pencil from your desk, currently ignoring the knives abandoned next to it, and swung at Garfield. The attacked was able to jump away in time for the lead-cored writing utensil to just narrowly miss his head. It still bore deep into his shoulder, though, and he let out a howl in pain. You attempted to run to your friend’s aid, but both men told you to stay out of it. You wanted to race out of the door and get some of the others to help you, but the two men were blocking your path. You attempted to freeze both of the men’s feet, anything to keep them from each others’ throats, but your powers gave out on you and barely made a pfft sound as two puny clouds of snow emerged from your palms. You were panicking as Garfield turned into a verdant lion, right before your very eyes. You screamed for the two of them to stop, for one of them to just leave, anything other than fighting. You knew that a showdown would only result in someone getting seriously hurt and you wanted that for neither of your friends. You practically begged them to end the fight, but they both ignored you, with Damian grabbing two of the knives on your desk, and entering a fighting stance. 

You tried to run into the fight but were pushed down to the floor as Garfield jumped at Damian, who expertly sliced open the side of the green animal. A roar of pain filled the room and you wondered how none of the others had shown up yet, wishing with everything in you that Kori would come or even Victor. Any grown adult that was older than twenty. The thought of calling them briefly crossed your mind, but your phone was on the desk, which was being obstructed by the two men fighting. As a last-ditch effort to get help, you screamed your lungs out, “Kori! Victor! Anyone! Please!” Your throat became sore, the skin inside it felt ripped and inflamed, and yet you continued your screaming, like a mantra. But none came. 

What you didn’t know was the reason Garfield had gone to your room was to tell you that the others had gone to see a movie, one that both you and the green man had expressed disdain for. Garfield had planned a movie marathon for just the two of you, but now? Those plans seemed like a far-off dream.

Garfield was wounded, severely. Damian hadn’t even gotten a scratch. The dark-haired man considered his opponent as they circled each other. He scoffed, Garfield should’ve known he’d never stand a chance in a fight, but it was nothing if not a net positive for Damian. He got to get rid of the green boy who always clung to your side, so obviously having a crush the size of the moon. Disgusting, Damian thought. Did Garfield not know how beneath you he was? What made him ever believe he’d deserve you? He probably didn’t even love you, you were just someone he’d play around with until he got tired and then he’d throw you away. So far from Damian’s more respectable intentions, from his true and deep love which ran through his blood, getting pumped in through his heart and out through his veins. His love for you was his entire being. So, Damian was happy to get rid of the little green obstacle.

When Garfield jumped at Damian again, he felt a sudden shock as a knife was stuck in his chest. He shook and had to focus his entire being on not turning back into a human, if he did that, the wound would leave a much bigger impact. He didn’t get to ponder on it too long as Damian pushed him to the ground, sitting firmly on his lower abdomen, threatening to stick the second knife into Garfield’s throat. The bleeding man looked for you. If he had to die like this, he’d want to see you one last time. But he couldn’t find you in his sights. Suddenly, the weight on top of him was pushed off.  Trying to see who his saviour was, he caught a flash of your shirt. “What is wrong with you two?!” Your voice, you were practically hissing, hoarse beyond measure. 

Garfield gasped, and you quickly found your phone, calling your emergency number. You had a special one for the vigilantes, a measure to protect all of your identities.

After ending the call though, you felt something hard collide with your head, and you fell to the ground, blacking out at your back made contact with the floor, an incoherent scream in the background.

Damian had knocked you out with the book you had been reading previously, it had laid abandoned on the bed. He realised what he had just done would mean. He hadn’t considered the ramifications while in the heat of the battle, but now, all he could think about was how he’d lose you if he…when he was kicked off the team. There was no way that they’d let him stay after almost killing a teammate. So, he’d leave on his own accord. His mother would probably be mighty happy to see him again, she wouldn’t mind him bringing along his beloved. 

Leaving behind a screaming and bleeding Garfield, Damian picked you up and took out his phone from his pocket. He was surprised that it had stayed in there during the brief fight. Calling up his mother, she picked up immediately, it had been years and yet she was more than a little desperate to hear him utter the words she had waited so long for. “I’m coming home and I’m bringing a friend”. 

Dinah was inconsolable. Bruce had already tried to get her to calm down, but any time he opened his mouth, the blonde hero would cry about how this was his fault for raising a lunatic. Oliver also blamed Bruce, even going as far as to suggest making Damian their number one wanted enemy, a decision thoroughly backed by all except Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. 

“He’s a confused boy!” Clark had tried to defend, but Dinah would have none of it.

“He kidnapped my kid, my Y/n! He’s a psychopath and he’s dangerous! Look what he did to Beast-Boy!” The blonde had gestured to the photos of Garfield’s extensive injuries. He had survived, but barely. There was heavy doubt about whether or not he’d ever be able to get back to his vigilante duties. The damage was the worst around his stomach area, where Damian had practically gutted him like a fish. 

It had been Garfield that explained what happened. How he had walked in on Damian forcing you upon him, the ensuing fight and your kidnapping. While his story wasn’t entirely true, it got the point across well enough. It had left Dinah and Oliver furious and out for blood. 

No matter how much Bruce attempted to convince the other Justice League members that he could convince Damian to give you back, it was hard to take him seriously when they, firstly, had no idea where the two of you were and, secondly, when looking at how he had almost snuffed out the life of a teammate.

The Doom Patrol demanded retribution as well, or at the very least reassurance that Damian would never return as a hero after what he had done to their former mentee. Rita Farr had almost been as devastated as Dinah when she had seen her adoptive son, racing to her green man’s side as soon as she had gotten the news, she still had yet to leave him for any substantial amount of time, barely letting herself get any food. 

“I want my sidekick back! Your boy took them from me! That makes it your responsibility too!” Dinah had hissed, letting her mouth hang open for a second, a clear warning that she would have no scruples about blowing up both Wayne men’s heads with her canary cry if she didn’t get the young hero, whom she saw more as her own child, back.

The Justice League had voted on whether or not Damian and Y/n should be hunted down, and it had been an overwhelming five to three in favour. 

After the vote, Oliver guided the fishnet-wearing heroine out of the tower to cool off. Slowly, most of the members followed, leaving only Bruce and Clark. Superman placed a hand on his friend’s back and gently rubbed circles into Bruce’s latex-clad back. “We’ll get them to see sense, don’t worry. It’s probably all just a misunderstanding”. Bruce knew that it wasn’t. He always had a feeling that something was off about his youngest son, he had simply ignored the signs in favour of training up yet another young vigilante, fit to take over his legacy.

“It’s not,” Bruce stated bitterly, letting his guilt take over his heart.

Months later, on the other side of the world, in the palace barracks of Eth Alth'eban, you sat next to Damian at a vast breakfast table. It had been so long since he took you with him, you presumed that no one had any idea where you were or that they simply weren’t looking. 

Damian hadn’t bothered taking any of your possessions along as he fled with you, so, when the clothes you had been wearing that damned Saturday had gotten sufficiently dirty, you let him outfit you in the deep green robes associated with the Al Ghuls, of which he wore a similar one himself. 

It had been long enough for you to give up hope of ever getting rescued. You had tried to escape, multiple times in fact. With your powers, (weak as they were in the beating sun), it was relatively easy to get away from the regular guards, meant to keep you within the palace’s walls. Damian was a completely different story, however. The moment he got news of your escape, he’d instantly know where you’d be heading, he knew you better than anyone else, after all. And as much as you tried to fight back against Damian, it was no use. He was too good of a fighter. So, you resigned yourself to your fate.

“What would you like to eat, beloved? I won’t let you skip a meal”, Damian questioned gently, while holding your hand tightly under the table, tracing figures of eight into your palm. You shrugged, you didn’t like the idea of taking food from your kidnappers, it felt like an admission of consent in the entire matter. Damian’s face hardened, “You have to eat something. I’m not repeating myself again, beloved.” His tone left no room for discussion. He had taken up the unfortunate habit of talking to you like one would a child, entirely incapable of taking care of itself.

“Maybe some fruit? I don’t know”, you stuttered out, which seemed to please Damian immensely.

“Of course”, he smiled as he reached his muscular arm over the table, fishing up a small assortment of colourful fruits, some of which you had never even seen before, and putting them on your plate. You observed his arm carefully, watching the muscles flex under his skin, which had gotten a much healthier golden glow since you arrived at the League of Assassins’ lair. 

Talia sat opposite the two of you, her eyes inspecting you with scrutiny. Her gaze made you want to shrivel up and hide behind Damian. She truly was as beautiful as she had seemed on the Justice League computer, if not even more. The computer hadn’t been able to capture just how sharp her green eyes were, nor how said eyes could make you feel like the smallest person in the entire world.

You sent Talia an apologetic smile as if to say, ‘I don’t want me to be here either, we’re in the same boat’. You had no idea if she got the hidden meaning, you doubted she would care, even if she did.

“I’ve taken time off from my duties today, Y/n. Perhaps we could walk through the gardens, or would you rather do something else?” Damian’s voice cut through your thoughts, he was observing you bite into the fruits he had picked out for you, so fresh that their juices dribbled down the corners of your mouth. Looking up at the youngest  Al Ghul you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to put a napkin over your lips, wiping away the stickiness left behind on your chin from your breakfast. 

“All better”, he muttered as he leaned over and pecked your cheek. Your face heated up. You couldn’t deny that you were attracted to him, but his treatment of Garfield, whom you presumed dead, kept flashing in your head every time you felt ready to forgive him, or at least try to. It made ever moving on with this new life of yours near impossible. “What about the library?” You suggested nervously, Talia’s presence usually did that to you. Leaning close and capturing your tepid lips with his, Damian hummed in agreement. Your eyes went to his mother, who was looking at the two of you with an emotion which was hard for you to decipher. 

As you strolled around the library, hand in hand with Damian, you picked out books which caught your interest. The League’s library truly held everything, there was at least one copy of every fiction and non-fiction book you’d ever heard of. “It’s important to have access to all information”, Damian chuckled every time you were surprised that the library held the book you’d ever asked for, no matter how new. You almost suspected that they held the unfinished versions of books, just to be sure that they didn’t miss out on the writer’s process. Despite the gigantic library holding so many books, very few were actually present except you and Damian. “Most assassins are too busy to read often”, a shame you thought, what was the point of having all these books if they never got read?

Deciding on a book to read, you attempted to walk towards a closed-off area with deep green couches, but Damian stopped you, pulling you back, and making you collide with his hard chest. The green-eyed man laughed loudly at your confused expression, his voice carrying across the many bookcases and returning back to you as an echo. Effortlessly plucking the book out of your hand, Damian kissed the crown of your head, whispering into your hair, “let me read to you, beloved”, it wasn’t a question nor was it a command, you couldn’t quite place it as anything other than a statement of fact. 

When you reached the sofas, the green-eyed heir pulled you towards him, urging you to sit between his outspread legs, an invitation which you were nervous to refuse. Settling down, you leaned back against his chest, letting the warmth of his body fill you up as he wrapped his free arm around your midsection, before starting to read out loud.

The book itself was disappointing, with one-dimensional characters and a boring setting, however, Damian’s raspy yet clear voice rang out perfectly without vibrato or mistakes in his pronunciation. Like melted chocolate and soft butter, his weirdly mixed accent was smooth and enchanting. You would have listened to him read any book, even a dictionary, for all of eternity. You never realised how musical Damian’s voice indeed was, his chest rumbling along with the words as you slowly started to relax in his grip. At one point the sound of his reading stopped. You opened your eyes, which you hadn’t even realised had closed during his reading, coming face to face with Damian’s eyes gazing down at you, you returned the gesture. He honestly looked like he had been carved by a renaissance sculptor. You wondered if he knew how breathtaking he really was. “You’re gorgeous”, the words tumbled from your lips like rocks over a cliff. Damian’s eyes softened, never had you seen him so vulnerable yet relieved, “Nothing compared to you”, he whispered reverently, moving his hand up your body and caressing your jaw softly. It hurt, not physically, but rather your mind. People usually said that emotions were centred in the heart, but you’d disagree, it was all in your brain, pulsing with the thoughts of Damian’s sweet touches, his attack on Garfield, the forced relationship and how you’d been infatuated with him ever since the evening that you two had gotten pizza. You had never been one to cry, you had grown up as a vigilante, and as a meta, you had been forced to put up a hundred proverbial walls, guarding your emotions and opinions with an iron fence. Still, as the pounding in your head got worse and Damian’s touches gentler, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears sprang from the corners of your eyes, and despite you biting down on the inside of your lips hard, almost drawing blood, you couldn’t keep in the body-wracking sob that pushed its way from the deep depths of your stomach and out through your mouth.

Damian took less than a second to react, lifting you up and turning you around, holding you close and letting you burrow your head deep into the deep green fabric covering his shoulder, soaking up the silky material with your salty tears.

Damian hugged you tightly to his body, trying to comfort you, whispering endearing reassurances into your ear. When it did nothing, you came to realise that your outburst wasn’t even caused by what Damian did, that was simply the spark that lit the fuse. It was everything else as well. Your mother practically gave you up to Dinah because she couldn’t handle that you weren’t just a normal kid, being thrown into the throngs of vigilantism at the age of ten, (even younger than any of the Robins which Bruce had taken on), and you had just been expected to be cool with it, to enjoy it even! You felt as if your childhood and teenage years had been robbed from you by Dinah’s never-ending ‘adventures’... yeah, that had been what she’d called it, “adventures”, it made it seem more fun than “missions”, less demanding than “potentially world-ending crisis needing immediate attention from two meta-powered humans, one of which being a child”. You were eighteen and you had never even gone to a school dance, never been to a party, never had a boyfriend… Well, now you did. You supposed it was only fitting that the only romantic relationship you had ever experienced was so intense and anything but childlike, it seemed to fit your life perfectly. You were filled with a burning hot rage, not aimed at Damian, but rather aimed at your mother, at Dinah, at Oliver and at anyone else who had supported the pillaging of your entire youth, all in the name of justice… What justice?! Certainly not any justice for you. Of all the people who had mistreated you, Damian was the better of two evils. At least he loved you, adored you even, he didn’t make you shoot ice beams at dummies for hours until your arms burned with the fury of a hundred suns and then demand that you run for hours afterwards. He treated you well, he made sure you ate, he read for you and now, in your darkest hour, he comforted you. 

Tightening your grip on the green-eyed man, you whispered softly into his neck, “Marry me, please”. If Damian was the best you could get, then you would make the best of a bad situation and love him back.

Damian was shocked, just this morning you had apathetically evaded his kisses and now you wanted to marry him. He was ecstatic, of course, but sceptical at the same time. Regardless, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. If you were planning something nefarious, he’d deal with it swiftly. “It would be my greatest honour”, he exhaled, kissing the top of your head.

You sat there for what seemed like ages, his steady breathing calming yours, as well.  

Your moment was broken when one of the assassins dropped from the roof of the library, giving you a shock, yet not even surprising Damian. “Speak.” The Al Ghul heir commanded. 

“The Justice League have located us, they’re here to take back the royal consort Y/n”, the assassin had spoken loud and clear, in that peculiar way that they were trained to do.

“Prepare for a large-scale defence”. Those were the last words you heard before being hauled into your room by Damian, left with a searing kiss on your lips, the first one you ever reciprocated. How tragic.

It had been hours since the invasion by the Justice League, and you had no idea how either side was doing, the only window of your room was facing away from the palace barracks, which you supposed were where the fight was currently being held. Your thoughts went to Damian, you felt nauseous at the idea of him getting hurt. The image of his beautiful feature caved into a broken skull made you cringe and the very idea of losing him made you dizzy. You had situated yourself in the corner of the room, legs pulled to your chest and forehead resting on your knees, waiting for something you weren’t quite sure what was.

When you heard the sound of a cape blowing in the wind and the click of heels hitting the tiled flooring of the room, you glanced up. Outside your window floated Superman and in front of you stood Black Canary, tears streaming out of her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots. “Oh, Y/n!” the blonde cried out as she wrapped you in her arms, the leather of her jacket was cool against your exposed neck. 

“Why are you here?” You uttered in distaste, not returning the hug of your former mentor. 

“We’re here to save you, Y/n! Oh, I’m so glad to have you back next to me! You have no idea how much I worried for you!” Dinah could barely keep her emotions in, something which was entirely different from her usual laid back personality. As the leather-clad heroine tried to drag you towards Superman’s waiting arms, you pulled back. You didn’t want them here. Everything had just fallen into place. You had technically just gotten engaged with a man who you were pretty sure that you loved, at least a little bit. 

You were slowly forming your own adulthood, you didn’t want Dinah to take this away as well, locking you up by her side forever until you would inevitably take her place. That wasn’t the life you wanted, you just desired a ‘normal’ existence with a husband and a home, why were the Justice League even here when you didn’t need to be saved anymore?

“Go home”, you commanded, copying the tone of your fiancé when he talked to his subordinates.

Dinah didn’t get what you were asking, instead happily grabbing your face and wiping non-existing tears from your cheeks. “Yes, darling! We’re going home! No more of any of this! We’ll be back in Star City, safe and sound! Oh, Roy even prepared a large brunch for tomorrow to celebrate your return, just you, Oliver, Roy, Lian and me”. You cringed at the idea, she was treating you like a child, as if you were still the ten-year-old kid who had stood on her doorstep, confused and in need of a mother’s guiding hand. Did she ever stop seeing you like that? You couldn’t help but wonder.

“No, I want to stay here” You tried to reason in an even voice. Dinah’s face fell.

“What?! Why?! No! You can’t! You’re just experiencing Stockholm Syndrome! It’ll all be better tomorrow!” The blonde tried to tug at you again, but you stood your ground. “No, I like it here, I want to stay. Damian treats me well, a-and I’ve been in love with him for longer than I’ve been here”, you argued, only to be met with a scoff.

