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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one. ♥

“What do you want?”

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says.

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference.

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second.

He’s covered in blood.

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?”

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained.

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?”

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave?

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile.

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.”

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue.

Joel doesn’t answer.

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard.

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that.

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict.

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?”

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side.

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one.

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child.

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips.

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest.

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable?

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand.

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction.

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage.

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy.

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell.

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.”

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do.

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers.

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….”

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard.

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes.

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching.

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges.

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling.

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper.

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide.

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up.

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration.

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder.

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed.

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you.

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought.

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk. Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask.

“It was sitting out.”

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits.

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound.

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them.

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?”

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head. “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection.

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool.

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done.

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it.

I’m sorry.

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once.

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward.

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film.

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy.

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide.

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap.

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to.

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase.

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?”

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes.

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts.

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement.

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans.

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you.

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you.

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.”

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well.

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time.

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate.

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.”

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again.

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known.

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer.

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing.

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling.

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him.

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved.

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles.

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.”

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #enemies to lovers #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine

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creepling · 8 months

Note

Johnny fucking Stockholm’d!Reader in the back of one of the old cars behind the family house? 👀 In one of your mini fics you mentioned him taking her out to the sunflower fields, maybe that’s when it happens?

busted cars and sunsets - j. slaughter / 1k

an: hey i kinda went astray from relating it to the sunflower field drabble but it still has all that other good stuff you asked for!! i also ended up writing more than i thought so i hope you like it<33

tags: smut. MDNI. gn!reader. stockholm syndrome (kinda??). descriptions of trauma. canon-mentions of violence and cannibalism. innocent, sheepish reader. johnny is surprisingly gentle and nice?? but it might be a bluff. making out. grinding. fucking in a car. doggystyle. mentions of kidnapping.

Johnny was looking everywhere for you. Nancy was calling for supper, and you weren’t in the shed like you said you would be. He tried not to think about it too much, the thought of you running away or trying to escape. Maybe you got distracted or went inside for a drink. The sun was setting, and Johnny’s worrying crept up, forming a lump in his throat.

You were sheepish. At least you have been with the Slaughter family. Every minor squeak or crack sent you scattering. Maybe it was the trauma of trying to escape the house, the first time you ate human flesh, or the fact that the family kidnapped you. It’s been so long since the incident that you have begun to accept your fate and grow fond of your captures. Are people still looking for you? Or have they given up like they did with Maria? The thoughts clouded your mind, and you hugged your legs in the back of the rusted car in the Slaughter’s yard.

Johnny realised real quick where you were hiding. He noticed that you liked hiding, growing attached to your company. Johnny wished you grew attached to him, but adjusting to a new life takes a while. That is how he perceived it: you were lucky, the family liked you, and they spared your life. Now you’re one of them, and he can make you happy. Johnny made his way towards the cars, the ones too far gone to fix, and peered inside the busted-out window to see your trembling frame.

“Hey, sweetheart. Why you all bundled up in here?” Johnny said, surprisingly, in a soothing voice. You peeked your head up, giving a meek smile. You like it when he speaks softly. It is the only thing that makes you feel safe. His effort on tenderness is bearable, given the circumstances.

“Nubbin’s trap set off while I was picking flowers. I got scared,” You say. Johnny knew you were telling the truth from the look in your eyes. He motioned his hand to your ankle, checking for injury. “Don’t worry,” You reassure, cringing, “It didn’t get me.”

Johnny let out a stressful sigh. “That darn idiot. I’m gonna beat him over the head,” Johnny spat under his breath. He looked over at you, seeing you back into the corner as he displayed anger. He relaxed his cold stare and slowly opened the rusty door, sliding into the seat next to you and resting his hand on your knee.

“You got nothing to be scared about. No one’s gonna hurt you no more. Nubbins is just being reckless with his traps. Y’know, he puts them around to catch the rabbits.” Johnny reassures, levelling with reason in hopes you calm you down.

You sat silently until another call for supper came from inside the house. You looked at Johnny, twiddling a piece of string from your shirt. “I’m not really hungry,” You mutter, “Sorry…”

Johnny nodded in understanding, rubbing your calf with a gentle stroke. “That’s all right, darlin’. You can eat whenever you feel like it,” He knew Nancy wouldn’t like that much, but he certainly would protect you if she nagged you for it.

“Can we stay in here for a while? Watch the sunset?” You enquire, the thought of it making you smile. Appreciating the small things became a method to keep your sanity. It also made excuses for being around the house, a place you find troubling.

“Alright, but we go inside once the sun’s down, okay?” Johnny reasoned, and you nodded happily.

You crawl over to Johnny and rest your head on his chest, spotting the sun meeting the horizon at your eye level. Johnny only had his eyes on you, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, his tongue sliding along his bottom lip in thought.

“It’s beautiful,” You mutter, charmed by the colours in the evening sky.

“You’re beautiful,” Johnny claimed, his body sensing bashfulness prevail over you.

You look into his eyes, a slight smirk on Johnny’s face as he admires your innocence. Subconsciously, Johnny’s lips lean closer to yours. You stood still like time was frozen, fluttering your eyes shut when he kissed you.

He was rough but passionate as if to prove something to you. His hands explore you, cupping the back of your neck, grasping your thighs, tracing circles on the small of your back. You would be lying if you didn’t find it pleasant, giggling as he nibbled on your bottom lip, whispering sweet nothings. Your hips grind against him, feeling Johnny’s hot breath on your cheek as he gasped.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, darlin’,” He chuckled, “You’ll get me worked up,”

“I can’t help it,” You laughed, your words conflicting with your innocent tone.

“Keep going,” Johnny purred, resting his hands on your waist and guiding your hips. You comply, watching the lustful stare in his eyes as he admires the movement of your body. You hike your shirt up, teasing him as you expose your stomach, slowly raising it until your chest greets his stare. Johnny gazes longingly up at you before entangling you into his hands and kissing you roughly.

“I need you so bad,”

The sun was greeting the horizon, the sky a deep tangerine, matching the tarnished colouring of the car. Your hand presses against the window, and a deep moan breaks loose from your confounded expression.

“Keep going, please, please-” You plead, gripping the busted leather seats to adjust to Johnny’s length inside you.

Johnny hunches over your body, teeth scraping down your spine, holding you in place with his rough hands. Estranged strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Sweat highlights the arc of his muscles.

“You’re so good for me,” He pants. He had to make this quick; otherwise, the family would set out looking for him. He feels you tightening around him, making him bend further down and grip your shoulders, burying his face into your neck.

Johnny’s groans grew husky, sending shivers down your spine. Arching your back, you grind into him. The profoundness of his cock inside you makes you fumble over your moans.

“Yes, baby. That’s it,” Johnny encouraged, rutting into you. “Keep fucking going.”

The rate of Johnny shagging into you eventually lends him his climax, and yours perfectly lines up with his. Both of your clothes are hanging by threads on your bodies. You collapse in each other's arms. His arms engulf you as you straddle his lap, your eyes drunk with lust, admiring your kidnapper, your disastrous love affair.

“You’ll never leave me, will you?” Johnny asked, staring into your soul, soaking in everything about you.

“I would never,” You breathe out.

“Promise?” Johnny pleaded, brushing a strand of hair from your glistening face, basking in your doe-like glow.

“I promise,” You whisper, kissing the scars on his knuckles. Your mind goes astray, maybe from the lustrous high or because you made a promise you might not keep.

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny sawyer #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre #creepling.brainrot

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httpsserene · 5 months

Note

im back to request another x male reader hehe🤭a plot inspired by moth to a flame by the weeknd, what do ya think?

𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰/𝐥𝐧𝟒 & 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: lando has many regrets, the most painful one being the fact that he encouraged you to date oscar. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: angst. beta read. emotional infidelity. implied future possible cheating? established relationship w/oscar piastri. unhappy ending. but also, open ending (sick n twisted). 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.3k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris & male!reader | oscar piastri x male!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖��𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: moth to a flame • the weeknd & swedish house mafia

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: i HATE writing cheat*ng fics, like the idea genuinely makes me sick to my stomach–i never understood why someone would cheat when they can literally just break up 😐, it pisses me off. it’s purely greedy behavior, manipulative, and disrespectful as fuck. but honestly an emotional affair would borderline break my heart more than a physical affair—like you love somebody else more than me??? and you’re not even having sex with them, you just have more emotional intimacy with them??? i fr would shatter into pieces—ANYWAYS: wikipedia was my source for the timeline, so if doesn’t canonically make sense…it is what it is :p sorry for hurting lando, i didn’t want to 😔i think this is my first true angst fic ever? enjoy, loves !!!

thank you to @biancathecool for beta-reading this fic for me !!

want to be added to my taglist? want to submit a request? send me an ask!

check out my table of contents for all of my works!

lando wishes he never invited you to the silverstone grand prix in 2022. he knows you would’ve been insulted if he didn’t; you’ve been his best friend since the two of you were in diapers, and you’ve avidly supported him during each race. so, bringing you along to his home race was a given. however, after his meeting with the team post fp1, he caught you sneaking back into his driver’s room with heart-eyes, flushed cheeks, and a new number saved in your phone. it was the first time you met oscar piastri, who at the time was a reserve driver for alpine. when lando teased you for details, you downplayed the interaction, but you also asked him if it was fine if you got to know the australian rookie. he snorted, you didn’t need his permission to associate with other drivers.

four months later at the the circuit of the americas, you told lando you were dating oscar.

he’s thankful that you waited until after the race to tell him because he would’ve shunted into the barriers. lando’s heard of how people struggle to get over someone they’ve dated and fell in love with—but how does he recover from getting over someone he’s never allowed himself to fall in love with?

lando feigned happiness for you, his shocked laughter passing for joy. he ushered you to sneak into oscar’s room to “make the most of the time you had together,” while he went out to celebrate max’s pole and his p6. the brit did congratulate his friend, and then for a man who claims to not like alcohol, he proceeded to get wasted. he was a mess, enough that he had to be escorted back to the hotel by daniel and carlos—as if being babysat by one of them wasn’t embarrassing enough. he broke down, sobbing into the spaniard’s shoulder about his missed chance, and was eventually soothed to sleep by daniel awkwardly rubbing his back.

he knew it would be difficult to pretend that he wasn’t distraught at your new relationship. he’s had you to himself his whole life; and now he has to see you love another man. when oscar joined mclaren for the 2023 season, sure, he first-handedly witnessed how well the rookie driver treated you. good morning and good night texts aren’t forgotten even with ever changing time zones, you’re spoiled with gifts, lando catches how oscar’s phone has three alternate home screens with photos of you, oscar’s car passenger seat is adjusted to you, he has a list of things you like written in his notes app, he has your coffee order memorized. you’re wearing oscar’s mclaren merch instead of his, you stay on the australian’s side of the garage and calm his nerves instead, you game with lando half as much as you usually did and go out on dates with oscar instead, the collection of stuff that you’ve forgotten in lando’s flat decreases and he spots your stuff in oscar’s flat when he came over to hangout with you two one day. you’re rarely in your own flat, lando has to call or text you to find out what you’re doing instead of just randomly appearing like he usually does, you practically live with oscar when he’s back home, and it becomes very clear to lando that he’s your best friend, not your boyfriend. something else becomes clear to lando. while you may be infatuated with oscar, you’re still his other half.

your phone battery may die during several hour long facetime calls with oscar, but does he know that when you sleep in your own bed, that you call lando and plug in your phone so it charges while you fall asleep to the sound of his voice?

the passcode to your phone may be oscar’s birthday, but does he know that you have lando listed as your emergency contact?

you never order any seafood dishes on dates with oscar, but does he know that’s muscle memory from years of knowing lando gags at the smell?

oscar kisses the scar you have on the knuckles of your right hand, but does he know that’s from when you broke your hand punching a group of older boys who were bullying lando after he beat them in a kart race?

does he know that lando was your first kiss?

it all comes to a head in qatar. oscar won the sprint race, lando hasn’t won anything in the five years he’s been in formula one. you were late to the party the team is throwing for oscar because you were cradling lando as he sobs into your chest. max won the grand prix, and lando was the first loser to cross the finish line; as usual.

at two in the morning, there was a knock on his hotel room door. lando knew it was you from the cadence. you were dressed for bed, clothes wrinkled, voice deep and throaty from sleep, hair mussed to one side, and pillow lines were indented on your cheek. you asked him if he wanted to talk, that you noticed he was off this whole weekend. all lando could think about is the fact that you woke up in the middle of the night, slipped out of the bed you shared with oscar, and continued to wander to lando’s room half-asleep because you were worried about him. waiting until the morning didn’t cross your mind. lando’s heart ached—he shouldn’t be in love with you, he can’t be.

he let you in anyways, how was he supposed to turn you away? you were blinking at him with sleepy eyes, swollen cheeks, pouted lips—he’s only a man. you made yourself comfortable on top of his bed, and lando stared before he shrugged and laid down next to you; this is fine, this is a completely normal thing the two of you have been doing for years. just not while you have a boyfriend, or while he’s suddenly been accepting his feelings for you.

you didn’t say a word, and kept your eyes shut (you’re used to lando, he’ll speak when he wants to or he’ll be fine with your presence next to him while he sorts out his thoughts). you almost fell asleep before lando’s torrent of words startled you into awareness.

he was tripping over his words, his brain moving faster than his mouth. self-deprecating and over critical views fell from his lips—the way they sounded clued you into everything you already knew. the brunet had been thinking this for a while, the phrases sounding too practiced to be sudden realizations. the remaining whisper of sleep was vaporized from your mind at lando’s harsh evaluation of the weekend and his entire career.

you rushed to sit upright and bodily forced lando to turn and face you; your hands warmly blanketed the sides of his face and applied enough pressure for his words to become unintelligible before they tapered off. he knew that you were disagreeing with his monologue from the way your brows were furrowed and how your eyes were alight with anger. the air between you vibrated with the force of your speech, and lando knew you were probably ranting about the only reason he isn’t world champion is because of his car, not his self-perceived lack of skill.

the sharp edge of your jawline was far more interesting to brit—the length of your fanned out eyelashes, the shape of your lips shifting as they formed syllables, the strength coiled beneath the skin of your hands, the broad spread of your chest—lando’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips distractedly and the sound of your voice returned to his ears.

