#memory management. and inheritance. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloomeng · 10 months ago

Text

This is my official Batfam Magical Girl AU Masterpost (everyone clapped)

(Updated 4/16/25)

I’m going to do a brief overview and then go into more details for those interested.

Bruce being from old money (and apparently being connected to Camelot) inherited a mysterious mineral with unknown properties. In its raw form it’s very unassuming, but when cut like gemstones and added to accessories it can be harnessed into a tool. By altering the mineral into a wearable item it allows the magic within to be channeled. The magic of the mineral connects with its wielder to create an outfit and (typically) a weapon. These outfits do not grant the wearer special abilities outside of the transformation and the weapon, but when worn the wearer is granted (what is basically) hammerspace and a nearly impenetrable outfit. The uniform granted is not something they can alter the appearance of but will change gradually overtime to reflect how the wielder has grown.

This mineral will henceforth be known as Arcanium. It operates on Kryptonite logic in that it’s— allegedly— super rare but also shows up whenever the plot needs it. (I’m aware it shares a name with a card game, but I wanted my Kryptonite spoof)

Martha Wayne unknowingly started the cycle by turning— what she thought was a rare gemstone— into a brooch. She died shortly after having it made and Alfred held onto it in her memory. Like canon Bruce goes on his journey of self-exploration to train. When he comes back he enacts his plan the way he does in Batman: Year One, where he goes out in basically just make-up, and it goes poorly. He wanders his manor trying to formulate a strategy and is drawn to his parent’s room and finds his mother’s brooch. Cue the first magical girl transformation. From there he alters the brooch to fit his bat aesthetic and the Batman Brooch is born.

Dick comes into his life the same way as canon. Bruce takes him in as a ward, Dick tries to track down Zucco on his own, etc. Bruce decides to use the other raw sample of Arcanium to turn into a second magical artifact. He lets Dick pick the theme, and thus the Robin Pendant is born. The rest is history.

(Before I continue I want to warn that I’m making shit up as I go, so some of this is subject to change as I move forward.)

The Robin Pendant is passed down from Robin to Robin. Each Robin got their own unique look while using it. Following canon, Dick and Bruce have their falling out and Dick gives up the Robin Pendant in a moment of anger. In this au I think Dick, not having the pendant to fall back on, tries to lead a vigilante-free life, but of course falls back into it. During a fight he somehow manages to stumble across Arcanium in its raw form. Recognizing it he takes it with him. Like Nightwing: Year One he has his conversation with Superman and decides to become his own hero. Using his knowledge of Arcanium from his years with Bruce he creates his own magical artifact and becomes Nightwing.

This is a good place to interject that I’m not changing any of their hero names. I was asked about it a couple times due to the caption, “Red Bow & Sailor Nightwing” on my Dick and Jason designs. It was just a silly caption, because I didn’t want to simply state “Jason and Dick Magical Girl au.” But being serious, I don’t really see a reason to change their names, with the exception of maybe Red Hood, seeing as I didn’t give him a red hood. My au operates on Sailor Moon logic where despite the lack of masks no one recognizes them, and it’s just vaguely explained by magic. I think it would be funny if Bruce chose to wear a mask anyway because he’s that paranoid, but we’ll see when I actually design him. Anyway point is Red Hood is lacking a red hood, maybe he secretly has a red hood on his jacket or maybe he really does go by Red Bow, I’ll leave that up to interpretation.

Arcanium does not just accidentally appear. At the end of the day it’s still a mineral and it’s not sentient, but the magic has an element of “the wand chooses the user.” It’s not so much a “chosen one thing,” so much as the magic can sense intention. It doesn’t care about the morality of the user, the magic is more seeking a symbiotic connection. (Meaning yes rogues can in fact wield artifacts.) Simply put, it wants a host that will be able to wield it. In its raw form the magic is dormant but it seeks to be… not dormant, so when it finds those who actually have the potential to create an artifact and use it, it reveals itself. It was not a coincidence that Martha had the inclination to have the brooch made, it was not a coincidence that Bruce was drawn to his parent’s room, and it was not a coincidence that Dick found Arcanium in the alleyway.

Each of the Bats have their origin moments with their own magical artifacts. I don’t have the whole timeline down, but I will say there was a lot of drama between Tim and Damian, because Tim was forced to hand over the pendant. Even though he technically relinquished it, emotionally the connection wasn’t severed. No one was sure if the transition would work, but Arcanium responds to whoever needs it more and therefore who will use it more. Like canon, Tim is having an awful time during that era. On top of all of it he’s had his title stripped from him and he can’t even argue because if it wasn’t the right move the pendant wouldn’t have responded to Damian. Dick tries to comfort him by telling him that Arcanium will appear for him when he’s ready, but Tim is furious and impatient. So like a well-adjusted person he decides he’s going to engineer his own magical artifact artificially. It goes as well as his attempt to clone Kon does. It’s not until Tim starts to get back on his feet that Arcanium presents itself to him. My thinking is that while Arcanium finds its users when they need it most, Tim’s case is abnormal. His acquisition of the pendant was unconventional from the start since he showed up and demanded to take on the Robin role. Arcanium is drawn to individuals who will actually use its properties. Tim tends to rely more on his own detective work, which renders the pendant’s properties pretty moot. Especially when he’s going off the deep end, he becomes a hermit meaning a) he wouldn’t really need/use Arcanium’s properties and b) he inadvertently limited his own chances of stumbling across it “in the wild.”

In a similar vein I believe Barbara’s journey is abnormal in that she forged her own Batgirl artifact that operates a little differently than the others, seeing as she made it without Bruce’s influence. After the accident she shelved it, maybe she passed it down to Cass, but eventually she gets it back. She created the Oracle identity without it, and for a long time the Batgirl artifact is something she avoids using, until she gets the idea to combine it with her computer to create a magic computer… sort of. She gets a uniform that is basically connected to the computer.

Going back to Damian needing the Robin Pendant more, its reaction to his acquisition was unique. As I mentioned previously the suits typically provide a weapon, well Damian is the exception. Unlike all the other Robin’s Damian didn’t need more weapons in his life, what he needed was guidance. For the first time the pendant granted Damian a magical animal guardian, which is how he gets Alfred the Cat in this au. Despite being an animal lover Damian is extremely pissed at this development. He wanted dual swords or a scarier animal at least. He can’t formally communicate with Alfred the Cat but he understands him intrinsically, though Alfred the Cat seems to be able to understand human speech somewhat. Only Damian seems to be able to truly understand Alfred the Cat. (Cue the antics of his siblings trying to figure out what the cat means or trying to control him in any capacity.) Besides being an animal, Alfred the Cat is also unique in that he doesn’t dissipate when Damian isn’t in uniform the way that the weapons do. Like the weapons he can be summoned by the pendant, but he seems to have existed prior to the pendant’s creation. (I’m toying with the idea that while in uniform, the cat would also get some sort of uniform.)

Before I get into Duke and his abnormalities, I want to address the Speedsters in this au. It’ll make sense after.

So the Flash. I want to say I don’t know if I will get around to creating full designs for them. I do have plans for Bart and maybe Wally, but I have determined how I want their mechanics to operate in the context of the au. Not all the heroes in this au are “magical girls,” in fact I’ve made the executive decision that you have to be human to wield an artifact. Arcanium may have magic in it, but it doesn’t grant its user magical abilities beyond the uniform itself. The speedsters retain their canon origins, hit by lighting blah blah blah, only with one key difference: they had Arcanium on them when they were hit. Instead of engineering an artifact Arcanium fused with their bodies granting them powers. I want to keep the magic transformation aspect (because it’s not a magical girl au without it), so instead of using a physical artifact as a channel for their powers, it’s instead the act of transforming that serves as a gateway to their speed abilities.

To me it was always important to maintain Batman’s identity of not having super powers and having to rely on engineering, which is why the Batfam have to physically build their artifacts. In a similar way I wanted to retain the integrity of the Flash’s identity of being meta but also still human. Which brings me back to Duke. I know in canon that Duke inherited his abilities, but for the sake of the au I’ve decide that he either had an accident when he was young in which traces of Arcanium fused with him or his parents had it in them and he inherited it from them, but regardless it’s less potent, but operates similar to the Speedsters. For years he couldn’t fully transform or use his powers and it wasn’t until— with Bruce’s guidance— he was able to create an artifact that allowed him to channel his abilities and transform. Even though he is a meta I wanted him to still have some of those Batfam qualities in there.

But what about the Superfam? They’re not human so how do their transformations work? The answer is simple: They’re not “magical girls.” At least not real ones, they’re faking. They’re not human (Kon and Jon are technically half human but they still get their abilities from their Kryptonian DNA), and thus cannot forge a connection with Arcanium. Truthfully I’m about to get silly— even sillier than this au already is— but I have decided that Clark is a fake artifact wielder. I like the idea that Batman has been operating longer than Superman has, so when Clark decided to become a hero in his own right his only example of how to style himself was from the bat themed vigilante, who might as well be a cryptid, operating out of Gotham. Only blurry pictures of him existed, so Clark designed his outfit based on his Kryptonian origins and Batman’s aesthetics. He had no idea about the existence of Arcanium or how it worked. This is also why Kon’s design looks so much like his canon outfit with a few magical girl elements (and definitely not because I think the lines in his canon suit already lend themselves well to a magical girl aesthetic and didn’t want to change much). Later when he gets to know Batman more he learns about the transformations, to which he panics and invents his own transformation using Kryptonian tech (ex: MAWS’s transformation). For years Bruce goes crazy trying to figure out Arcanium’s effects on aliens and if it grants them abilities on top of the ones they’re born with, and if Clark has plans to use it as a weapon, and how he managed to forge the connection in the first place— Clark comes clean as a fake once they reveal their identities to each other.

Side tangent but I find it hilarious that Green Lanterns are— by technicality— already “magical girls,” considering they’re granted magical accessories that give them powers and transform their clothing. Hal is very clear with the JL that he is nothing like Batman and constantly feels the need to assert that he is not a magical artifact wielder. The non-human members of the team still lump them together anyway.

Things I haven’t figured out:

- what each of the batfam’s weapons are

- what each of the magical artifacts are

- what to refer to magical artifact wielders as

Stepping outside the canon(?) lore of the au for a minute, obviously I’m redesigning DC characters using inspiration from a genre, because that’s what “magical girl” is. It’s a genre. This is why I refer to it in quotes and don’t call them magical boys, because I am always referring to it as a genre, which isn’t a gendered thing. However, in universe they wouldn’t call themselves magical anything, the same way the characters of Sailor Moon don’t refer to themselves as magical girls, but rather Sailor Scouts. As of right now I’m sort of just referring to them as artifact wielders, but I feel like Bruce would come up with a better name. On a similar note, throughout this whole thing I’ve been referring to Arcanium in it’s wearable state as an artifact. I don’t know if that’s the best term, but I can’t think of anything better for the generalized form of Arcanium outside of it’s raw state. For now I guess it will be “artifacts” and “artifact wielders.”

- how the wonderfam fits into this

I really can’t think of a reason why Wonder Woman would be a “magical girl” in this au. She was born with abilities, she’s not human, and I can’t see her altering her uniform to match the aesthetic. A transformation would just be a waste of time for her. I could to see maybe Cassie or Donna wanting to match with their respective teams, and perhaps maybe that’s why they would alter their uniforms? All I know is I want see Tim, Kon, Bart and Cassie as a matching “magical girl set.”

Fin… for now.