“You don’t know what love is, Y/N! You’re so young, Damian just took advantage of your crush! That’s why he tried to force you upon him! Garfield told us, no need to explain! I understand!” Dinah was frantic at this point. You were her little kid, she couldn’t lose you!

“Damian didn’t force me upon him! I wanted to kiss him! Garfield came in and interrupted us! I-I don’t know how to make it clearer to you! I don’t want to leave Damian!” You were screaming at this point, and Dinah shook her head, blonde locks hitting both of your faces. She couldn’t accept that her sidekick would want to engage romantically with someone, you were too young! Too immature! Damian had to have taken advantage, right? He was only a year older than you, it suddenly occurred to her… but still, he had never occurred to her as a kid, always so adult. You two, together? It just seemed so… wrong.

“No, y-you’re too young, it’s… You’re… Please, Y/n! He’s a psychopath, he kidnapped you, and he hurt Garfield!” Dinah was struggling to find the words, her hands sliding from your face to your shoulders, needing something to steady her. She was clearly feeling unwell. It stabbed your heart, no matter how angry you were at her, she was still the person who had raised you for half of your life. You loved her as a mother, of course. But you couldn’t let her inability to let go ruin your life any longer.

You could feel your own tears dropping off your chin as well now. You were sobbing softly, much less visible than the woman in front of you, but still, it made your words shaky as you spoke again, quiet as if you were afraid to disturb a sleeping bear. 

“I’m not a kid anymore! When will you realise that I grew up! You’ve kept me in the role of a child for my entire life! But I’m an adult now and I’m engaged! I beg you, please let me stay, mom-”, you stopped and Dinah’s eyes widened and surged to find yours. Something within her stirred. It was somehow the first time either of you had verbalised the unspoken bond between the two of you. Yet, while it had always been a clear subtext in your relationship, to have it out in the open made Dinah feel so incredibly moved. It was true, though. The blonde heroine had always been a better and more true mother to you than your own. A revelation that made you pull her closer. “-I’m sorry.”  

The leather-clad woman shook her head, “No, don’t apologise. I’m the one who is sorry. I never realised.”

A beat of silence fell upon you two as you rested your head on each other’s shoulders. Breathing in shakily you recognised the perfume Dinah was wearing, it was the same one she had been wearing for the past five years and something about it made you feel nostalgic. You imagined this was how others would feel when they returned to their old childhood bedroom.

Looking towards the window again, you realised that Clark had left momentarily, probably not wanting to be caught in this familial dispute. 

Dinah was the one who broke the silence with a witty comment, “So, am I invited to the wedding or not?”

“I’m not sure Damian will want you here after you attacked his organisation.” You chuckled.

“Well, he’ll have a hard time refusing if I throw the Justice League on him again.”

“Maybe. Does that mean you’ll let me stay?”, you muttered with a smile, slowly pulling away from your former mentor.

“Yes, although it will mean that you can never rejoin vigilante circles. Damian has been totally blacklisted, are you prepared for the same to happen to you?” 

You thought about her question. It took you a moment, but every time Damian’s green eyes and teasing smile emerged in your mind your heart would beat like a morning alarm. You had no clue if it was the right choice…No, you were entirely sure that it was the wrong one, as a matter of fact. Especially as Garfield’s mangled body interrupted your rosy imaginations of your fiancé, but you felt bound to Damian and you weren’t sure if you would survive leaving him, you felt too dependent on his love. “Yes”, you pushed out shakily, your final answer.

Dinah had left with Superman, taking the rest of the Justice League with them. They had done minimal damage to the League of assassins, it had mostly been a fight for distraction, after all.

You felt entirely unsure of your decision as you stood by Damian’s side looking at the heroes retreating. But with Talia’s sharp gaze forcing you into submission and Damian’s warm hand rubbing calming circles on your shoulder, you realised that there really hadn’t been a choice. Even if you had left with your blonde mentor, your green-eyed fiancé would never have let you stay with her. So, perhaps, this was all for the better. At least you had a friend and lover around your age now, which was an improvement… right?

A/N: Yes, you can just ignore this, it's mostly for the user who sent in the request. Thank you for this great idea! I know you had to wait a while for it... but it was also a lot to write, which made it take way longer than I had originally planed...hehe... Anyways! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn't disappoint with the long wait, I tried my best to honour your request!

[aerynwrites]

Send Me an Angel - Chapter 1

Halsin x Fem!Angel!Reader

A/N: So so so excited to reveal this little series to you guys! Had this idea and with some wonderful brainstorming help from @thedreamlessnights it is finally coming together! Hope you all enjoy <3

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Reader is described using she/her pronouns in this part, female reader, canon typical gore/injuries, hurt/comfort.

Halsin's POV

The night, as all of them have been since arriving here, is cold.

The Shadow-Cursed Lands are just as he remembers them, if not worse. And, despite having saved Thaniel and reunited him with Oliver, his mind still feels heavy with the burden of this place. 

That’s why he stands here now, at the edge of the protective barrier of Last Light, eyes turned up towards the stars. Here, they are the only things of nature that are not corrupted by the shadows, and perhaps in these times of need, Halsin is silently seeking guidance from the celestial beings. 

He’s been outside for some time, lost in his own thoughts, and is just about to turn back towards the inn when a faint, flashing light in the sky gives him pause.

It looks like a star, at first, shining brighter in the blanket of night, winking at him as he gazes upwards. But as he continues to watch, Halsin realizes that the star is moving - and it’s moving faster as each moment passes. It seems to tumble from the heavens, leaving a trail of starlight in its wake as it travels westward, towards the mountain pass. 

Without much thought, Halsin’s feet carry him in the direction of the falling star, stopping only to grab a torch as he leaves the inn’s protection to head further into the Shadowlands. He tries his best to follow the star, but as it hurtles across the sky and gets closer and closer to the towering trees, he starts to lose sight of it. The only evidence that it makes it to earth are the sudden tremors beneath his feet.

The star has landed. 

Halsin’s heart races in his chest as he travels toward the last place he’d seen it. And for reasons he can’t describe, he can feel something calling to him. A power like he’s never felt before seems to reach out and wrap around him as it pulls him through the decaying landscape. 

Rocks crunch beneath his feet, dead tree branches rustle, and the only other sound he can hear is his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. These lands have always given him a sense of unease - a feeling that seems tenfold now as he wanders them alone. 

He walks for much longer than he’d anticipated, and he’s worried for a moment that he has somehow passed by the impact site when an otherworldly glow starts to break through the trees as he crests a small hill. He follows the light, and the feeling tugs at his chest until he reaches the top, his eyes widening as his breath stutters in his chest. 

The crater in the ground is larger than he expected and the sight before him is like nothing he’s ever seen. Dust floats in the air around the site, still unsettled from its misplacement among the earth. An acrid, burnt tang makes Halsin’s nose tingle unpleasantly, the smell settling on his tongue. 

But it’s not these things that bring Halsin pause. No. What makes the old druid stop is what sits in the crater itself–for it is not simply a star he witnessed fall from the sky, but an angel. 

He can see their form, illuminated by the ethereal pale white light they seem to give off, and as he walks closer, torch held high to warn off any shadows who may dare to venture close, he realizes that they are actually a she. 

He’s struck first by her beauty.

It’s nothing as extravagant as he remembers from the tales of fallen angels as a child, where those who looked upon them would be blinded by the otherworldly allure. This angel is in fact beautiful, but in a more natural way. Still striking to Halsin, but perhaps appearing more subdued to others. 

It’s only when he’s at the edge of the crater does Halsin’s mind finally shift from surprise, to utter concern. The acrid smell he first noticed must have come from the way the angel burned as she fell from the sky. He can see now that the great white wings extending from her back are heavily injured, the white feathers majority singed gray and black, and some even falling away from her wings completely. One of the appendages even seems to be bent at an odd angle - broken, if Halsin had to guess from this distance. 

Her person is in much the same condition. Her pearl-white dress is torn, ragged, and stained a dingy gray. Blackened smudges cover most of the skin he is able to see - soot, dirt, and what he assumes must be blood, if the various injuries have anything to say. For a moment, Halsin fears she may not have survived the fall. But as he inches closer, kneeling by her side, he is able to see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. This closeness also reveals another problem. Her breathing is erratic, and each breath comes out with a faint wheeze, as if something is flooding her lungs. 

Before Halsin can truly think, he is already acting. He plants the torch in the ground beside him, moving to gather the angel in his arms. First, he softly tucks the being’s wings behind her back,  careful not to jostle the broken one more than needed. Then, when he is confident that he can gather her into his arms, he does just that. He worries she may wake as he moves her, the pain stirring her from her unconscious state, but she stays under, not so much as twitching as Halsin stands with her gathered to his chest. 

For a moment, as he fully remembers his surroundings, an icy fear clings to him.  How will he traverse the curse with no hand to hold a light source? But when he steps from the crater, he is surprised to find that the pale white glow is emitting from the angel herself. As if protected by pure moonlight.

Haslin hasn’t been sure of much as of late, but he knows deep within his being, that he must save her. 

No matter what it takes. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The walk to camp is uneventful, but Halsin’s arrival with a woman in his arms, is not. 

He hears Astarion scoff before he sees the vampire, the sound echoing across camp. 

“Another one?” Astarion sighs. “I mean, really? The camp is crowded enough already.” 

Halsin, usually one slow to anger or frustration, pulls the angel closer to him as he bites back. “I will not stand by when another creature requires my help, even if you might, Astarion.” 

He doesn’t stay around to listen to the man’s reply, but thinks he hears Astarion mutter something about a bear and claws. 

Halsin makes for his tent, and the only other person to inquire about the being in his arms is Tav. They are kind enough to only ask if he needs anything rather than prying, which Halsin appreciates but declines nonetheless. 

He can’t help the sudden possessiveness that overcomes him, as if this angel is his to protect and his alone. Only Thaniel is by his side when he enters his small, secluded part of camp, the small boy eyeing the creature curiously. 

“An angel?” he asks as Halsin moves to set the woman gently on his bedroll just inside his tent. 

Halsin nods. “I saw her fall from the sky myself,” he says, now fully taking in her injuries. “She has been gravely injured. I only hope I am able to help.” 

Thaniel is quiet for a moment before he crouches beside the Druid and reaches out to run a soft hand along the angel’s wings, careful not to injure her further. 

“She is here for a reason,” he says cryptically, eyes turning up towards Halsin. “You were meant to find her. I can feel it as clearly as if the forest itself is speaking to me.” 

Halsin pauses his work to look at the child, always one to know more than he may appear. 

He knows at a fundamental level that Thaniel’s words are true. Nature does not continue without due cause, it was fate that allowed him to find this angel. 

What he can’t figure out…is why? 

Halsin shakes his head, ridding himself of these thoughts for now as he sends the boy away. He can worry about fate and reasoning later. Right now, he must try to keep her alive. 

Although he is powerful, he has only a limited supply of healing magic, a supply he chooses to use on her internal injuries, those he cannot fix without its aid. 

He focuses his attention inward, drawing on the power he has as he hovers his hands over the angel’s ribs, that familiar yellow glow pulsing from his hands and into her body. 

It takes longer than usual, telling Halsin her injuries must have been worse than he thought. But, after a few moments, her labored breathing eases, no longer a bubbling wheeze but a slow and smooth rhythm. 

The last of his magic, he uses to heal her wing, wincing as it snaps back into place under his hands. Only then does the magic glow ebb away. 

He reaches out to run tender hands along the main structure of her wings, checking for any other abnormalities. He’s just reached the tip of her newly-healed appendage when the woman jerks beneath him, her hand shooting up to grip his wrist with an unnatural strength. 

The cry that falls from his lips is one of surprise more than pain, but he can’t help but be aware of the ache settling deep in his bones as they seem to grind together beneath her supernatural grip. 

He glances down at her face, his lips falling open when he’s met with eyes glowing pure gold, complete power coming off the being in waves. She gasps in pain as she moves, and Halsin watches in complete and utter shock as the light slowly drains from her eyes, the strength in her grip waning as it does so. Only when the regular eyes of a human meet his own does the angel finally speak. 

“Halsin…”

His name is but a whisper from her lips before her eyes roll back and she slumps unconscious onto his bedroll once more. For a moment, Halsin is worried that she has passed on, her form eerily still once again. But the steady rise and fall of her chest assures him she still lives. 

Only when he is sure she still breathes does his mind jump back to what had just occurred. 

How did she know his name? 

[rosieofcorona]

The Shape of Your Hands

Guess who's back with another soft Halsin x Tav fic. Literal (but very mild) hurt/comfort themes, so TWs for: blood, stitches, minor injury. Also on AO3, if you prefer. Thank you for reading! 💕

“You seem impatient,” Tav observes, as Halsin fiddles with his whittling knife.

In his opposite hand, he holds a piece of wood so sharp it could rival a blade. He had intended it to take the shape of something pleasing, something soft– a songbird, perhaps, or a poppy flower. The shape of her hands. The long fingers, the slender wrist. 

Instead, he has made a weapon. 

He is consumed by thoughts of Thaniel, resting fitfully in his tent, and of Oliver, somewhere out there beyond camp. Of the curse that split them, ripped the very fabric of nature down the middle, and cloaked them all in unending, unyielding night. He slices absently at the wood, over and over, the shavings piling in little coils at his feet. 

“It’s been a century of this,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings. “I am anxious to end it.”

“As we all are.” 

“Then why idle here in camp?” He takes a tone he doesn’t mean to, but cannot seem to help. 

“We are not idling,” Tav bristles. “We are spent. Even your magic– even Gale’s magic– is depleted in this place.” 

It’s the truth, though Halsin is loath to admit it. The Shadowlands weaken even the most powerful among them. Bend them. Break them. He has seen it. 

“We will gather ourselves,” she goes on, “And we will finish this. After a hundred years, what’s one more day?”

“What’s–?” Halsin’s frustration sneaks up on him, crashes over them both like a rogue wave. “You do not understand. One more day is one more day, when one more hour, one more moment is insufferable–” 

His knife cuts in, literally, the sharpened edge slipping past the grain and into his finger, deep enough to make him drop the wood, to suck in a breath through his teeth. 

It distracts him for a moment, forces his anger back onto himself. Or perhaps that’s where the anger’s always been. It is his fault, he knows, that this has gone on so long, that the shadow-curse has been allowed to linger. If he had been wiser, less distracted, less careless–

Careless. He almost laughs at the irony of the moment, the cut on his hand pulsing.

“Here,” says Tav, softening. “Let me help.”

She comes to kneel before him, takes his blade and sets it gingerly beside her on the ground. It glints in the firelight in a way that makes it look like it’s winking, taunting him as a little rivulet of blood flows down his palm. 

“It’s nothing,” Halsin insists, though the grimace on his face gives him away. “I can heal it.” 

“You ought to save your energy. It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

She is holding his big hand in both of hers, turning it carefully this way and that, examining the damage. 

“I can stitch it, if you like,” she offers, flicking her eyes up to his. “Astarion’s been teaching me.”

“To stitch wounds?”

“Well, to embroider.” She gives a sheepish little grin. “But he says I’m very precise. And he’s not the type to lie to spare my feelings.” 

Halsin nods his consent. 

Tav stands and walks toward her tent, and Halsin presses his other hand into the cut to stem the bleeding. It would be easier to cast something simple, he thinks, but she’s right– to use his magic on so small a thing, with all that was still to come, would be a waste. 

Through the firelight he sees her silhouette returning, supplies in hand. 

“Come closer,” she says, settling cross-legged before the fire. “Put your hand here.” 

She shows him, places her own hand on the edge of her knee. 

“I’ll get blood on you,” he cautions, but she only laughs at that. 

“You would not be the first.” 

Halsin does what she asks of him, sits across from her and rests his hand, palm side-up, on her leg. She bends close to examine it again, to wipe away the blood with a soft white cloth. 

“I owe you an apology,” Tav says softly. “I forget, sometimes, how long you have been fighting, when I have only just picked up a sword.”

He feels the prick of the needle, the pull of the thread. The whisper of breath on his skin. 

It is equal parts reward and punishment to have her this close, this way. To have her tend to him, to touch him and not be able to touch her back. Not in all the ways he wants to. 

This is the part he doesn’t tell her, the part she doesn’t understand. It’s not the shadow-curse alone that feels so urgent. Each day in darkness is a day he cannot make his feelings known– a different kind of torment, but not lesser.

They sit in silence until she finishes. A final knot, a cut of the thread, and she sits back on her heels to inspect her work. Six tidy little sutures in a tidy little row. 

Astarion was right. 

This is the kind of thing he taught his students in the Grove, before the war, before the curse, when he was not yet named Archdruid. When things were simpler.

When he thanks her she relaxes, swipes at her brow with the back of her hand. She leaves the barest streak of blood trailed like a comet across her temple, and Halsin, without thinking, reaches forward to wipe it away. 

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. Tav seems to turn into his touch, to feel as much of him as possible, to rest the softness of her cheek against his fingers. 

He wants to kiss her in this moment, just like this. 

It would be easy to lean forward and press his lips to hers– only gently, at least at first, harder if she reciprocated. He can imagine her soft hair woven between his fingers, later wrapped around his fist as his mouth moved down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. 

He can almost feel her weight on him, can almost hear the little sounds that he could draw from her if she would let him try. If he would let himself. 

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Tav smiles. 

She sweeps the thought from his mind like a hand passing through smoke. It’s for the best, Halsin thinks. They cannot afford distractions now. 

Still, it doesn’t stop him placing a kiss against her forehead, or stroking her cheek with his thumb one final time. 

He reassures her. “There is nothing to forgive.”

He resolves that when they leave here– if they leave here– he will tell her all the things he feels out loud.

One more day.

[romanarose]

Love and Friendship

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: Joel drives you and you friends home.