“…you better understand me, okay?” is all that he caught. the senior mclaren driver (how weird), hummed half-heartedly in agreement. his stare tunneled to the part of your lips, and he knew his appreciation was discovered by the audible catch of breath in your throat.

it was like all the air was sucked out of the room, a perfect vacuum created. lando hesitated, before he redirected his gaze to meet yours, and he was sure what he saw was more catastrophic than anything he could’ve imagined. your eyes were locked on his lips, as well. the brunet can’t tell how much time passed by, the two of you were busy taking turns admiring the idea of a kiss. both of you continued to stare; eyes flickering across faces, tongues wetting lips, breath quickening in anticipation, and bodies leaning closer to each other steadily. when lando felt your exhales ghost faintly over his mouth, his eyes fluttered shut and he shivered slightly, a sense of satisfaction flooded his brain; you were going to kiss him—and then he heard you gasp.

lando’s eyes flew open to see you scrambling off the bed, a horrified look painted on your face as you stared at him.

“this never happened,” you started, running an anxious, guilt-ridden hand through your hair, “and it will never happen again.”

it felt like his world was crashing down, he was frozen in shock. you moved to rush by him and leave the room, and he finally defrosted, and caught you by the arm.

you turned around furiously, tears gathering in your eyes as you forced your arm out of his grasp, a scathing, “let go of me,” leaving your mouth.

lando’s hands were shaking, mouth wobbling as he held back his own tears, and he rambled, “you're just going to forget what happened? were never going to talk about that? you’re not going to tell oscar?”

“NO!” you screamed, “no—i won’t tell oscar. and, i don’t have to tell him anything, because nothing actually happened. it was a mistake.”

he heard his heart shatter, and he couldn’t hold his tears back anymore. lando angrily brushed them away as they fell, knowing his face was embarrassingly red with anguish, and his insides burned at the look of pity and longing mixed in your gaze.

“so, you’re just going to pretend that you don’t have feelings for me,” lando questioned disbelievingly, “like i don’t know you better than oscar ever could? you’re just going to forget this ever happened and run back to bed with oscar, and continue to have him believe that everything is fine?”

the air was still for a minute, your shared breaths the only audible noise in the room.

“you’re only going to hurt him more if you act like everything’s okay,” lando whispered, “he doesn’t deserve that.”

your first tear of the night fell, your arms wrapped around your torso to hold yourself, trying to find any glimpse of protection and comfort you could. “oscar’s good to me…he treats me well, perfectly, even. he’s sweet, i really like him a lot.”

“you ‘like him a lot,’” lando repeated, staring into your eyes desperately, “but, you love me.”

the flame of rage and distress reignited in your eyes, “lando—i loved you for years. and, not once have i ever tried to make a move on you because i didn’t want to ruin our friendship. i didn’t even know you liked men until almost three fucking years ago! and, you still never gave me any sign that you were romantically interested in me. you had plenty of time and chances to date me, and you only realized that you wanted me when you lost me to oscar.”

“that’s not true,” lando murmured, “i’ve always been in love with you.”

lando watched the fury falter in your expression, and saw the conflict dance in your gaze. your stare softened, and you stepped forward to hold his face in your hands.

“i can’t do this. not to oscar—he doesn’t deserve it. i can’t break up with him.” you said in a muted tone, “we shouldn’t be together.”

the brunet whimpered, eyes watering again. his large hands came up to hold yours against his cheeks, nuzzling into the warmth of your palm. you sighed brokenly, and leaned forward to press kiss on lando’s forehead. a muffled sob vibrated through lando’s chest, and you blinked rapidly to avoid crying again. your thumb swiped under lando’s eyes, brushing away his fresh tears, and you gently swept another kiss along his cheekbone.

lando cries messily when you pull away, and can only hold himself as you leave his room without glancing backwards at him. when the door shuts, lando falls to the ground, leaning back against the bed as he sobs into his hands. he understands what you said, but he can’t help but yearn for more. his chest aches painfully, and he doesn’t know if he can give you the time you need—the distance you need. lando will pretend to be okay, he’s good at that. he’ll let you be for as long as he can manage, but he’s reassured at the knowledge that you’re in love with him.

eventually, the two of you won’t be able to fight the pull of what you really need—you’re moths to each other's flames.

taglist: @saintslewis@cherry2stemss@lorarriri@inloveallthetime@mindless-rock@biancathecooll@barnestaticc @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

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starry-pierrot · 5 months

Text

A Fighting Chance

You've trained for this for years, friends have helped you and you've dreamed of this moment every night since you've started this plan. You hope it's enough.

Royal Jester AU Eclipse X Reader (Gender neutral)

-Fighting with swords

-Blood mention

-you're a giant cry baby, I don't make the rules you get a piece of me.

---

Hello hello! Okay first things first-this is FANART. This is not at all canon in Cloud's AU. I took liberties and none of this in fic should at all be considered cannon, so please don't go asking them questions about it!

Second this story has TWO endings, neither one is wrong or right they're just more fun. Both endings will be labeled.

And lastly, @head-in-the-icloud I hope you like this! I also hope I didn't butcher Eclipse.

Anyway enjoy!

Your newly gifted sword was held tight in your hands as you pointed it at your best friend and comrade, Eclipse. Today had been the day when you were to be knighted and join the royal guard ranks as an official Knight. But it was also the day you would declare your proposal.

“Marry me!”

The room was quiet while others looked on in surprise at your bold demand, it was no secret that you had fallen for him many moons ago. But no one expected you to do this at this very moment.

And you had just been appointed a knight.

The Queen and Neptune looked on in stunned silence…though Moon and Sun both smiled at one another.. Of course they did, they helped you prepare for this after all.

Eclipse stood tall and stiff as he looked down at you, obviously he was processing what you just said and was caught off guard with the demand. But soon his surprise turned into a wide smile on his face. “No wonder you’ve been demanding I spar with you so much. Had this planned for a while did you?”

“You have no idea.” A laugh slips from your throat, you had this plan thought out for years. Ever since the knight had pulled you out of the way of a runaway cart during a delivery. Sure maybe it was a bit tacky to fall for someone who saved you once but your heart left you no room to argue. You were a romantic afterall.

Getting in was easy but the training was grueling even when it was just the training bot! Never had your hands been so sore before.

It was a struggle but every time you saw him it only made the feelings inside you grow ever stronger for the knight. During your time as a novice you came to get to know him better and spent many days making conversation. You even became friends with the two princes who were more than happy to help.

You believe Moon’s words were, “About time that firestarter gets his rear handed to him.” Moon fenced with you but encouraged you to look around, see how quick the pickpockets of the town move. Study them. And Sun even prepared a final surprise.

“I accept your challenge.” Eclipse said as he moved forward with a hand raised to tip your sword down. “Let’s move this outside. We wouldn’t want to ruin the Queen’s castle now do we?” he said leaning in close before pulling back and walking towards the room’s doors.

Without missing a beat you quickly follow him, you don’t miss how the room is suddenly loud with footsteps and excited chatter behind you.

The courtyard was large and just enough room for the two of you to fight without harming anyone or the buildings around you. Eclipse had his sword out at the ready with his hands poised on top of the handle, patient.

“Are you prepared?” Eclipse asked as you adjusted your cloak on your shoulders before looking at him with a smile.

“Very.”

“You know I won't go easy on you,” he warned, “friend or not.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Sir Eclipse.” You were ready. You can do this.

Eclipse’s sword flashes with light as the fire twirls and dances around the blade, it was one of his strongest abilities. “Then we shall begin.”

The crowd watching you was silent as you both stood still, you can hear Sun cheering you on as all eyes are on the both of you.

Then suddenly the field burned.

Ellipse was quick as he made the first move, you just barely countering it. The heat from his flames were scorching against your skin as you grunted.

“Come on now! Don’t disappoint me!” Eclipse’s wide smile looked down on you and with all your might you managed to push him back. Just as you expected he’s putting his all into this.

“Disappoint you? Never!” Charging at him the two of you clash, to the outsiders it looked like a dance of fire as the kingdom's knights fought. Eclipse was nothing but a force of power and fire, easily knocking you off your feet but you were quick and crafty. Managing to just get around his attacks or at the very last second block it.

You knew when you started this you’d be staring down the Beast of Pleiades and you think the stories of him don’t quite empathize the ‘Beast’ part as much as they should. Eclipse was a monster in battle. But no one was unbeatable.

Eclipse roared as he swung his sword, fire shooting out and surely would knock you off your feet if you didn’t wrap your cloak around you and huddled down.

You can feel the heat wrap around you but the cloak keeps it off your skin, the magic spell casted on it doing its job. Thank you, Sunny!

Unraveling the cloak once it was safe too you stood in front of Eclipse who was once more stunned.

Before he lets out a bellowed laugh, “Ahaha-! I see someone’s made powerful friends!”

“Hey I needed a counter to that sword of yours.” There was a wide smile on your scrapped face, Eclipse laughed a moment more before he swung his sword absentmindedly.

“Impressive. Impressive. I see you thought this out…but will that be enough?” Then he was back at it, sword alight once more and dashing towards you.

The two of you continued to fight, aiming for any sort of weak point like his joints and Eclipse either taking the hit or managing to fend you off and vise versa.

WINNING ENDING--------------------------

The onlookers while captivated wondered when this would all end, the both of you at this point looked like you two had been through hell and back. Blood caked the side of your face and a leg and oil ran down Eclipse’s back.

Neptune had been worried they'd let it go long enough and could potentially lose a new knight but Gaia assured him that Eclipse knew what he was doing.

With a final blow you knock Eclipse hard into the dirt, his sword slipping from his grasp as he grunted. A heavy weight settled on his chest with a knee as you knelt over him, your own sword pointed at his neck, you were panting.

“Yield!” you demand.

“Never!” He refused and made a grab for his sword only to let out a yell of pain as his right arm couldn’t be lifted for more than a few inches before he had to put it back down. His left hand however gripped your sword once he realized he couldn’t reach his own. Tried as he might he couldn’t pull it from your grasp, far too weak to put any real strength into it.

“Y-you…my joints…” Eclipse realized.

“Can’t use a sword without the use of your arms, Eclipse. Damage will do that.” A smirk on your face as he struggled to pull the sword from your grasp, frustrated grunts as he tried but ultimately his hand fell back to the ground.

He seemed to take you in. How you were over him and pinning him down. Someone finally defeated him.

“I yield.” His expression turned to one of relaxation as he smiled up at you.

With a stumble you stood and raised your sword, “He yields!” you yelled to the crowd that erupted into cheering, you can see the Queen,her sons and Neptune racing towards you two.

You did it. You won.

Suddenly the world went dizzy and you stumbled a little before falling down on your ass next to Eclipse, your body had no energy left and even your sword tumbled out of your grip.

“Are you alright?” Eclipse asked.

“Y-yeah..just…holy fuck that was hard..”

A laugh from the defeated night, “I did warn you.”

While resting you felt a warm metal hand meet yours, his weak one could barely move but you squeezed it and smiled down at him.

“So…where do you want to honeymoon? We can go overseas on a ship. Maybe be pirates for a day.”

“Does anyone oppose this union?”

Another laugh, “I think…I think I would like that.”

The priest asked as both you and Eclipse stood before him, the room behind you full of friends, family and even those gossiping old crows who would talk about Eclipse's sword being his secret lover. You were sure there were more people outside but the room had been filled and the doors were closed. Who knew seeing the Eclipse of all people get married would be a big event for the kingdom?

Must be his reputation.

The room stayed silent at the priest's question, not a soul daring to interrupt your union. “The rings please.”

Eclipse delicately placed the ring on your finger, it was silver with gorgeous ruby and imperial topaz gems adorned along it. His name had been etched into the inner side and it fit like a glove.

Slipping on his ring it was an opal and moonstone on the same sliver as yours, along with your own name etched on the inner side. It stood out against his colors but you don’t think you could have found anything more beautiful on him.

The two of you said your vows, you began to cry a little during yours and Eclipse was very patient and encouraging as you stumbled through it. Even making a little joke making you smack him and telling him to ‘Shut up!’, getting a few good laughs around the room.

“You may kiss.”

This is what you’ve waited for, what you’ve worked so hard for the past five years. Careful hands gently cupped your face as he leaned in and kissed you.

Your heart beat hard in your chest as you couldn’t hold back anymore and reached your own arms around him and dragged him down to deepen the kiss.