[I’m just going to put this here preemptively, because I’ve gotten messages about turning my au into fics or tiktok skits. You’re free to use this lore HOWEVER you MUST credit me not just for the designs but for the creation of the lore. I’ve put a lot of time and thought into this and I love that people love it, so I just ask for recognition. If you want to make something that’s inspired by my designs or loosely based on my au, just a simple credit for the inspiration is fine. You’re free to change things this is just how my own au operates. Regardless I would prefer to be tagged so that people can find me but also because I’d love to see other’s work.]

Current designs:

5K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

Text

DCxDP fanfic Idea: Silver Tounge Snake

Damian has a brother, except said brother wasn't trained for combat operations. He was trained in the administration positions needed to keep the empire Ra's built functioning.

In essence, Damian was trained to rule, and Daniel was taught to manage the estate. This does not mean Daniel can't fight because Ra would never have a regular civilian lurking around; he just wasn't physically trained as harshly.

While Damian was climbing a mountain with a broken arm at five years old, Daniel was handed account logs of failing businesses that he needed to get out of the red or else at the same age. While Damian was slashing opponents, Daniel was told to sniff out the planted traitors in the staff.

While Damian was grinding his teeth against the senses-deprivation training, Daniel was bearing his teeth in a smile as he convinced local rulers to sign over their properties to Ra without bloodshed.

Daniel was raised in this role not because he was born five minutes after his brother or because he didn't show combat talent. On the night of the twin's first birthday, Ra had a well-known magic user do a soul test on the children.

He had all of his descendants participate in said test, and they rarely came out with traits that made them possible heirs. Talia, along with her sister Nyssa, was one of the few among his children who resulted in the green glow.

Many of his children were white glows—talented in the mind rather than in the body like Daniel. Once Ra saw the white aura around Daniel, he had tutors set up for estate management. One step above servant of the family.

He was just about to doom Damian to the same fate, effectively cutting them from the line of succession until the eldest started glowing green.

His green was much more vibrant than Talia's, as she was just the lowest shade of green, right above white, which was why he had not made it clear who the inheritance would go to. Nyssa had also been a light shade, balanced with Talia's.

But Damian? His was a bright emerald, the shade of green he hadn't seen in almost seven hundred years. Ra knew the boy would be grand when he aged.

Then, one day, his daughter ran off with his heir. Taking the boy to his father prematurely because she had discovered that Ra would use his body to preserve his immortality. She had left behind Daniel, viewing her youngest the same way all green souls kin viewed white soul kin.

Damian was raised knowing that he would one day inherit everything Ra had to offer as the Heir Apparent, and Daniel was to be his most trusted right-hand man. He was meant to be a helpful tool Damian could wield.

Daniel, however, did outshine the rest of white souls. He was a master manipulator, a snake hiding in the grass, able to convince anyone of anything. He never saw a line too immoral to cross if it was beneficial for the Ghul ruling family. He even convinced Ra's to ease off many punishments for Damian with a few soft spoken words and gentle movements.

Ra's could admit that Daniel was terror in an entirely different way than his brother. His loyalty, however, was never in doubt.

In her mind, he was a servant and not worth the risk of getting him to the Detective. Ra saw no reason why he couldn't use that against her.

He had his men whip the boy's memories, set him up in an American home with a couple that owed him a favor for using his Lazarus Pit to study the undead, and sat back. Daniel would live as Danny Fenton, thinking he had been a member of that family since birth, unaware of the sleeper agent he was.

Ra faked his death, amused by the Detective's wails upon finding the trails, and waited until Damian grew soft enough from his father's foolish sentiments to throw his dead brother's fate back into his face. He allowed Daniel to be Danny Fenton for four whole years before activating the boy to kill Damian.

The last thing the runaway heir would ever see was the smile of his silver tongue brother, whom he left for dead. The twin with a sharp mind that even Timothy Drake could not predict. The one that Bruce Wayne would hesitate to kill, unlike the clones he attempted to send before.

He did not account for Daniel developing a second personality known as Phantom. He took all the sleeper agent training and somehow twisted the boy's ghostly part into thinking he was Damian's dead brother.

It was a glorious plan meant to shatter their minds as much as their bones.

Before he could activate Daniel to complete his four year old mission, the fool wandered into an experimental protal. It did not kill him, but it made some.....side effects.

Ra's waited a week to see if anything would come of Daniel's accident, but when no evidence indicated any change, he had his ninjas active, the sleeper agent.

That he had actually died that day.

Phantom did not know he lived in Fenton. Fenton was unaware that his "fainting" spills were his body, giving control to the assassin's support stored away in his mind.

Worst Phantom seemed utterly convinced that since Damian was running around as Robin, a hero of the innocent, he should too. He set out to protect the silly American town Ra's had planted him in, and then, he began managing the damn thing.

He caused the unemployment rate to drop in Amity Park, worked on getting the neighbor's company up, sweet-talked the local landlords to lower rates, and got the Americans to take their education seriously enough that every graduating student of his high school received at least two scholarships. He covered the property damages his battles caused by convincing the people they were responsible.

Ra's had trained that silver tongue had sharpened that devilish mind, and it was being wasted on the Detective's sensibilities. At least Phantom had convinced the entire town to be ecto-mindful.

It nearly made up for the ghost finding his way to Gotham. Fenton and his class won some kind of competition hosted by the Detective for all high schools in the nation. It was some idiotic science experiment, but once Phantom was there, the ghost fell into his support role of Robin like a duck did to water.

Wayne Enterprises' stock value skyrocketed when Phantom pretended to work for them, turning his silver tongue on the belly of Gotham and carefully breaking every crime origination with a smile. Fenton himself grew the eye of the Detective for being the leading mind of the experiment, and Ra knew it was only a matter of time before his son-in-law pieced it all together.

The boy would forever be out of his reach, and he only had himself to blame. He should have killed the white soul kin years ago.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Silver Tounge snake #Part 1 #Ra's Al Ghul POV #Phantom is a split personality #Fenton and Phantom are unaware they are Halfas.#Damian regrets leaving his brother #Ra's plan was messed up by the power of Brotherly Love and Instant Shock Thearpy al la Portal #Phantom's Charsma stats are so stacked he could convince the devil to do anyhting #Fenton's Intelegence and Wisdom is just as high #No one in the Bats are aware of what Phantom is doing

1K notes · View notes

cursedcola · 10 months ago

Text

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #heartslabyul #twisted wonderland riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst trey clover #trey clover x reader #caterdiamond x reader #twst cater diamond #deuce spade x reader #twst deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #twst ace trappola x reader #heartslabyul x reader #twst x yuu #twst headcanons

2K notes · View notes

loganhowlettshousewife · 8 months ago

Text

currently thinking about feral!logan from x-men: origins and what if it had lasted longer. i am a v strong believer in letting logan be feral! it's a part of his mutation, he's not fully human and that's okay! let him act like an animal sometimes!

you had inherited your grandparents farm after they died. it was out in the middle of nowhere, peaceful and quiet.

when you find logan in the old barn that hasn’t been used in a few years, he reminds you of a frightened animal. he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be human, has no memories, and so his animal instincts from his mutation have taken over.

he growls at you when you approach, claws coming out, and so you stop a few feet away from him.

“i won’t hurt you, it’s okay.” you say soothingly. despite his threatening exterior, there’s something that tells you he isn’t a danger to you. he could hurt you, the sharp claws make that clear, but you don’t believe he will.

you run back inside the house to heat up some leftovers and bring a plate out to him. he eats like a man starved, and with him distracted you manage to get closer to him.

afterwards, he follows you into the house. you can tell he trusts you more now.

you offer him clothes that you find in the guest room, clothes that are too small for him but it’s better than nothing, and you set him up there to sleep.

he doesn’t know what to do with the bed, and hates the fact that you left him alone. he grows restless, and so later that night when you’re already asleep he sneaks into your room and curls up on the floor to watch over you.

he becomes really protective of you after that, like a guard dog.

he can smell the dip in your scent when you’re upset and he tries so hard to brighten your mood. he cuddles you and scents you because that’s what his instincts tell him will make you feel better and it does, you giggle and tightly hug him back.

eventually you convince him to sleep in your bed, since no matter how many times you tell him not to sleep on your floor, you always wake up to him there.

he starts to become more human with time, but you remind him that he doesn’t have to be. it’s obvious he’s most comfortable when he can be what he is, although you do enjoy it now that he can verbally respond to you.

his first word is “mine”, when he wakes up in the darkness of your now-shared room from a nightmare he doesn’t fully understand, pulling you closer to him as if you’ll leave if he lets go.

update: i turned it into a full fic

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett headcanons #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #feral!logan howlett x reader #feral!logan howlett #feral logan howlett #logan wolverine #x men origins wolverine #gn reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine drabble #james logan howlett

1K notes · View notes

loveemagicpeace · 4 months ago

Text

Pluto in houses & your transformation

Pluto's workings seem to represent the beginning of things and the end of things; the beginning and end of a chapter in our lives; the beginning and end of our lives.

The symbolic psychological meanings of Pluto, when exalted in a sign, house, or aspect, include transformation, transmutation, rejuvenation, revival, regeneration, exaltation, and transition. The symbolic psychological meanings of Pluto, when disabled in a sign, house, or aspect, include death, decay, destruction, carelessness, the struggle for existence, fanaticism, sensuality, adventurism, and some black magic as opposed to Saturn's ceremonial magic. The symbolic sociological meanings of Pluto include sorcerers, witches, and vampires, and people who project charisma to crowds of people, such as actors, politicians, public speakers, and propagandists. The symbolic biological meanings of Pluto include the collective consciousness, the regenerative forces of the body, the creative forces that give life. Some astrologers consider Pluto to be the ruler of the pineal gland.

Pluto in 1st house -It shows strength, courage, transformation. You will experience a lot of transformation in your life, which will have a very emotional impact on you and your personality. Your personality and appearance can change whenever you lose something. You will have to let go of many things in your life and you may struggle a lot with your ego. The person may have a robust constitution, often with an ability to recover quickly from illness or stress. However, due to Pluto's deep and transformative influence, the individual may also experience periods of dramatic shiftsin their health or energy levels. Pluto can indicate susceptibility to injuries or health challenges related to the head (such as migraines, head injuries, or mental strain) and the bones (particularly the spine or joints). Early experiences may have involved control issues or feeling the need to assert personal power in some way. This could involve transformative sexual experiences or relationships that allow the individual to explore deeper emotional or psychological themes, whether through travel or meeting new people who push them out of their comfort zone.

Pluto in 2nd house- You will experience a lot of transformation through money, material things. Your inner feelings can be very strong and you can experience your surroundings very strongly. Your memory can be good but things leave a more emotional impression on you than a mental one. With memories tied to physical objects, family heirlooms, or places of significance. In some cases, the person may collect things out of emotional need or as a way to exert control over their environment.It will rarely happen that you will borrow money from others, you also do not talk much about it and can be very private when it comes to your finances. You can find comfort in intimacy or a strong emotional connection. You are a person who gives a lot but if you lose what you have given or if someone betrays you, it is difficult to trust again. The person may receive large inheritances that radically change their life, but the process might come with deep psychological challenges or conflicts regarding the use or management of that wealth.

Pluto in 3rd house-You can have a strong connection with your siblings or you can be very estranged from them. Here you can have siblings who can be jealous of you or are more intense, possessive. Your travels can be very transformative and can completely change the way you view the world, you can live away from your family for a long time. At some point in your life you may have to separate from your siblings due to moving, which can be very difficult for you. Siblings usually live somewhere far away. You have very strong opinions and like to explore topics that are deeper. Moving away from home is usually transformative and can also bring you difficult goodbyes. Many times moving can be emotional.