Warnings: Mentions of drinking and getting drunk, brief mention of cheating and bad relationship not with reader or Joel, but her friend. Joel being respectful as hell.

Immersivity: Reader is fem and drinks

Written for the @swiftiscruff fic exchange! This is dedicated to every single one of the people in my RomanaVerse discourd server, in no particular order.

Lila, Angie, Kit, Kate, Katie, May, Tara, Winnie, Alicia, Del, Whitney, Dolli, Fen, Haru, Ivy, Mickyla, Pimo, Soup, Olive. Thank you to all you guys who have been supporting my work for years or few weeks. I love you all. If i somehow missed your name its just bc im silly i swear.

******************

“JOOOOOOOOOOOEL!!!!”

Joel had to pull the phone away from his head as you screamed over the thumping sounds of the club. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. While you were out with friends, he had spent the evening and into the warm summer night Sarah’s room putting in a built-in bookshelf. She was on a trip with his parents for a few weeks and wanted to surprise her when she got back. Sarah always wanted a built-in bookshelf. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry darl’n!” Joel ran down the stairs, shoving his feet into his shoes and grabbing his keys. “I lost track of time, I’ll be there in 10!”

Joel was supposed to pick you up at 1 AM from the bar. It was 1:53, and he wouldn’t get there until the bar closed. 

“It’s okay baby!” you didn’t sound peeved at all. “But could we maybe drop off my friends too? Since we’re out anyway?”

He hopped into his car. “Yeah, of course baby, of course. Just stand outside once they close up, don’t talk to no one and don’t go near any cars. Make sure Angie doesn’t wander off with no one.”

You promised to stay on the phone with him until he got there. Joel didn’t like you leaving the bars on your own, too many freaks and perverts out there.

Joel pulled up to find you with your friends standing by the building, and he got out to open the door for you and them. “Sorry the back’s a little messy, ladies, work truck and all- hold on.” As you got in the front, Joel got a blanket from the black and laid it over the seats “There, less dirty.”

Angie, Kat and Lana all thanked Joel, and climbed in the back. 

While Joel drove to Lana and Kat’s, you talked to you rfriends about the night. 

“I can’t believe you danced with him Ang, what the fuck. He cheated on you three times.”

“I knoooooowwww!” She giggled. “But he’s sooooooo cute!!!”

Kat rolled her eyes with a smile. “Girl he looks like a grown up Big Mouth guy.”

“Nick Kroll?”

“What? No. Like the cartoon guy grown up.”

“Yeah, the weird Big Mouth kid was modeled after Nick Kroll so that’s just Nick Kroll? And he’s hot??”

Kat groaned, sinking down into their seat. “No, not Nick Kroll, the one voiced by John Mul- wait, you think Nick Kroll is hot?”

The conversation continued with Angie trying to justify how she wants to give Jake ‘Just one more chance!’

Finally, you turn to Joel. “What do you think, baby?”

Joel sighed, and shifted in his seat a bit. “Well, it ain’t none of my business, and I shouldn’t really git involved…”

You smile at your boyfriend. “But you have an opinion anyway.”

With a good natured huff, he lets it out. “It’s just that Angie, I think you’re a nice gal, and if I may, respectfully, easy on the eyes and I think you could do better than a 30 year old still trying to get his rap career off the ground and looks like a naked mole rat.”

The truck erupted in laughter, including Angie,at Joel’s half-roast, half compliment, and he smiled softly. He liked your friends, and he wanted them to like him too.

*

First up was Kat and Lana. Lana was quite drunk so Joel put the truck in park and helped Kat take her girlfriend inside. Once through the door and up the stairs and safe, Joel said goodnight and locked the door as he left.

Angie was asleep by the time he was back.

“She alright?” He asked about your best friend. 

You mumbled, tired but with a smile. You had a great night, and loved your friends very, very much. “Yeah, she didn’t drink that much. She’s just not used to being up this late”

Joel hummed in recognition. “That’s right, she works the early shift. She’s probably up at like what, 4 AM?”

Turning to him with a bright smile, you giggle a bit. “How do you remember that?”

He shrugged, not thinking much of it. “Angie’s usually the first to leave, so it makes sense.”

You can’t help beam at him, streetlights periodically illuminating his pretty face, strong nose, full cheeks. Your friends mattered to you, them and Joel and Sarah were your everything. So many times, you hear of women whose friends hate their man and vice versa, how there was contention. Hell, Angie’s stupid ass ex never wanted her to hang out with your girlfriends, saying you and them were bad influences, accusing Kat and Lana of trying to sleep with her, etc etc etc. Joel was never like that. 

From the beginning, Joel was respectful, kind, and welcoming to your friends and family. They were welcome over any time, and sometimes came over when you weren’t home to wait for you. You trusted them with Joel and Joel with them. He’d always offer to BBQ something on a warm day, or make you drinks. Slowly, as he’s gotten more comfortable, your precious, shy man has been joking around with them, which makes you smile. Joel was more nervous than he let on a lot of the time, hiding his anti-anxiety pills  from you for months after you moved in. Still, he always welcomed your friends and in return they were respectful of his space and self. 

Pulling up to Angie’s, she’s sleeping like a baby.

“You’re gonna have to carry her and put her to bed, ain’t noth’n wake’n her up once she’s out.” You are about asleep yourself, leaning against the window.

Joel bawled. “I can’t do that!”

“Sure you can, have you seen your arms? Jacked.”

“No- I mean-” He sighed. “I can’t take a drunk lady to her bedroom, it’s indecent!”

“Well she ain’t sleep’n in the truck, c’mon I’ll walk with you. 

Joel sighed again but agreed. Walking around the truck, he unbuckled her, scooped her up and carried her to where you opened your door with your spare key. You guided your boyfriend to the bedroom and excused himself to get her water. There was no way you were gonna be able to put her in pj’s by yourself, so you just unzipped her dress to give her room to breathe and took off her strappy heels. You put fuzzy socks on your feet, the aloe infused kind she loved and covered her in her blankets.

A knock on the door. “She decent?”

“Yeah, come on in.”

Joel placed the glass of water and an Advil on the counter and a trash can by the bedside and said he'd be in the living room.

You sit by your friend’s side, just for a moment, stroking her hair, admiring how pretty your friend was. Beautiful woman, beautiful heart. Your best friend. 

She murmured your name. You took the opportunity to sit her up, making sure she drank some water. “Yes babe?”

“I like Joel a lot.” Angie yawned. “You should keep him.”

You chuckled. “He can’t escape me if tried.”

*

Once she was asleep again, you walk out and take Joel’s hand, wrapping your arms to hang off his. Joel opens the door for you, and you slide into the middle of the seat, snug against him when he gets in the driver’s side.

“Seatbelt.” He reminded you, you mutter ‘blah blah blah’ but he reaches over you and straps you in.

“Love you.”

“Love you too, darl’n.”

You drive down the road, Joel taking the long way home just so you could watch the night sky together. His truck rumbled and vibrated and bounced, but his arm around your shoulder steadied you.

“They like you a lot. My friends.”

“I like them too. And baby, I ain’t try’n.”

You look up at him. “Hm?”

“To escape.” Joel kissed your forehead tenderly. “Heard what you said to Angie, and I ain’t trying to escape. Not in a million years.”

******************

due to everything happening, this will be my last fic for a little. If you know my other writing formates, I will be updating there a bit here and there but with everything going on I think it's best to keep things quiet for a min. the timing is fitting, as I have a lot of projects to do before school finals.

Then, I'll be backand raring to go again! I think a break will do me good.

I love you all dearly!

No tags bc given everything, I don't wanna draw attention from myself to anyone else. Don't feel like you gotta reblog this one, I would suggest you don't to avoid the heat.

Hugs, and thank you to everyone whose supported my writing for the last 3 years.

[tieronecrush]

water in your hands

joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, MDNI. you will be blocked if you don’t have age/range in your bio)

word count: 9.7k (she's long but hopefully good?)

summary:

You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dyin' But you're holdin' me like water in your hands…

Joel will only end up failing you. You deserve better than him. He needs you to move on, to give him peace of mind. So, he gets married to someone else, to try to force you away. Except he just can’t let you go, and you always come back when he calls. Like a dog with a bird at his door.

warnings: NO USE OF Y/N, cheating (it’s moon song y’all), marriage, age difference (joel is canon age, reader is 20s/30s), use of pet names, discussions of water/drowning, ANGST, hurt/comfort, unprotected sex, fingering, praising, lowkey possessive joel & reader, undefined relationship, alcohol use, mentions of john lennon cause he needs his own warning, joel is messy and selfish

author’s note: this is my first time writing any sort of fiction in literal years, but i couldn’t help but try to write this idea cause i'm a sad girl who wishes joel miller was real! apologies for any typos/errors, i am the actual worst at proofreading (see, my master's diss that i read at least 50 times and still had typos in the submission). any interaction is appreciated <3

PART II HERE

dividers from @saradika

Fresh snow had fallen this morning, wiping away some of the evidence of daily life here in Jackson. The air was biting, you work your sleeves over ungloved hands to keep the chill away, cheeks flushed. Snow crunches under your boots while you rush from your house to work at the Tipsy Bison, Jackson’s bar. Because of course one of the first things restored in the commune, in the middle of the apocalypse, was the one place with all the alcohol. Not that you were complaining, it gave you a job in town that you enjoyed; you got to pass time by being around people and making conversation, something you didn’t get in the small cottage that you occupied by yourself.

Keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you walk, careful to watch out for patches of ice, you only look up when you hear your name called. It’s the familiar voice of your boss; at least, you call him your boss cause he makes your shifts, but he hates to feel any sort of claim over the place since, y’know, the whole communist thing.

Tommy Miller stands near the steps up to the bar, clad in his signature look of denim and chambray, denim’s sister (the man wore a Canadian tuxedo nearly every day, you kept a tally). He’s waving you over, and before you can greet him, your attention is pulled from Tommy to the pair standing next to him. 

A man, looking slightly older than Tommy but eerily similar with light grays sprinkled in his brown hair, donning a suede winter coat that was fitted across broad shoulders. His beard was patchy, not covering much of his strong jaw. Hooked nose, syrup brown eyes, olive skin looking pale from the season. There was a scar on his right temple, and other healed injuries dotting around the exposed skin. He’s handsome.

The young girl next to him just reached the man’s shoulders at her full height, bundled up in layers of sweatshirts and an open coat that didn’t look very warm. Her beanie framed her face along with her brown hair, the look on her face one of obvious teenage annoyance. She looked barely fifteen.

Tommy started introductions, barely getting a word out before the mystery man cut him off.

“I’m Joel, Tommy’s older brother. And this is Ellie.” He gestures to the girl and she gives you a nod. Joel removes a glove and extends his hand. You meet halfway, feeling the need to apologize for your cold skin chilling his own much warmer. Work-worn fingers wrap around to meet the skin on the backside of your hand. Your mind wanders to how those hands would feel in other places like -- 

Tommy’s voice breaks up your thoughts, “They’ve been traveling for a few months now to come here to Jackson.”

A smile crosses your face, grip not yet leaving Joel’s. His mouth ticks up slightly to one side.

“Welcome to Jackson, Mr. Miller, and you too, Ellie. It’s nice to put a face to the brother that Tommy’s been telling me stories about.”

“Please, just Joel. And it’s nice to meet you too, I hope he’s only told the good stuff.” Before you can respond, Ellie quips in.

“For months you have refused to tell people your name and now the first pretty girl in this perfect fucking town and you’ve given it twice.” She rolls her eyes so hard they disappear into her skull. Been there, Ellie. The attitude of a teenager is universal, even in the apocalypse.

Joel’s head snaps to Ellie and he grits out under his breath a little too loudly, “Ellie, quit cursing.”

Blush creeps across his face and you note that he didn’t say anything about Ellie knowing he thought you were pretty. Joel breaks eye contact and lets your hand go.

“Alright, hon, we should be on our way. I won’t subject you to any more of my older brother. He’s not much of a conversationalist,” Tommy teases. Joel gives Ellie a run for her money with the intensity of his eye roll.

Waving to the newcomers, you step back to head up the stairs. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see Joel take the smallest step towards you, about to follow like a puppy. 

“See you later, boss. Nice to meet you again, Ellie and Joel, enjoy your tour of our perfect fucking town.”

Joel glances back over his shoulder to watch you walk into the swinging doors. Lord, if you could read his thoughts. He knew he was in trouble the moment he saw that damn smile.

The last few weeks have been torture to Joel. He and Ellie had been back in Jackson for about a month now, getting settled in their new normal. However, it wasn’t the lifestyle change that was anguishing him.

He’d thought of you a few times after he’d met you that winter; remembering your smile when Ellie was quietly resting against his back on the horse, a fever dream of you when he was in the basement of that abandoned house, a rush of nerves when Tommy brought him to the bar for the first time since he’d been back. He was infatuated with you, and now that he’s living in the same town as you, it’s gotten worse. Foolish mind daydreams of you and him together, feeling like a teenager again with the way you make his knees weak. He’s been careful not to spend much time alone with you, reminding himself that he shouldn’t let someone like you get involved with someone like him. All he’d do was fail you, fail to give you a good life. Words were carved into his skull at this point:

You’re too broken, too bruised, too scarred, and full of guilt - you’re going to fail her, too..

The small two-bedroom cottage diagonal to his and Ellie’s house was yours, and the proximity wasn’t helping his situation. And not only were you his neighbor, but you worked at the place where Joel spent a good chunk of his free time - the bar. He’d get drinks with Tommy or other guards after a shift, and that evolved to going by himself in hopes to see you and drown his guilt over those hopes (among a lot of other things).

It’s these nights when he’s become a bit looser with his self-inflicted rules around you. He occupies the stool at the end of the bar, stealing glances as you help other customers. His index finger rims the dry glass in front of him. You approach with that same damn smile aimed at him. It’s a dangerous combination along with the liquor, both fuzz his rationality.

“Another one, Mr. Miller?” you nod to his glass, reaching out to take it from him. Soft fingertips brush over his skin, sending a jolt of energy up his arm. 

He clears his throat and answers, “Now, darlin’, I think I told you to call me Joel. Actually, at this point, I think it would be classified as begging. Mr. Miller makes me feel old.”

Throwing your head back with a laugh, the skin of your neck is exposed. His tongue involuntarily wets his lips when he thinks of leaving a mark there.

“Feel old? You are old, Miller,” he fakes offensive, eyebrows raised, “Aw, c’mon Joel, you know I’m just kiddin’. You’ve still got it. That silver fox thing you got goin’ on really does it for women ‘round here.”

He wants to be bold enough to ask if it’s doing anything for you, but instead, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief, taking the two fingers of whiskey you poured.

“And how do you know that, darlin’? Haven’t had many offers for courtship since I got here.”

“I work in the bar. Women get drunk and spill their every thought. Including that the new guy with the daughter is hot,” you lean over the edge of the bar top, face less than a foot in front of him. Your eyes shift down to his lips. “Plus, I might encourage the conversation with my own thoughts.”

That smile again, except now it’s more of a smirk. He sips his drink, capturing the lingering alcohol with a lick of his lips. Your eyes go again, watching his tongue.

“I’m glad I can be such a riveting topic of conversation for you, sweetheart. Hope it’s good thoughts only.”

“Wouldn’t say the thoughts I have about you are good, Joel,” he swallows hard hearing the flirtation in your comment, feeling his jeans tighten.

Snapped out of hazy judgment, he resurfaces from the alcoholic tides; the rules he has about you act as a life preserver for him to cling to before getting caught in your rip current.

Joel throws back the rest of his drink, standing from the stool. He needs to get out of here if he wants to keep his promise to himself. Well, not that he wants to, but it’s what’s right. He can’t get you involved with his broken self. Your face drops slightly at the sight of him leaving, and part of him wants to lean over the bar to grab your face and kiss you hard in reassurance that he has the same kind of thoughts. But he can’t.

So he wishes you goodnight and walks home, angry with himself for nearly crossing the line. But he can’t help but think of your smile, and those flirty comments, as he tries to fall asleep.

You’re wide awake. Every time you close your eyes, your brain starts looping your conversation with Joel. Fingers rub circles in your temples, cursing to yourself as you get the replay of his extremely quick exit after you’d said you have…not so good thoughts about him.

The only indication you’d gotten from him that he felt any type of way toward you is his periodic visits to the bar on his own, spending the night chatting and laughing with you. You’d sometimes find yourself meeting his stare when you’d see each other across the street from your porches or in town.

But he’d never made a move, hell the most he’d touch you was to take a glass of whiskey or beer bottle from you. So why did you think he would suddenly reciprocate when you’d made openly flirty comments?

You needed some air. Just to clear your head of this embarrassing play-by-play. You pull yourself to stand and grab the sweatshirt at the end of your bed before heading out.

Jackson had the sort of late spring, early summer climate that happened to be your favorite. Warm, mildly humid days that brought the colors back after winter, and chillier nights, the right temperature to keep your cotton sleeping shorts on and add an extra layer up top to keep you warm.

Without thinking, you started towards the old barn on the edge of the residential area. The structure had seen better days, mostly used for storage now, but the open field behind it had an incredible view of the sky at night. It was a place you loved to go when that deep, dull ache in your chest wouldn’t quit.

Gravel crunches softly under your feet, small pebbles slip out from under your soles with each step. Not remotely focused on what’s in front of you, it comes as a surprise when hands land on your biceps. Your knee-jerk reaction is to scream, but as you look from the ground to the person grabbing you, the sound dies in your throat when you meet chestnut eyes.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me! Hasn’t anyone told you, you can’t just go grabbing women at night? Well, at any time of the day, really.” Your voice is rasped into a whisper despite the fact that there’s not a soul around.

“Maybe you should be paying a bit more attention to your surroundings when you’re walking by yourself at night, sweetheart” Joel counters, mouth ticking up to the side as his drawl continues, “Don’t know who’s lurking in the shadows in little ol’ Jackson.”