Cheers and whistles filled the church as your heart soared.

You won.

LOSEING ENDING—---------------

Eclipse's blows were starting to take a toll on your body and if you didn’t knock him down soon you were going to lose. The simple idea of that reigniting the fire in your chest as you two fought. He must have been going easy on you in sparing because he’s never been this fierce before!

But you expected this. You knew he wouldn’t be easy. That’s why this plan had taken so long, so long to put together and your practice with Moon and asking Sun to enchant your cloak so you had a bit of an edge!

“Agh-!” Suddenly you were thrown off your feet, rolling into the dirt before coming to a stop. Looking up you quickly doge a metal boot’s stomp as you roll out of the way.

“You’re slowing down!” Another swing of his sword you barely manage to get out of the way of the fire, “Getting sloppy!”

He was right and you knew it. You needed to end this before he got the upper hand, with a yell you ran in close and made to aim for his naked shoulder hoping to damage the joint somehow. But before your sword could even scrape his casing you were knocked back hard by a knee.

Scrambling to get up your thrown once more by the heat of fire, unable to reach for your cloak in time you feel the fire burn on your skin. You doubt he would kill you, no you know he wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t scorch you a little.

A groan of pain as you finally roll to a stop, breathing heavily as the aches in your body begin to pulsate and scream at you. You could heat his footsteps getting closer, “You’ve certainly put up quite the fight. That cloak I’d say was a very smart move.”

You tried to get up only to wheeze out a breath when his boot stood firmly on your chest, not enough to cut off your breathing but enough to keep you down. “But it seems your plan wasn’t quite enough.”

He sounds so disappointed it makes your guts twist, looking up at him that manic smile is gone and replaced with a frown.

“I-I’m not done!” You say as you struggle to get his foot off you despite the protest of your burned and weak body.

“Oh dear…it’s best to stop now. You’ll only hurt yourself more.” He was trying to let you down easy but you didn’t want to stop now. Not even him pointing his sword at you would stop you now.

“No!”, your hands fly up and grip his sword, luckily you had leather gloves so you don’t feel the sting of the blade but you do feel the heat left on the blade. But you hold tight and weaky try to pull it out of his hands.

He watches with a bit of sadness in his gaze, undoubtedly wanting this done with, “You probably can’t even stand anymore. Yield.”

“No!” You couldn’t give up now! Not after everything. Not after the days of studying how pickpockets moved in the streets, sparing with Moon, the waste of Sun’s time and energy for his magic and all your research in the library for sword techniques! You tried too hard to let this be the end of this!

But as you continued to try you were finding that your body was too sore to continue, not even your grip was strong anymore as your arms eventually gave out.

“Do you yield?” Eclipse asks.

You didn’t want to. You hated to. But there was no way around it, you had lost. With no strength in you to continue you nod, tears filled your eyes as you gave in.

Eclipse was quiet for a moment before nodding, lifting up his sword and stepping off of you, “They Yield!”

You weren’t sure if the crowd was cheering because it had been an amazing battle to watch or if some in the crowd were happy you had lost. A large hand helped you sit up as you sniffled, you tried to hide it behind a hand not wanting him to see you like this.

But Eclipse didn’t let you hide tugging your hand away. “You know it’s alright to lose sometimes.” he said, “You gave me a good fight. Even brought in something I didn’t expect from you.” He was smiling.

“Maybe try again sometime.”

With that he stood up and ruffled your hair, the princes came to your side along with Queen Gaia and her assistant. Sun helped you up and let you lean on him, worrying about getting you to a healer but you weren’t quite paying attention as you hid your face into his royal fabric.

You grunted as you practiced with Moon, now healed from your fight with Eclipse two months ago you were back in tip top shape.

You hoped he wouldn’t get mad at the tear stains.

“You’re going to try again?” Moon asked you as he parried your thrust.

“Are you kidding? Course I am!”

“But you were such a crybaby about it!” He teased with a laugh,“What? Are you just a glutton for punishment?”

“Wh-oh shut up! I just have big emotions!” You nearly smack him with the fencing sword as you advanced. Moon swiftly dodged and thrusted his own sword, getting you on your side.

“Ah-! Hey!”

“I win.” He smirked as he lowered his sword, “But really…do you think you can handle another loss? After that performance I’m sure plenty of others would marry you on the spot.”

You sigh and roll your shoulders, “It’s not about marrying someone just to marry someone. I love him. And no one else will do.”

“Then I guess you better be practicing more.” Suddenly he moved forward making you jerk in surprise and just managed to dodge his attack. “Come on. You have better reflexes than that!”

“Oh you sneaky-!” With a yell you pushed back and continued to spar with Moon.

You might have lost the battle, cried about it for a little-well okay you cried about it the whole two months. But you’re not giving up that easily, after all the tears dried up your determination came back in full force!

You’ll keep trying. But if you never win…well at least you can enjoy Eclipse’s company. That’s more than enough.

---------

I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave comments : )

#fnaf au #royal jesters au #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf eclipse

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dotieeee · 20 days

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 15

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 15 Warnings:

Gaslighting galore, manipulation, angst, the silent treatment

Replay Level 14

Ready? Level 15 Start:

12th Hunger Games Ends with a Bang

District 3 Victor Callahan Brody: "I’m Happy I Ended Up in One Piece"

Sunrise of July 19th wraps up the 12th Annual Hunger Games, but for the emerging champion Callahan Brody, 17 years old, it’s the beginning of a new, more exciting life. Hailing from District 3, the 12th victor charmed his way into our hearts with his sharp wit and, eventually, with his display of intellect in the games, during which he built countless electric traps and other weapons in the arena from mere electronic scraps. He then used these improvised munitions to incapacitate his fellow tributes, leading to his win.

Brody tells us of a family waiting for him in District 3 – two younger brothers and his father – with whom he plans to share his winnings. His Victory Tour is scheduled sometime in August.

More on Brody’s family and future plans on Page 3.

Youngest Gamemakers in History to Tie the Knot

Brilliant Couple Brought Together by The Games Take Their Love to The Aisle Soon.

Coriolanus Snow, and Prunella Innis, Gamemakers, officially announced their engagement last night at the 12th Hunger Games Victory Party. The lovebirds admitted to their plan of uniting in marriage, sometime in December, on live television after reporter Lucky Flickerman inadvertently spotted the ring on the bride-to-be’s ring finger.

The power couple are heirs to the Plinth and Innis fortune, respectively. Only 20 yet considered two of the Capitol’s brightest minds, their efforts were instrumental to the success of the 12th Hunger Games, which wrapped up last Wednesday, July 19th after declaring Callahan Brody of District 3 as the winner.

More on the couple’s captivating love story on Page 4.

Youngest Gamemakers in History to Tie the Knot

Continued from Page 1:

After graduating from the Academy together, the romance between the 10th Games champion and Innis princess shortly began, and their devotion to each other only grew when the former took the latter to be his Gamemaker-apprentice. They have since worked together in revolutioniz-

“That paper came out three days ago, sugarplum.”

Startled, you almost drop the newspaper you’re reading and turn around to face Coriolanus Snow leaning against the doorway of his own office.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” you say before placing the newspaper back on his desk. You had been in search of a book to read in your boredom and had been curious to see what passes as his reading material when the paper caught your attention. You belatedly adjust the closure of your floor-length night robe when you notice that his eyes are roaming over the significantly shorter silk nightgown you’re wearing underneath.

“I just visited Tigris and the grandma’am. We should go see her together one of these days, she wants to meet you.”

You offer no reply to this, seeing as you wouldn’t have any choice in the matter, anyway.

“You know, it’s funny, because she said saw our announcement on the news, but she kept calling you Katharina. It seems like you are your mother’s spitting image.”

Given what you’ve seen your fiancé capable of, you’re not that surprised that he knows about your mother. He probably dug it up too, alongside information about your uncle, and maybe even the entire Innis history.

“Tell me something about her. Grandma’am thinks she’s lovely.”

“She was a Capitol theatre and movie actress,” you recall. Your uncle made sure he told you all about her, perhaps to help you remember her as someone else besides the woman who bled in your arms and whom you cradled even in death. “That’s probably why your grandmother recognises her. She never talked about that part of her life when she was alive. Uncle says she quit acting so she can marry my dad and move to District 3.”

Uncle Cas also kept telling you as a child how you looked exactly like her. It’s a compliment, then, if anything else. Your mother’s eyes are what you remember the most about her. You wonder if you’d still have them after everything your future husband will put you through.

“But, you already know that, don’t you?” you add, mildly annoyed that he’s bringing this up.

The last thing you want is him tarnishing your memory of her, just like he did with the memory of your first kiss.

“Just making conversation, sugarplum,” he replies chirpily as he approaches. “Have you seen her films?”

“No,” you simply respond. Eager to give him a wide berth and lock yourself in your room, you bid him goodnight, but he grabs your arm even before you can sidestep him and get out of his office.

“Sleep beside me tonight. I’ve missed you.”

Your skin prickles at the command and almost brings tears to your eyes. Over the course of a few weeks, you’ve come to learn what that meant – it always means either you on your knees and him using your mouth for his own pleasure, or him touching you the way he did after that night at the club.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep in my room tonight,” you say, trying your best to sound like you’re firmly standing your ground. There were nights that he’d leave you alone, after all. Maybe, hopefully, this is one of them.

“We’ll only cuddle until we fall asleep.”

It’s a ‘no,’ then, seeing as he completely ignored your question.

“Wait for me. I’ll join you momentarily.”

Even with his tired eyes, he manages to give you an empty smile, bordering on mischief. You leave his office at once and do as you’re told, but on his bed, you get as close as the edge as you could without falling over. Unfortunately, you’re still awake when you feel the bed and the sheets shift on the other side, indicating he’s come to join you under the covers. As he always does when you’re in bed together, he draws as close as he can and snakes an arm around you, pulling you to him while he buries his face on the crook of your neck and takes a huge whiff.

The hand draped over your waist, however, undoes the tie of your robe.

“Please, I thought we’d just cuddle –”

Coriolanus shushes you in your ear gently and says, “I am simply removing your robe. It can’t be comfortable lying in that thing.”

Closing your eyes, you fight a whimper when that hand begins peeling it off from your shoulder, grazing your arm with his fingers. He takes his time with it too, but succeeds in taking it off, leaving you in your more revealing night dress. He then swiftly manoeuvres you to lie on your back, drapes his torso all over yours and kisses you on the mouth.

He makes a quick work of it that you don’t have time to react. There’s always hunger in the way he kisses you, with the way his tongue is urging yours to move against his. He moans into the kiss as if he’s drawing satisfaction from the reaction he’s forcing out of you. He tangles his fingers into your hair, while his free hand roams the side of your body. That hand then slides upwards on your thigh – that’s when you break off the kiss, which lets you take in as much air as that heavy torso on top of yours allows you to.

Coriolanus sighs heavily before he nuzzles the side of your face.

“I told you, you’d have to get used to this,” he chastises you softly, clearly displeased, but he surprisingly gets off you and resumes lying on your side in favour of spooning you.

“I love you, sugarplum. Sweet dreams.”

Sometimes, when you lie in his bed like this, you kind of wish he’d just fuck you to get it over with – maybe then, he would get tired of you faster and perhaps even change his mind about marrying you. It's not a thought you always welcome. All you know is, you’ll never get used to this, to him – maybe not ever.

There’s something about Capitol parties that reek of frivolous emptiness – people who secretly despise one another out of envy or animosity, trying to their best to one-up everyone and make a show of themselves, eating beyond their fill and drinking beyond their tolerance.

This being your engagement party does not make it any better.

To Ma and Father Plinth’s credit – Strabo has taken you to call him that – the party had been meticulously arranged. They have taken it upon themselves to host the engagement party and they took care of everything – they booked the left wing of The Palisades Hotel’s inner garden, hired the same orchestra from Strabo’s birthday party, got one of the best-reviewed caterers in the city – there hasn’t been any hitches so far, so to their credit, they have done magnificently in making this night enjoyable for everyone in attendance.

The orchestra finishes their romantic number to collective applause – you and your fiancé let each other go and join in clapping, having finished the first dance. While couples from all over the surrounding tables mill into the floor in time for the next much livelier musical number, Coriolanus escorts you by hand back to your table.

“Good to see your etiquette lessons haven’t been a total waste of money,” your Uncle Cas comments as he raises a glass and takes a huge swig, which earns a hearty laugh from you and the Plinth couple at the table.

You remember making the same inward observation during a dance that already seemed so long ago. You take a seat to your uncle’s left, while your groom takes his place on yours, taking solace in the fact that despite wanting to be miles away from this party, your uncle is here, if only for the next few hours.

Coriolanus has taken steps to ensure that the Innis senior attends to preserve the appearance of approving your match. You have no idea how he convinced the ever-unyielding Acacius Innis to be here given your uncle’s implied abhorrence of him, which he hides with passive-aggressive, sarcastic remarks at least for tonight. You probably don’t want to know either, but you are well aware that shortly before the party ends, your uncle will be on a train to District 12 to live out his exile. For how long, your husband-to-be didn’t disclose; it could be weeks, months, even years, before you see your only living blood again. Mourning that fact, however, would spoil the remaining time you have left with him.

So, even if you’re at a party celebrating your eventual bondage, you try to enjoy Uncle Cas’s company.

After what feels like mere minutes, Coriolanus gives you an almost imperceptible tilt of his head.