Pluto in 4th house- The relationship with your mother can be intense and your mother can have a big impact on you and your development. You may have a mother who is more possessive and controlling. Your mother may also have psychological problems at some point and you may be by her side a lot. The home may be in a darker neighborhood or somewhere more secluded, lonely or private. Your childhood and home environment may have been deeply transformative, possibly marked by power struggles, secrets, or emotional upheavals. There could be a dominant or controlling parent, or you may have felt like you had to protect yourself emotionally. Your family may have strong karmic ties, and you could feel a sense of duty to break generational patterns.

Pluto in 5th house- Your love life is anything but casual. Relationships can be obsessive, passionate, or transformative. You attract powerful or intense partners and might go through major changes in your romantic experiences. You express yourself with depth and intensity. Your art or creativity could have a dark, mysterious, or taboo element. If you have children, they could be a major source of transformation in your life. There may be power struggles or deep karmic connections.You might be drawn to high-risk, high-reward situations, whether in love, creativity, or even gambling. Passion is all or nothing. Pluto intensifies the need to gamble with life’s pleasures. There’s a strong urge for risk-taking, and gambling can become an outlet for this desire. The intense nature of Pluto could also manifest in gambling as an obsessive or addictive behavior.

Pluto in 6th house- Your routines are very strict and planned. You like to stick to a certain routine. You can become obsessed with your body or the way it looks and have a need to constantly change your body. You can have pets that change your life and have a strong influence on you. The death of a pet can be very painful and emotionally transformative. You tend to have a strong attachment to animals and are reluctant to trade one animal for another if you lose it. Work can change.Pluto in the 6th may indicate that marriage brings responsibilities, obligations, or power struggles that directly affect work and daily life. A partner might have control over work choices, either through direct influence (e.g., financial dependence) or indirectly (e.g., responsibilities in the marriage limiting career flexibility). If Pluto is negatively aspected, marriage could bring health issues due to stress, emotional burdens, or even legal restrictions related to work and location.Avoid toxic work environments.

Pluto in 7th house- Marriage can be very transformative for you and bring about many changes. You usually have a partner who can have a great influence on you and you can learn a lot and transform emotionally through the relationship. The end of a relationship can be very painful and transformative for you, you can become a different person after that. The partner is usually intense, strong, very protective, can also be jealous,powerful, dominant, mysterious, or deeply transformative in some way. If connected to the 6th house or 12th house, health problems could be deep-rooted, chronic, or related to psychological/emotional trauma. The person may experience conflicts with doctors, hospitals, or medical treatments, needing to take control of their own healing process. The father may experience power struggles, hidden conflicts, or legal issues in later years. Mother may remarry or go through an intense personal transformation due to relationships in later years.

Pluto in 8th house-Here is a pluto in your house, which means it is more exposed to strong changes that will change your life. Pluto here can bring large inheritances, but often through dramatic or intense circumstances (family conflicts, legal battles, hidden assets). This placement naturally enhances psychic abilities, astral projection, and connections to the spirit world. Pluto in the 8th often makes a person fascinated with the occult, life after death, and deep esoteric knowledge. The native might deal with banking, stocks, loans, insurance, or business partnerships where power dynamics play a key role. Pluto here suggests that an aunt or uncle of the same sex may have intense experiences while traveling abroad, possibly involving financial, legal, or spiritual transformations. Many people with this placement experience near-death experiences (NDEs), strong premonitions about death, or a natural understanding of life’s transitions.

Pluto in 9th house- show long journeys to places that are more realistic, dark, and perhaps even dangerous. You may be drawn to esoteric knowledge, secret teachings, hidden wisdom, or alternative education paths. You might start with one field and completely change direction due to a life-altering event. You may experience culture shock, karmic encounters, or major transformations in a foreign land. You may experience a spiritual crisis that forces you to question everything you once believed. The person may gain money, power, or recognition through psychic work, astrology, or spiritual guidance. The parent of the opposite sex (father in a female’s chart, mother in a male’s chart) may experience major health crises, surgeries, or hidden illnesses. This parent might be a powerful influence in the native’s spiritual or philosophical development. Love relationships may involve people from different cultures, long-distance relationships, or karmic soul connections.

Pluto in 10th house- Maybe you always felt like your father had control over you or some kind of pressure from him. Government figures or other authoritative persons may be significant throughout the native’s life, either as mentors, power figures, or adversaries. There can be karma to resolve with authority figures, especially in the professional realm. Fame may come through overcoming significant challenges or gaining recognition for powerful work, leadership, or radical innovations. There may be ego challenges or times when the native’s pride and personal identity are tested by external forces(bosses, the government, public opinion). The death of the spouse could involve secrets, power struggles, or unresolved issues that require deep healing.

Pluto in 11th house-friendships are likely to be intense, transformative, and karmic.The native may attract friends who are powerful, mysterious, or transformative, or they may themselves be a transformative influence on their social circles. At times, the native may feel the need to let go of certain friends who no longer align with their path or whose influence feels controlling or manipulative. There could be an intense magnetism for certain types of experiences, hobbies, or items, possibly drawn to things that have a transformative or deeper meaning (e.g., items with a mystical or esoteric nature). They could spend money on social causes, innovative ideas, or group projects, often going all-in on what they believe in. There could be hidden opportunities for financial gain, career advancement, or personal growth through international connections. These agreements may involve powerful business partnerships, karmic connections, or even the transformation of beliefs and ideals when dealing with people from different cultural backgrounds. The native and their spouse may experience life-changing events or power struggles together, particularly when it comes to shared interests or future dreams.

Pluto in 12th house- This placement encourages self-help and self-healing, as the native has to confront the deepest, hidden aspects of their psyche. Opening up to others, particularly in terms of vulnerability, is a significant challenge for Pluto in the 12th house. The person might face losses that force them to confront the impermanence of life and to let go of attachments, but these events will also ultimately lead to rebirth. Pluto's influence in this house often signals emotional intensity, secret attachments, or unresolved issues from the pastthat come to the surface and cause the relationship to dissolve. The native may feel fated to experience psychic or spiritual awakenings in a place away from home, or they may undergo a deep psychological transformation while abroad. Living or working in a foreign country can help the person break free from the limitations of their past or ancestral patterns. Sleep can be a time of dreams and psychic experiences, and the individual may experience unusual dreams, often related to spiritual matters or psychological healing. The person may have a strong psychic intuition, an attraction to esoteric teachings, and a propensity for spiritual awakening. The native is often deeply connected to their soul's purpose and may feel an inner calling to undergo intense spiritual growth.

-Rebekah🧜🏻‍♀️🌊

#zodiac signs #energy #astrology #astrological houses #planets #my notes #pluto #pluto the series

652 notes · View notes

idkyetxoxo · 3 months ago

Text

Jacaerys Velaryon - Innocence and Inexperience

Summary - An arranged marriage leads to a night of tender intimacy and raw emotion. Amid the echoes of crude remarks, Jace and his bride navigate their first night together with vulnerability and newfound connection, transforming their union into one of genuine love and trust.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Lannister reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut)

Word count - 2204

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

It all began with a betrothal, an arrangement that, though unexpected, held particular weight. To my surprise, my match was with someone close to my age, someone who was destined to inherit the Iron Throne.

As I sat beside Jace, trying to steady my nerves, I sipped cautiously from my cup. My brothers, Jason and Tyland, had orchestrated this match with great zeal, and for the first time in memory, they seemed to find common ground in their shared purpose.

The evening wore on, and the atmosphere grew increasingly raucous. Aegon, ever the embodiment of reckless abandon, was already significantly inebriated by the time he began his probing inquiries.

His words slurred as he leaned closer, the wine in his cup sloshing dangerously over the rim.

"Do tell me, nephew," Aegon began, his voice tinged with a drunken bravado.

"You do know where to place your cock and such, right?" His question was crude and unbidden, and I could feel the colour drain from my face.

My eyes darted toward Jace, who was gripping the edge of the dinner table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His jaw was set in a tight line, a clear sign of his mounting fury.

Aegon's gaze shifted between us, his smirk widening with each passing moment.

"If not, I'd be more than happy to show you," he continued, his words dripping with contempt. "Perhaps I could be your teacher and take your betrothed to bed first, just to show you how it's done."

The insult was sharp and uncalled for.

Jace's patience snapped as his hand crashed down onto the table, causing the silverware to clatter and my heart to leap. I flinched, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed.

"You can play the jester if you like," Jace's voice was low and dangerously calm, "but hold your tongue before my betrothed." His words were laced with a venom that made the room's temperature seem to drop.

Aegon's laughter erupted, harsh and mocking.

"Oh, come now, nephew," he jeered, leaning back in his chair with a sneer. "What's the matter? Afraid I'll show you up? You seem a bit too sensitive about your lady's honour."

Jace's face reddened with fury, and he leaned forward, his eyes blazing. "This isn't a jest, Aegon. This is a matter of respect. I won't stand for you demeaning her or trying to provoke me with your vile comments."

Aegon's smirk never faltered, but his tone grew more taunting. "Respect? From you? You're hardly in a position to lecture me on decorum, nephew."

The comment struck a nerve. Jace's hand tightened into a fist, and he took a deep breath, struggling to maintain his composure. "That doesn't give you the right to belittle me or my future wife. If you think your drunken bravado will make me back down, you're sorely mistaken."

At this point, I could no longer bear the rising tension. Leaning closer to Jace, I whispered softly, "It's not worth it. Please, let it go."

Jace's gaze, which had been locked in a cold stare at Aegon, softened slightly as he turned his attention to me. His anger was still evident, but the reminder of the bigger picture seemed to pull him back from the brink.

Aegon, noticing the shift in Jace's demeanour, let out a derisive chuckle.

"Ah, look at that," he taunted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "The lioness has managed to calm the beast. How quaint."

Jace's eyes remained fixed on me, but the tension in his shoulders eased, his fury remained barely contained. The confrontation had cooled, but the underlying discord was far from resolved.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Our wedding was a spectacle of grandeur. The king had spared no expense to ensure that every detail was perfect. From the decorations to the feast, the event was a testament to wealth and status.

Now, as the day drew to a close and the festivities had finally quieted, the time had come for our wedding night.

In the privacy of our chambers, Jace and I sat together on the edge of the bed, our eyes meeting with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the pomp of the day.

Jace leaned forward with deliberate care, his every movement speaking of patience that contrasted sharply with the chaos of the day. His fingers, gentle as a summer breeze, brushed a stray lock of hair from my face.

The touch was feather-light, an intimate gesture that seemed to draw us closer in a world suddenly reduced to the space between us.

His fingers lingered briefly against my skin before he leaned in to place a soft, lingering kiss on my lips. The kiss was gentle, and though his movements were calm and composed, my heart raced in response to the intimacy and the gravity of the moment.

"I will take it slow, I promise," he murmured against my lips, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

I could feel the sincerity in his words, but the rapid thudding of my heart seemed deafening in the quiet of the room. I worried he could hear it, each beat a reminder of my apprehension.

Jace pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine.

"Do not worry about my uncle's words," he continued softly, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. "Pay them no heed."

I nodded, though the memory of Aegon's crude remarks lingered like a shadow over the evening. His taunts had stung, and the weight of his disrespect had cast a pall over what should have been a night of unmitigated joy.

Yet, as I looked into Jace's eyes, I found a comfort that helped to dispel my fears.

Jace's fingers moved with deliberate care as he began to undo the laces of my wedding dress. The task proved more complex than anticipated, and he struggled slightly with the intricate knots. I reached out to assist him, our hands working together to free me from the elaborate garment.