“You’re apparently the only person lurking, and you’re not doing a very good job since you just came right up to me.”

“Couldn’t help myself, I guess. What’re you doin’ out here at this hour?”

Heat burns under the surface of your skin when Joel drops his hands from your arms, the sensation radiating throughout the rest of your body. “Couldn’t sleep. I was gonna go sit out in the field behind the barn for a bit, admire the moon.”

He lights up with the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him. He has the best poker face out of anyone you know, but a part of you hopes that he feels like he doesn’t need it around you.

“Mind if I join ya, darlin’? Might be nice to stargaze a bit.”

You have to hold back from nodding frantically, attempting to play it off as if you’re weighing your options, “I don’t mind at all. You can teach me about the stars.”

The walk over is quiet but comfortable. At the shabby split-rail fence, you lift your foot to the lowest rail and push off the ground to mount the barrier. Joel’s hand meets the small of your back to hold you steady. Heat emanates from the spot, fingertips brushing your sweatshirt. His warmth leaves you as you make it over, watching as he easily clears the fencing with one smooth movement.

“Any spot in particular?”

As an answer, you grab Joel’s hand. Nerves bubble in your stomach, two steps ahead with your arm outstretched behind. His larger strides are quick to close the gap, arms between your bodies with palms pressed together. His hand shifts in yours, fingers lacing with yours and curling around the outside of your smaller hand, his thumb skimming back and forth.

Steps slow at a small clearing in the tall, overgrown grass, settling down on the dewy ground. He lays back with you, not focusing on the stars right away. His eyes are a cooler shade in the moonlight, yet no warmth is lost in the way he looks as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Suddenly aware of yourself under his stare, you lightly clear your throat and turn toward the sky. “Do you know a lot about astronomy? I never got to learn much, other than my brother teaching me how to find the north star to navigate.”

Joel’s attention moves to the stars, his voice coming out lower and softer than in the daylight, “I used to know a lot more. Did a lot of camping before and learned to find the major constellations. Taught Ellie some of ‘em, and now she’s got a few books on astronomy. She kept saying how she wanted to fly, go to space or the moon like Sally Ride.”

“She’d be a pretty badass astronaut.”

He laughs softly, nodding before his expression settles into one of reminiscence and guilt all muddled together.

“You’re not wrong,” he pauses shortly before continuing, “But, I think I can still remember most of the constellations. What’s that thing called where you’re assigned one when you’re born?”

“Astrology?”

“That’s it. I know where my constellation is. I’m a Libra, whatever that means.”

Joel lifts your joined hands, his index fingers extended as he traces out the shape of scales in the corner of the sky.

Pulling the limited memories you have from the book you’d found sitting on a shelf at home, you follow Joel’s finger, “Libras are supposed to be balanced, that’s the whole scales thing, I guess. And impartial, but sometimes indecisive. Oh, and charming.”

Joel nestles your hands back on the ground. “Balanced, impartial, and indecisive? Sounds a lil’ vague, darlin’. Not sure I’m believin’ the stars can tell you about your personality.”

“Well, they got the charming part right about you. You’re certainly a Southern gentleman, got ladies swooning left and right.”

“Nah, I don’t even notice ‘em. Too busy focused on someone I’m pretty charmed by myself.”

You let go of Joel’s hand, turning onto your side to face him. He mirrors you, and you take the chance to lean in. Lips touch together with a brush, breaths fanning over both of your faces as you wait for his response.

Joel sits up, weight resting on his elbow. Broad shoulders lean over to shift you onto your back, rich eyes never leaving you. His touch is confident, a large hand fully cups the side of your face. Fingers sprawl along your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone. His frame leans further over yours, lips hovering as his voice breaks the moment of silence in a rasp, “This okay?”

Your voice thick with anticipation answers, “Yes.”

His kiss sends ripples of tension over your body. Fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves, feet press into the dewy earth, chest tightens with quickened beating, lips match his depth. He tastes minty from toothpaste, mixed with notes of the Tennessee whiskey he orders. It’s intoxicating, reminders of him to seep into your daily life.

Joel brings you closer with a hand in your hair. His tongue traces your lips, parting them to let him in. When his fingers leave the crown of your head, his touch floats over your body, caressing your waist, sprawling under your breast, and jumping to your exposed thigh. He’s pressing your skin back against your body as if you were going to flow out from under him.

His frame shifts over you, pulling him away and breaths mix from open-mouth exhales. Legs open and hands find purchase on his expansive shoulders, heat pooling at your center when his knees settle between yours.

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” Joel’s earthy tone sighs, his hands moving along your body with a rumble of satisfaction brewing out of his chest.

His touch surrounds your cheeks as if he was bringing water up to drink from his hands, only your lips are the means to quench his thirst. You moan into the deep kiss, finding a frantic rhythm together. Fingertips dance along his torso to reach the hem of his navy t-shirt.

Hot, humid kisses line your neck to the collar of your sweatshirt. Tugging at the fabric and slipping his hand underneath, you comply to get the material off. Your t-shirt follows in its wake, the chill of the ground and Joel’s touch spreading goosebumps on your skin.

You breathe out a moan at his teeth scraping the curve of your shoulder, hands pulling at his shirt. He follows the silent order, getting the soft cotton over his head.

His hips grind down, arousal flooding your core. Another moan slips at the feeling of Joel’s breath meeting a small peak on your chest, sucking the pebbled skin.

Hips jerk up against his bulge, Joel’s throaty groan cutting into the night.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so soft…”

He gives the same treatment to the opposite breast and large fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts, tugging lightly to ask permission.

“Touch me, please. Wanna feel you…”

Joel’s lips separate from the skin with a pop. Your shorts come off, Joel retaking his place between your velvety thighs.

His eyes worship your body, dark with lust but still harboring a warmth. A slight ache burns in your hips that you completely ignore when his knuckles brush up your covered slit.

There isn’t a single thought in his head that doesn’t revolve around you.

His fingers slide against the last piece of fabric covering you, feeling your wetness through it. Your delicate sounds encourage him, thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. He watches for a moment, eyes catching your face as you whine.

“Joel, please…”

His teasing doesn’t cease. Instead, he removes his thumb from your clit, hooking his finger to pull your panties to the side and exposing your wetness to the chill of the night.

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, darlin’. Not a mind reader…” He grins as you huff out your frustration.

“Please, Jesus Christ, want your fingers inside of me…” you look at him impatiently as you wait for an answer.

Biting his lip to hold back a groan, he pulls your panties off to leave you completely naked under him. His mouth waters, taking you all in as his touch runs up your bent knees.

Two fingers gather your wetness, pressing harder circles into your clit. Your whimpers egg him on, slipping down to tease your entrance with one finger.

“Good girl. ‘M gonna make this pretty pussy come around my fingers.”

With a smirk, one finger slides into you. Moans fill the still air, the tightness of you around his middle finger making him stiffen. A second finger easily joins the first to work you open.

His name is repeated like a prayer when he hooks his fingers on the uptick, searching for that rough patch inside your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good,” you writhe under his touch, the sight and sound of you falling apart making him ache. He uses the hand resting on your stomach as a temporary fix for himself, a deep moan interrupting the orchestra of your whimpers and wetness. He pulls his hand away from his jeans, the need to feel you come overpowering his own.

He moves in circles around clit while fingers work in and out quicker, wanton moans growing louder and higher in pitch to accompany the sounds of your drenched cunt.

“So tight around my fingers. Feels good, yeah? You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

The sounds you make in response are lewd, pleasure overtaking you as you rasp out, “Joel, I-I’m-”

“I know, baby. Let it happen.”

His words push you over the edge, fingers nearly pushed out from how hard you clench around them. Moans flood his ears, and all he can focus on is making that feeling last for you.

Soft breaths return when you’ve recovered, hand finding him hard and working your palm. Fingers open his button and fly, shoving the fabric as far down as you can manage.

“You sure, darlin’? We don’t have to, watching you was enough for me.”

You make your way inside his jeans, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking slowly. He’d never really been one to care about underwear in the middle of the apocalypse, and right now he was thanking his past, lazy self for the lack of barrier. A shudder ripples down his spine, your touch so much better than his own fist.

“‘M sure, baby. Need you inside of me,” he twitches in your loose grip at the request, pushing his pants down just far enough to free himself.

Nails scrape against his scarred chest, a moan escaping you as he guides the head of his cock through your slick before positioning himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock onto where your bodies meet as he enters with a gentle thrust, your nails biting into the skin under his collarbone. He looks for a second at your face, your nod permission for him to move once you’ve adjusted to the stretch. 

He nearly comes at the sight of you taking him fully, your tightness and warmth making the edges of his vision blur. “So, so good, baby…Feels so tight and warm and wet. Perfect, you’re perfect.”

Wetness pools around the base of him and onto the grass below, drenching the sound of skin meeting skin. He watches your eyes screw shut, whimpering as you take every thrust, “Fuck, Joel. Feel so full, ‘m close already.”

His hips work you harder, feeling that taut rope in his gut near its breaking point. One hand leaves your leg held against him, licking his thumb to make quick movements on your clit. His name tumbles from your lips in a high-pitched whine and your head presses back against the ground.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your walls grip him tighter and nearly knock the wind out of his lungs, your back arching off of the grass and nails biting into his shoulders. Eyes open when you settle, clouded and full of pleasure. His thrusts grow sloppy as he chases after his own high.

“Fuck, ‘m close. Feel so damn good.”

“Come for me, please Joel, wanna see you come.”

Your begging snaps that taut feeling in his gut; he quickly pulls out and replaces your warmth with his fist. His chin falls to his chest with a guttural moan as he watches his spend cover your lower stomach, glistening in the soft light. Warmth spreads across his body in a tingle, pleasure clearing his head.

They say drowning is one of the more peaceful ways to go. Once the first few breaths of water fill your lungs, your muscles relax and there’s a warmth that washes over you. Then you pass out and everything goes black. It’s not comfortable, but the tranquility makes it better.

Joel feels like he’s drowned in you, muscles relaxed, warm peace in his chest. His vision is black for a moment, breaths deep in recovery. His eyes adjust to see moonlight flooding your face and body in cool blue. His hands start roaming again, softer this time. Pulling out of you slowly, your whimper meets his small hiss.

He lays you on your side to face him, your form molding like fresh clay.

“You okay?”

Your eyes close contently when his fingers brush your hair from your face, humming, “Fantastic. I wanted that to happen ever since I met you.”

His heart beats quicker at your confession, his mind immediately repeating those words - you’re going to fail her, too.

He only holds you closer in response, and by the time you’re both dressed again and walking back to your street, he knows that he can’t let this continue.

Guilt harbored in his chest over forcing himself to avoid you for weeks after you’d given him exactly what he longed for. He didn’t want you to think that he saw you as a one-night stand, it had felt like more than he wanted to admit, but he couldn’t seek you out to apologize. If he saw you alone, he’d end up doing it all over again. He didn’t regret it. He was just trying to do right by you. Give you space, give you the means to move on before you’d drift too far into the deep end with him.

So he decided to move on himself, try to force your hand into someone else’s if you saw him coupled up. It was cruel, but that’s who he was deep down. Cruel, guilty, undeserving.

He asked Tommy to set him up with someone, and his brother told him about a nice widow who’d been in Jackson since the beginning and had mentioned how cute she thought Joel was. That was enough for him. He asked her out that night.

He’d been dating Heather for a couple of months now. She was pretty, with medium blonde hair and blue eyes. Not much younger than him. Everyone knew they were together, and he assumed that meant you did too. He’d seen you around, eyes never meeting while he walked to his house hand-in-hand with her. He heard rumors of you leaving the Tipsy Bison with a guy in tow a few times, and despite the pang of jealousy that he felt, he kept reminding himself that this was right. You’d fall in love with that guy or someone else, forgetting all about him.

A few months of dating led them to a quick engagement. Joel still couldn’t get you out of his head and took extreme measures to ensure nothing more would happen. They got married in his backyard in a small ceremony. The occasion was lowkey, at the request of Joel. Word spread after the first outing Joel had taken to the market, the silver band on his finger telling everyone what they wanted to know. Each conversation came with congratulations to him and his new wife. He returned them with tight, polite smiles, hiding the oozing guilt that was filling his chest.

Joel had found out that you’d skipped work a few times when Tommy mentioned it in passing on patrol, which was extremely unlike you considering you loved your job. He knew it was because of his marriage.

He tried to bury his worry, telling himself that he was doing the right thing. For him and for you.

Heather had lived her young life with her first husband, she wouldn’t grow to resent him for what he failed to give her. You would move on, as he did, and find some nice guy to settle down with, who could give you what you were looking for. What you deserved.

The worry carried over the day, his brain jumping to worst-case scenarios. He had to make sure you were okay. He would knock on your door to see if you were there. It was the neighborly thing to do.

Joel silently left his bed with his wife sleeping next to him, slipping out the front door in the hours before dawn. He needed to check on you, even if he had to look in through your windows to make sure you were alive. Knuckles lightly rapped on your door, and just as he was nearly about to go find your bedroom window, the door cracked apart from the jamb, and your face was lit by the soft night light.

“What are you doing here?” He can taste the bitterness in your tone.

He swallows down at the toes of his boots, raising both shoulders in a small shrug.

“Tommy said you skipped out on work most of this week. Just wanted to make sure you were alright. That you were alive.” He tries to joke, but your expression remains annoyed.

“Well, I’m fine. Alive. You should probably go, your wife’s at home.”

The door starts to shut, but he quickly grips the edge, rasping out, “I need to talk to you.”

You pause for a second before opening the door. Not waiting for him, you move to sit on your couch. Joel strides over, sitting at the other end and cheating his body towards you curled up in the corner.

 “What do you need to talk about?”

“I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have ignored you after that night. Hell, that night shouldn’t have even happened. I got caught up-”

“Do you regret it?”

He thinks about saying yes. It would make everything so much easier. You could hate him, call him an asshole for fucking you and breaking your heart. But he can’t lie to you.

“No. I could never regret it.”

“So why shouldn’t it have happened?”

He sighs, wringing his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Honestly? I’ve been trying so hard to do right by you, darlin’. You deserve so much more than me. I’m broken, bruised, scarred. I’ve lived an ugly life, and I don’t want to end up giving any part of it to you. I can barely live with myself for the things I’ve done, even if I’ve done them to save my people. I’ve lost so much, and taken all the same. You’re so bright. I see it in that beautiful smile of yours. You deserve someone who can add beauty to your life, to live a long while with you. I can’t do that for you. All I’m going to do is fail you; it’s all I can seem to do these days. So I chose for us, and I moved on, and I hope you can find the same thing.”

After a breath, he feels like he can face you. That confidence crumbles immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks, the soft sniffle as you wipe your runny nose with your sleeve.

“That’s not true, Joel. You could never fail me because all I ever wanted you to give me was yourself. I love you, Joel. You are someone that can give me a beautiful life. Or could’ve, I guess, but now…” your eyes flick to the band on his left ring finger, “What you did was so fucking selfish, Joel. You couldn’t even have a conversation with me. And no matter how angry I get with you, I still can’t help but fucking love you.”

All he can do is kiss you. He’s spilling every emotion he can’t speak into this kiss. It would be wrong to tell you what you want to hear from him, even if it hurts to keep it inside him. His hands run over your body, gathering you in his arms and guiding you back to your bedroom.

He shouldn’t keep going. He should stop. But the feeling of your lips on his, your soft skin in his hands, and the fact that you love him keep his feet moving down the short hallway.

He can’t give you up. He was in way too deep and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to pull you in with him.

Despite the anger, sadness, and betrayal, your love for him overpowered it all. You needed to show him, to let him go with a searing memory of how you feel.

All of the actions between you two are sloppier than before. Each touch is rougher, grabbing at whatever you can take in the midst of heady kisses. Every movement is filled with unspoken words.

Joel gently pushes you the last few inches onto your bed, kicking off his boots and working at the buttons of his shirt, “Take it all off, baby, don't wanna waste a second.”

You’re only apart for as long as it takes for clothes to be shed. Back against the pillows of your unmade bed, arms pull Joel in and legs spread wide. His weight is supported with one arm, a soft moan exhaled as he bites his mark into your neck. Fingers move through your wetness, circling your clit.

It’s your turn to be selfish, and all you want is for Joel to feel himself inside of you. To remember what it’s like to have you when he goes home. To think about you when he fucks his wife. It feels wrong to want that, but you can’t help but feel a claim over him. The fingers tangled in his hair pull his head from its spot at the curve of your shoulder. You meet his lust-blown eyes and speak your demand.

“Fuck me, please, I need you now.”

Joel groans, fingers ceasing their movement as he questions you, “You sure, darlin’? You ready for me right now?”

“Yes, ‘m ready, please, baby,” you plead with him.

Joel repositions himself upright on his knees between your wide legs, stroking himself to get fully hard. He drags the head of his cock up your slit, coating it with your wetness before he presses the tip inside of you. You feel a tinge of pain as he splits you open, but you whisper for him to keep going.

When he’s completely inside of you, Joel sighs out your name, hands gripping your thighs and bringing one up to wrap around his waist, allowing him to sink further.

“Please, Joel, want it hard…” you whimper out, feeling the sensation of him in your gut. Joel needs no further instructions, pulling back to fuck into you hard and deep.

He watches where your bodies connect, how the drag of his cock swells your cunt. Lip pulled between his teeth, the sight makes his hips snap roughly against yours.

He’s leaving bruises with how tight he’s holding onto you, keeping you from moving up the mattress with the power of his thrusts. You don’t say anything until Joel breaks, fucking you with a possessive drive, “Mine. You’re all mine.”

“Only yours, baby. ‘M only ever gonna be yours.”

“You’re made for me, sweet girl, made to take me. Feel so fucking good, such a perfect pussy.”