It’s time.

Uncle Cas seems to know, too, but he casually gets up from the table and announces his early exit, citing an early business trip to the Districts which he has to prepare for. He bids everyone he knows in the party a short farewell before Coriolanus escorts him inside one of The Palisades’ smaller empty halls with you in tow.

He gives you and your uncle just ten minutes to bid each other farewell while he stands in the corner to watch.

Ten fucking minutes.

Your husband-to-be seems to have prepared this room beforehand because two seats are waiting for you at the corner facing each other.

Your uncle is the first to break the silence.

“How have you been, plumcake?” he says with that fond smile you always see him wear around you.

You do your best not to burst into tears despite all the emotions threatening to pour out of you all at once. He’s gotten even thinner, and his now-dull eyes have more prominent circles around them. You miss him, you worry about him, you dread his stay in District 12 where he's supposed to be assigned, and most of all, you fear that you’ll never get to see him again despite Coriolanus’s promise that this will be temporary.

“I’m doing well, Uncle,” you lie, not because you don’t want him to know the truth, but because this isn’t about you. “How about you? You don’t look like you’re eating or sleeping well – where are you staying in District 12? What are they going to make you do there? Have you packed? Are they allowing us to video call? What if –”

Uncle Cas interrupts your line of questioning by cupping both sides of your face and putting on a reassuring “Plumcake, your old uncle can handle himself just fine. And as you can hear, I’m not using that voice – you know the one that sounds like I’m lying to avoid talking about it –because I know you hate that voice.”

You can’t help the tiny chuckle that comes out of you. Perhaps, he’s telling the truth. After all, he’s a former rebel leader – most likely the smartest one out of all of them, too.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so until then, stay strong, yes? You inherited the best from us: your mother’s kindness, your father’s brains, and your uncle’s wit.”

With a twinkle in his eyes, he places a hand on top of your head like he does when he messes with your hair.

“Your mother and father would be so fucking proud of their little plumcake, who turned out to be the best human being I’ve ever gotten to know.”

Uncle Cas gently wipes the lone tear on your cheek with a thumb and this time, actually ruffles your hair.

“Uncle, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Did you ever find out who did that to Mom and Dad all those years ago?”

Your uncle dons a sad, contemplative look, which surprises you a bit. You had been expecting him to react angrily, or immediately change the topic, but he seems to debate within himself whether to respond. After a few moments, he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.

“After the…incident, I was given two choices by the president,” he begins. “Stay a rebel, be forever hunted by the government, but have more than enough resources to find out who killed my little brother and his wife and exact revenge. That, or live in the Capitol, raise the child they left behind and give her the future they would’ve wanted for her.

“Guess what I chose?” he then flashes you a lopsided grin that doesn’t quite reach his tired, pained eyes. “So, the answer is no. I don’t know who did it. Innises hate not knowing, I am aware – we have to have an answer for every fucking thing – but, that’s that.”

“You upended your life for me. I worry that I caused your divorce, that you regret your choice –”

“Hey, none of that.” Uncle Cas interrupts you with a firm tone, “Absolutely not. Your aunt and I already had issues, to begin with; one being…well, I would often be held up for days at a peacekeeper station for interrogation and she couldn’t deal with the worry –”

“Wait, you were tortured?” you exclaim in alarm, but he’s quick to break your line of questioning.

“ – The point I’m making is, plumcake, I have never, ever regretted choosing you – not a damn second. You are the best thing that could’ve ever happened to a man like me.”

The only response you can muster to his adoring smile is just more tears cascading down your cheeks. Just like he’s always done since you were a little girl, freshly orphaned and utterly helpless, he is quick to wipe the tears away. You love your mom and dad, but there’s nothing in the world that compares to having the Acacius Innis as your uncle.

“Now hug this old bag of creaking bones, it’ll be a while before we see each other again.”

And so you do, as tightly as if a mere embrace can keep him here, and whisper, “I love you, uncle. Please stay safe in 12. Please.”

“I love you too, my little plumcake,” he whispers back. “Between you and me, I may already have a welcoming committee awaiting my arrival. So you don’t have to worry your head over me. Yes?”

When he lets go, he assures you that while his own assets are frozen until his exile is lifted, he’s transferred enough money in your name to last you a lifetime.

“I know you never cared about any of that, but if you got any more animal shelters to donate to, it’s there. Whenever you need it.” Ruffling your hair once more, he crinkles his eyes, making the lines on his face more prominent. Another question pops into your head.

“Whatever happened to Petey?”

“I haven’t heard from him or about him, which is good news.”

Worriedly, you inquire another. “And The Headless Confectioner’s?”

“Ask your fiancé,” he replies flatly. “He’s starting to give us the stink eye, I think our time is up.”

Coriolanus allows you one more quick hug with your uncle before he escorts him away.

“Sugarplum, stay in here, please. I will be back to fetch you.”

A final smile from him, and your Uncle Cas is gone, and the only thing he leaves in his wake is the dull thud of the giant door closing behind him.

You just stare at the door after, hoping this is just one big practical joke and he’s going to come bursting back in with a stupid grin on his face.

Instead, you get Coriolanus Snow, who makes a beeline towards you as soon as he reenters the hall – when he’s but an arm’s length away, he stretches out his arm with the intention of giving you a hug.

For comfort? You’d rather eat a motherboard and wash it down with thermal grease.

You swat those hands away and say scathingly, “Don’t touch me.”

He seems hurt that you spurned him and begins to say, “Nellie, I only meant – ”

But don’t wait for him to finish whatever he has to say; instead, you storm out of the hall, with him tailing you. Wanting very much to get away from him for a while, you proceed straight to the ladies’ powder room where he can’t follow. You slip a handful of bills to the bathroom attendant so she can leave you alone and spare her the trouble of listening to your pitiful sobs.

It’s all you’ve been doing much of recently.

You reluctantly emerge from the stall, wiping your eyes with a tissue and making your way to the sink. Somebody’s leaning against the washing basin’s marble slab, but you don’t look at them – probably the bathroom attendant who just decided to go back to her post.

“You’re seriously not going back out there looking like that, are you?”

The gloating, high-pitched voice makes you look up from the sink. You don’t even have to glance at the only other person in the bathroom to figure out who it is.

“Get off my case, Livia. I’m not in the mood.”

“Crying on your own engagement party? Let me guess,” she taunts. “You just found out that your fiancé doesn’t really love you and he’s only marrying you for your money, our your status…”

She eyes you from head to toe, and adds, “Or whatever the hell he sees in you.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” you can’t help but whisper, more to yourself than her, as you stare blankly at the sink. “Maybe then, all this would be just a little more bearable.”

Something is shoved into your line of vision. A steel flask.

“I know you don’t drink, but I think now’s a pretty good time to start,” Livia says with a smirk. She takes note of your hesitance and laughs. “That’s how horrible you think I am? I wouldn't poison my own supply.”

She takes a long swig from the flask to prove it. You feel a tad guilty not humouring her, seeing as she’s making an effort to at least strike up a conversation, so when she hands it back to you, you take it and drink.

Whiskey. It burns your throat, but you welcome the eventual buzz.

“Honestly, I didn’t know I had to spell it out for you, you weren’t this dense in the Academy,” she snaps at you, frowning, as you give her back the flask. “If you’re that unhappy, call off the wedding. Break up with him.”

You sigh and just give her a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

How much are you allowed to tell her, anyway? What would she do with whatever you tell her? Do you even want to tell her?

“I can’t do any of that. Not right now…” you whisper after a pause, which she eyes you suspiciously for.

You can feel the cogs in her brain work as she tries to process your cryptic message.

“Wait…” she says slowly. “You’re seriously not…what are you implying? Is your uncle making you do this?”

Your turn to laugh. “Heavens, no. He would never.”

Livia Cardew scrunches her face in confusion. “Wha – then, who…? Oh.”

Did she finally get it? Confusion morphs into realisation, and then into horror.

“Holy shit.”

There it is. Livia has always been smart. That good quality is just often overshadowed by her obnoxious vanity, her abrasiveness, and the tendency to annoy people just for the heck of it. She quickly strides to the powder room door and pushes the lock. She faces you once more with a look that’s determined to get more answers.

“How?” Her shrill voice echoes in the space. “Why? Why you? He could’ve chosen someone else more willi – all I’m saying is…why do any of this?”

“You mean, why not you?”

Her answer is a mere purse of her lips. She has no idea how many nights you’ve wondered the same.

“Why not, indeed…” you sigh again and follow it up with an exasperated query. “Can I go, now? I still have to paint a smile. That takes quite a bit of time.”

“Why won’t you run away?”

Of course, she isn’t letting the matter go. Should you not have told her anything?

“Back to the Districts? My inter-district travel pass is revoked. Besides, you don’t think I’ve tried? I’ve run out of ideas at this point.”

Your old classmate is still frowning, but there’s a hint in there of…pity. You have no need for it, but this is the first time you see something else in her besides hostility.

“Fuck. That’s just…fucked up.”

Yes, indeed. Everything is, now. Of course, you keep that to yourself.

“Well, there’s always divorce…” she says quietly, softening her tone. She adds, “Maybe I’ll still like him then...not that I haven’t moved on…you know, we never really dated? Or talked, even.”

“Why wait? You can swoop in right now. It’s not yet official.”

Please. Please get him off my case. If anyone else can get what they want if they just put their mind to it, it’s Livia Cardew. She and Coriolanus share that characteristic, the latter is just prone to more cruelty.

A high-pitched guffaw escapes her lips. “Oh, don’t empt me. I can’t tell if you’re just being sarcastic right now…okay, no you’re not.”

“I have to go. Don’t tell anyone.” You’re not sure your warning will hold, but it has to, for her sake. “Especially him. He can’t find out that you know.”

Livia rolls her eyes. “I’m not stupid. Hey, at least we now have something in common.” When you don a questioning expression, she clarifies, “We both hate this wedding. And this marriage. And we can’t wait for it to fall apart.”

You flash her a smile, which she returns with a friendly smirk. The first interaction you share with her that isn’t antagonistic in nature.

“I’ll drink to that…” you say. “Well, back at the table, at least. Thanks for the whiskey.”

“Hey. If you want to grab a cocktail, or whatever, you know my number.”

Nodding, you walk to the door and unlock it, mentally steeling yourself for yet another round of fake happiness around people you don’t care for, the only one person you care to genuinely show your emotions to now probably miles away on a train to a place you’ve never been.

“Nellie?”

You look back at Livia Cardew halfway through pushing the door open.

“I meant what I said. I’m going to destroy your marriage.”

“I’ll drink to that too – as soon as I’m back at the table.”

You can only hope she makes good on her promise.

There’s a tense silence between you and your fiancé as you both wait for the meal to arrive. It’s the usual late Saturday breakfast, except instead of reading the morning paper, Coriolanus is staring sharply at you from the rim of his cup as he sips his usual morning tea.

You completely ignore him, just like last night.

After the party, you’ve never spoken a word to him. He kept trying to get your attention as soon as you arrived at his apartment, but, when you slammed your bedroom door on his face, he thankfully retreated to his own and let the matter go.

But this is Coriolanus Snow, and he always has to get what he wants. And right now, it seems like he wants you to say something.

“Your uncle should’ve been in District 12 about six hours ago. I booked him a hovercraft instead of a train. That way, he’ll be less tired on the journey.”

So, now, he’s concerned about Uncle Cas all of a sudden?

“He’s probably resting, as we speak. He has access to video calls every two weeks, and phone calls every week, so he will keep in touch.”

You vaguely wonder how long you can keep this up without being punished for it because that’s the next step you know he’ll take once his patience has run out.

“This is temporary, sugarplum. I’ve told you before: your uncle’s exile will be lifted.”

You’ve gone this far, you shrug inwardly. Might as well.

Coriolanus huffs as he places his cup on the saucer. “Nellie, you’re being difficult. I’m trying here.”

How about trying to get Uncle Cas back?

You keep your lips pursed when the food arrives. You poke your way through the sausages, the salad, and the cheese omelette, chewing but not tasting anything.

“Don’t play with your food.”

So you set your cutlery down neatly on the plate to indicate you’re finished and take a small sip of your coffee. The clanging of his fork and knife in his plate almost makes you jolt in your seat.

“Nellie, you’re acting like a petulant child.”

This rebuke is said through clenched teeth and makes you peer into his eyes. He meets your innocent stare with an annoyed expression, so you open your mouth and whisper – the first thing you say out loud since last night:

“This child would like to excuse herself from the table.”

Without waiting for his permission, you get to your feet, walk away from the dining room and head straight into your bedroom, with your fiancé’s bewildered, indignant eyes following you.

Later, you hear a soft knocking on your door, followed by the jingling of your door knob. This continues for a few moments, as if rattling it would make it magically unlock.

“Nellie,” Coriolanus’s muffled voice comes through your door. “I’m going out.”

Good. “I hope you don’t come back,” you whisper.

“I can get you anything you like.”

How about getting me my uncle back?

You hear him audibly exhale, and say, “I’ll be back in a few hours. We will talk, then.”

There is total silence inside the house after his footsteps retreat, indicating he’s left. True to his word, he comes back knocking a little more urgently with another request.

“Come to the living room when you’re ready, but come quickly. I have something for you.”