With each lace undone, the tension of the day seemed to ease a little more.

As the final laces slipped between our fingers, Jace removed his clothing with equal deliberation, leaving us both naked and exposed to one another in a vulnerable and intimate moment.

He paused to look at me, his eyes roaming over my body with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration. A warm blush crept across my cheeks, stirred by the sincerity in his words.

Gently, he laid me back on the bed, his lips brushing softly against mine. His hands roamed tenderly down my arms, interlacing our fingers in a gesture of unity and affection. The contact was both soothing and reassuring, grounding us in this intimate moment.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice a soft tremor of concern. I nodded in response, unable to find words, my throat tight with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Jace's movements were slow and careful as he began to enter me. A sharp pain shot through me, and I let out a low hiss. The sensation was intense, a reminder of the newness of this experience.

Jace's eyes flickered with concern, and he paused, his face a portrait of empathy and restraint.

"I've heard it can be painful at first," he said, his voice a low murmur as if he were trying to soothe both of us. "I'll let you adjust."

He remained still, allowing me time to acclimate to the sensation. His hands were tender and supportive, a constant comfort in the midst of the discomfort. The pain gradually began to ebb, replaced by a growing sense of connection and intimacy.

"I'm okay," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly but filled with reassurance.

Jace's expression softened with relief and tenderness. He resumed his movements, his thrusts slow and measured. Each motion was gentle, a deliberate act of intimacy designed to honour our connection and ensure my comfort. His rhythm was steady, his focus entirely on making the experience as meaningful and gentle as possible.

He kept his movements slow, giving me time to adjust with each gentle thrust. His hands stayed close, his touch a constant source of reassurance.

"You're doing so well," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet admiration. His encouragement was a balm, helping me to relax and fully engage with the moment.

As my comfort increased, a surge of urgency and desire overcame me. "Jace, go faster," I encouraged, my grip tightening on the sheets beneath me.

Our connection intensified with each movement, and I found myself craving more, caught between the steady reassurance of his loving approach and the primal instincts of the human body.

Jace responded to my request with a deep, guttural groan that resonated through the room.

His movements quickened, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming more urgent and insistent. Each push was driven by a growing need, his focus shifting to match the heightened intensity of the moment.

"Seven hells," I breathed, overwhelmed by the sensation as my back arched upwards to meet him.

The increased pace intensified the experience, deepening the connection between us. Pleasure surged rapidly, merging with the urgency of our shared passion.

Jace's eyes darkened with a primal intensity as he gazed down at me. The sight of me beneath him, my body trembling and glistening with a sheen of sweat, seemed to ignite something deeper within him.

The way my breasts bounced with each of his movements, their rhythmic motion emphasizing the intensity of our union, drove him to new heights of desire.

The slickness of my skin, catching the dim light and reflecting his fervour, only heightened his arousal.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers pressing into my skin as his thrusts became more forceful and fervent.

As his urgency grew, so did the intensity of each thrust, and the line between pleasure and pain began to blur. Each thrust drove him deeper inside me, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he watched my body quiver beneath him

"Jace," I gasped, my voice strained as the force of his movements became overwhelming.

He was lost in the moment, his need for me consuming him. His thrusts grew harder, more insistent, and a sharp pain shot through me.

I cried out, the sound a mix of pleasure and distress.

Tears began to leak from the corners of my eyes, the emotional and physical intensity combining in a way that left me breathless and exposed.

Jace immediately noticed the tears, his face shifting to one of alarm and concern. He halted, his breath coming in short, anxious bursts.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. "Did I hurt you?"

I met his concerned gaze, striving to reassure him despite the tears still glistening in my eyes. "I'm fine," I said, my voice trembling but earnest. "It's just... a lot. But I'm okay, really."

Jace's expression remained troubled, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress. He continued to hold me close, his movements slowing as he sought to comfort me.

"I didn't mean to push you too much," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I apologise if I hurt you."

I reached up and placed a soothing hand on his cheek, offering a comforting smile.

"It's not your fault," I assured him softly. "It's just that it's so intense. But it's okay. We have all night, and we can go at whatever pace we need."

His eyes softened with relief, and he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. He resumed his movements with a more mindful rhythm, his touch gentle and careful. The room was filled with a renewed sense of intimacy and understanding as we adjusted our pace.

As Jace's thrusts grew more attuned to our shared rhythm, the intensity of our connection heightened. With each movement, the pleasure between us built to a crescendo. Our bodies moved together, synchronized in a growing wave of sensation.

Finally, the buildup of pleasure reached its peak. I felt a shuddering release, a wave of intense sensation that made me gasp. My body arched, and I cried out softly, tears mixing with the overwhelming feelings.

Jace followed suit, his breath quickening and his movements becoming more urgent. He let out a deep groan as he reached his climax, his body trembling as he finally found release.

As I lay there, breathless and teary-eyed, Jace's gaze fell on the glistening tears that streaked my flushed cheeks. His thumb, moving with the tenderness of a whispered apology, gently brushed them away.

"I apologise" he murmured, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

I gently squeezed his hand, looking into his eyes with a reassuring gaze. "Don't worry," I whispered softly. "It was intense, but I'm alright"

Jace's expression softened with relief, and he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me in a comforting embrace. We lay together, the warmth of his body against mine a soothing presence.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice gentle and reassuring.

I nestled closer to him, finding comfort in his embrace. "I know," I whispered.

We held each other, the intensity of the moment giving way to a deeper sense of connection. The night stretched ahead of us, and we took our time to savour the closeness and understanding we had found together.

A/n - Something soft and sweet, editing this and I realised it's unintentionally a part 2 for 'The Lioness's Webs' <3

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #team black #prince jacaerys #jace x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys strong

476 notes · View notes

trivia-yandere · 4 months ago

Note

doctor says the cure of cancer (which I have is)the second part of what are you willing to do??please cure ne pookie

you know what? hell yeah

what are you willing to do? (2)

jungkook has made good on his promise on a new apartment and in return, you showed him what you were willing to do to keep it.

word count: 4.094

warnings: smut, yandere tendencies, power imbalance, kissing, unprotected sex, dirty talking, handjob, oral sex, face-fucking, facial, hidden cameras, masturbation, cowgirl, nipple sucking,

part one

Jungkook wasn’t lying. He did have the perfect apartment for you.

You were nervous when you heard knocks at your door around noon the following day. You had spent the majority of your morning packing, unable to get your mind off of Jeon Jungkook and the entire situation. A part of you told yourself that there was no way Jungkook had that much pull as a property manager. Wouldn’t his father grow suspicious if you were suddenly in another apartment?

But, you learned Jungkook was a man of his word. Upon arriving at your door, he offered a short grin your way with gleaming eyes. Memories of just a few hours earlier pass through your mind and you fight the urge flowing through your body. “Follow me.” Jungkook had said and stepped aside a bit.

Jungkook had led you towards the elevator and takes you up a few floor levels. What you always knew was the higher, the better - and the more expensive. You were growing anxious when it takes longer than you expected to reach the floor; not the top, but certainly not where you were accustomed to.

Upon the elevator doors opening, you noticed just how wide the hallway was - and lack of apartment doors. “There’s only around 5 apartments on this floor alone.” Jungkook told you - your floor had at least 10. Jungkook always has the keys to jingle in his hands as he leads you down the long hallway, each door so far apart that you’re positive that the inside is huge.

And you were right. Jungkook opens the door to the apartment - the door a mahogany color with carved wood and a gold handle - and opens to show you the apartment. Premium wasn’t the correct word, luxury was. The floor wasn’t hardwood like your current one and instead was tiled so clean that you could see your reflection as you strolled in.

“To you right,” Jungkoom states as he closes the door. He places a hand onto the low of your back. An action that shoots warmth throughout your body. “is a laundry room. Residents usually would have to buy their own washer and dryer. I got that covered for you.”

Jungkook flicks on the lights to show you the room - a large laundry room that already is stacked with a washer and dryer. The brand is expensive and you could tell by just the sight alone without the logo. There’s built-in wall shelves and cabinets for storage and the size alone of this one room is similar to your walk-in closet in your current apartment.

“I didn’t need that, Jungkook. I don’t want to waste your money…” you murmur, turning to him.

Jungkook allows a grin to form onto his lips. “It isn’t a waste if you have the money, Y/N.” he murmurs. He was reminding you just who he was. Property Manager - soon to inherit everything once his father retired. “Follow me.”

Jungkook proceeds to show you the entire apartment. High ceilings with expensive lighting fixtures. Stainless steel appliances, up to date features and space you never thought was possible - the apartment was beautiful. Far too beautiful and not what you were expecting.

“It’s already furnished, as well. So…” Jungkook turns to you. You noticed now that he had his arm around your waist as he guided you throughout the apartment. “...you could get rid of your old furniture.”

You lick your lips, your eyes glancing around the apartment. Jungkook notices your hesitance and his hand squeezes your hip. “Do you…not like it?” he questions. There isn’t any malice or annoyance in his voice.

“What?” you scoff, snapping your head to him. “No! I do!” you say, entirely too quick. How in the world would he think you - someone with no job and money - didn’t like the luxurious and fully furnished apartment. “I just…are you sure it’s okay?”

Fingers tap along your waist gently as Jungkook speaks. “Of course it’s okay.” he quips. “I wouldn’t have you in here if it wasn’t.”

“It just seems like a lot.” you sigh out. “Eventually I’d have to pay for all of this. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to afford it.”

Jungkook hums a bit. It’ll be too vulgar of him to come right out and say “as long as you keep fucking me, you’ll have a roof over your head”. Instead, he shakes his head. “We had a deal, didn’t we?” he murmurs. His hands linger onto your hips, drawing you closer to him. “You do art. I was thinking the second bedroom could be like a studio for you.”

“I…really?” you blink. You hadn’t noticed the second bedroom as he only showed you the masters - a large spacious bedroom that had its own walk-in closet and master bathroom.

“I told you that I’d be willing to buy your paintings, remember?” Jungkook allows a hand to slightly brush along your cheek and he gives you another curt wink. “You’re going to need space for all your work.”

Your eyes linger on Jungkook for a moment too long. Your lashes blink a bit as you begin to scan his face. You don’t detect any lies and your heart jolts at how…kind Jungkook was. Could you equate this with kindness? You were, technically, going to fuck him for this apartment. But, you supposed he could have kept you where you were at instead of elevating you to this.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question causes Jungkook to laugh and for your body to warm with embarrassment. You step away for a moment and Jungkook tilts his head.

“I’m not laughing at you.” Jungkook assures. “I’m laughing at how cute you are. You’re still so shy, Y/N. Even after cumming all over me just the night before.”

You bite the inside of your lip at how crude - and true - Jungkook’s words were. You glance away for a mere second before connecting your eyes back towards him. Jungkook is watching you, a tint in his eyes as he awaits for you to speak, and when you don’t, he does. “Yes. You can kiss me.” Jungkook murmurs.

Jungkook decides that even though you asked, he was going to have to be the one to make the first move. His right hand goes to cup your cheek and he lowers himself to press his nose against yours. He gently rubs his together with yours, grinning when you let out a snort.

“I’m really appreciative of the apartment.” you say with lips mere inches from Jungkooks. Your breath tickles against his lips and it takes nothing to connect both of them together. “You didn’t have to do this…I could’ve stayed in mine.”

“You could've…” Jungkook agree’s. “...but you’re better than that apartment.”