You’re relieved when his eyes leave yours as he watches him hit inside you again, tears pricking your eyes from the pain and pleasure pounding through you and the thought that he won’t ever be completely yours.

That stupid piece of metal around his finger burns against the skin of your thigh. It should be a symbol of you, not someone else.

Hurt, anger, and pleasure meld together. Hands move to Joel’s shoulders, using your strength to flip over. His back hits the crumpled pillows at the headboard, sitting up as you straddle him.

“Look so beautiful on top of me, baby,” his chest rises and falls in quick succession, the next inhale sharper as you sink down completely, watching his eyes screw shut and a deep moan vibrate his chest.

“Oh fuck, take what you need, darlin’. Use my cock. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your mouth opens to tell him you can’t have what you want most. Because of what he decided for the both of you. Instead, a moan tumbles out, hips starting to roll to work him back to that near-ecstasy feeling. The room is filled with the wet smacks of skin meeting skin mixed with wanton moans. Your movements keep you both near the edge, your head back and eyes closed as you scream Joel’s name. He doesn’t reprimand you for potentially exposing yourselves to the neighbors, only reaching a hand to the back of your neck and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. You can tell he’s close when his feet dig into the mattress, hips under his vice grip. He starts fucking up into you, both of your rhythms meeting to work you higher. One hand leaves his chest to hold the side of his head, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“‘M yours…” you echo his lust-filled words. You need to remind him that at least part of him will always belong to you, that only you can make him feel this good, this loved. That you’re the one who fucks him like this. “Made for you, right? Just for you, baby. No one besides you can make me feel this good, make me come like you can. Ruined me for everyone else.”

“Mhmm, that’s fuckin’ right, darlin’. This pussy’s mine. You belong to me, all to me.” Joel’s thrusts become frantic and you lose your rhythm, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing quick circles.

You come hard, screaming his name again and whining with each thrust after your intense orgasm. Joel’s right behind you, your sounds pushing him over the edge. Warm ropes coat your walls, his husky groan reverberating under your palms pressed to his chest. Your voice can barely reach a whisper when you look at him, fingers moving to tug his hair, “And you belong to me.”

He doesn’t say anything if he even hears you, his skin sticking against yours and his come dripping out of you onto his stomach when you move to lie down. Joel gets up after he steadies his breath to grab a warm cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. He crawls back into bed, slipping under the covers after tossing the dirty washcloth into the hamper. Your head finds his chest, curling up into his side with his arm wrapping you up. He kisses your forehead as you drift off, feelings of guilt, anger, and love rising from your gut to sit square in your chest.

Cold sheets. That’s what you wake up to. Sitting up in bed, you glance around your room with sleepy eyes, searching for any evidence of Joel.

Nothing. He must’ve left after you fell asleep. You can’t blame him. It definitely wouldn’t look the best if his wife woke up in the morning and he was nowhere to be found. And he couldn’t risk someone seeing him sneak out of yours in the morning light.

You’re remembering your confession that was met with his claim over your body. Your own stupid attempt to make him believe that he belonged only to you, spurred on by his possessive words.

Something on the nightstand catches your eye. A note from Joel:

Meet me at our spot tonight, sweet girl

You met him that night, and nearly every night since then, too. Mostly in that overgrown field behind the barn, sometimes at yours when you craved complete comfort of the couch or bed.

Joel started staying later with you, holding you after the possessive claims he made over you like a prayer. He opened up about his time with Ellie before Jackson, stories about Boston, about Tess. What it was like growing up with Tommy, confessing he loved to sing and play guitar, even wanted to be a singer when he was younger and somehow ended up as a contractor. He even told you about his daughter Sarah, how beautiful and bright she was.

You told him your own story too. Leaving the Chicago QZ with your brother and sister when everything went to shit with FEDRA and the Fireflies. How you lost your sister soon after, bit by a straggling clicker in a gas station you were raiding. How your brother was the one to shoot her when she begged you both. Stories about traveling west with him, how he protected you until the day he died. You were chased by raiders looking to kill you both for your supplies, running through the forest just along the river outside of Jackson. You didn’t know the community was there, but it ended up being your saving grace. Your brother pushed you to run over the bridge, the men finally catching up to him. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t look back. All you could do was scream as you heard a gunshot.

Joel held you as you cried, you comforted him when he needed it. He never told you what happened after he and Ellie left Jackson that first time, he didn’t have to if he didn’t ever want to. These vulnerable moments brought you closer together.

But it was never close enough to stop the cycle he developed of pushing you away after a few weeks together, getting so in his head about the situation, feeling guilty, or getting paranoid if he suspects that Tommy or Maria or his wife are catching on. His abandonment would last a few days or even a week at a time.

And you always wait it out, always come back when he wants you.

Like a dog with a bird at his door, you gave all of yourself to him.

It’s a late night at work for you. Joel parked himself on his usual stool, drinking ‘til last call after his buddies left, something he’d done often in the last few weeks.

Tommy finished restocking the fridges under the counter and tossed you the keys to lock up. As he leaves, he gives Joel a knowing look and you a sympathetic one.

Joel slaps his hands against the bar top, standing when you walk from behind the counter. His steps falter a bit as he gets used to the ground underneath him. Steadying him with an arm around his back, he wraps his own around your shoulders to keep you at his side.

“Let me walk you home, baby.” Words slurs together, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. It would be a bit endearing to see him without his usual stoic persona, but the fact that this is the third night this week that he’s gotten this drunk is concerning.

You end up carrying Joel all the way home, and just when you’re about to get him to his front door, his strength overpowers your own and he pulls you away with him, dragging you two in a drunken stupor down the road.

His steps are heavy and sporadic while he whistles some song in your ear, reaching the field. He flops down into the grass, his arms sneaking around your waist when lay down with him. Joel pulls you in close, kissing you deeply and sighing against your mouth. He smells of whiskey, leather, and musk; all combining to be uniquely Joel.

You couldn’t bring yourself to argue with him about getting home so you let him kiss you, let his hand under your shirt. You listened to him recollecting the night with the patrol guys. The only touches exchanged were his fingertips running up and down your side under your loose t-shirt and your cheek pressed against his denim-covered chest.

He brought up a song that was playing on a record at the bar, John Lennon’s Woman. He reminisced about hearing that song as a young teen for the first time, and telling you how a couple of years later he wrote the lyrics down for his tenth-grade girlfriend, telling her he wrote a poem for her.

“She read it, obviously knowing the song. She crumpled it up, said ‘That’s John Lennon, not you, Joel Miller,” and walked away from me. Needless to say, she broke up with me.”

“Wow, a breakup over plagiarism. Must’ve been a real stickler for academic honesty,” you reply, sending both of you into giggles.

His laugh faded slightly, the wrinkles still showing next to his eyes and his smile lines present, jovially commenting, “You probably barely even know who John Lennon is.”

He laughs but his words made you feel small. He teased you before about the age difference, but for some reason, you couldn’t brush this one off.

“Y’know, I still remember what life was like then.”

His hand finds your chin, tilting your head up with a sigh, “That’s not what I meant, darlin’, you know I was just teasin’. You probably didn’t even know it was John Lennon if you heard one of his songs when you were young, baby.” You sit up quickly, separating from him.

“He was a fucking Beatle! Like the biggest band ever. I might be younger than you, but I’m not stupid. They were around even before you were born, so yeah, I do know who John Lennon is. And did you know he cheated on his first wife, like, a bunch of times and left her for one of those women? Sound familiar, Joel? Actually, probably not, ‘cause you’d never actually admit how you feel about me and leave your wife, even though you love me,” your words come out before you even have a chance to think about them, and as you look at Joel, you can tell he’s letting his anger and annoyance come over him, his expression turning to stone, “I feel like you just see me as some naive girl who doesn’t know anything or hasn’t dealt with shit in this world -”

“You haven’t done nearly a fraction of what I’ve had to do in this world, darlin’, so don’t get started. You are a naive girl. You’ve always had someone to protect you, and I’ve always been the protector. You don’t know nothin’ about losing yourself or having to do the worst possible thing just to save yourself or your people,” his voice is low and unwavering with an intensity you hadn’t heard before. He’s trying to hurt you now, bringing up the protection that you’d been given by your brother before he died to save you, the fact that you’ve always had support from him or the people of Jackson.

Your eyes gloss over, blurring his hunched-over figure. His words are venom seeping through the well-worn cracks in your heart. Curling up into a ball and chin on your kneecaps, pressing down into the bone to keep your lips from trembling. How childish you must look like this. Joel doesn’t move to comfort you, staring a thousand yards ahead, emotionless.

“I know you think I don’t know the guilt or pain or heartbreak that you feel 'cause I’ve been protected for a lot of my life in this world. But being in love with you, being some dirty secret to you, has given me enough guilt, pain, and heartbreak to last for the rest of my life.”

A shaky breath slipped out of your parted lips, untangling your limbs from their locked positions to stand. You turn away, legs carrying you home. You don’t look back, wiping your tears away as quickly as they fall. You’re exhausted from him, from this whirlpool of loving and leaving that he’s pulled you into. A part of you breaks just the slightest bit more, a new piece for you to mend whenever he calls you back.

You should hate Joel. He pulled you in and pushed you away, and all you could do was fall, but now it felt like sinking. And your feet won’t ever touch the bottom.

He’s taken your love willingly, and only given you possessive invocations over your body, only made your constant pain burn hotter. Linen soaked up the tears that were left on your cheeks as you laid down in bed, exhaustion taking over.

The image you see feels warm, blurred around the edges. It was his home, no sign of his wife but evidence of Ellie in the comic book and worn-out sneakers near the chair across the room. Soft strums of a guitar float around, and your sights lock on him at the other end of the couch. You have this feeling that you need to say something to him, but can’t remember for the life of you what it is; the moment overwhelming. He’s singing and playing guitar, unabashed, and with a genuine smile only for you. Tender brown eyes glance away as someone walks into the room. Ellie’s holding a lopsided birthday cake with a few candles lit. It’s decorated with a sloppy frosting drawing of the ocean, a boat on the horizon. It was a reminder of the daydream you had vocalized to Joel, spending a life on the shore in a small sailboat together. The song he was playing softly fades into Happy Birthday, his smile matching Ellie’s. All you hear, before the image fades, is his voice as you lean in to blow out your candles, “Happy birthday, darlin’. I love you.”

The clinking of stacking glasses is the only sound echoing through the empty bar as you and Tommy close out. Joel’s been ignoring you, has been for a couple of weeks after your fight, spending his free time picking up shifts or staying at home with his family. The rag you’re holding moves in circles over the shiny bar top, reflecting your face back to you. You can see the pain in your eyes seeping back after spending the night putting on a face for your customers.

“You don’t need to keep on paintin’ that pretty smile on your face, hon. I hate seein’ you looking like you’re gonna crack your jaw from forcing yourself to look happy,” Tommy sighs, looking over at you while he continues to polish the glass in his hand. “What he’s doing to you, it’s wrong. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

“He wasn’t doin’ anything I wasn’t letting him do. It takes two, Tommy. Think you’d know that with a newborn around,” you try to lighten the mood, kicking yourself for still defending Joel.

“I know. But I also know how you look at him. Like you’ve been drownin’ at sea and he’s the one who’s come along to save you.” You finally look up from your reflection on the bar surface; the shame in your face becomes too much for you.

“At this point, it feels more like he’s the one pulling me under.” 

Tommy sets the glass down and tosses the rag at it. Closing the small space between, he pulls you against his chest, arms around your shoulders. You can’t cry in front of him, embarrassed that he even knows about you and Joel in the first place, let alone that he feels sorry for you. You reciprocate the hug, gingerly wrapping your arms around his torso. The sound of the door swinging echoes in the large room. Tommy let’s you out of his comforting embrace and turns to meet the late patron.

Joel.

He’s standing across the room, eyes moving between his brother and you. He came looking for you, not expecting Tommy to still be closing out the bar with the baby at home. A furrowed brow creases lines between those soft, guilt-ridden brown eyes. The same look he’s had every time he’s shown up at your door at 2 AM to apologize, kiss you, show you how much he needs you. You fall every time, wanting to be his comfort, his relief. His lighthouse in the storm of remorse he’s constantly battling. Loyal to a fault.

At this moment, you wish for a wave to pull you under and sweep you into the tide.

Tommy asked him to wait outside.

Asked is generous. More like, grabbed Joel by the collar and dragged him outside like a scolded puppy, pointing his finger and giving him a strong, “Stay.”

He did as he was told, leaning against the post at the top of the stairs. Arms crossed over his chest and anxiously tapping his foot against the wood porch.

Both you and Tommy left at the same time. Joel would be knocked out on the spot if Tommy had his way, judging by the look on his face. The younger Miller wished you goodnight and you gave him a reassuring nod as you stayed back to face Joel.

Tommy’s out of sight and out of earshot before you break the silence.

“So…why’d you come here? Thought you’d be done with the naive girl.”

Joel raises to his full height, taking a hesitant step toward you. You don’t move away, but he keeps his distance in order to get his thoughts out.

“Darlin’, I’m -” he starts, pausng for a moment to gather his words, “I keep doin’ this, don’t I? Being happy with you, then pushing you away and hurting you. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I know what you’ve been through. You’re not naive. You’re mindful, attentive in ways I could never be. I hurt you. I haven’t done this the right way. I haven’t protected you like I should’ve 'cause I couldn’t stay away from you. I’m what you needed saving from and I’ve been too selfish to keep us both from drowning.”

You worry your lip between your teeth as tears gloss over your eyes. He steps closer to you, hands reaching up to cup your face. He’s not sure if you’re going to slip between his fingers, but he’s trying his best to keep you there with him. Tears fall, his thumbs working to wipe them away. Not letting a drop of you to slip away from his touch.

He can see the innerworkings of your brain in your eyes. He knows how to read you; he can see the battle in your head about whether or not he’s saved this time. Your voice is coated in emotion when you finally speak up again, “I’ve heard drowning is actually kind of a peaceful way to go, all things considered. And if it’s going to be with anyone, I’d choose you.”

That damn smile finds its way across your face in spite of your tears, and he can’t help but mirror it. It’s a welcome home for him, the light pulling him into your harbor - safe once again. He leans down to press a soft, tender kiss to your lips, deepening it for a moment when you reciprocate.

His hand finds yours when he pulls away, “Let’s go for a walk, sweet girl.”

Joel leads you away from the bar, walking down your street. You slow down when you get in front of your cottage, moving to walk down your path. He stops you, shaking his head and mouth ticking up in a small smile. His eyebrows are raised in a silent question, asking you to come with him. You fold easily, taking your place next to his side, hands intertwined.

He takes you to your spot where he’s set up a blanket and a couple of flickering lanterns for some light, but not enough to disturb the view of the moon.

“Joel…this is wonderful, I’m - I don’t know what to say, thank you.” Your hand squeezes his and he shrugs the praise off.

“Don’t thank me, baby, I should be doin’ this for you all the time. ‘S what you deserve.”

He’d gotten a couple of strange stares when he’d been walking down the road with a blanket under one arm and the lanterns in his hand. It occurred to him that people would think he was doing it for his wife, that they might ask her about it tomorrow and he’d be in for a line of questioning. But damn the consequences, he needed to do this for you. To give you something.

Joined hands pointing out more constellations he remembers and ones that Ellie knew, having asked her specifically to help him find the one for your zodiac. As the two of you lay on your backs, curled into each other, he’s taken back to the conversation Ellie and him had about their combined dream of a sheep ranch on the moon. Now that dream, at least for him, included you, too.

“I think it’d be nice out there. Without this world, feeling weightless.” He wishes for that down here, to lighten the load on his chest and the guilt on his shoulders. A different life.

You hum in agreement and he continues, “I wish I could just bring the moon down here, to take the weight off us, and to give Ellie the chance to get her dream.”

You’re quiet for a beat before your words wrap him in warmth, “If I could give you the moon, I would.” 

You’d do anything for him, he knows that. And he’d do anything for you.

As those words cross his mind, the ring from his finger burns in his pocket. He’d taken it off to rid you both of the reminder of how this night would end, how every night would end. A little metal circle that has decided your fates, at least for now. His voice is slightly gravelly in his throat as he answers, “Maybe in another life, yeah?”

if you got to the end, i'm giving you a big smooch.

taglist: @swiftispunk (supportive bae)

[apparentlytheproblem]

dating george weasley

fandom- Harry Potter

pairing(s)- george weasley

a/n-requests are open luvs :)

requested- yes

warnings- wave crashin sense of lonliness?-

okay i have quite a bit to say abt dating him

he is really into quiditch and is very skilled too so naturally you're gonna have to get into it

he is a god on the pitch lady

wearing his jersey or jacket to his games or to anywhere really. he adores it

you'll always be cheering for him in the stands and later having words with anyone who'd tried to foul him.

he's mad into dueling and he's damn good. it comes in handy when you get yourself in sticky situations kid

i think it comes from hexing for all his pranks

he's also great at doing transfiguration which lets be honest is a very complicated field and she'd deffo help u out

again gained the skill to sneak stuff up

he is amazing and a master in charms

so lets say you have trouble with it or if you're a year younger he'd help you out

but tbh he is a very kind and gentle human. he would not hurt a fly ser but he'd have no problem if its some kid who deserves a good prank

ik he seems like a jokster which he is

deffo funny but he knows when smthn is srs w u

he has a great sense of fairness and would stand his ground on what's right

BUT he is a clutz. like big time, he gets hit by buldgers and brooms and all of that so you always have to make sure he's steady but u know u love it

i think he has a sweet, friendly loud font so there would be too much pda. you'll have the tight hugs, hand holding, kisses in the cheeks.

he prefers to keep all the juice for when you're alone if you are a shy person

oh but the looks you give eachother in classes, halways and the great hall, god damn

calling her georgiee when you feel giddy or estatic

oh my god but when you guys are alone? it gets touchy if you know what i mean sir ;)

you'll be getting to spend alot of time with angela, alicia, weasleys, lee jordan and oliver too

overall perfect boylfriend material :)

[unicyclehippo]

15. kiss on the back for the prompt thing!