Deciding not to push him any further than you have, you begrudgingly step out of your bedroom and proceed to the living room, where you find him tinkering with an old portable projector he placed on the coffee table, along with a stack of disks and a player, all of which look like they’d belong on a museum display.

“I did some digging in the City Archives and found some movies they were able to salvage from the war ruins. I’m not supposed to take them out, but I may have slipped the archivist a hefty bribe to borrow them a bit,” he says with a smirk.

Coriolanus seems to catch your curious stare at the piece of old equipment.

“This seems to be your kind of thing, I know, but the archivist also taught me how to operate it.”

“Au contraire, this is the first time I’ve seen one of these.”

He just chuckles as he inserts a disk on the player. “Take a seat, then. This afternoon will be a series of firsts for you.”

He pushes a button on the player while you make yourself comfortable on one of the cushions, facing the wall where the projector begins to display what seems like a dated movie. Judging by the title that it flashes, it’s a romantic comedy with pre-war style production. Not exactly your type of genre, but you sit through the film for about fifteen minutes.

Until she comes in.

Your posture goes rigid as you feel the colour drain from your face.

“Turn it off,” you say. Coriolanus throws you a puzzled expression and pauses the film which freeze-frames at her smiling coyly at the main love interest.

“I can put on another one if you don’t like this – ”

“No, turn it off,” you repeat with a firmer tone.

Your fiancé exhales in exasperation but makes no move to stop the player. “Maybe you’re not watching what I’m watching, Nellie: that’s your mother in that film. If my mother had a movie she starred in, I’d watch it over and over.”

With your jaw set, you get up from your cushion and try to turn it off yourself, but the stop button will not work.

Coriolanus pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to face you. “I know you’re still upset about your uncle leaving, and I’m trying here, Nellie. I just want to make you happy, but you’re not letting me.”

“You really think watching a couple of old films will cheer me up?” You finally snap. “What I’m watching is not my mother. That’s just her playing a character. That’s not how I remember her, she – ”

Your gaze lands on the eyes and the smile of the woman on the screen, so starkly different from the ones in your memory, just before the fated explosion. That smile is slowly slipping away in your mind, you realise, and the thought is enough to bring tears to your eyes, which you try to choke back.

“Hey, now…” your fiancé stands, looking slightly agitated – perhaps even guilty – and removes the player’s plug from the wall socket.

“That’s not her,” you whisper, “And I want to hold on to my mom the way I remember her.”

Coriolanus moves to take you in his arms, but you take a step backwards, which is enough to deter him from coming any closer. That doesn’t stop his displeased expression though.

It was a mistake, stepping out of your room.

Judging by the orange glow of the setting sun streaming through the window curtains in your room, it’s almost nighttime, indicating you hadn’t gotten out of bed or stepped out of your lockdown for more than twenty-four hours after your husband-to-be’s misguided attempt at cheering you up.

You never heard from him the entire day, at the very least. But just when you think he’s finally learned to give you some sort of space, you hear gentle knocking on your door.

“Nellie, open the door. We have a guest.”

He doesn’t sound angry or hurt, but you make no move to acknowledge him – or the supposed guest – and burrow deeper into the comforter.

After a few moments of pure silence, Coriolanus speaks, assumably to the guest, “I don’t think she wants to be disturbed right now.”

There’s something gentle, almost childlike, about the way he speaks to them, but it's maybe just your imagination. Mere seconds later, you hear faint scratching at your door, which puzzles you a little. Coriolanus would never scratch at a door no matter how desperate he is to make you unlock it.

“See? Maybe later, we’ll knock again, okay?”

A small, high-pitched noise from outside your room makes you jump out of bed. You kneel on the floor and press your ear against the door to confirm what you just heard.

Coriolanus lets out an exhale. “I know, little man. Let’s get you some food first.”

Meow.

Your fingers, moving of their own accord, twist the doorknob and let the door swing open by a fraction.

The tiny, furry head of Oscar the cat emerges from the crack, followed by his entire form swathed in his long, shiny, tuxedo-like fur coat.

“Oscar?” You call out softly.

Meow.

The male cat traipses towards you, his adorable pink nose sniffing you and the air around you. Remembering Patty’s advice, you hold out a forefinger to him, and he rubs his cheeks on you just like the first time you met him. He accepts a shorter set of head-pats though, and immediately jumps on top of your messy comforter, lays down on his side and begins grooming his little furry paws like he owns the entire bed.

And for what feels like the first time in a long while, you let out a genuine, hearty laugh.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you laugh. I want to hear it more often.”

You whip your head to your doorway to see Coriolanus, still clad in his coat, leaning against it, observing the interaction with a soft gaze. He crosses the threshold and attempts to pet Oscar on the head once, but Oscar swats his hand away with a paw.

Feigning a hurt expression, your fiancé pouts comically. “Fine, be like that. I guess you don’t need your daddy now that mommy has finally paid you some attention.”

Normally, you’d bristle at his implication, but you don’t pay it any mind. He seems to take this as a sign and decides to push it a little further with you.

“Nellie, why don’t we leave Oscar alone for a while? You must be hungry, so I got you some food.”

You stare at him for what seems like a long time with so many conflicting feelings: should you be thankful that he seems to have brought Oscar home? Is it fair that you’re punishing him by way of silent treatment when he seems to be making these attempts to console you? Should you thank him for giving Oscar a home?

But he sent Uncle Cas away.

Coriolanus helps you stand, unaware of your inner turmoil. He’s right about one thing, though – you start feeling the pangs of hunger and follow him to the dining area where a maid has just finished setting up the table. He sheds his coat and gives it to the maid, but not before taking out a piece of paper from inside the coat pocket.

He hands it to you and says, “You seem like the type with zero experience in handling cats, so I wrote down some instructions for you.”

You can tell he’s teasing you by the lopsided grin he flashes, but he’s right yet again. You both take your usual place on the table in a considerably lighter silence than before, and Oscar joins in just before dessert – you make him sniff a piece of your cheesecake with your fork, but he just turns his tail on it, clearly offended. He decides to perch on the farthest end of the table with his back turned, much to you and Coriolanus’s amusement. After the meal, Coriolanus instructs you what and what not to feed the cat as he fills Oscar’s little plate with a can of jellied tuna, which Oscar seems to take a huge liking to.

After the male cat saunters away from his empty plate with his full belly swish-swoshing to the sides, your fiancé turns to you.

“Join me for tea before bed?”

You give him a single nod and follow him to the living room where a fresh pot of tea is already waiting on the coffee table. Your light, almost one-sided conversation veers into wedding preparations.

“The wedding organizer called this afternoon. He says you’re going to need to finalise the names on your entourage.”

Another nod.

“Have you even listed a name down? Let alone chosen a maid of honour?”

You hum to yourself as you put your teacup down. “I think I have someone in mind. I’d still have to ask her, though. I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”

He squints at you curiously. “Care to tell your fiancé who it is?”

Oscar the Cat takes this exact moment to jump and settle his heavy bottom on your lap. You can’t help but smile at the little guy as you rub the back of his ears and he begins to softly purr.

“I’m thinking Livia. Livia Cardew.”

Enter Level 16

Next on Level 16 - You commemorate Sejanus's second death anniversary; wedding preparations are underway; Snowball gives you news about your uncle's exile.

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #Young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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admiraltypress · 9 months

Text

I've bound my first book!!

This is an octavo sized hardcover of Cicada Sings Amongst Bamboo by @shadaras!

I didn't want my Tiny Books Bang assignment to be my first attempt at binding, so I reached out to Shadaras and typeset this fic to be the same page size as that typeset. It really did help to have another fic to practice on before moving on to the Tiny Books Bang books, and I'm excited to have this fic as the start of my collection. It really fits the vibe of a lot of my taste in fic... I definitely plan to bind a lot more canon divergence and rarepairs in the future!

I will also be working on an author's copy of this bind, it is just put on hold until FFWAD is sent off! I'll be able to fix a few minor issues, particularly the size of the book boards (these ones are a little too wide for the textblock).

The bookcloth is homemade from a piece of fabric that's been in my stash for years (too small for a lot of things) and I found the endpapers recently! I was also able to sew head/endbands, which turned out better than I had expected. I originally wanted to add a ribbon bookmark, but I ended up deciding that the ribbon I had was too wide.

I'm also really happy with how the typeset turned out for this! I had to adjust the title page several times to fix issues with the margins, but it was worth it. I also found some great public domain images to reference the title on the title page and the beginning of the story (since this is a one shot!)

My favorite spread is pages 68 & 69! It shows off so much of my formatting, including the section dividers and the shaded background for letters (copied from the original fic on AO3). But what I really love is on page 69: "a gap full of ink drops and dried scratches!"

Altogether I'm really happy with how this turned out, and I'm excited to make another copy 💜

#bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #thingslizmade #originalpostbyliz #the untamed #mo dao zu shi

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lexa-griffins · 17 days

Note

"Don't Hold Back" for the fic title

I feel like this is definitely nudging me towards a certain place so I'll comply... under the cut! 😝

But first the non smut one:

Canon world, maybe. A Lexa doesn't die, the end of the world doesn't happen (again) story.

Clarke has taken up training with Anya. She is not training to be a warrior by any means, but to survive on the ground in the high position Clarke as proven herself worthy off she needs to be able to defend herself properly, not just with a gun and pure brute force.

Per Lexa's request Anya goes easy on Clarke, who ends most training sessions on her back, breathless, listening to a list of everything she did wrong given to her by a disappointment Anya.

All it takes is for Anya to question if something was to happen to Lexa with Clarke around, the commander would be sure to die thanks to Clarke's inability to fight.

That sets Clarke off immediately. She is throwing herself at Anya who dodges her and pocks her again, reminding her how she would be unable to even catch whoever hurt Lexa. And Clarke launches at her again, this time landing a punch. Anya is quick to rise and throw one back, but Clarke is quicker and moves, avoiding the hit. The pride in Anya’s face shines for barely a second.

Lexa watches from the sidelines, hidden by the shadows of the trees. Anya is correct that Clarke would probably not be capable of helping Lexa if something was to go wrong. Lexa thinks she would very much prefer the sky girl leave her to die if they ever find themselves in such a situation but knowing Clarke, she would not back down so it is best she knows how to fight.

A loud thud reaches her as she watches as Anya falls on the dirt, Clarke's knee holding her down, a dagger on Anya’s neck.

The older woman chuckles darkly, looking at the wild beast in Clarke's eyes, "She finally got me Heda."

At Lexa's title, Clarke turns her head abruptly, sheepishly dropping the dagger as Lexa comes forward and towards them.

Lexa simsply nods, a proud smile on her face. Staring at her, Clarke's eyes feel tamed once more and she feels the adrenaline leave her and a smile blossom. She helps Anya off the floor.

"It seems she is ready for the next step." Its the first thing Lexa says. Clarke stares at her slightly confused, "and Anya this time, no need to hold back."

Clarke barely has the time to open her mouth before she is being thrown on the ground.

(Also g!p clarke. Duh.). Smutty but with quite a soft undertone to it, building trust and confidence in bed between them.

They've been managing to take things as slow as they can. With the desperation burned out during their first time, they get to slowly learn about each other's bodies and likes.

Lexa has never explicitly told Clarke she likes it soft and gentle, but perhaps it was her tears or the lovestruck look she gives Clarke that gave her that impression and so, with out ever truly confirming it, Clarke goes slow with Lexa, lovingly. Oh so sweet.

Lexa loves it. But she knows Clarke is holding back. And Lexa... Lexa is quite tired of being treated like she might break during sex.

Slowly Lexa would encourage Clarke to let go fully in bed. Urge her on. Ask her to go harder and faster. Nudging Clarke to place them in positions easier to allow her to go harder.

Until the one night when Lexa demands it of her. "Don't hold back, niron. Give me all."

And so Clarke kisses her, the last piece of softness for the next while.

And Lexa loves her soft niron. Loves the care Clarke takes with her, always entering her slowly, allowing Lexa the time to adjust. Never rushing, always assuring, always asking. But this Clarke? This is the woman of passion and fervor she fell in love with. Desperate and rough and so full of passion as she fucks Lexa onto the mattress.

The first of many, I'm sure.

#letter opened #uh this was fun ✨️#wanheda's dagger #clexa

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madarasgirl · 21 days

Text

A Night for Hunting Ch.18 -Interlude III

CW: 18+, NSFW, Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, explicit sexual content, Dom Vladcard, ROMANCE, oral sex, bondage, blindfold, ballgag, shadows/tentacles, ‘speculum,’ breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, affectionate vampire king, comfort, history, self-indulgent fantasies, cervical penetration, shadow writing. A couple who's BIG HORNY for each other Words: 5089

Extreme sex re: tentacle porn. But this is still emotional smut in the same strain as the other Interludes.

This chapter can be skipped and imo you shouldn't miss too much plot-wise. Something interesting that does happen will be described in later chapters. Don’t take the contents of this chapter too seriously. It wasn’t planned well in advance like most other chapters. The Reader is ovulating and so am I, that’s all. Oh daddy Vlad.

In this fic, vampires are infertile because they are dead, including their spunk, which Vlad knows. He's just indulging in a fantasy and contemplating a life which he knows would never have been possible.

I also went through this story from the beginning and made some small edits. I swapped some words here and there that I liked more and made two changes to ensure continuity and adherence to the canon:

Alucard should only be using one gun in Ch.7 since he doesn’t have the Jackal yet

In the OVAs, there was no painting hiding the entrance to Alucard’s lair

Excerpt below the cut

”Alu-!” You stopped in your tracks upon entering the great room after the check in the bedroom yielded no vampire.