You hum, leaning closer to press your lips onto Jungkook’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss with a groan. He has been wanting to feel you on him since last time. It took everything in him to hold himself back - to wait until this moment. As much as he wanted you, he knew now - and onward - would be the perfect time.

Kissing Jungkook was hot - literally. The heat radiating off of him was like a furnace and it caused your mind to swirl. Your hands, unsure where to place them, go towards Jungkook’s broad shoulders.

“Do you need help moving your stuff in?” Jungkook asks between pecks. “Are your clothes packed?”

You exhale a bit. You didn’t care about your stuff - not now. You notice how good Jungkook smells; a surprisingly feminine scent that you ponder what cologne he wears. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by moving your stuff in when all you wanted to do was remain with Jungkook.

“Everything is packed.” you respond, a hand trailing down from Jungkook’s shoulder to his chest. You blink at him before continuing, “but I haven’t had the chance to thank you yet.”

“Thank me?” Jungkook furrows a brow, feigning ignorance. His hands go towards your hips now to bring you closer to him. You weren’t as shy as you were originally and Jungkook is appreciative of that. He finds that you’re cute when you’re shy - but he had no intentions of stopping this deal.

You nod your head. “You know what for, silly.” your fingers tap along his clothed chest, wishing to see it bare. Did Jungkook’s tattoo’s stop at his arm or did it scatter across his chest, as well? “I have to show you that I’m grateful.”

Dark eyes watch you, teeth catching his soft, thin lips. He’s anticipated continuing where you and he left off the following night. To get to taste you on his tongue once more and to listen to those cute, cute sounds you’d make.

“Yeah?” Jungkook hums, allowing you to take his hands in your and tugging him closer. Jungkook enjoys the softness in your touch, the slight hesitance, too. You were so cute, he thinks. The way you’re trying to lead yet there’s still a bit of shyness and uncertainty in your actions.

You lead Jungkook towards the large bedroom, still so astonished by how big it is just for one person. The bed doesn’t have any sheets yet, but it doesn’t bother you. You stop right beside it, turning to Jungkook who’s lips tug upwards.

“You’re so cute.” Jungkook murmurs, his hand squeezing yours a bit. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking out loud - how he feels as though he’s corrupting you a bit; exciting him to his core.

Your body warms and a part of you is slightly embarrassed by how shy you were being with him. You and he grew acquainted on less than admirable circumstances but that doesn’t mean you need to be timid around him.

You let go of his hand and instead wrap both arms around his neck. You press your lips to his, slightly humming as he deepens it immediately. There wasn’t any chance you were going back - not when you were given an opportunity to stay here rent free and do exactly what you enjoyed doing.

Jungkook’s arm fills with goosebumps when your hand trails down past his chest to his stomach then abdomen. His eyes blink away from yours to your hand - the same soft and delicate hand that now is making its way inside his pants.

Jungkook is painfully hard, you note. His cock jolts when your palm makes contact with it over his underwear. His mouth falls open slightly when your hand squeezes his cock.

“I want you to cum.” you say with a slight tilt of your head. Your free hand tugs at Jungkook’s pants so you can slide them down. “Cum…wherever you want to cum.”

Your hand makes its way inside his underwear, his cock entirely warm. You swallow, your thumb rubbing along his tip, the warm wetness of his pre-cum coating it.

“Wherever?” Jungkook moans.

You nod your head, hand pumping.

Jungkook grunts, his eyes squeezing shut. He thinks of so many different locations where he could cum - in those soft hands. Maybe you’d let him cum on your breast - but all he could truly think about was coating your beautiful face with his cum. Having the chance to mark you so intimately causes something deep inside him to flame.

Without much thought, you drop to your knees. You tug his underwear down, eyes watching the way his coc springs out with anticipation. The tip is pink and angrily leaking with even more pre-cum than before. You lick your lips a bit.

“Wherever.” you murmur, eyes flickering to him a bit. He’s watching you with such intensity, eyes unblinking. Slowly, as if teasing him, your tongue licks the tip of his cock. His cum is a bit salty, but you’re more than willing to continue.

You wanted to treat Jungkook the way he treated you, allowing you to cum all over him without anything in return. Your tongue swirls over his tip for a few moments, enjoying the sounds of his moans that only edges you on. It causes you to take the entirety of his cock into your mouth.

Jungkook’s head falls back, mouth agape. His breathing quickens, your warm mouth fully engulfing him and moist tongue sliding beneath the length of his cock. His moans, so low pitch and boyish, causes your knees to slide together and your thighs to clench.

“You’re sucking so good.” Jungkook inhales sharply at the way you suckle against his cock sloppily. Saliva trickles down the corner of your mouth and now down your chin. Your eyes are glossy and to Jungkook, you look utterly cute.

Your mouth pops Jungkook’s cock from your lip with a choked cough. Your chest heaves a bit, glossy eyes blinking up towards Jungkook.

“You,” Jungkook’s hand touches your cheek encouragingly. “look like a cock hungry whore.”

You’re sure those words would’ve offended you if said in other circumstances - and possibly if spoken by someone else. But it causes your stomach to churn in a good way and your thighs to clench closer together.

“Is that a bad thing?” you ask, eyes glancing back to Jungkook’s wet, glistening cock.

“Of course not.” Jungkook smirks. “You’re showing me you’re grateful, after all.”

Your knees against the fresh hardwood floor begin to ache a bit, but you find that you don’t move a single muscle, waiting for Jungkook to make the next move. That, or you were going to go back to throating his cock. Whichever came first.

“Just how grateful are you exactly?” Jungkook murmurs his question with a raised eyebrow. “Grateful enough for me to fuck your mouth?”

You don’t respond verbally, and instead you open your mouth wide, tongue slipping out. You wait patiently for Jungkook to slip his cock back into your mouth, and when he does he wastes no time. He ruts his hips, watching the way his cock slips in and out of your wet mouth.

Somehow being used in such a way feels amazing; so demeaning yet so…lustful. The act of Jungkook, someone you barely know but share such a deep longing and attraction for one another, springing his cock in and out of your mouth. Completely using you for his own lustful desires just as you were using him for what he could provide for you.

Jungkook groans, his grip on your head growing tighter. His eyes are pierced and focused on you and you solely. There’s tears in your eyes that’s trailing down your cheeks now, but it doesn’t appear to affect you. You were such a good whore, he thinks, good but still completely wholesome in ways that he cannot explain.

“Your mouth feels so good.”

Wet and warm your mouth was, squelching noise your throat makes as he plunges it in and out of you. The noises are so crude and slutty, his eyes never wanting to stop watching the sight that is you. You’re taking him so well, your throat closing in around him whenever his cock presents itself.

“You’re such a good little slut, Y/N. So grateful to be here that you’d let me fuck your mouth, huh?” Jungkook groans, his thumb going to rub away stray tears from your eyes.

Your throat aches and so does your jaw, but Jungkook was too hot to say no to. You're breathing through your nose as Jungkook continues to talk.

“I think I know where I wanna cum, Y/N.” Jungkook gasps, that familiar churning in his abdomen.

Removing his cock from your mouth, you cough as air flows through your lungs now. A hand wraps around the shaft and he pumps his cock right above your face, warm ropes of cum coating your face. You’re surprised by the sudden action, but you aren’t upset in the slightest about the outcome.

Jungkook’s chest heaves at the sight of your face covered in cum that drips down your face. He ponders if the action was disrespectful for you, but then slowly your mouth twitches into a low smile and he knows just how good you were for him.

“Let’s clean your face.”

Jungkook helps you stand before he tugs you towards the master bathroom. It isn’t decorated to match your personality just yet, but there’s a few towels on the counter and that was enough for now. He takes a hand towel and wets it with warm water before turning to you.

Jungkook cleaning your face was…something. He wipes your face clean of his cum before offering you a low grin.

“Do you want to move your things in now?” Jungkook asks.

“In a minute…” you shrug your shoulders. You lick your lips, glancing away for a moment.

“Oh?” Jungkook raises a brow. “What do you want to do now?”

You and Jungkook both appear utterly insatiable. Your arms wrapping around his neck and lips greedily pressing to his own while his hands grip and tug at your naked skin. Your bodies crash out of the master bathroom and into the bedroom. You pushed Jungkook towards the bed and climbed on top of him. “This is what you wanted to do?” Jungkook chuckles. “We could’ve waited until you were settled in.”

“I know but,” you’re hovering right about his already hardened cock. While in the bathroom, you assisted in Jungkook removing his clothes so he was just as bare as you. His tattoos stop right at his shoulders and his arms seemingly flex on impact. “I’m still grateful.”

Grateful and highly horny. Hearing the way Jungkook moans when you were sucking your cock was enough for you to want to fuck him now instead of later; but especially later, too.

Jungkook places a hand onto your hips while you center yourself at the tip of his cock. You slowly blink, feeling a bit foolish yet embarrassed. It’s far too late to worry about protection, isn’t it? You had his cock in your throat not too long ago.

“I…do you want to use a condom?” you ask, body warm. “I don’t do this often so I don’t have any-”

“I can pull out.” Jungkook squeezes your hips, lips twitching upward with how cute you were.

You nod your head and continue to lower yourself onto Jungkook’s cock. It stretches you out in a great way, pussy squeezing around him. You gasp when you sit fully onto Jungkook, eyes blinking a bit.

Jungkook groans deeply, nails digging into your hip. It doesn’t take long for the sound of skin slapping to echo off of the walls; now more since the room is empty. It’s met with your moans, Jungkook’s groans and your squelching pussy.

Your hands clench onto Jungkook’s shoulders for support as you continue to bounce against him. His cock springs in and out of you so heavenly, a feeling that you never want to stop.

“Your pussy is a lot wetter than I expected.” Jungkook quips, his hands roaming upwards to grip your bouncing breast, his thumb rubbing along your nipple until it’s erect. “You must be very grateful.”

Jungkook leans forward a bit to capture your nipple into his mouth, tongue twirling the bud greedily. The countless times he’s seen you, beyond your knowledge, he’s pondered just who you were. How well you were in the area. If you had any significant others or anyone you were seeing. He gets his answer time and time again as he watches you come and go without anyone in tow. He’s replayed the cameras in the hallway just at the chance to see you more often.

Jungkook doesn’t have to do that anymore - now he’ll have a front row seat.

Jungkook’s hips buckle forward to meet you halfway. His tongue trails up from your breast to your collarbones. His teeth sinks onto your skin possessively, groaning into your body.

“Your cock feels so good.” you sigh out, your back slamming against the mattress as Jungkook takes control. He places both of your legs against his chest and pounds deeply inside of you.

Sex never felt this good, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. Your pussy squeezes Jungkook’s cock, milking everything he was willing to give. Your arms are spawned out, fingers digging into the mattress for any hope of comfort.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Jungkook grunts, opening your legs so he could come closer to you. His lips are centimeters from yours as he continues to speak. “So, so beautiful. I’ve been wanting to fuck you for so long.”

Maybe if you were paying any ounce of attention, you’d notice just how Jungkook’s words hold a deeper meaning. But, you’re far too enthralled in the way he’s fucking you that it goes through your ears but don’t linger for long.

“You can keep fucking me.” you breath, pressing your lips onto his that he immediately deepens without a care.

“I plan on it.” Jungkook murmurs against your lips.

Jungkook’s hand, wrapped firmly around his cock, continues to pump aggressively, his eyes on the camera. The sounds of your squeals pound through his headphones, his eyes unblinking. The way you take his cock only brings flashbacks of that day - and nearly everyday after that.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grumbles, thighs quivering. “I can’t wait to fuck you later, baby.” he says as if you’re listening, but of course you aren’t.