Imogen has spent years submerged in the sweet, babbling waters of Laudna’s mind so, while she may not be able to hear her thoughts now, she still remembers their current. And besides, some things don’t need to be said. It’s an unspoken agreement between them—a quirked brow, the tilt of an answering smile—to return Zhudanna’s coin. 

Laudna distracts their elderly friend with an enthusiastic—and slightly gooey—recreation of recent journeys while Imogen carries the groceries to the kitchen. She unpacks jars of olives and honey and jam, every pickled thing they encountered, wax-wrapped cheeses, smoked and salted meats, dried fruits and beans, bags of fine-ground flour and spices. She leaves the fresh fruit and vegetables on the countertop with the pumpernickel loaves and, as she does, pulls Zhudanna’s lockbox from its hiding place beneath the beans with a subtle bit of magic. 

It’s easy to use her powers now. She knew she was getting stronger but something about being here—where she spent much of her time in degrees of agony with no way to control it or stop it, her powers flaring whenever they wanted to—the difference is stark. How reactive her magic is now, how finely-tuned to her will. A thought, and the lockbox opens. Imogen busies herself selecting and slicing an orange. Another thought, and the coins lift out of the shopping basket and zip over to the box. She arranges the orange segments on a colourful plate. The box clicks closed and slides back into place beneath the beans. It’s all done in a matter of seconds with Zhudanna none the wiser, even if she had peeked over to check on Imogen despite Laudna’s distraction—though how anyone could look away from Laudna for so much as a second during one of her stories - vibrant, enthralling as she is - Imogen doesn’t know. 

She lingers a while, helps herself to a slice of orange. It’s tart, almost sour, the way she likes them. The sun blankets half the kitchen in a square of light. Standing in that warmth recalls fragments of an old dream—baking, home, Laudna. The details are too faded and vanish when she reaches for them; in the space where they had been, her memory provides instead the aroma of baked bread and the cool press of Laudna’s lips against her own. Fingers sticky with orange, Imogen twists her wrist and presses her smile to the back of her hand. We kissed, she thinks, giddy, and suddenly the handful of steps separating her from the sitting room and Laudna is too far. 

‘—a shape like dripping tar, a great blob of malice, hovering in the air. It struck Orym with a spiralling bolt of shadow, pinning him against the rock!’ Imogen hears as she rejoins the story. 

‘Oh!’ Zhudanna squeaks. Her eyes are wide, both wrinkled hands covering her mouth in horror. When she speaks, she sounds so old—had she always, Imogen tries to recall, or is it all of this…this fucking mess around them? The solstice, the god-damning speeches, the fear suffusing the streets like thick jungle mist, the moon, the way oncoming way tilts the axis of every heart. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small, quavering voice, ‘oh dear, oh no, is he alright?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend. Orym.’

The question makes Laudna’s smile falter. Zhudanna, half-blind, probably doesn’t notice. Imogen does. She fills the agonising pause, steps between them to put the plate down next to Zhudanna. By the time she plants herself on the footstool, twin to the armchair Laudna has claimed, Laudna has recovered. 

‘Yes. Yes, of course! He’s a warrior—a hero!’ Zhudanna heaves a sigh of relief at that, claps her hands. Laudna continues. ‘He pulled free of the shadow spear with a horrid yell and spray of blood—’

Geez, Laud, don’t forget she’s old as shit. 

And? She has such a creative soul, she’s enjoying—ah. I suppose…heart attacks…hmm. Should I…tone it down?

Imogen rests her chin on her hand as she settles in to listen to the rest of the story and, catching Laudna’s eyes, offers a small smile. Just for her, darlin’. 

With a wobbly nod—one that makes Imogen want to yank off the circlet and dive deep into Laudna’s thoughts, wade through them muck and all, hear for herself the knotted tangle of fear and nervy tension and trust she knows is causing havoc in there—Laudna launches back into her tale. 

‘Together with our dear new friend Prism–’

‘I like her,’ Zhudanna says. ‘Sensible, for one of those wizard types. Getting out there and having a go of it. Good for her.’

‘Indeed. Very sensibly, she and I harried the foul spirit with our joined magic, giving our companions time to protect the Heirophant and dragging them clear of the danger of this hungry shadow. We threw everything we had at it—flaying it of its shadow piece by piece, cracking its sallow face, until there was nothing left of it but a slug of tarred shadow that I crushed, sending it back to whence it came, into the merciless dark,’ she hisses, hand closing in a tight fist, eyes a brittle, glossy obsidian. After a moment, her intensity relents; the faint gloom in the corners of the room disperses like an audience post performance, and as it leaves, air rushes in to fill the empty space. ‘Anyway,’ she trills, ‘apparently that wasn’t the first time it had appeared there, can you believe that? The Heirophant—the elf Orym and Ashton saved—told us that they had fought it before—or was it their order that had? Hm. Don’t recall. But yes - it’s like a recurring thing. Like a bad ex turning up on their doorstep. But not a bad ex because Evithorir—’

‘Evi- Evirerth-’

‘Evithorir. I think. It was so hard to tell, it hissed a lot. Regardless, the shadow spirit, it turns out it was some, like, ancient terrible hungry fey spirit that sought to devour everything in the world, blah blah, the usual. Starting with Oma-Dua who is this - get this - equally ancient druid who buried herself in the last moments of her life in the depths of this cavern centuries ago to sustain the land around this mountain for the rest of time and took on the form of an enormous glowing green crystal…’

Laudna drifts into an odd silence and sinks back into the plush armchair, into herself, looking small and troubled. Her teeth dig well-worn trenches into her bottom lip as she loses herself in thought. 

Imogen clears her throat. ‘It’s been an awful long time since we got a proper rest, Zhudanna—d’you mind if we rest a while?’

‘Not at all, not at all. Let me move my easel, dear, and - ‘

‘No, please, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll set it aside, if that’s alright?’

‘Certainly, certainly.’

Zhudanna lets herself be distracted gracefully, pulling an old knitting project from the box by her chair. Her eyes—wrinkled, worried—linger on Laudna as Imogen helps her up from the chair, curling a gentle hand beneath each elbow. 

She looks so exhausted and Imogen is certain she’s bearing most of Laudna’s weight for her when she pulls her to her feet but she’s so fucking light it nearly has Imogen stumbling, off-balance. A dozen questions cluster behind Imogen’s teeth, on the threshold of her mind. Did you eat at all? Did you rest? Who took care of you? The thought might’ve made her jealous a month ago but now it just hurts. Laudna is too light, bordering on frail. Her hair is stringy—dirty, greasy, like its been a week since she washed it, brushed it, cared for it (for herself)—and Imogen knows the answer. Knows Laudna. She cares like caring is what keeps her alive, will drag the energy out of her own fucking marrow for everyone else and when it comes to her, she shows them something dead and dying, shows them a grinning skull. Something beyond repair, beyond need of care. 

Red flickers behind her eyes, smoulders in the cracks that split the tips of her fingers. But her hands stay gentle as Imogen helps Laudna to their old room. 

The door shuts behind them, shuts out the world. Blissful. There’s no window in here to show them the ruddy moon. There’s no crowds, no intrusive minds. No guards, no traitors, no one but the two of them. 

Laudna’s slow walk turns to a hobble. She sits at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. 

Giving her a little space, Imogen puts their bags at the footboard of the bed and Pate’s birdhouse on the bedside. He’s sleeping in there or pretending to be. Creepy, beloved spy. She moves the easel like she said she would, tucking it into an out of the way corner. 

‘She’s really very good, don’t you think?’

Laudna stirs. Glances over, dark eyes flicking between the easel and Imogen, and the smile she manages is a wavering thing but it holds steady at the corners. 

She’ll be alright, Imogen decides. Promises. 

‘Yes. Very talented, our Zhudanna.’ 

Her words trail off again and Imogen watches as Laudna begins to fidget, fingers twisting, tugging, pull and plucking in her lap. Was the closed room not blissful for her? Was it too crowded, with Imogen and her and all her thoughts and Delilah and now Bor’dor haunting her? Or was it as simple as the strain of her journey taking its toll? Or was it…

‘Do you regret it?’ Imogen blurts. Laudna stills. ‘The kiss, I mean. Me, kissin’ you. Because I know I asked and I know you kissed me back but if - if you got caught up in the moment or thought it’s what I want - Laud, you gotta know, it doesn’t matter to me how you care for me, I’m so - I’m so happy. So lucky. Just to have you near me. Truly.’

It takes a hell of an effort to shut up then—to bite her lip and give Laudna the room to speak. 

Her stomach flips from nerves and her traitor heart follows suit; it flips, flutters in her chest, so gentle and so warmed by the memory of getting to take Laudna’s face between her hands, getting to touch her after so long of only being able to dream about it, getting to lean in and—that kiss! The memory of it fizzles through her, sweet lightning, and it’s ridiculous, actually, because her hands start sweating and her lips tingle and her skin goes hot all over, sensitive. It’s such a silly feeling; she feels like a stumbling foal - clumsy and awkward, unsure, but so fucking eager to get up, go, explore. It’s silly - she feels silly with it, giggly and warm - and then, of course, sense reasserts itself firmly because Laudna hasn’t said anything yet—is staring over Imogen’s shoulder with a tiny, worried frown—and Imogen’s stomach sinks, veins flooding with ice. If she could just take off the circlet, but…

‘Laud?’

‘Imogen.’

‘Do you?’ It’s harder to ask the second time. ‘Do you…regret it?’

‘No,’ Laudna says in that barely-there way. Imogen wants the shadows back. Wants the intensity. Wants Laudna cackling over one of Pate’s horrendous comments, or chiding her for mussing the bedsheets. Anything but this ghost. ‘No, darling. I was - I was only thinking,’ she sighs, ‘how silly it is, how hard it is to talk about…well. About what we want.’ She blinks, dim and distant. ‘I often think that if only everyone were honest, there would be less space for misunderstanding and heartbreak –’ The words send Imogen’s heart sinking ever lower, but Laudna doesn’t seem to notice and continues, ‘– and cruelty and war and, oh, I don’t know. People wouldn’t get away with murder or inheritance trickery and such. I think about all the people who lie whenever they speak and how foolish it is and then it is my turn to speak and I…I’m terribly afraid.’

At that, Imogen crosses to sit beside Laudna on the bed. She takes one of her delicate hands in both of her own. It’s so light; bird-boned, Imogen thinks distractedly, mind cluttered with midnight-plumed ravens and the Duskmaven, of scavenging vultures and red seeping into cracked desert soil, of a canary in the dark. She hopes—as it gets harder to breathe, lungs struggling to contend with the weight of hope and panic—that Laudna won’t warn her away. 

‘You can tell me,’ Imogen says, and her words stay blessedly steady. ‘Even if you think I don’t want to hear it. I do. I do.’

For a long moment, Laudna examines their hands. Intertwined. Her own—delicate, long-fingered, pale. The dark web of stagnant veins. Imogen’s—broader, tanned, calloused. The cracked skin, red seeping out. Squeezing Imogen’s hand, Laudna says,

‘I won’t lie, darling. I won’t tell you I wasn’t surprised. I was. I am. You are—’ Dark eyes lift to meet Imogen’s; without thoughts to skim, all Imogen can see in the depths is warmth, a glittering fondness. Sorrow lurks there too, somewhere, even if she can’t see it. ‘You are extraordinary. Young and beautiful and so very alive. I - you wishing to kiss me - you understand why I might be startled. I don’t know what I can offer you, darling. I will always be at your side, of course—to protect you, to wake you from your nightmares, to support you, to - to tether you against the storm, as you said, but - ‘

‘But what?’ Imogen shakes her head with a gentle laugh. ‘Who could ask for more than that?’

‘And the kissing?’

‘We don’t have to do it again. If you don’t like it.’

Laudna tilts her head; it’s not a no, but neither is it a yes. ‘You could choose anyone—’

‘I want only you.’

‘Even though I am—’ Laudna cuts off the words with a snap of her teeth. Turns away, sending a gloomy look to the dim corners of their room. 

Imogen’s heart thuds, hard, against her ribs. She rubs at at it, sympathetic. Her bruised heart. She wants what it wants—to be close, ever closer. To hug her, hold her tight. To love her. To rip Delilah out of her—fry the bitch, burn her to ashes, and the ashes to smoke, and the smoke to nothing at all in white lightning—and then offer up her own heart to fill the lack. To welcome Laudna into the red hollow of her ribs, already wondering what kind of home she could make out of them. To take back the ruby ring and present it again, with all the ceremony Laudna deserves. To kiss her. Again and again. 

But right now, Laudna doesn’t need a storm, even one of love. She only needs Imogen to listen to her. So she asks,

‘Even though you’re what?’

Laudna’s hands curl into talons and a snarl erupts from her throat. Earlier, Imogen hadn’t known what to make of the idea that Laudna could summon a wolf but she gets it now. Hears it in that mournful, ragged sound. 

‘Dead. Broken.’ She claws at her heart. ‘Weak.’

‘No. You’re not, sweetheart, no.’

Imogen cannot resist reaching forward. She keeps her touch feather-light. Skims a high cheekbone before sliding back to the strand of dark hair that has escaped its high bun. She tucks it behind Laudna’s ear with exacting care, thumb grazing the gold ear-cuff. I see you. Every bit. Laudna’s eyes fill with inky tears and, when Imogen lifts her other hand to cradle her precious, lovely face, Laudna leans into the touch. 

For a moment, Imogen can only stare. 

There is no one in the world like Laudna—so starkly beautiful, so sweet, so enchanting. There is no one half as creative. She knows Laudna’s story—saw her die—but no one could spend an hour in Laudna’s presence and leave thinking her anything other than vibrant. How could that be death? And as for broken, well, Imogen thinks of the mosaics in Uthodurn’s royal halls, and of stained glass windows in the Dawnfather’s hall—what little she had overhead of that part of Laudna’s story—and thinks of Laudna’s mendings and crafts and the hundreds of achingly beautiful smiles Laudna has made up just for her and yes, maybe she’s been broken, but who hasn’t? How can that make her less? Less lovely, less wonderful? It doesn’t. It doesn’t. She thinks of faith and lets her pinkie slip down to touch, so gently, the ragged mark of Laudna’s first death. She thinks of destiny and meets Laudna’s eyes. 

Beautiful, she thinks, and then - because they are being truthful, because they are telling each other the truth - she says it out loud too. 

‘You’re beautiful. You’re my—‘ Imogen falters, tries to think of a word that doesn’t stick in her chest like a knife, but pushes on because her love doesn’t make her fearless, it just makes her brave. ‘My favourite.’

Her blush blooms purple under Imogen’s hands. Laudna glances down, shy, then up from under lashes dark and sticky with inky makeup, splayed like delicate spider legs. 

‘It is strange,’ Laudna says, covering Imogen’s hands with her own when she starts to pull away, worried. ‘Don’t leave, darling. Let me… Let me?’ 

Let her lean in, yes, let her press close, forehead to forehead, yes, stay so still when Laudna touches her cheek, fleeting. Laudna trembles—afraid? excited? damn this fucking circlet—but the contact settles her and when she retreats, she pulls Imogen’s hands from her cheeks but doesn’t let them go. She breathes in and out. Then says, 

‘Waking from death is much like waking from sleep, except it hurts. Only a little but all the time.’

Imogen’s fingers brush over Laudna’s wrist, where her pulse plods away. ‘Laudna,’ she whispers, not to interrupt. Only because Laudna ought never go a moment thinking she didn’t care. 

‘For all those years, even though I…I ran and built my huts and Pate too, of course, and of course I felt things—fear and loss and joy, too, sometimes—I was alive and awake but. So much of me was still dead. I was so - confused. And angry, often. I was surviving, you see. I had strength enough to hold myself together and fix things, here and there, but no more than that. I was hungry, all the time, I had so many teeth.’ Laudna searches her face. ‘And then I met you and you helped. Cared. These past years with you… It used to be that when I wanted something, it - it was hunger I felt. This endless hunger. A great pit in my chest. And it was hard to tell, you see, what it was I wanted except for everything, anything I could get my hands on. Do you understand?’

Imogen gnaws at her lip. Slowly, she shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’ She dips her head, catches Laudna’s eyes. ‘Explain it to me?’

Laudna’s fingers shake as she slides them over the backs of Imogen’s hands. Long fingers curl around one of Imogen’s wrists and she lifts it to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles, lips cool against the burning ridge of her oldest lightning scar. 

‘You have given me so much. You gave me friendship and purpose and trust. Food. Fun and stories. Strength. A bed. A home. And the hunger…it doesn’t gnaw so terribly, darling. Now, when I - when I want something, it isn’t an impossible task. I needn’t lose myself in that great black pit, blinding searching for what I lack. It starts to make sense. I start to make sense. What I want. Outside of her, and hunger. You’ve given me so much,’ Laudna tells her, and her voice creaks with the weight of her words. ‘How can I possibly take more? How - selfish, how greedy it would be to want… To want.’

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ Imogen asks, voice soft. She tries not to sound to hopeful. 

Launda holds her hands for a long time. It’s maddening, because Laudna never stays still for long; she doesn’t now either, instead stroking tiny patterns against her skin, fingers sliding over and between her own. At the occasional scratch of her nails, a frisson of electricity crackles down Imogen’s arms, through her body. Finally, Laudna nods. 

‘I do. Oh, Imogen, I do. I didn’t know it - I knew I would be content for centuries, the rest of my days, if only I could sleep in your bed, stand at your side, content with any touch or favour you might share with me. And then - to be kissed?’ A shy smile creeps across her lips. ‘Would it be terribly unfunny to say it struck me like a bolt?’