“Vlad.”

The diffuse rays from another hall retreated shortly after illuminating the lounging figure, as if shying away from the night creature of legend.

Alucard was always correct whenever he mused about the wonders of darkness’ cover.

There was beauty in the unbroken shadows. The poor visibility compelled you to adjust to the nuanced differences in the most subtle shades of black. The brooding giant nearly fused into the surroundings, consuming any specs of light, his knee-length tresses flooding around him in an inky pool deeper than the background. No metal reflected the lamps outside. Vlad was unarmed, clad in a skin-tight suit covered in straps that outlined his impressive physique.

This was not who you expected to find. Twin citrine jewels flickered softly as they regarded you. You silently observed each other for a moment. Was he sad again tonight? No, clearly he could scent your need and was waiting to see what you would do.

‘The trappings of his physical form were meaningless,’ you recalled him insisting. You took wide exaggerated steps to allow your groin to air –and for your natural aromas to diffuse better. Kneeling at his feet, you wedged between the King’s knees and fumbled with the leather straps to fish out his member. The outfit was an irritating single piece garment. Fortunately, the clothing parted as you dug in and left you salivating at the creamy flesh nestled within a sea of darkness.

Summoning up a piece of forgotten courage, you glanced up at his imposing magnificence before standing abruptly to lead him back out to the throne room. Your lover was a king tonight and respect must be imparted.

You exhaled as you arrived and got a proper look at him. The jumpsuit accentuated the outline of those sublime proportions. His chest was thick and quads swollen with brawn; you could make out the grooves where his triceps began and where the “V” to his hips ended. The smoggy darkness cloaked him like a jealous mistress unwilling to relinquish her finest work of art.

His cock hung semi-erect from a carpet of neatly trimmed pubes.

The vampire was enjoying the attention, eyes sparkling as he watched you drink him up. The corners of his lips tilted roguishly and your gaze focused on those plump pads. Something snapped.

Your mouth crashed into Dracula’s in an open-mouthed kiss as you stood on the tips of your toes and nudged him back to encourage him to sit, to allow you to fellate the King on his throne.

Piece by piece, you took your time shedding the components of your night clothes, until at last you let your panties drop and join the pile pooled at your feet with finality.

His stare bore through you.

There was a low whining sound from someplace far away, yours, as you rubbed hard against his body and collapsed to the floor to settle between his legs again. A trail of fresh bruises were left in your mouth’s wake along his thighs. Audacious, but the need to satiate the flesh was stronger than any lingering intimidation inspired by this version of your lover.

The bruises disappeared before your eyes. The circles mottling the dead man's skin were never bright red. Angry maroon faded into smooth alabaster within moments as the pounding of your heart kept pace with the speed of your lover’s healing.

Your fist tightened around him. You latched tight and sank as far as you could, casting your gaze at him again proudly through hooded eyes when you barely gagged at this depth. It was the triumph of many months of training in the bedroom. Your cheeks hollowed.

Vlad was austere and gorgeous, and though he remained silent, those narrowed vermilion irises remained fixated on your actions. At least the way he gazed at you wasn't as lecherous as Alucard.

The vampire grew for you rapidly, a reassuring indication you were doing something well. The back of his fingers stroked your cheeks as you bobbed and applied more suction while you prodded his balls.

You stayed on your knees in supplication to a demon, feeling drunk in the act of perverse prayer.

You grew docile as you suckled your pacifier, marvelling at the fleshy taste of goodness when he tugged you off the ground and bent down to bestow another passionate kiss upon your hungry lips. Your tongues intertwined and shoved at each other. Your hands dug into his suit and traced the contours of his pecs, ravenously trying to get under and onto his skin. The royal vampire rumbled as you panted to catch your breath.

“I have something to show you, my Darling. It is as we discussed,” he said.

You almost forgot your arrangements through the haze. That explained why he was dressed this provocatively.

Show me.

The warlord’s hand enveloped yours as he led with a loose grip to the bedroom, where he stopped in the middle of the cavernous chamber. Somehow, you missed the leather sling dangling from the ceiling earlier. It oscillated ever so slightly in its emptiness. Not for much longer.

The vampire King, for all his nefarious reputation, stared down at you tenderly and smoothed the back of his hand over your face. So much power and all of it was restrained for your sake. A blindfold appeared from nowhere and he fastened it around your head reverently.

“Do you remember what you agreed to? What you asked for?” He said as he cradled both sides of your face and coaxed you into tilting it up at him.

~To be Continued~

Ch. 19- Valentine's

#alucard hellsing #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard fanfiction #hellsing ultimate #alucard #alucard smut #hellsing smut #vampire smut #vampire x human

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finduilasclln · 1 year

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Welcome to my Buddie Fic Rec List!

Since I read so many Buddie fics, and some of them are so good, I thought I’d share them in some handy lists. I’ll be posting them in different categories, and you will be able to find all the posts HERE.

Disclaimer: Always read the tags and warnings! Also, tastes differ. These are my personal favorites, which doesn’t mean they’ll automatically be yours of course.

If you want to reblog and add some of your own favorites that fit the category, please be my guest! I always love discovering new fics. I will also add new recs of my own whenever I stumble upon them.

One last thing: Please like and comment when you’ve had a nice read. It means so much to authors to hear your thoughts! And don’t hesitate to share this post and spread the love for these fics around!

Buddie Fic Rec: "Lightning Strike / Buck's Coma".

Fics that are dealing with episodes 6.10 and 6.11 aka Buck getting hit by lightning and his subsequent coma. (Speculation as well as canon compliant)

It only falls into place when you're falling to pieces, by justhockey || 4759 words ||

“You don’t deserve him,” Eddie says. “You never have, and you never will.”

And then he hangs up the phone and lets out a ragged breath - one it sounds like he’s been holding for much longer than the length of that conversation.

It makes Buck’s fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch him. He’s reached through fire and over cliff sides, across blood-soaked asphalt and between a decades worth of trauma, all for Eddie. This - this is nothing.

one more tomorrow, by fallingthorns (@fallingthorns) || 4438 words ||

He presses Buck’s hand into his forehead and breathes in the scent of antiseptic that lingers on Buck’s skin. He doesn't understand how he missed so many clues, doesn't know how he's been so clueless. But he thinks that some part of him did know that he was in love with Buck, because he put him in his will and made him Christopher’s guardian. Some part of him, deep down, knew what Eddie himself didn’t even realize.

He exhales and squeezes Buck’s hand again. It’s not supposed to be like this – the will doesn’t cover this. It was never supposed to be Buck that goes first.

“Bobby,” he whispers, voice cracking as he closes his eyes against the dorsum of Buck’s hand again. “What am I going to do?” -- Or, in the hospital, Eddie waits, and thinks, and dreams.

coming back as we are, by markofalover (@markofalover) || 4178 words ||

“Hey, Buck,” Maddie cuts in, soft. “Evan. Look at me.”

Buck looks at her. His heart rate is up, he can hear it on the monitor, and the nurse is looking between them with a raised brow. He’ll have to remember to apologize later, after he gets to his—

“They’re in the waiting room.”

...or, wherever he was, Buck comes back.

the tide comes (and goes and goes), by renecdote (@renecdote) || 3402 words ||

It’s almost funny that Eddie brought him to the beach today. To the ocean. He doesn’t know—can’t know, Buck hasn’t told anyone—but Buck feels unbearably seen by it anyway. He almost wishes Bobby was here too, so he could let his captain wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “See? It didn’t take either of us.”

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck, Eddie, the beach, and conversations about okay.

For BTHB: hyperventilating

like the peel clings to the pomegranate, by fallingthorns (@fallingthorns) || 3482 words ||

Buck startles awake to Chris prying his eye open. Chris’s concerned expression swims into his vision as both eyes adjust, squinting at the morning sun streaming in through the window.

“You’ve been sleeping for fourteen hours,” Chris deadpans. Buck is still half asleep, but he catches the slight waver in his voice, can see his eyebrows furrowed as he watches Buck carefully. “You went to bed at seven last night, and now it’s nine in the morning.”

“Nine in the morning, huh?” Buck’s own voice resembles more of a croak as he sits up, muscles aching and head still throbbing. It’s all a result of being struck by lightning and in a coma for a few days, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

But what he does like is the smell of Eddie’s sheets, the pictures of him and Eddie and Chris on Eddie’s bedroom walls. He likes the feeling of Eddie’s arms around him in the middle of the night, making sure that he’s okay and breathing.

“Christopher.” Eddie’s voice hisses through the crack in the bedroom door. “I told you not to bother him.” -- Or, Buck recovers and doesn't quite realize what he means to others.

Raise my hand before I can speak my mind, by Mellaithwen (@mellaithwen) || 1696 words ||

“My name’s Eddie, by the way. Eddie Diaz.”

“Buck,” Evan says in response, before frowning. He’s never introduced himself as Buck in his entire life. “Uh—I mean—my name is Evan but…"

“But your friends call you Buck?”

Evan wants to say no, actually, because they don't. The youngest Buckley sibling has always gone by his first name, or his full surname. Never anything in between. The closest he’s ever come to having a nickname is when kids like to call him Mr Bee! And he buzzes back in response, but….Buck? No, that’s...that's new..

Eddie meets his son's favorite teacher, although it's not technically their first meeting at all... aka a coma!dream meet-cute.

let me know you (bedhead and morning breath), by burnthatbridge (@burnthatbridge) || 6157 words ||

When Eddie wakes, it’s to Buck’s arm slung across his chest, Buck’s ankle hooked over his, and Buck’s erection pressing into his hip.

Two out of three of those aren’t unusual.

It’s six weeks since the lightning. Five weeks and two days since Buck woke up. Four weeks and three days since he was released from hospital. Four weeks exactly since he came home, came to stay at the Diaz house while he recuperates, like he should have from the start.

It’s been three weeks and four days since they started sharing the bed.

or: Buck hasn't gotten off since the lightning strike. Eddie watches him do something about it.

Fragile lines (and wasted time), by Mellaithwen (@mellaithwen) || 7457 words ||

“Hey Buck,” Christopher says a little shyly, before reaching out to grab Buck’s foot through the hospital blankets—shaking it in the same way he’s woken his father up on many a bleary-eyed morning. The familiarity of the gesture makes Eddie’s head spin.

But of course, there’s no response from the comatose man on the bed.

“I thought you said he was sleeping,” Chris mumbles, angrily swiping at his cheeks, and Eddie’s already broken heart shatters all over again for whatever hope his son had just lost when his expectations were so cruelly dashed..

While Buck sleeps, and dreams in the aftermath of the lightning strike, Eddie tries desperately to hold himself together.

***

I will be adding my own fics that fit the category, in case you want to read those too:

lights will guide you home, by Finduilas || 916 words ||

Buck and Eddie have a talk after Buck gets back from the hospital.

#Buddie #Buddie fic rec #911 #Buddie fic #Fin's fic rec list #NEW CATEGORY!#Because this one needs a new page :)

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twinanimatronics · 1 year

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Your fic (and Lofi, of course) has some of the strongest dedication to canon adherence I've ever seen in a DA fic, yet still manages to tell a wonderful new story within those bounds. That makes me curious though- how do you feel about other fics, which generally don't stick as close to the canon? Or fics that throw the entire canon out the window and do whatever they want?

Chejcjejd

Thank you >////< I take that as a compliment and confirmation that I’m doing a good job of fitting all the puzzle pieces we as the fandom have been given together.

Like, this is just mostly really specific to me cause of where my little ADHD/Autistic brain lands on the spectrum—

I’m extremely detail oriented and really get into my research when I hyper-fixate. But I feel my Master Doc for the Daycare Attendant kinda already made that obvious XD

Literally me:

Also—

I and @dana-chan-the-control-brain—my partner in crime for years now—just REALLY love the challenge of theorizing and story crafting within the limitations of what happened in canon.

It’s fun and it lets us use our overthinking tendencies to do something creative instead of stressing over irl stuff.

We will slightly change things to incorporate any new lore as it’s found out/revealed (like it being canonically 2035 in Security Breach) so that it’ll still all perfectly fit with the narrative we want to tell without changing the core elements of either.

Like, without going into spoilers, the canonical year made us have a deep plotting debate session for things planned but not revealed yet that would need adjusting.

And I won’t lie, sometimes I can be really aggravating with trying to get things to fit and make sense XD.

But we eventually came to a revelation/decision, with some helpful input from @witchysolfan, that made everything work out to our advantage.

Also, also—

Security Breach actually allows for a lot more wiggle room than you’d think because of the fact it has multiple endings.

All the endings are canon to their own contained timelines, even if the TRUE Ending is the Afton one. It’s just a matter of picking one to follow.

And if you DON’T pick a canon Security Breach ending or decide to say none of it happened and forgo canon all together, that in itself is ALSO technically canon.

Cause Scott has confirmed that the different iterations of the FNaF story he’s presented through the games and books are all their own contained realities.

The books are “What if?“ scenarios involving if one, or two, or more things were changed and give hints for what happened in the main timeline: the game timeline.

Everything happened and even things that canonically DIDN’T still exist in another timeline as games or books as made-up stories (Or NOT made up stories that they’re TRYING to pass as fake as we saw in Help Wanted).