You’d never know about the cameras that are surrounding your apartment. Maybe others would say it’s an invasion of privacy, but to him it wasn’t. After all, it was his apartment that he was paying for monthly. He kept the lights on, the water and gas running. Hell, he even supplied the food you ate, much to your dismay that it was all too much.

“Shit,” Jungkook feels it coming, the high he always gets whenever he watches these videos of the two of you back. “shit, shit, shit.”

Jungkook likes to think that this is how it’s supposed to be. Him having you so close to him while you remain home. You got the chance to focus on your art now without wondering if you were going to be evicted or not - all thanks to him.

Jungkook gasps when his high erupts, cum coating the palm of his hands. His thighs continue to quiver and jolt, his head hanging back.

Jungkook’s breathing is heavy, his headphones still sounding the video on the monitor. Slowly, his hand removes his slowly softening cock. He goes to take a few napkins from his desk and wipes his hand clean. He throws away the napkins and sighs, shaking his head.

Maybe this wasn’t morally right - cumming in his office while he was supposed to be working. But he missed you. Yes, you were just a few flights away, but still. You were working and so was he, but he couldn’t go another moment without you.

Jungkook clicks off of the old video and goes towards the live feed. His eyes roam around the apartment until he spots you and a smile forms onto his lips. He zooms in on you painting, your eyes focused.

Sometimes Jungkook likes to watch you paint. You would hum to yourself at times, or you’d listen to music. He was ecstatic when he discovered that you enjoyed the playlist he made for you.

Jungkook picks up his phone and dials your number. He doesn’t bother putting it to his ear as he could hear you just fine through his headphones due to the live camera feed. He watches you put down your paint brush and answer the phone with a soft smile onto your lips. “Kook, hey!” he hears you speak over the headphones.

“Hey.” Jungkoo raises the phone to his lips. “What are you doing?”

“Painting.” you say. “I can’t wait to show you later. I’ve finally decided on what I wanted to paint exactly.”

“I can’t wait.” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes flickering to the painting you’ve already started. “Is it something you’re willing to sell?”

You snort. “I’m not sure. I never sold art before. And no I’m not selling it to you.” you quip. “You do enough for me already.”

Jungkook snickers, but he’s already knowing that you aren't going to give up. “I’m thinking about ordering lunch. You can come down and meet me in my office.” he says, leaning back into his chair. He watches as your eyebrows furrow upwards. “If you’re too busy, I can just send you something up.”

“No,” you shake your head. You begin to stand. “I’ll come down now!”

Jungkook smiles and nods his head, though you can’t see him like he can see you. “Okay, I’ll be waiting.”

@sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious @investedreader @babyitscoldoutside @yukooyuk @dream-lover200 @slut4jeon @burymeat @marylight098 @bangtans-momma @jimintopiaaaa

trivia-yandere: honestly like the story can be done here but who knows , i could always come up with a part one day 3 :3

#trivia-yandere #explicit-tae #what are you willing to do?#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook yandere #bts smut #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #btswritersclub #bangtanwriters net #bangtan smut #bangtanwritershq #yandere bts

836 notes · View notes

fastandcarlos · 1 year ago

Text

He Takes Your Baby To The Paddock » F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

He was determined to keep your child as far away from the hustle and bustle as possible when he took them to the paddock. Max used his broad shoulders to shield your child from the cheers and the flashes in order to protect him and make sure that they weren’t too overwhelmed by it all. Every few seconds, Max would glance behind him and make sure that you were still there too and also safe, but most importantly he wanted to make sure that your child was safe in his arms, being the perfect protective dad that he always was.

» Lando Norris

There was nothing that Lando wanted to do more than show off your child when he took them to the paddock, happy to introduce them to anyone who would listen. Although your baby was still quite young, that didn’t stop Lando from showing them around and making sure that they got a glimpse at everything that went on in the McLaren garage. Lando didn’t want to leave your child’s side for the day, wanting to make sure that they got to experience absolutely everything with him. He was obsessed with making as many memories in the paddock as he possibly could.

» Carlos Sainz

The two of them were like social butterflies around the paddock, everyone loved Carlos anyway, but Carlos walking around with your child seemed to draw even more people over to him. Everyone in the paddock couldn’t get enough of your child and Carlos was incredibly proud to gush to everyone about how lucky he was to have the two of you in his life. You had often told people how your child had inherited Carlos’ charm and now everyone else managed to see it for themselves too. There were endless jokes with the three of you as Carlos and your baby kept the crowds entertained.

» George Russell

There was a proud smile on George’s face for the entire day that you and your child decided to attend the race with him. George wasn’t flashy about the fact his little family were there to support him, but if anyone did ask him about the two of you then he would talk to them for hours about how amazing life was. It was something that he could definitely imagine himself getting used to in the future, seeing his child waving for him down the pit lane and being the first one to give him a hug when he climbed out of the car - hopefully one day as a race winner too.

» Charles LeClerc

It was like having a big kid in the paddock the day that Charles got to take your child to work with him. He was beyond excitable, his heart racing with happiness being able to marry his two favourite things, his family and work. Nothing seemed to dampen Charles’s spirit as a little hand clung onto him for dear life in amongst all the chaos calling out to ‘papa’ every so often just to make sure that he was definitely still there. As Charles saw the smiles on others’s faces whenever your child called him in response to how adorable they were, Charles knew he was a lucky guy indeed.

» Pierre Gasly

There was almost a slight concern amongst the team when you and your child appeared at the paddock, because no matter what they did, Pierre just couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling. He was on cloud nine being able to show your child around, answering all of their questions and hoping to prove to him that it was worth it for daddy to be away for so many days of the year. Nothing else mattered other than being able to enjoy spending time with his family and make plenty of memories with your child as they cheered him on throughout the day.

» Lewis Hamilton

He was high alert throughout the entire day having your child at the paddock, any second his eyes weren’t on them he was panicking and wanting to make sure that they were safe. You couldn’t help but laugh at how cautious Lewis was, he was reluctant to even race out of fear of something happening to your child. With lots of reassurance, he eventually did, but you’d never seen him leave his car so quickly once the race was over. Everyone knew that he was pretty protective, but this knocked everyone’s socks off with how caring of a dad he was.

» Alex Albon

He seemed to look nowhere else throughout the day other than in your child’s direction. Alex loved to give your child all of his attention, it didn’t matter if he was in briefing, being interviewed, or supposed to be warming up, Alex would only be half listening to what was going on around him. Instead, he was obsessed with your child and didn’t want to miss a thing, especially as he got to watch his child enjoy one of his favourite places on earth, the paddock. Everything else was second best to Alex, despite the number of times people checked he was paying attention throughout the day.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

2K notes · View notes

space-blue · 7 months ago

Text

Fixing Vander and Silco's story (a bit)

Using canon events! Sadly we can't actually fix it, but I hope this makes it a little better. I make my own edit proposal at the end that changes the bar scene to include Felicia without issues.

They meet in the mines, and meet Felicia and her partner there too. They end up together somehow (I think we can put the brotherly allegations to rest now, eh?) and one of them (or both) inherit/buy a bar.

Although Vander is the barman, there is no indication Silco doesn't own or co-own the place. After all he comes to take it eventually as his own, and he's still not bartending. That's just not his gig.

It's implied that Vander and Silco made it, as in, got away from the mines, while Felicia clearly didn't, as she comes home to both her daughters with mining gear and gloves.

So despite Vander and Silco building the Lanes together, the mines aren't closed, and the work "isn't done".

Felicia says they've done it, and Vander is happy to celebrate their success. Meanwhile, Silco has his "NoZ" Nation of Zaun book in which he's scribbling, still planning.

Vander's first memory that Viktor sees even has Silco holding that book.

Later, in season 1 episode 3, we see that Vander tells Silco that he had Vander's respect, the Lanes' respect, but it "was never enough".

There's also this fakeout moment in the memory at the bar, where Vander says they're done, and Silco replies with "You're gravely mistaken". And I thought he was going to go all zealous and say "We'll only be done when we have the Nation of Zaun", but no, he claims he's Bozo 1.

And imo, he is probably right. He calls out Vander in act 1 saying "I trusted you and you betrayed me", and Vander does not contest this. It makes the most in character sense as well that Silco is the brains of the operation while Vander is the brawn.

And we can conclude that Silco's goals were always "bigger" and that the Lanes were indeed not enough.

Years pass, during which we can only assume Silco keeps building his Nation of Zaun and Vander happily bartends and manages the Lanes with Silco. Felicia keeps working the mines and raises Vi, then Powder.

Vi is at least 11, if not more, by the time she's on the bridge. This is just consistent with her model, but also to make her 18+ by the time of act 2.

It's a long ass time for Vander and Silco to be running a bar and the Lanes together. Even assuming Vi is more 8 or 9yo, Vander and Silco spend all that time being together.

Sadly, their models aren't aged very well.

We are also forced here to make some unfortunate assumptions.

It's not a problem, IMO, for Silco to know Felicia and be close to her. It's a problem for him to not be close to Vi and Powder too. Close enough to recognise them at least.

It's easy to say, "Well, Felicia went back to the mines and raised her kids and wasn't super involved with Vander and Silco, who lived much higher up in their bar." Adult friendships and all that.

IT MAKES SENSE, but then it makes zero sense that Vander would murder his life's partner, a man he's been with 10 years at MINIMUM (fuck knows how long they were together while in the mines), over the death of a friend in a revolt they allegedly BOTH participated in.

The memories also imply that Silco is responsible somehow, for throwing a molotov. And yet the molotov doesn't kill the enforcer.

But Vander is shown in the opening of Act 1 season 1 pummeling one to death himself, long after the rest of the revolt has died down. That enforcer wasn't getting back up lol

So whatever we pick, because the writers made Felicia and Silco close, they create a plot hole either way.

Either Vander is whacko and murders his husband over a dead friend at a revolt he set up (since he repeatedly apologises for what he did, and claims he "lost his head after she died" and had that guilt on his hands too)

Or Silco and Vi and Powder spend ALL of season 1 acting like they don't know each other at all. Then Silco takes in Powder and somehow never comments on the fact he was friends with her mom.

Everything being triggered by Felicia's death also means that Vander's emotional thematic moment dropping the gauntlets after seeing what his violence led to is then followed up by a horrible attempted murder on the love of his life, which is... you know. Bad writing.

So I propose that they indeed drift apart. Silco knows of Felicia's kids, and they hangout a bit, but they aren't that close. She's busy mining and being a mom, and Silco is busy making the safe Zaun he promised to deliver.

The creation of that Zaun leads them to act out revolts and uprisings. Vander is happy to follow. He's angry, like he tells Vi. And this manifests in violence. Silco points his violence. It's how they create the Lanes and the moniker of Hound of the Underground. A hound usually has a master, after all.

Vander is Silco's hound, and I think, in Vander's mind this absolves him of some of the consequences of his actions.

So when his friend dies on the Bridge, even if they haven't been that close in a while, well, it's easy to put the blame on Silco.

Since we're following the new canon timeline... we'll have to have him go back with the girls, ready to turn a new leaf.

I think the best way here is to have him either dropping them at an orphanage, or back at their home (trusting Vi to look after Powder for a while) or with friends.

That way, Vi and Powder aren't immediately in Silco's legs back at the drop.

Then Vander and Silco take part in the "clean up" at the bridge. They go get bodies, and since they have no real estate in the fissures, they commit them to the sea (we have canon monsters in there, so I'm sure it all gets gobbled up).

That way, we explain why Vander is weirdly shaved, and why Silco and him are at in the Pilt: they just commited the bodies of the fallen to the waters.