Imogen snorts. Pulls her hands free so she can shove at her—lightly, though, barely enough to make even Laudna sway. Her hands settle on the tender branching of Laudna’s collarbones. The fabric of the new dress is silk-smooth under her palms; the lace neckline, though, catches against her work-rough, scar-rough fingers. She strokes it again, entranced. It’s so soft, the lace, in its reluctance to let her go. It’s so beautiful, the whorling patterns of leaves and flowers, and the contrast of blue-black fabric against Laudna’s pale skin is enough to make her glow. And beneath lace and skin, the steady tap of Laudna’s pulse—a knock on the door, on the coffin lid, here I am. 

Beautiful. 

‘That’s dreadful,’ she scolds, wrinkling her nose. 

‘That’s me. Full of dread.’ A ghostly visage flickers across Laudna’s face, there—skin and skull shifting, FRIDA’s inspiration?—and gone. ‘And you?’ she asks. ‘You too?’

‘Full of dread?’

‘Do you wish to kiss me, I meant, actually.’

Imogen swallows harshly. ‘Yeah,’ she rasps. ‘Yeah, I do.’

A frown pinches Laudna’s forehead. ‘Have you been afflicted with this desire for long?’

‘Afflict— You say it like it’s a sickness or somethin’,’ Imogen teases, but Laudna flaps a hand for her to hurry up and tell, so she shrugs. ‘Um. Yeah. I ‘spose I’ve been wantin’ to kiss you for a while,’ she admits, cheeks burning. ‘When I could hear you, it was… Do you remember when Dusk was hangin’ around, you told me you hadn’t thought about it? Hadn’t accessed that part of your brain?’ Laudna nods. ‘I know. I knew that. Because sometimes, when we were close and you…’ 

Imogen pauses. Sucks in a breath—it’s a little stuffy in their room, no windows, but it smells of freshly laundered sheets and paint and wood polish and Laudna and Imogen lets it steady her. 

‘D’you know that you say the kindest, sweetest things sometimes? You always know what to do to calm me down or make me laugh, even when the whole world is—’ She gestures awkwardly to the south wall where the moon hovers in her minds eye. ‘You know. Going to shit. And sometimes—I wasn’t sure how much you…’ She stops again, lips twisting, frustrated. ‘I knew that you cared for me because, well, because you do.’

‘Naturally, of course.’

‘But sometimes I wondered if…if you wanted to kiss me, like I sometimes thought of doing. But when I looked into your mind, you were never thinkin’ about it so -’ Imogen shrugs, cheeks hot. ‘I never brought it up. You hardly ever thought about it when other folk were flirtin’ or talkin’ about it, so I figured it wasn’t something you wanted. And that didn’t matter to me! Just so long as you were with me, and we were together, I was happy with that. But then Dusk,’ Imogen strangles the name in her throat, hopes fiercely that Yu can feel it, wherever the fuck they might be, ‘put the idea in your head and then they…left…and you were confused and I’d sometimes catch flashes of it in your head but it didn’t feel right to bring it up, even though sometimes I thought—the way you were lookin’ at me, and not pullin’ away when I was lookin’ at you—I thought…maybe? Maybe it was - Maybe you could. Think like that. And when you died—’ Her voice cracks. ‘That wasn’t the right time either, obviously,’ she scoffs. Pulls a hand back to swipe at her eyes. 

‘Darling,’

‘It had to be your choice. All of it. Everything, after what happened. And I was fucking terrified because of all those questions in my head like if I’d be pushin’ you if I asked, or makin’ you more of a target, burdenin’ you with all this Predathos moon shit—’

‘Never. Never a burden.’

‘—and then I got this,’ Imogen taps her circlet, ‘and I couldn’t hear you anymore, couldn’t check, and so, yeah, Laudna, you could say I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while.’

‘Thinking about,’ she says, so carefully, like she’s afraid if she speaks it too loud or too fast the whole thing will break, ‘kissing. Me.’

Imogen laughs. Smiles at her with her whole face, her whole heart. Every soft, exposed, grotesque, tender part of it. ‘Yeah, sweetheart. Is that alright?’

Laudna nods jerkily. Eyes Imogen’s mouth curiously. ‘Can I - that is, if it’s alright with you,’

‘Please,’ Imogen whispers, and she isn’t sure if she’s reading her own mind or if Laudna’s is loud enough to overpower the circlet, if she’s letting the power of it subside in her eagerness to know if Laudna wants what she wants, but it’s so clear—Laudna’s dark eyes, warm and kind and wanting; her reaching hands, aligning them hurt to hurt, heart to heart; plum lips pressing, ever so gently, against hers. 

The kiss lasts a heartbeat. Barely long enough to register the touch. Even so, Laudna flushes deeply. Touches her fingers to her mouth and breathes out, shaky. 

‘Oh. Imogen.’

Imogen lifts a hand—‘Can I? Let me, please’—to Laudna’s neck, grazing the high collar she’d been so jealous of in the store for getting to touch Laudna’s neck, but adores now as she coaxes it down so she alone can see, can touch the soft skin of her neck. Feel the way Laudna’s breath hitches when she does, her shiver as Imogen’s fingers slide forward, following the path of her jaw and swiping beneath the hinge of it—tender, awed, lingering on the mottled silver marks of bullet holes and torn skin—before she slides her fingers into the curtain of dark dark. She presses gently, guides her forward for another kiss. Her lips find the corner of Laudna’s mouth and smiles at the noise of displeasure it pulls. 

‘I think,’ Imogen whispers, kisses her more solidly. Tilts her head and loses herself in Laudna: Laudna’s nose nudging into her cheek; Laudna’s hands fluttering between her elbows and shoulders before laying gently on her back; a clumsy bump of lips, which is actually mostly chin, a giggled apology, and then something gives and Laudna’s lips are on hers again, steady and slow and careful, like they have all the time in the world, like now that she is here there is no where she would rather be. Imogen pulls back, licks her lips. Citrus bursts on her tongue. 

Laudna stares at her mouth. ‘What - ‘ She has to clear her throat, voice breathy, like Imogen has kissed all the air out of her and the thought makes want crackle beneath Imogen’s skin. ‘What do you think?’

‘Amazing. Great. Perfect.’

Dark eyes gleam. Laudna smiles—no, she smirks. ‘Darling. You were saying something, that you thought…?’

‘Oh.’ Imogen starts to speak—and has to stop. She laughs. ‘Y’know, I’ve totally forgotten?’

‘Oh.’ Laudna’s blush deepens. She’s so fucking pretty. ‘It will come back to you. If it’s important.’ She fidgets. Reaches out a hand to touch Imogen’s elbow, her knee. She looks for a moment as if she is about to speak but then a calm settles over her and she only smiles and nods. ‘Do you mind, dearest, if I take a little time to fix the birdhouse? Only Pate said it’s dreadfully uncomfortable and I think - if I add some soft cushion fabric, maybe curtains - I can fix the place up for him.’

Imogen nods. She understands—and could do with a minute to calm down too. She crawls around Laudna up to the headboard, props herself up against it. 

Laudna frowns. ‘Really? Boots on the bed?‘

She smiles, closes her eyes. ‘It’ll be alright, I’ll magic the dirt away after.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Laudna insists. After a few moments of Imogen ignoring her, Laudna sets aside the birdhouse and begins to unbuckle Imogen’s boots. Imogen watches, thoughts far too chaotic to pin down. It doesn’t take long—Laudna has helped her before, when migraines stopped her from doing just about anything—and she pats Imogen’s shin, tuts at the unhappy state of her socks, and mends the hole by her big toe with a needle and thread of black shadow. It looks good as new when she is done. 

‘There,’ Imogen drawls, snuggling down into the pillow at her back. ‘What would I do without you?’

Laudna laughs. ‘You’d wear boots in bed and put your cups upside down on the shelves–’

‘First of all, I’m right about that and second of all,’ she nudges Laudna with her toe, ‘I never wanna find out.’

She smiles and, oh, Imogen thinks, Dawnfather, eat your heart out. You don’t know light like this. You couldn’t make a light like hers if you had a thousand solstices. 

//

They spend a lazy afternoon together. They don’t kiss again—Laudna is far too intent on her work, and Imogen merely watches her and allows time and proximity to ease the tight, grating knot of nerves in her chest that had built with every moment of Laudna’s absence. She asks easy questions and retreads old, familiar jokes and stories, and everything resettles. In some ways, it is as it has always been. It’s the two of them, together. It’s also new in a way that makes Imogen’s heart flutter every time she remembers; I kissed her, I can kiss her. 

‘Pate,’ Laudna croons, as she takes apart old clothes and blankets, stitches them into cushions for the interior of the birdhouse. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she sings, and the rat-bird clambers out of his wooden house and up her arm, waits until she’s packed the cushions into place to skitter back inside, taking pride of place in the decadence. ‘What do you think of your new ho-ome?’ It’s so fucking weird. They both are. Imogen has to get closer to her. Tucks a foot under Laudna’s knee—who beams at her, wraps a chilly hand around her ankle and keeps her close—and makes a note to kiss Pate on top of his awful little skull soon. Just because. ‘What do you think? Will this be more comfortable?’

‘It’s nice!’ he croaks, little paws patting walls and floor. ‘I do have a suggestion, though—’

‘What! You’ve only been alive for a few months, what could you possibly know about decorating?’ she demands, aghast. 

Pate flies from the house, landing on the roof. There are no eyes in his bird skull but Imogen swears he rolls them anyway. ‘Pfft! What don’t I know? I’m the whole package, you know. Bird brains and rat cunning, fanks very much.’

‘Fine, then, if you’re so smart! What’s your suggestion?’

‘Curtains.’

‘Curtains?’

‘Curtains. For, you know, setting the mood, or sleeping in the day. Or if you two need a little, heh, private time to lock lips—’

‘Alright, yes, fine!’ Laudna yelps. ‘I’ll make you some damn curtains!’

Pate chuckles. His wings peel open with a wet squelch that Imogen is never going to get used to—how could he be wet, he’s been dead for years, that’s what she wants to know—and he takes off with one, two laborious flaps of his wings, gliding down to the bed covers and scampering back into his now-comfortable home. ‘Thank ye kindly,’ he calls out from within.

Laudna grumbles as she pulls together curtains rather quickly, delving in her pack for supplies. She pulls out shards of metal–splinters, almost, but as long as her palm. 

‘What’re those?’ Imogen asks, as she tries to bully the pillow under her head into a more comfortable shape. 

‘Hm? Oh - one of Ashton’s climbing pitons. It shattered.’

The pillow refuses to be comfortable; Imogen gives up, gets up to search the room for wherever the other pillow went. She finds it, after a while, on the top shelf of the little linen closet and jumps for it before remembering she knows telekinesis. How in the nine hells Zhudanna even got it up there, she has no clue. Wandering back to the bed, Imogen watches over Laudna’s shoulder for a minute as she crafts. 

‘You went climbing?’

‘When we were separated, that’s where we landed,’ Laudna says. ‘On a cliffside. Jagged rocks, Steam vents. Now that I think about it, we were rather lucky, actually, that we didn’t appear in the air above a sharp spike or roll off the cliff. But yes, we had to climb,’ she says, and tells Imogen all about it— finding Deni$e - Mona, at the time—and the climb and the endless valley of verdant trees. 

Imogen listens carefully, heart heavy. She thinks of a long, cold walk and finding truly kind friends at the end of it - a celestial bull they befriended - shopping - the warmth and bustle and commerce and, yes, anxiety, of Uthodurn, and meeting royalty—and she thinks of Laudna, who dislocates something whenever she sneezes, having to pull herself up a cliffside. She rubs Laudna’s shoulder and dips her head, presses a kiss there on her back—because she can, because she wants to, because Laudna wants it too. Laudna hums, a happy sound. 

‘I’m sorry you ended up there.’

‘It wasn’t all bad. It was rather beautiful. I would have enjoyed it, I think, if you had been there.’

‘Maybe we’ll go together someday.’

Laudna smiles. Affixes one of the piton curtain-rods into place as Pate guides her—’Higher, higher on the left - other left - all of it lower now - perfect!’

‘I think Ashton will want to go back.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was something of the Hishari there - a town. Cursed now, apparently. He wants answers.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ Imogen agrees. ‘Kill the moon, then go on holiday to a cursed town in Issylra. Sounds nice.’

//

‘You were right, by the way,’ Imogen says later, as they walk back from the Windowed Wall to their friends. 

‘Of course I was.’ Laudna beams across at her, tone bright, teasing; it’s such a shift from her mood of the morning that Imogen can do nothing but smile back at her. ‘About what, though?’

‘You said if it was important, I’d remember what I was gonna say. And I remember now.’’ Imogen wraps her arm through Laudna’s, pulls her in tight. There aren’t many people crowding the street but she doesn’t need an excuse to hold her close anymore. ‘You know, the thought you kissed right outta my head?’ 

‘Imogen!’ Laudna slaps her hand lightly, but her eyes gleam. Imogen thinks she might be pleased by the idea of driving her to distraction. ‘Well, go on then. What was it?’

‘You asked if I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Kissin’ you. I was gonna say, I think I’ll never get it outta my head. I’m gonna be thinkin’ about kissing you forever. If that’s alright with you.’

Laudna’s chin lifts - proud, pleased by the idea, clearly - and she gains what could only be called a strut. Her cheeks colour faintly. ‘I’ll be thinking about it too.’ Her eyes glitter brightly over a sweet smile. ‘After all, you’re very capable,’ she teases, and laughs, delighted, at the blush her words pull from Imogen. 

They’re still smiling when they rejoin their friends. It earns them strange looks, but fond, relieved. No one pries—though Ashton has a stare like a crowbar—and they say nothing, for now. 

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

BUTTERFLIES

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!reader Summary: George gets flashbacks of your relationship as he watches you walk down the aisle to marry him Warnings: mention of tears, i think that's it

George's eyes met yours as he stood at the end of the aisle, waiting there for you to reach him as you walked to the music

the butterflies made their appearance in his stomach as he stared at you with pure love and longing

he had waited years for this, and it was finally happening

George couldn't help but remember all the times the butterflies invaded him stomach throughout knowing you before this moment

-

"Fred! George! hurry up, we're late!" Molly yelled at the twins

"we're right behind you mum, and the train doesn't leave for another 3 minutes!" Fred spoke in defense, trailing after Molly.

Molly rushed all of her kids through the wall of the train station.

Fred and George ran through it for the first time with their trolleys, which held their luggage for their first year at Hogwarts

George went through the wall and came out on the other side, slightly losing control of his trolley and bumping into somebody, making them fall

George panicked as he heard them wince in pain

he let go of his trolley and looked down at you on the ground

"I'm really sorry" he apologised, holding his hand out to help you

"it's fine" you huffed, taking the boys hand

"I'm Y/n" you introduced yourself

George felt a flutter inside his heart when you smiled at him sweetly

"George, are you alright?" he asked after telling you his name

"I'll be just fine"

-

"we're so going to make the team, Georgie" Fred smiled as a large group of Gryffindors huddled up for tryouts for Quidditch

"we'll be the best beaters on the team" Fred smirked

Oliver wood started talking about the rules and taking down what positions people wanted to play

"Y/L/N, what are you trying out for?" Wood called, seeing you in amongst the people

"Chaser" you replied

George turned around to see you with the newest broomstick in your hands, standing with Angelina Johnson

"you play quidditch?" George questioned as you caught his stare

"yeah, i do. is that a problem?" you frowned, teasing him

"n- no" he stuttered, feeling the nervous butterflies rise up in his stomach as you glared at him

"i'm just surprised, you didn't strike me as a quidditch type of girl" he went on

"I bet I'm better than you" you laughed, looking him up and down

George only blinked nervously

-

Fred and George rushed through hogsmeade to finally get to the store they've heard all about from their brothers

the twins excitedly walked through the door of Zonko's to look at all the things they dream they could have

George explored the shop, going in a completely different direction from his older twin to find you looking hiccough sweets

"never thought i'd see you in here" George spoke up with a smile

you turned to him and rolled your eyes with a grin

"what can I say, i like the common sweet prank" you grabbed a few and walked closer to him

"although i know you and Fred are the kings of pranks here so, any suggestions on what's good? I need teach a douchebag a lesson for burning my homework" you smirked

George raised his eyebrows "Tristen?" he asked

you nodded your head in reply

"I've always been interesting in tricking somebody but never really acted upon it, this just gives me a reason" you shrugged mischievously

George's 13 year old heart pumped faster in his chest as the butterflies swarmed in his stomach

you couldn't've gotten any better

"well...you could always try some dungbombs, they always do the trick or..."

he went on to have a ramble for about 10 minutes that day, telling you the best way to get Tristen back, and even offered to do it with you

-

George sat on the couch, head in his hands as he thought about Ginny, worrying about her

you had walked in after a long study session for potions when you found him in the common room, looking stressed

"you ok there, George?" you wondered, not knowing what to do

"I'm fine, don't worry" he sighed

Fred had gone to bed, also worrying while George decided to stay up a bit longer

you had heard about what happened to his sister, so you knew he wasn't entirely 'fine'

so you stayed with him, you slowly walked up to the couch and sat next to him

"I'm really sorry about your sister...it'll be ok though, I'm sure she can handle whatever's happening" you started, hoping it would help, even it was a lie. you didn't know it would be ok

George sat frozen, if it were anyone else next to him, he probably wouldn't yelled at them, saying that they had no idea. but he knew you were trying to help

"she'll be ok, George" you placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a sad smile even though he wasn't looking at you

"she's lucky to have a brother like you...caring as much as you are" you sighed

that made George finally look up at you

you moved your hand from his shoulder to around his torso, giving him a comforting hug

the way your hands wrapped around him made the butterflies make another appearance, George had been used to them by now, he welcomed them in with a smile as he hugged you back

-

George had grown closer to you, becoming good- if not best friends

you would help with his school work and with his and Fred's pranks

the one problem was that you had a boyfriend that year, but not for long

you came rushing through the common room, tears in your eyes as you ran for the dorms

"hey, Y/n, what's wrong!?" George came to your aid as soon as he saw you

he got up from the couch and pulled you into his arms before you got to the stairs

you cried in his arms "he cheated on me" you murmured

your words made George's blood boil, He never liked that guy, and deep down he knew he would do something to hurt you

he brought you over to the couch and made you tell him what fully happened

"why do the nice ones always turn out to be the assholes?" you wept

"well if they're assholes then they were never the good ones, the good ones are the good ones and the assholes are the assholes" George shrugged, he didn't know what to say

he had never been in a relationship before, mostly because of the way you had always made him feel

"well why can't they all be like you? you're good, great" you sobbed

George cleared his throat, caught off guard by your statement

he let the butterflies fill his stomach as you cried into his chest, telling him how he would be a good boyfriend

-

George stood beside you as the professor told the class about the potion

you, along with many other girls took a step closer, entranced by the smell of the potion.