Like—

Let’s take the Sun and Moon lore leaked from Books #3 and #4 of Tales From the Pizzaplex for this.

@thatmooncake @pixelchills @ ing you guys for this part cause I think you might be interested in this take.

The books say that Sun and Moon were a repurposed theater animatronic and that Moon is sort of a glitch/virus that was always evil.

The books also say the generators were put in place cause of power-fluctuations to keep Moon at bay from the beginning of the daycare’s run.

Now.

This may be true for THAT timeline. But there are a lot of elements that can apply and change to make this fit anyone’s fic if they really want to include as many elements as they can (like me)

Moon being a glitch/always evil and a problem as the character who reveals this info says is a LIE.

Because what is Fazbear Entertainment REALLY good at?

Coverups.

Hiding the truth.

Because this fucking building as of the second Tales book is confirmed to be built on top of the corpses of 11 construction workers and 8 teenagers that snuck onto the construction site/.

There’s potential this dude is LYING that Moon was always a problem or a glitch. Moon could have easily been fine and really sweet and gentle with the kids when not playing around with them pretending to be an evil gremlin.

They also may have never served as performance animatronics and were always a daycare attendant from the beginning.

Their appearance and night and day concept was potentially intended for the theater. But maybe during their production things were changed, the previous daycare attendant animatronic (Foxy) needed to be replace and their AI reprogrammed even before they were first turned on.

Maybe Moon ISN’T a glitch and was preprogrammed in like Sun from the beginning and they’re just telling their staff that he’s just a glitch or virus that’s been quarantined so no one looks too deeply into his source coding. Otherwise they would see he was not only programmed to fill the role of watching over sleeping children, but was also intended to be “corrupted” (locked in “Evil”TM mode) and used to abduct these same children.

Or maybe he IS a glitch and the result of Sun’s programing splitting into two AI. But not a bad glitch. Not from the beginning. And they just decided to take advantage of and run with this.

If Moon was never intended, why is he everywhere?

Why would FazFuck Entertainment promote him as much if they were really trying to bury and forget about him?

Why HAVEN’T they tried to erase him from nearly every location of the Pizzaplex like they have with Bonnie?

There are so many possibilities and explanations. And all can be canon just as much as the initial claim in the books.

It can be true. It can be a lie. Or it can be a half truth.

And that’s just about Moon. I didn’t even touch when the generators were really installed yet.

Anyway, I rambled on a lot XD

I hope this answered your question.

#fnaf security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf sb #the daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf sun and moon #headcanons

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fandomshatepeoplewdisabilities · 4 months

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So a plot in one of my fanfics is that a disease spreads through the land that affects only magical people (it eats away at their magic and messes with pretty much everything about them. Several characters become ill and at least one is permanently disabled and one dies. Note that this is just counting the canon characters.) The permanently disabled character ends up with walking difficulties and spends the rest of the fic series as an ambulatory wheelchair user (he was murdered in canon so he's way better off. Also I'm not going to lie i saw an incredible piece of fanart that showed him in a wheelchair and I was INSPIRED!) He gets to still practice magic and fight, just needs to adjust for his new wheels! And of course he also gets to be a political figure, husband and father.

Thing is, it's low-key hard to find information about walking issues that stem from illness that isn't like...polio or rickets. Do you or any of your followers know of any I can look up so I can make this fictional magic disease more realistic (does it affect his nerves? Cause pain? Fatigue? Balance? I'm still unsure)

ok so I'm gonna need the name of the media because this all sounds very vague lol.

As to walking issues it could even be something like multiple sclerosis or arthritis (a friend of mine has MS and my dad has arthritis in his legs/hips). (they're not really comparable it's just that I'm talking to my friend with MS today and he's been my friend since college).

Also for walking issues there's loads of wheelchair users/walker users that are just well old. Like ok my grandma didn't start using a cane until her late 70's but now she because of macular degeneration she's got a cane, a walker and a wheelchair.

For example my mom has arthritis in her hands but her balance is getting worse as she gets older and she like needs the motorized cart at walmart and target and costco. Like her specific issue is actually cirrhosis of the liver and her energy is very low and she can't stay on her feet for very long without getting cramps.

Like I'd suggest watching Night Sky for example its on netflix I think?

it's got sissy spacek and her character and her husband come in contact with this like alien life form that like... cures them kinda? A lot of their disabilities and limitations were simply age related. I didn't watch the whole show tho so sorry if its not good representation but I remember my mom watched the whole thing and wished for there to be a second season.

Followers please let me know if Night Sky was good representation!!! Also any suggestions for this ask would be appreciated!

mod ali

#walking aids #walkers #wheelchair user #writing help #writing advice

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princess-of-the-corner · 1 month

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I think it's a chat fic?

So, I just remembered a fic where Aizawa finds out about Izuku’s Quirk (just the manifesting on Exam day part). Like, he finds out during a staff room chat, when Toshinori sort of casually mentions it, and Aizawa’s like “WaitwaitwaitHold the FUCK-!” And All Might says, “wait, you didn’t KNOW!?” Because apparently, All Might was actually NOT going to send the kid in blind, and helped him with his paperwork. He wanted Izuku to succeed, and that means accurate (or mostly accurate) records - including being one of the very rare people who manifested their Quirk late because their body couldn’t handle it yet, ya know, like All Might. So by all accounts, Izuku’s Quirk Status manifesting the day of the exam SHOULD be in his file. Aizawa yanks out Izuku’s file, goes over it, and indeed, finds the appropriate passage. It’s ONE SENTENCE, on page 3 of his medical record, which Aizawa NEVER reads entirely, only skims, because besides general allergies, he’s of the opinion that other people’s medical records are only his business in an emergency. If there’s anything TRULY concerning, Recovery Girl usually brings it to his attention, so he goes to her. Recovery Girl calmly apologizes to Aizawa, saying she should have alerted him and not just trusted Izuku to bring it up on his own.

We then have two different conversations.

First is Aizawa and Izuku. Aizawa confronts him on manifesting the day of the exam (Izuku: “YOU DIDN’T KNOW!?”) and … I’m not sure apologizes is the right word, but tells Izuku if he’d known, he would have tried to help him more. He thought he was dealing with a kid who was reckless with his own Quirk and didn’t understand the consequences, not one who’d only had it for a week and was still adjusting. Izuku is all, “no, it’s fine, really, you’re actually the nicest teacher I’ve ever had!” (which does not actually make Aizawa feel better).

Second conversation is All Might and Recovery Girl yelling at Nezu for Izuku’s medical file, because you’ll NEVER GUESS who All Might went to for help when he needed to assist Izuku.

Honestly this is pretty close to how it’s gonna go down in Chaos Children lmao.

Like like like. Izuku’s file was updated of ‘suddenly has a Quirk’(that’s actually canon lmao) and assumed his teachers all knew about it because it’s in his file wouldn’t they read the entire section on a kids’ Quirk?

But yeah Aizawa tends to skim the file for the basics because he wants to get a feel of the kid’s personality and their Quirk with a mostly-fresh viewpoint instead of possibly outdated information(kids rarely update their registry after first manifestation) or the kid’s own hangups/biases, and expects the kid to bring up any issues because he’s a teacher here to help them why wouldn’t they do that?

Usually there’s no reason for him to look into it further unless something happens. Like what happened with the Tokoyami situation: Aizawa noticed ‘Dark Shadow’ wasn’t behaving right when he used his own Quirk on ‘it’, and looked a little deeper into the files and found out about Eimi.

Izuku is /starting/ to have this situation, but not quite. Because Aizawa kinda assumed at first that Izuku was just an idiot thinking he could rely on pure power while letting everyone else pick up the pieces. Izuku doesn’t challenge this, but seems to improve once he’s ‘called out on this behavior’. Then Izuku starts improving really quickly, but even so Aizawa can just now kinda write it off as ‘okay the kid had a powerful Quirk that can hurt him, and just didn’t have much practice because it being so volatile meant either property damage or injury to himself, which UA can now deal with for him freeing him to actually use it. Ofc he’s going to improve’. But yeah he doesn’t know the Quirk ‘just manifested during the exam’.

Which yeah Izuku, when confronted, is like “I thought you knew? Also I’m not really the type of kid who trusts teachers, even when they’re Heroes who have saved my ass before.”

#submission

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nyoomerr · 6 months

Text

synopsis for each of these options is under the cut!

i won't be jumping straight into a multichapter fic after rent a bingge is done - i'll be returning to my preferred method of waiting until the fic is at least mostly done before posting it rather than posting each chapter as i finish it, so you'll see several oneshots from me before this next multichap is released.

BUT i have begun thinking about what that next multichap fic will be for me, and i'm curious what y'all would prefer!

binggeyuan enemies to lovers

shen yuan is a pidw native who was in seclusion during bingge’s childhood/rise to power. he emerges to the wasteland of the merged realms and tries to pick up some of the pieces of the life he remembers, finding old friends and helping the meager resistance against emperor luo binghe.

one night, bingge ends up in sy’s dreams by accident…. and then ends up quite literally not being able to stay away, even when he tries to avoid sy’s dream realm. as binggeyuan are forced to spend time together in the dream realm, sy realizes that quite a bit of bingge’s insanity stems from xin mo’s influence, and that bingge might hate his life just as much as the world hates him. meanwhile, bingge finds his mind inexplicably soothed just by being around sy, and their slow, slow path from enemies to reluctant allies begins.

this would be a more somber/serious toned fic, more in line with “take me home, bury me there” than any of my other more humorous fics. themes of soulmates + the struggle of knowing logically you should hate someone but ending up loving them anyway, estimated to be 8 chapters.

liushen accidental marriage

set during the abyss years, lqg asks sqq what it would take to pull him from his mourning. trying to brush off the issue of ‘mourning’ entirely, sqq makes the mistake of implying that he’s just struggling to adjust with not having someone living in his house and helping out anymore. naturally, lqg takes this as an invitation to fill that spot (as a husband). sqq doesn’t understand. of course he doesn’t.

generally meant to be lighthearted and my usual brand of funny misunderstandings, but would definitely carry the underlying theme of sqq’s grief during those years. estimated to be about 5 chapters.

bingqiu arranged marriage

sqq is a human cultivator sent as an ambassador to the demon realm to investigate the sincerity and sanity of the demon emperor's proposal of a truce and trade agreement between the realms. sqq is meant to observe how suitable the arrangement would be for both humanity as a whole, and for the human princess that would be offered up for marriage as part of the potential peace agreements.

sqq has a very active idea of what "observing" means though, including everything from interjecting in demonic court to sticking his fingers in the demonic emperor's mouth to feel just how sharp his teeth are. demonic emperor luo binghe decides it would only be appropriate to give sqq a very active way of observing what it would be like to be treated as the human wife of the demon lord, too.

this one would also be more lighthearted / in tune with the way most of my fics are, and would have some nice tasty "but he's already arranged to be wed to another" pining in it. estimated 5 chapters as well.

#do not worry i will not even start on the next fic until rent a bingge is done!!#but i have to start getting excited about the next thing i'll be writing /now/#or else when rent a bingge finishes i'll end up staring blankly at an empty doc for the next 4 months RIP #fic poll #svsss

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blorb-el · 2 years

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saw your post about the things you'd like to see in a superman story and now i'm curious about the nsfw version 👀 if you'd like to share ofc!

mmm. see I have tried not to nsfw on this blog but you know what. fuck it. if famous author vladimir nabokov wrote a horny superman poem and had the absolute temerity to make it good and then send it to the new yorker and ask them to publish it for money in 19fucking42... (x) then i can do whatever i want on my blog

anyway. some Concepts. this turned out as less fic ideas and more personal headcanons. LONG post since i mostly haven’t talked about this. all of these are Free Real Estate if anyone is inspired by them

Even more for nsfw headcanons than sfw, I am above all interested in what the author is interested in. like, choking does nothing for me in and of itself, but everyone was so dang enthusiastic about it that now i'm invested and would absolutely read That Fic

for nsfw headcanons I have two different headcanon versions of clark for any piece of dc media. (yes this is how my brain works. blorbo all the way down). one looks identical to or nearly identical to a human. usually a cis man, however trans man clark also very good. the other has genitals that cannot be mistaken for human, usually some kind of retractable system. plus or minus some good ol' tentacles depending on the vibe. I went a little more into this + the Kryptonian names for such parts here. most of my headcanons are for alien biology clark, but going into a fic I think of any alien biology as a bonus, I don't expect it (there are, after all, a whole bunch of canon panels that go He Looks Totally Human No Xeno Here Guys!!. Every time I see one of these I like to imagine that some poor sucker at DC has seen something they do not like in the alien biology tag on ao3.)