There may have been many others, but Silco and Vander stay there, in the shallows, as they talk.

Vander is done. He doesn't want more of this. He thinks Silco went too far with pushing this one to the bridge. Piltover got defensive and they lost too many people.

Silco doesn't get it. Where he goes, so does Vander, but Vander is his own man, he decided to come too, and he killed enforcers too. Felicia's death is tragic, but as he later will tell Renni about the death of her son: at least she died fighting for the cause, and not some petty infighting, or worse, an accident at the shitty mines.

Vander, the Hound, is not only mad with grief, he refuses to carry the blame of his own actions. It's a character flaw and that's fine! The angry man channels that anger with violence, the only way he knows how.

Silco is probably shocked, and may not say the right things to calm Vander down.

Silco is under the assumption that Vander BELIEVES IN HIS DREAM. That he's a true believer of the Nation of Zaun, like Sevika turns out to be. A true believer would understand sacrifice. A true believer would understand too, that stopping now, after Felicia's death, would make THAT VERY DEATH POINTLESS.

So maybe he screams at Vander! What do you MEAN abandoning the fight? What do you mean, being content with the Lanes? How dare you? You'd make her sacrifice meaningless! You'd make Felicia die a pointless death!

And Vander would bellow that it's over. No more death. No more bloodshed. He rescued her kids from that bridge, and they don't deserve to die too, they don't deserve to see more death.

And Silco screams back that it's their job to create Zaun so these children won't have to see more death. Vander is just delaying the struggle.

And then, perhaps, Silco may even mock him. Say that Vander can't change like that. That he's not that sort of person, to just hang up his gauntlets and go peaceful. That Felicia's blood is on his hands too, and that the only way out is through more blood, more sacrifice.

It would be a horrible point to make, if then Vander truly loses it. Silco runs, and Vander's hound comes out, just grabbing Silco and trying to drown him.

It would be poetic, because then Vander goes home in shame. Gets his arm patched up, hides the scar under a brace, collects the kids and tries to pretend like HE CAN BE THAT MAN. Even though he surrendered his gauntlets and metaphorical violence, and tries to lean into the bartender chill persona, there's what he did to Silco.

And later he'll tell Vander "I'll show you what you really are". Because Silco knows that Vander's promises of being a peaceful good dad are flimsy at best.

Anyway, Vander goes home, and eventually the impact of what he's done really hits him. He's single now, and with kids, and the Lanes to run, and nobody knows where Silco is.

Vander slowly realises Silco was right about one thing. Just because Vander followed, doesn't mean he wasn't behind that event on the bridge. Becoming the solo leader of the Lanes has to have hammered that home for him. Suddenly so much responsibility thrust on him.

So Felicia's death was on him too, and his actions against Silco are the proof that he is indeed the sort of man Silco said he was. At any rate, surrendering violence as his first reaction to any trigger will take a lot of work.

He goes to their old hideout and leaves a letter for Silco.

In the happy AU, Silco finds it, and returns to Vander BEFORE ever meeting Singed. There is no glowing eye, no shimmer, and no cannery.

In our AU, Silco never finds the letter. He finds Singed instead. Starts helping him develop shimmer.

I've been thinking that since the goal of shimmer is a form of "keeping alive" and also "bringing back to life", then it's possible that Silco's glowing eye is a byproduct of shimmer experimentation.

And that the only way to keep it alive and function is more shimmer injections. It would otherwise be grey and dead like in the Nice AU.

So Singed is also a factor here. He gives our Silco a real way to deal scary violence to Piltover. And this changes our Silco. He's more radicalised, and more opposed to Vander, having discovered that Vander works with Grayson to keep Zaun under Piltover's boot (basically making sure the boot stays, but doesn't press down too hard).

Vander is, as always, the enforcer of the status quo.

And though this works for them timeline wise, it sadly doesn't change the fact that Silco should know who Vander's kids are.

Vi and Jinx can be excused for not recognising him, what with him being one of their mom's adult friends, and scarred. But Silco doesn't have that luxury. His great friend Felicia had two very distinctive kids, ONE OF WHICH VANDER FUCKING NAMED! And her death triggered his husband so badly he tried to kill Silco over it. If anything, Silco would be hyper-aware of Felicia's kids.

And no amount of alternate fix-its changes that. It's permanent damage to season 1's Silco.

I feel like we can fix Vander's side of things by inventing an entire scene at the Pilt as I did above, but we can't fix 10 years of knowing your friend's kids and then a lifetime of acting like you don't know them.

I think it also cheapens the found family aspect of both Vander and Silco's adoption. You're left to wonder if they took in the girls only because they were friends with the mom.

Silco's adoption of Jinx and co-dependence with her was great because it spoke of the similar shape of their traumas, and how unexpected their bond seemed.

But now it's redolent of friendly obligation. And lies.

How would I fix it by keeping Felicia in the picture?

I would fully remove Felicia's one-on-one with the boys. That night at the bar? It's a party. Young Sevika is here too!

Felicia and many others are there, all congratulating Vander and Silco over the creation of the Lanes. Eventually Silco tires of the social niceties and goes to write in his notebook at the bar. Or maybe there's a montage of the night as the crowds thin.

In the end, Silco is writing, and Vander is still socialising. He talks to 3 people--Felicia, her husband, and a random person. They thank him for all his work. They've done it! And the conditions in the mines are so much better now thanks to XYZ!

Vander is beaming, he's just so pleased. It's clear for him this is the end goal. Felicia asks him, pointing to Silco, if he's okay.

Vander laughs, says Silco is fine, but he's already got his head back in the clouds. You see, Silco doesn't just want the Lanes, he dreams of a free Nation of Zaun.

The other 2 laugh, but Felicia sobers up. She rubs her belly, thoughtful. Then she says "Sounds like a dream worth fighting for."

I don't think she even needs to say anything about being pregnant, but she could go on with something like "I'm expecting. A girl, I think. I know. And I would love if she could grow in a safe city. I'm so scared she'll have to live the way I did, growing up.'

And Vander smiles sadly and tells her, 'We've gotten this far, and we're not going back. We'll make Zaun safe for your kiddo, I promise you that.'

And that's it.

Vander knows OF Felicia. She is a community member. He knows her enough, maybe from Lanes meetings, that eventually he can recognise her children. But they're not friends, and SILCO definitely isn't friends.

And the disagreement after the bridge is fully about where to go from then on, and Vander deciding he wants to run the Lanes and keep them safe, that what they have now is good enough, while Silco wants "more".

That disagreement can turn nasty, and the fact Vander tried to drown Silco becomes a statement about how violent and temperamental he is as "The Hound of the Underground". Something he'll regret soon enough and spend the next few years working hard to try and change.

What do you think?

#vander #Silco #arcane #arcane meta #zaundads #vanco #vi arcane #powder arcane #jinx #felicia arcane #zaun #arcane 2 #arcane s2 #arcane spoilers #arcane silco #arcane vander #long post #meta

1K notes · View notes

livingmybestfakelife · 2 months ago

Text

Concrete Rose

After recovering from camera flashes burning your eyes and the pack of people screaming your ears off. You had yourself a well needed glass of champagne that was offered to you by one of the waiters. Your manager Jerry, the slime ball that he is, had guided you through the private room of the Winifred Hotel to greet the other guests. You all had just gotten back from the Los Angeles premiere of your new picture, and now you’re at the after party that you honestly didn’t want to be attending. But it would be in bad taste to not be here when the studio had paid big bucks to make it happen. Oh well, next month your contract will expire and hopefully with your record of bringing in box office success, they’ll let you negotiate fewer movie deals.

But that was just wishful thinking. These people were greedy and wanted every dime out of their stars at all costs. Which is why when you begin to show signs of not being able to handle the long film hours, they instructed Jerry to put you on some Benzedrine, which you quickly became addicted to, so to mellow you out and make sure you slept you were also put on Veronal. Your body began to get even more sick from being on it, but you also felt drained from being off of it. You didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. Hollywood isn’t the most sympathetic place, especially not to an actor. So you swallowed down your feelings and decided that the show must go on.

After being talked to death by all of the sycophants and hanger ons. You walked towards your table, but before you could sit down you heard a familiar voice fill the room.

“There’s my girl!”

You turn around to see Stack in one of his favorite suits and hat. His huge and charismatic smile stays on his face as he walks towards you and engulfs you into a warm tight hug. His cologne is sure to stick to your dress which you don’t mind, you missed the comfort of him being in your presence. He and Smoke were a constant cloud hanging over you your entire life. In both a good and bad way. Good in a way that you had protection, guidance and support when your folks were working or you were out and about outside of their watchful eyes. And bad whenever you wanted independence, to think for yourself and make your own decisions. No one ever asked them to be what they were to you, they didn’t have to, it’s what they assigned themselves to do.

Their mother and yours had a girlhood bond that never died, even when the twins’s mother’s passed away. Your mama kept her memory alive. It was so strong that the adoration they shared with one another was the same type their children inherited with each other. They had gotten pregnant within the same year, the twins being born seven months earlier than you. You’d think it was seven years earlier with how overprotective they were, as if you were a baby who need the big kids to watch over you like a hawk. People who didn’t know y’all would’ve thought you were siblings with how close you were, but no, they were just a pair of misfits who didn’t play about you.

“Stack? Whatcha doing here? I thought you were still in Chicago”

“Yes well we’re on vacation….why aren’t you happy to see us?”

“Of course I am just wasn’t expecting you”

Smoke stepped up from behind Stack and hugged you as well. Though his was less suffocating. His eyes lingered around your face and the rest of your body as if he was checking for any abnormalities. He was satisfied that you were physically in one piece, but something still bothered his spirit, he could see it in your eyes that you weren’t in any emotional peace. It was one of the things that you hated about him, that he was so observant and could read you so well. Sure, Stack would notice some things, he wasn’t an idiot, but you and Smoke held a different type of bond that Stack couldn’t get from you. And he preferred it that way, he was always the one who reminded you to come to him whenever something was wrong, that he’d handle it if it was something very serious. He felt some guilt that he felt like he was hiding things from Stack, but once you two began talking and tuned out the world, he forgot all about how his little brother would feel.

“Hey Stack, why don’t you go get yourself something to eat”

Stack sucked his teeth, he didn’t like how he was being pushed away.

“Man we just started talking, what’s the rush?”

“Just for a minute, you’ll get your chance”

“Yeah whatever, hey don’t go too far, I’ll be right back”

Once he was out of the way, Smoke lifted his arm so that you can snake yours around his and you two walked to your table. He pulled your seat out and you gracefully sat down like you were taught to do in the etiquette classes that the studio had you attend early into your career. He pushed your chair in and sat next to you. You waited for him to bombard you with the questions you were expecting. He picked at the table cloth that was draped over the round table, he didn’t care for this environment, he despised it just as much as you did. It was too stiff for his liking, he knew that he and his brother were being judged the second they walked through the hotel doors, unfortunately for everyone else they weren’t intimidated by the stares and whispers, they weren’t there to impress anyone, their only mission tonight was to check on their friend and to find out if the information they heard through the grapevine was true.

“Jerry been doing right by you?”

You nod and took a sip of your champagne, he knew that by you avoiding his eyes you were lying, it’s like you forgotten that he knew you like the back of his hand.

“He been drugging you?”

You cough from your drink going down the wrong pipe, you never got used to him not mincing his words, he got straight to the point every time, refusing to sugar coat things, it was a waste of time.

“Where the hell did you hear that from?”

“It’s true ain’t it?”

You sigh and place your drink down.