Amortentia.

George laughed at you when you smiled lazily, your eyes almost almost having pink hearts in them as you breathed the scnet in

what George hadn't expected was to get the very strong scent of you as he finally breathed through his nose

George took a step beck and cleared his throat, looking at you in the corner of his eye as he let the smell fill his nose

the butterflies rose to his stomach and made him feel faint, feeling overwhelmed

you had noticed his faint figure beside you and leaned closer to him

"you alright Georgie?" you whispered

"I'll be just fine, Love"

-

George wandered the halls, trying to find you, to ask you to the Yule Ball, after smelling you in the Amortentia last week, he realised that he needs to ask you out

the feeling he gets when he's around you is too good to lose

he heard your voice behind him and turned around

"george! there you are!" you beamed

"hey! I've been looking for you" he asked, meeting you in the middle of the hallway

"me too, I need to ask you something" you said

"oh, you go first" George spoke quickly, really wanting to ask you, or he'll start to overthink and chicken out

"do you have something to tell me too?" she wondered

"yeah but you go first" George smiled

"well I was just thinking...Justin Thornhill asked me to the ball at breakfast this morning, I don't know why I told you that- right, um. well I said no, obviously. b- because I want to go with you. do you want to go to the ball with me?" you rambled, getting to the question that has been on your tongue for a week

George's eyes went wide and the butterflies piled into his stomach as soon as the question came from your mouth.

you had said what he'd been dying to say

George's heart pumped inside his chest rapidly, he almost thought you could hear it

"yes, t- that's what I was going to ask you!" George grinned happily

it was safe to say the butterflies never left after that, every time he'd see you after that, they would pop in and say hello

the whole night of the ball they stayed there

-

George fiddled with his fingers as he told you his plan on leaving with Fred early to start the shop

you had been dating since the day after the yule ball and he was nervous you wouldn't support it, just like his mum

"that's..great! I'm really proud of you, I know you'll do great" you said, kissing his cheek

"really?" he raised his eyebrows

"of course...the shop will be amazing, I just know it" you nodded, full heartedly supporting him

you had no idea how much that meant for him to hear, that you thought he'd do good, that you supported him

it made the butterflies flutter in his stomach, knowing that you approved of what he's doing

-

George felt the tears coming when you finally reached him, taking his hand and smiling up at him, happy that you would be marrying him

and all these years, he still gets butterflies when you look at him

--------------------------------------------

[freckledboss]

Twenty-one days of having relived the reoccurring thought of whether or not he was alive. Even as the spacecraft had entered Earth’s atmosphere and was brought to land upon the compound’s grounds, Pepper remained uncertain. Not reluctant to approach, however, for curiosity and anticipation were the driving force behind each footstep forward. It was unknown to the extent of the occupants' conditions aboard that ship. She wasn’t given details of who or what was to be expected, only that Friday informed her of a foreign presence having chosen Avengers Headquarters as its trajectory, and she hoped -- god, did she hope -- it was him. 

The ship’s back hatch opened, lowering to reveal two individuals and one of which nearly caused her to gasp with relief. Tears of her own cascaded across her cheeks, to hear him speak her name again, it was something she’d never take for granted.

That was a few months ago.

Settling into a new norm. She tries to not think about it most nights. So many turned to dust. Billions lost at the hand of a mad tyrant; genocide of mass proportions, but she was still here. Alive, unharmed, and lucky.

Pepper stands at the kitchen counter, deciding on what to prepare for dinner or whether they should venture out. The choices are limited, not every business along main street is operational. New York City has become a city that does indeed sleep. The nightlife here has greatly diminished. So many closures and temporary shutdowns due to financial burdens and staffing. Sometimes she convinces Tony to eat out in order to support local eateries, but even then their contribution isn't enough. Still, she likes to think they're helping in some way.

"Tony? Are you in the mood for anything to eat?" She'll check the cabinets. "I can make us some pasta with olive oil, basil and garlic... or we could get take out..." The latter of the two is sounding more appealing. "Maybe swing by Amorino for something sweet. I'm craving an Italian dessert..." a beat, smirk set. "Or I could just nibble on you."

@mr-tony-stark

[lavendercharm]

Linger, Chapter 3: STFU!

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: VERY Strong Language

----

The next hour flies by as you continue your mission of organizing and decluttering the classroom. You organize stacks of finished worksheets and separate them between their respective grades; group crayons, markers, and pencils by color; and even refill Melissa’s stapler with your own staples, which you feel is generous. In between trips to the trash and recycling bins across the room, you occasionally glance at the half eaten lasagna sitting on your desk. You feel like it’s mocking you, but you can’t bring yourself to throw away one of the most delicious things you’ve ever eaten. Maybe once you’ve extended an olive branch, you’ll be able to enjoy it again.

By the time Melissa returns, you’re nearly done. She finds you surrounded by piles of dead dry-erase markers and empty glue sticks. You’re so invested, you don’t notice her entering the room until her voice startles you, nearly causing you to drop the markers in your hand. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” She demands. 

You try to muster a friendly smile as you turn around, but you’re certain it looks as forced as it feels. You’re surprised to see her alone. “You don’t have the kids with you,” you point out lamely.

“Educator of the year over here with these observational skills,” she snarks. “Other teachers have recess duty. What the hell are you doin’ with my markers?” 

You glance down at the markers clutched in your hand and say, “Oh, I uh… I noticed the room was messy when the kids left, and the cupboards were kind of cluttered, so I was going through them.“

“What, my room isn’t pristine enough for you?” she asks mockingly, folding her arms and leaning on one hip.

You close your eyes briefly and remind yourself that you’re trying to fix things, not make them worse, before opening them again and replying evenly, “No, I just mean that it makes sense with how much you have on your plate-“

“So you’re sayin’ I’m messy and incapable of doing my job?” 

“Stop!” You interject quickly, putting up your hands to placate her. “I’m not trying to insult you! I just wanted to help. A bunch of this stuff was broken or unusable, it was just taking up space so I threw some stuff out-”

“You what?” Her voice has a sharp edge to it. Your hopes for gaining ground with her are out the window - it seems like Melissa is looking for any reason she can find to start a fight with you. 

“I threw some things away,” you manage, your own temper starting to rise. “I don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about.”

She steps toward you, pointing a finger assertively. “You took it upon yourself to go through my classroom supplies and throw things away without asking me. Do you have any idea how expensive new school supplies are?”

“This isn’t my first year in a classroom!” you protest.

“Well, I don’t know what fancy private schools you must have come from to think supplies grow on trees, but it’s your first day at Abbott. We can’t just turn around and buy new stuff whenever we want!” 

“That stuff wasn’t usable! It was junk!” You exclaim. 

“And how will I explain to my kids why half their school supplies are gone now? How entitled can someone be?” she says scathingly.

“God, what’s wrong with you that you call someone trying to help you entitled ,” you spit out. You hear her scoff as you turn your back on her and start gathering the piles of dead markers. You throw them, along with the empty glue sticks, into a container.

“Oh please! What else do you call someone who thinks they can do whatever they want? Goin’ through my stuff without askin’, not to mention strollin’ in late-”

“It was an accident!” You burst out, rounding on her. “God forbid I mess up!”  You bark out a scornful laugh. “You say I’m entitled, have you met yourself ? You think you can walk all over me just because I’m new here and I made a mistake! Hey, since we’re sharing, you’re the most stubborn goddamn woman I’ve ever met! You can’t go two seconds without criticizing something or giving your unwanted opinion. Have you ever thought about taping your big mouth shut?” You deride as you snatch up the bin under one arm and begin to stalk past her toward the trash.

She steps into your path and you nearly collide with her. You look up to meet her fiery gaze, refusing to back down, and as you do, something stirs in your lower belly. You feel your muscles tense, ready for… what, you’re not sure. Her heeled boots give her a fraction of a height advantage over you, so you have to look up slightly. Your faces are inches apart as she stares daggers into your eyes, both of your breaths heavy from frustration and mixing in the air. Her cheeks are flushed and her hazel-green eyes are vivid, and your eyes flit down to steal a glance at her rosy lips for the briefest of moments, before you wrench them back up to her gaze. As your eyes return to hers, she opens her mouth to speak, but something catches her eye, cutting whatever she was going to say short. 

Her brows come together in confusion as she tears her eyes from yours and your heart sinks to your stomach. She saw your gaze drift, she had to have noticed it and that’s why she looks so confused. You’re not sure how to explain it yourself - your eyes were simply wondering, your nerves are frayed, you aren’t in the right headspace. Her face grows even more red, and you brace yourself to be verbally eviscerated as her mouth opens once more. What comes out takes you so off guard that you momentarily forget yourself and the situation you’re in.

“Where did you get that?” she whispers coldly. Her gaze is fixed over your shoulder. 

“Wha- what?” You stutter out, blinking quickly to try and comprehend the sudden, unrelated question.

Her eyes return to you, and you see a fury unmatched by anything she had displayed so far. It’s the first moment you know, without a doubt, that Melissa Schemmenti is someone you should be scared of. She repeats her question in a deadly low voice, biting out the words harshly. “Where. Did. You. Get. That?” Out of your peripheral vision, you see her point to something behind you.

Mustering all of the courage in your body, you look away from the lion that has your head in its jaws and search for what has condemned you to your untimely death. Sitting on your desk, alone and forgotten, is the half eaten slice of lasagna Janine had brought you for lunch. It takes your brain a moment to parse out why Melissa is so infuriated, but you quickly realize what conclusion she’s jumped to.

“Melissa-” you meekly squeak out before the dam breaks and her wrath is unleashed on you in full.

“Keep my first name out of your fuckin’ mouth you self-absorbed rat,” she snarls. “I knew you were selfish and inconsiderate, but I didn’t peg you for a thief. Stealing lunches? How dare you? ” She’s positively foaming at the mouth, and every ounce of anger that made you bold is gone. In its place is a gut-wrenching panic. You feel your heart hammering against your rib-cage and she continues to tear into you. “I knew I didn’t like you for a reason. You waltz in here on your high horse and think you can just do whatever you want. News flash puttana, Abbott doesn’t need you and I certainly don’t need you. You’re not worth the air you’ve been takin’ up in here. All you’ve done is ruin my goddamn day,” she seethes, pausing briefly before exclaiming, “And you’ve got me using salty language at school! The best thing youse could ever hope to do for these kids and me? Get the hell out of my classroom.”

You’re absolutely mortified, the words you’d meant to use to defend yourself evading you. You know it doesn’t matter - nothing you say will convince her. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. You dig deep within yourself, trying to grasp some semblance of dignity as you finally break free of her hateful glare. “Fine,” you muster. You back away from her and move to your desk, quickly gathering your meager belongings and shoving them back into your bag. You keep as much distance from the lasagna as you can, too beaten down to even acknowledge its presence. 

Once your things are gathered, you make your way towards the door. But some thought in the back of your mind gives you pause. You don’t want to go out like this, with your tail between your legs. You don’t want to let this vitriolic woman have the final say. Glancing up, you see Melissa has busied herself with something at her desk, having apparently already written you off. Hesitating, you steel yourself and say, “You know? I’m not so sure your aide has appendicitis. I bet it was an excuse so she didn’t have to work with a judgemental bitch like you.” 

Her head shoots up in a flash of red - you hear an intake of breath and catch sight of her mouth opening - but you’re in the hallway before she can respond, slamming her classroom door a little too hard behind you.

—--------------

“What the hell do you mean you got into a fight with Melissa!?” Ava exclaims across from her desk at you. You sit on the other side of her, feeling more like a student being disciplined than a grown professional reporting to their boss. When you’d arrived, Ava had made you wait outside of her office while she finished an episode of “FBoy Island”. This gave you more than enough time to process what had happened, and the shame nearly overwhelmed you. Never in your life had you lashed out at a colleague like that, especially after having known them for less than 24 hours. 

Expecting to be scolded and fired, you’re surprised when Ava’s next words are, “You could have at least called me girl! My fans would kill to see Melissa in a fight! Although I guess she’s not good like she says, ‘cause you ain’t got a scratch on you. I’m disappointed she didn’t break out her bat,” she mumbles dejectedly. 

You don’t even know where to begin responding to that, so you settle on, “We didn’t fight fight, just said some really nasty things to each other. Also, I don’t have your phone number, so… I actually couldn’t call you.” 

“Oh!” Ava says as if she’s surprised. “Well, we gotta fix that, give me your number so you can tell me next time!”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” you mutter sourly.

“Oh damn, are you quitting?” she replies in a disappointed voice. “You seemed kinda cool standing up to Melissa this morning, I thought for sure you’d last longer than a day.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Uh, no… I mean, I don’t want to quit… well, I kind of do, but then she’d win,” you grumble. “I just thought you’d… I mean, I got into a huge fight with one of Abbott’s most tenured teachers. I thought for sure you’d want to fire me.”

“Fire you?” Ava says incredulously. “This is the most excitement this place has seen in a minute. If you stick around, we could start a teacher fight club!” She shoots you an award winning smile and you can’t help the quirk of your lips at her joke. At least, you think it’s a joke… probably. Ava leans forward, putting on her principal voice as she says, “Look, you’re the first sub we’ve been able to get since the school year started. On top of that, your references and work history make it seem like you’re actually a good teacher.” You give her an incredulous look, because everything you’ve learned about Ava doesn’t point to her ever actually doing her job.

“What?” she says defensively. “I do my research! I’m not gonna let just anybody walk on in here! I don’t need another stalker.” Before you can say anything to that, she barges on. “Listen, you can do whatever you want, but I’m not gonna fire you. Abbott needs you.” Her words, a direct opposition to what Melissa had said to you not even two hours before, warm your heart. You feel tears welling in your eyes, unable to hold them off completely no matter how much you try.

“Ew, don’t start crying,” Ava says, wrinkling her face up. “Or else I will fire you.” 

You can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you, and you catch a self-satisfied smirk on Ava’s face.

“Okay,” you say, wiping your eyes with a smile. “I’ll stay. I’m sure I can avoid Melissa as long as you put me on the opposite end of the school.” 

Your smile drops, though, as Ava says, “Girl, you’re still gonna be in Melissa’s class.” 

“What?” you ask, anxiety beginning to creep into your chest. “Can’t you put me in another room?” 

“Sure, there might be other rooms you could help in, but right now the only person out sick is Ashley,” Ava says flippantly. “And Melissa’s class has the biggest need for a sub, seeing as she’s teaching two grades n’ all.” 

“There has to be something else I can do,” you mutter desperately. 

“Right now, your options are to stick with Melissa’s class, or wait until someone’s out sick. But there’s no guarantee teachers will call out and I dunno about you, but I have bills to pay,” she explains dismissively, and you know the conversation is nearing its end as she turns her attention to her phone. 

You sit there and weigh your options. The last thing you want to do is have to return to Melissa’s classroom and face her again. As much as the kids in her class started to grow on you after just a few hours, this was the worst day you’d had in your entire professional career. And it was entirely due to Melissa Schemmenti. Plus, there was no telling how she’d react to you walking back into her room. Still, Ava had a point: if you weren’t subbing, you weren’t being paid. Your money situation was pretty dire. You needed this job. 

You exhale loudly, before uttering, “Okay. I’ll be back to join Melissa’s class tomorrow. On time,” you add hastily.

“Great!” Ava says, shooting you a smile over the top of her phone. You glance at the clock, seeing it was already nearly the end of the school day, so you wouldn’t be missing much by leaving a bit early. As you get up to leave, Ava says, “Wait!”

You stop in your tracks and turn to her expectantly. 

“Lemme give you my phone number so I can live stream when you and Melissa fight again!”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, and add her to your contacts.

—----------------------

When you make your way out to your car, you feel the weight of the day fully settle on your shoulders. ‘What a mess,’ you think to yourself. Even still, you try to find some resolve. You’re going to need it if you plan to weather Hurricane Schemmenti. 

You come up to your car, which is parked in one of the few visitor’s spots. Your head is down while you dig in your bag for your keys. As you step in front of your car, you feel something crunch beneath your shoe. Frowning, you shift your focus to the pavement. Small, clear granules shimmer in the afternoon sunlight. As you examine more, you see larger shards scattered about. Your jaw clenches as your eyes travel up, up… to the headlights on your car, both of which have been smashed out. 

You stare at the destruction before you, and slowly, a dark feeling starts to fill you. Your pulse pounds in your ears as your teeth grind together, and you start to see red in the corners of your vision. You clutch your keys in a vice grip. You want to hit something, or someone. Of course, you don’t have any proof as to who did this. But you know. And as the dark feeling inside of you grows and grows, you’re already beginning to formulate your revenge. 

‘Okay Schemmenti.  This is war.’