A Clark who looks human I think is fairly well adjusted, he's had sex, he knows what he likes and what he doesn’t even if he may have hangups about asking for it. A Clark pre-serious relationship that doesn't look human, I hc has either not had sex or has only ever had sex with his clothes on and without being touched himself, only giving (for some reason allstar gives me this vibe) (sidenote: i do not mean to imply that this is not a perfectly valid and fulfilling sex life for many people!). he does genuinely enjoy being a service top. he just would also like to be in a relationship with someone who he could trust with his identity...

then he meets Lori in college (lori lemaris, for the uninitiated, is precrisis superman’s hot mermaid college gf, which is a sentence that rules. she should come back in a comic not written by frank fucking m*ller). alien4mermaid. for the first time he’s in a relationship with someone who not only knows that he’s not human but is not human herself. When she has to return to Atlantis it breaks his heart (canon). this ties into my Ideal Superman Timeline, where this is where he leaves college, at the end of his sophomore year, and scrapes together the rest of his degree with remote credits while traveling the world, learning what doing good looks like worldwide, and Finding HimselfTM. however this post is not about that.

that’s the background I usually have in the back of my little brain when I’m writing. Other stuff, mostly superbat but relevant to clois...

despite not having much experience he’s like. annoyingly good at pleasing his partner because 1. i said so 2. he is incredibly focused on their pleasure and 3. he’s got built in biofeedback receptors.

early on i think he absolutely ties himself in knots about wanting something, being allowed to want something, and feeling strange about judging himself for wanting something. the queer experience. man’s on three levels of overthinking. like, i think he enjoys the feeling of holding his partner’s arms down or thighs apart while he’s going down on them, feeling the muscles flex against his hands, knowing he has them pinned, but at the same time feels guilty about liking it.

ultimately he’s pretty vanilla himself, but since his partner’s pleasure is so important to him, he’s open to experiment and try things out.

Again early on, I think this backfires. There are certain things he is really uncomfortable with that i don’t think he’s aware of until they come up. He doesn’t like feeling examined or scrutinized, which I think would come up with Bruce early on in their relationship. Something about an old childhood fear of being looked at too closely. For the first few times, I think he’s more comfortable with the lights off.

dcau. bruce wants to try some sort of roleplay scene involving ropes/bondage and clark goes along with it because he can tell bruce likes it, but at the same time he’s lowkey getting triggered... clark’s very good at hiding stress, but bruce notices and pauses before it goes too far. clark just lies there still as a statue for a few seconds, says the safeword (’pearl’), and just as bruce is reaching out he’s bolted straight out through the window and up and away. bruce feels like garbage. clark feels like garbage. clark comes back once he’s ready, and because bruce doesn’t press for details, clark feels safe enough to choke out a few words explaining that it reminded him of what happened on apokolips with lashina. clark Gets Help. this fixes the ENTIRE dcau from that point on and neither of them die sad and alone in bapmanbeyond.

similarly i know it’s a fic trope but i don’t think he finds depowered/blue kryptonite sex inherently more enjoyable. in my headcanon he’s grown up with his powers - while they can be overwhelming at times, they’re also comforting, and the sudden silence is distracting. Also at any given time when he’s depowered there’s a little voice in his head going ‘what if an airplane has a jet engine failure right now. do you know how many people could die? and you’re doing this to get off? selfish.’ this is a statistical improbability, of course, but it’s bronze age canon he has anxious thoughts like this.

retractable dick very handy in such emergency circumstances. the annoying thing about sex with clark is that it’s very very good 92% of the time but 8% of the time they will be deep into it and then clark will freeze, do the damn head tilt and then WOOOOSH. and his partner can’t even feel bad about it because they’re adults and both understand that saving a life is more important than an orgasm. besides he will make it up to them thoroughly.

he gets WAY better at communicating about sex and desire eventually, but only really with his partner. i think at heart he’s a modest and reserved person, i don’t think he’s ever going to be joining in “locker room talk.” (however AU where he does is incredibly funny)

("praise... 'kink'??? what do you mean praise 'kink.' what do you MEAN. are you people not praising your partners??? ARE YOU NOT LETTING THEM KNOW HOW WONDERFUL THEY ARE??? THAT'S - PEOPLE THINK OF PRAISE AS A KINK?????!!" - a man at the absolute end of his rope. facial expressions going through all five stages of grief.)

leaves hickeys on bruce’s neck, mostly because he wants to and he knows bruce is into it, but also knows the man’s got an inexhaustible supply of turtlenecks. he is aware of exactly where the turtlenecks end and does not leave hickeys higher than that. possessive streak, in a very considerate way, but still.

as he gets more secure and comfortable he loses the jealousy. possibly he enjoys the idea that bruce has so much experience and still chooses him.

if his partner says ‘do what you want with me, i’m all yours,’ i think 9/10 times it’s slow body worship and massage. sometimes not sex, sometimes it’s just too relaxing. it’s an indulgence for him to just be allowed to be slow and present. physical touch is a big love language and once he’s in a relationship he can freely give it, he loves to do just that.

the last 1/10 times is when he’s tired and stressed. he can and will pick up his partner and rail them into the mattress/against the wall/into thin air while floating. this is where the auxiliary tentacles come in handy. he gets them off though even if it’s supposed to be just about him for once, he feels too weird if he comes and his partner doesn’t.

on really really bad days his partner will pick up on how down he’s feeling and will uno reverse card and body worship him and it will make him cry a little

finally here are some panels that made me break out laughing. first off. he can tell just how hard he's getting. ah. impacted.

(action 423) imagine he's the one getting railed and it’s going Great and then all of a sudden he’s just like. “velocity - 4mph. impact pressure - 15ppi.” in his best Broadcaster Anchorman Voice. i think this would be very funny. bruce would be into it lois would NOT, however it would make her crack up laughing, which is what he'd be going for, so everybody wins. he’s a doofus at times and sex is NOT excluded from that

(WF 104) vibrators don't work on him. very sad! however. with superspeed. he IS the vibrator. (supers :handshake: flashes). I don't think he'd be much for toys himself, I think there's something very satisfying to him about body-to-body contact, but if a partner requested them he's happy to indulge them.

#januariat #thanks for the question :^)#you'd think if i could write this much as meta i COULD FINISH MY WIPS HOWEVER.#what do i even tag this as. unhinged.#nsft #superbat

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lunaxamans · 18 days

Text

{ In the Beginning... }

Summary: An early interaction between Emma and the boys. In which Marc and Steven find out that Emma comes from an abusive home like them. Pairing: Original Character { Emma Harper } x Marc Spector; bits of Emma Harper x Steven Grant Contents: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, twin flame relationship, OC is deeply psychic and can communicate with the boys telepathically due in part to twin flame bond Warnings: mentions of severe mental illness { i.e. psychosis, PTSD, anxiety, panic, depression, OCD, mood disorder }, mentions of abuse, inaccurate DID { as is common with MK fic }, self-loathing, self-blame Word Count: 1.1k

Author’s Notes:

This is written in what my writing partner and I refer to as God!Mode. Essentially it's the characters outside of all of their different Universes and them at their core selves -- which for this reason sometimes will refer to real people but very little { i.e. in this one I, myself am mentioned, but very minorly }. As if their God!Versions. This is sort of their truest of Canons.

Also I meant to write this up properly which I probably still will at some point but I wanted to get it posted for @romanarose for something I intended to help them with.

Emma Harper is the original character that will star in all of my fics with the boys. I’ve been writing them for a while now and the relationship is super established unless stated otherwise. Emma && the boys have what is known as a twin flame union – think ultimate soulmate of soulmates / two halves of the same soul; you only get one of these and they are *extremely* rare, typically reincarnate with each other over thousands of years on this planet, if not before even coming to this planet from other star systems. For this reason, the four of them are able to telepathically communicate which is also common with this kind of bond, among other things.

Emma: -coming down the hallway, grimacing as she looks back toward the stairs, calling softly, so softly in fact, that she’s barely audible- “Steven?”

Steven: -from in the bedroom, nose buried in a book as he, too, tries to ignore what’s going on downstairs, calling gently back- “in here, love!”

Emma: -steps into the room, rounding the corner and standing at the foot of the bed, fidgeting nervously-

Steven: -immediately concerned, setting the book down and removing his reading glasses- “what is it? did something--” -pauses, taking in her appearance as more noise comes from downstairs, suddenly understanding- “elle’s mum again?”

Emma: -nods quickly, not making eye contact- “she-- um--” -shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest- “she reminds me of mine—my mom, I mean...she’s also...”

Steven: -swallows, trying to put the pieces together, not wanting to assume, speaking softly- “...difficult?”

Emma: -cringes as if she’s taken a physical blow, correcting him quietly, her voice barely there- “abusive…"

Steven: -his heart stops as she seems frozen in place-

{ Marc: ‘Steven let me front...’ }

Steven: -swallows again, giving a small nod-

Emma: -before he can speak, she breaks the silence, tucking her hair behind her ears, keeping her gaze downcast, her voice small- “can I?”

Steven: -realizes she wants to sit down, nodding profusely- “of course!”

Emma: -nods with him, climbing onto the bed and scooting a little closer but keeping a fair distance, rolling her lips in, in that way that causes her dimples to prick into her cheeks, still avoiding his eyes-

{ Marc: ‘Steven!’ }

Steven: -clears his throat quietly- “Marc would like to speak with you, is that okay, love?”

Emma: -nods again quickly, keeping her lips pressed together-

Marc: -moves to the front, taking only a fraction of a second to adjust before he sits up straighter, shifting closer to her, his hands rising and moving toward Emma, who flinches at first, causing him to pause, turning his hands to show her he isn’t going to hurt her, when she nods in silent permission to continue, his fingers come to comb through her hair, coming around to cradle her face at her jaw, dipping his head to search out her eyes-

Emma: -relaxes a little as his hands move through her hair and come around to hold her face gently, rolling her lips in further again, her eyes meeting his briefly before shying away from his again-

Marc: -his heart squeezes in his chest, aching for her and everything he already feels for her, when he does find his voice, it comes out soft and raspy, filled with complete and utter awe- “how are you real?”

Emma: -her eyes flicker to his, a slight furrow coming between her eyebrows, confused by the way he says it as if she were some kind of miracle-

Marc: -holds her eyes for a moment before his gaze scales over her features, leaning in hesitantly, his lips finally capturing hers-

{ Steven: -indignant, even if he’s ignored- ‘I coulda done that, mate...’ }

Emma: -seems to only melt into Marc, reaching to gently grasp at his shirt as if weakly trying to hold him there-

Marc: -when she doesn’t back away—instead leaning into him further, he uses his hold on her to pull her closer, deepening the kiss for just a moment before withdrawing, just enough to brush his nose into hers, touching his forehead to hers, frowning gently into her, his voice barely above a whisper, still sounding completely awestruck and floored at the way they seem fit together- “it feels like—you were made specifically for us—and we were just—waiting to find you...--does that sound completely crazy?”

Emma: -her nose moves into his when it meets hers, turning her forehead into his, when he speaks again, all she can do is gently nod, likewise dumbfound and only meaning to agree with the former statement not realizing about the question-

Marc: -chuckles softly, teasing her lightly, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks- “it does?”

Emma: -just kinda Stuck in the moment, still not fully comprehending him- “yes--” -seems to suddenly realize- “I mean—no!” -pouting softly, giving him a Look-

Marc: -can’t help another quiet chuckle as she struggles and the warmth fills in his chest, raising one hands to slowly comb through her hair again-

Emma: -summons a deeper breath, releasing it in an almost silent sigh, correcting herself- “it doesn’t sound crazy...and I know crazy...” -rolls her eyes at herself-

Marc: -immediately shakes his head as she finishes, frowning deeply, searching out her eyes again- “hey, don’t do that…"

Emma: -looks at him in confusion, still scowling in disappointment but at herself, asking quietly- “do what?”

Marc: “don’t talk about my girl like that—”

{ Steven: -only to be ignored again- ‘Our girl...’ }

Emma: -still frowning at him, acting like she didn’t just make a joke at her own expense, deep deep pout, In Baby- “like what?”

Marc: -scowling back at her with that same profound wonder, even as hope blossoms in his chest that she didn’t deny his claim on her, releasing one hand on her only to bring it back to gently graze the back of his knuckles over her cheek, all but whispering again- “like she isn’t the most perfect girl we’ve ever known…"

Emma: -her chest tightens with the familiar ache of attachment, trying to take another deep breath through her nose and force it through her lungs, releasing it heavily even as it shakes at the ends, her voice tremoring over the single word- “o-oh…" -she fights to keep the smile down that threatens to overtake her face, her dimples betraying her secret, her eyes avoiding his shyly-

Marc: -unsure of how this all happened, just completely winded- “god you really are-- perfect…"

Emma: -the shy smile only grows, giving him a gentle, playful shove, but not putting anything behind it-

Marc: -can barely bear the ache in his chest, a small smirk of his own threatening to take over- “ya know—Steven's gonna strongarm me soon if I don’t give you back...” -his eyes falling in disappointment-

Emma: -her eyes immediately snap to his, chewing the inside of her lips and gripping his shirt tighter as if to keep him there with her- “stay…"

Marc: -his own eyes fix themselves to hers once more, again dumbfound- “yeah?”

{ Steven: -still seemingly being ignored- “bugger...last place it seems...” }

Emma: -immediately nodding- “yeah…" -shy, dimply smile, pausing before poking him firmly in the chest a few times- “and tell Steven no one is last place here...”

{ Steven: -would be blushing if he were in control of the body- ‘oh!’ }

Marc: -scoffs quietly- “think you just told him yourself...”

Emma: -gives one more firm shove into his chest- “goo--!”

Marc: -catches her hands when they shove at him and pulls her abruptly to himself, his lips reclaiming hers before she can even finish the word-

#moon knight #moon boys #moon knight system #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #marc spector #steven grant #marc spector x oc #steven grant x oc #temp tag: emma/steven relationship #temp tag: emma/marc relationship #muse: steven grant #muse: marc spector #muse: emma harper #temp tag: god!mode snippets

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