“If you mean making sure I take my medicine as scheduled then yes”

“That ain’t no medicine you should be taking and you know it, ain’t even prescribed by a respectable doctor”

“Smoke please, you wouldn’t understand”

“I understand that you’re being used as a circus animal, hopped up on bullshit you don’t need!”

“Keep your voice down”

“I don’t give a shit if these muthafuckas hear me! Let em!”

“Elijah please!”

He silences himself from his rant when you call him by his real name. He knew you were serious when you called him and Stack by the names their mama’s gave them, the look in your eyes hurt him, he didn’t enjoy when you looked like you were disgusted by him, you were supposed to be happy to see him, to feel safe and wanted, now it’s like you didn’t even want to know he existed, it broke his heart.

“Look I….I just didn’t like what I heard, that’s all, okay….hey look here”

He gently grabbed your chin and moved your head back to look at him. Only you could humble him like this, knock him from his high horse and shut him up. It wasn’t his intention to upset you or make you feel ashamed from your problem, Lord knows he was far from perfect himself and had his own ways of self medicating. But he wanted more than that for you, you were still sweet Little YN, the one Stack would hate being left out of playing with when y’all were youngin’s. He would do anything in his power to make sure you kept whatever innocence you had left in you.

“It’s just a little pick me up, it’s nothing, I can quit anytime I want”

He took you by the arm and placed you on his lap, when you cuddled up in his arms he saw the tears beginning to spill from your gorgeous eyes, the ones you got from your dear mother. He reached up and wiped them away and kissed your temple.

“We’re leaving okay. We’re gonna get you out of here”

“Wait, no we can’t I have to stay, Mr. Burnell-“

“Fuck Burnell, I’ll deal with him later, him and Jerry are gonna pay”

It was useless to argue with him anymore about this. The twins already heard the dirt, even while all the way in Chicago, the juicy details of what went down in Hollywood was nationwide, if not universal. And one of the eyes and ears they had working in the studio informed them that while things were fine the first few years of you being here, things soon turned how they typically did for pretty young starlets like yourself. You were overworked and overwhelmed and occasionally propositioned for inappropriate favors. The latter you managed to avoid actually having to be forced to go through with by this informant of theirs being one of the higher ups who had enough power to step in and prevent it from going any further than that. The letters, phone calls and occasional visits from Smoke and Stack wasn’t enough to shield you from the wolves that stalked around you every single day. It was time to come in and take matters into their own hands. They never wanted you in this industry in the first place, trying hard to convince you to work for them as their secretary in their “office” while in Chicago, but you wanted to live out your dream in the entertainment industry, so they finally gave in, a decision they’d regret for the rest of their lives.

You nodded and he helped you stand up and held the small of your back while guiding you out of the party. You keeping a kind face and excused yourself from the party, claiming exhaustion, which wasn’t too far from the truth. He kept you close to his side while you two made your trip to the elevator and while it took you to your room to the sixth floor. He unlocked the door with the key you gave him, but then he suddenly stopped you from walking any further. He felt as though something wasn’t right, his former war instincts kicking in when he smelled gun powder in the air. He told you to stay in the hallway while he pulled out his own piece and rushed inside, closing the door behind him. You were confused, you told yourself he was being paranoid, you weren’t close enough to the door to smell anything and you were too into your own head to feel the danger in the atmosphere, so you waited, and let Smoke have his little moment of overprotectiveness.

———————————————————————————

Smoke has his gun trained in front of him as he walked down the hallway that was in the entrance of the door. Once he turned the corner, what he saw in front of him wasn’t something he was expecting, at least not yet.

Laid out in a pool of his own blood was Jerry, the tall, lanky man was now even more paler than he naturally was. He was as dead as a dog, that much was obvious. He walked closer to the corpse and looked around to see who else could’ve been here, this wasn’t self inflicted, someone had took him out.

“Ay! Whoever is here come on out now!”

Soon some heavy footsteps walked out of the bathroom to his right. He spun in the direction and kept his gun pointed, out walked Stack with his sleeves rolled up and wiping his now bruised hands with one of the bath towels. Smoke put his gun back in his holster and stepped towards him.

“Stack what the fuck did you do?”

“I took out the trash”

“Dammit Stack! Why the fuck did you do that huh?! Ain’t no telling who could’ve heard them shots going off”

“Relax, I timed it with the fireworks”

“Man what the fuck?! Fuck! Fuck! Stack!”

“Ay man, calm your ass down, he’s out of the picture like we agreed to remember? Quit acting like you didn’t want his ass dead too”

“Of course I did but-“

“But what? Huh? He’s gone like we wanted. Riiight?”

“Stack you killed him in a public building”

“You acting like I wouldn’t know how to clean up after myself”

“St-“

“Or that you weren’t planning on doing it yourself”

He paused at his brother’s words. What he said and the way he looked him showed him that Stack knew something that he thought he kept well to himself and one of the mafiosos that he planned this out with.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t find out? Come on my nigga surely you don’t think I’m that stupid, that I play so much that I wouldn’t pay attention to your moves, that I wouldn’t know that those errands you had me do was a distraction to make sure I was out of the room while you and Ignatius planned out how to drop Jerry off of the face of the Earth? You think I’m stupid?”

He shook his head but Stack wouldn’t let him insult him anymore with whatever lie he was about to cook up. He had enough of the secrets and being pushed aside.

“You’ve been doing this shit to me ever since we were kids Smoke. You stuck me with the job to be the comedian that would keep her laughing, distract her from whatever bullshit life had thrown at us. All while you snuck off with her and let her tell you her deepest darkest secrets, let you kiss her, hold her….be her first time”

Smoke’s face gave himself away. Once again another secret that he thought was kept between you both, was one that Stack had known about all along.

“Yeah, didn’t think I knew about that shit huh? Muthafucka I saw the tail end of it, it was obvious when you were buttoning up the back of her dress that you had just got done making her a woman”

He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.

“Stack, look, what YN and me have ain’t got nothing to do with you alright, it wasn’t on purpose and it wasn’t to hurt you”

“Nigga shut up, I don’t wanna hear nothing else from you tonight. Just call up Ignatius to help me with this”

Smoke gave up trying to reason with him, nothing he could say could mend the pain he caused him, even though it wasn’t on purpose, you and Smoke really did have more chemistry with one another when came to matters of the heart. Stack was your heart but Smoke was your soul.

Before he could attend to his request, the door opened and closed and soon you walked around the corner and your mouth trembled looking at Jerry’s dead body. You looked at the twins who cursed themselves that you had to see this. Though you were no stranger to violence, having grown up in neighborhood that was its own version of the Wild West, you never actually saw a dead body in person outside of a funeral, it was surreal to you.

“Baby doll, I had to do it, he was gonna kill me first”

Stack had managed to convince you that Jerry had gotten upset at them coming back to Los Angeles after hearing how he was contributing to your excessive drug use. That when Jerry caught him packing your bags, he came in cussing up a storm and demanded he leave. And when he refused, Jerry had came at him with a knife and that’s when he shot him. The crime scene looked convincing enough, the knife wasn’t too far away from Jerry’s corpse and your bags were halfway packed. You had no reason to believe he was lying, and it’s not like Jerry wouldn’t have eventually been killed by someone else anyway, having more enemies besides the infamous Smoke Stack Twins. You nodded and walked over to Stack and hugged him, he once again held you tight and kissed your bare shoulder, all while Smoke watched on. Stack had grown tired of his big brother being the one who took on majority of the credit of protecting you, being the one you took more seriously when it came to your well being, tonight he held the title of your hero.

“Hey listen to me okay, I want you to go back downstairs and get yourself something to eat, if anyone asks, say you wanted to put something on your stomach before going to bed, once I come back down to get you all of this will be cleaned up and we’ll go over our cover story alright?”

You nod and kiss his cheek. Smoke watches as you rush out of the room before turning back around. He couldn’t think of anything to say to him right now, his nerves still bad about everything, all he could do was nod and go to the phone and had the operator connect him to Ignatius’s house.

“Hey, you’re late for the card game, you coming or what?”

“Nah I’m coming, be there soon”

They both hang up and an awkward silence clouds the room.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would you have taken me seriously? Or just think I’d treat her like the other women who’d entertain me around town?”

“YN ain’t that kind of girl, Stack”

“You think I don’t know that? I would’ve never played with her!”

“I know that”

“Then how come you never backed off? You know me well enough to know I felt”

“Because I didn’t want her to look at any other man the way she looks at me”

“Not even me?”

He looks away. That was all the answer he needed. After that night things would go back to normal, the three of you would leave Los Angeles after Smoke had bought you out of your contract. It was back to Chicago for all of you, the twins would continue with their business with Al Capone and you would become the secretary they wanted you to be. But the tension between the brothers would continue to hang in the air, you would remain oblivious to it, but the twins would always be reminded of it every time they looked at one another.

tags:

@rolemodelshit

@uzumaki-rebellion

@childishgambinaax

#sinners #sinners imagine #elijah moore #elijah moore imagine #elias moore #elias moore imagine

247 notes · View notes

almostempty · 6 months ago

Text

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one

wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush.

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered.

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together.

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression.

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.”

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.”

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult.

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.”

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug?

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside.

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body.

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.”

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting.

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?”

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out.

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.”

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got.

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house.

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up.

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going.

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances.

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.”

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?”

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly.

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated.

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.”

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.”

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day.

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses.

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely.

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them.

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.”

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended.

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge.

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination.

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric.

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by.

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad.

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t.

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad.

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.”

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging.

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel.

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping.

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day.

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come.

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time.

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life.

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence.

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace.

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself.

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats.

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you.

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject.

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task.

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.”

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor.

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?”

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone.

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped.

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again.

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone.

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.”

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?”

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague.

“You runnin’ from something?”

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more.

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way.

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly.

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?”

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.”

That catches you off guard. “My dad?”

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.”

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it.

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip.

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.”

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?”

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes.

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him.

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him.

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?”

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly.

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly.

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire.

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself.

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet.

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand.

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left.

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air.

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.

Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool.

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking.

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?”

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward.

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.”

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.”

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.”

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper.

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue.

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth.

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.”

“That the Hancock gelding?”

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter.

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?”

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?

Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn.

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.”

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.”

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues.

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.”

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind.

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you.

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has.

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head.

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.”

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips.

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen.

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass.

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue.

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.

Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself.

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck.

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn.

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress.

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes.

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee.

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.”

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?”

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly.

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind.

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.”

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes.

“That’s the plan.”

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?”

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you.

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly.

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.”

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena.

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion.

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel.

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy.

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing.

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you.

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction.

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine.

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore.

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.

You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.

The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.

You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor.

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong.

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor.

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.

Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.

Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping.

You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch.

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.

It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.”

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?”

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.”

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.

You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity.

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets.

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.

You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.”

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat.

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.

You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?”

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.”

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening.

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says, voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.”

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none.

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons.

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name.

It’s an exquisite brand of torture.

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt.

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself.

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back.

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap.

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs.

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers.

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares.

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.”

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit.

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?”

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.”

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans.

The view makes you salivate.

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds.

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam.

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall.

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter.

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue.

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs.

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke.

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you.

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.”

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered.

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.

“Joel, please.”

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves.

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick.

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you.

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes.

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.

To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that.

But it never comes.

You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move.

He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.

Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART TWO

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

#pedrostories #pedrostoriesgift24 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal character fanfic

465 notes · View notes