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frostironfudge · 1 year

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I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers

Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon

Main Masterlist || AO3

Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there.

Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features.

Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family.

A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other.

Won together.

Lost together.

In the past few days died together.

“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory.

The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago.

“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor.

“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder.

“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it.

“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.”

She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?”

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head.

Wanda looks down at her hands.

“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all.

Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?”

“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you.

“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off.

“I know, I did too.”

“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone.

Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart.

“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him.

“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows.

Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him.

“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places.

“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.”

“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene.

“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static.

“Wh-what?”

“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you.

“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens.

“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans.

You stand there dumbfounded.

As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.

Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt—,” The shield slams against the arc reactor.

“I don’t care.” He says so easily.

You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you.

Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body.

Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you.

Eight months down the drain.

The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain.

“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.”

Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.”

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face.

He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing.

“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell.

“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam.

“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated

that about the company’s past.

The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you.

“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away.

You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems.

True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together.

When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia.

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed.

Opening it reveals a burner phone.

“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle.

“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it.

“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him.

Opening the text.

SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain.

You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol.

“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair.

“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?”

“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink.

The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync.

“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun.

“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.”

“So confident.” You raise your brows.

“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes.

“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck.

Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face.

“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes.

“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again.

You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you.

“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own.

“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.”

You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late.

Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel.

“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down.

Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.”

“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?”

“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand.

“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head.

“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle.

“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well.

Both of you burst out laughing.

“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”

“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room.

“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?”

You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers.

Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered.

You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart.

Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes.

The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow.

“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself.

“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself.

Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him.

A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level.

Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights.

Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him.

You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him.

The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them.

Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried.

After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab.

“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn.

“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”

“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup.

“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own.

“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more.

You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him.

“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD.

“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him.

“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts.

“See we’ll be okay.” You declare.

Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits.

Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury.

Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair.

You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.

“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all.

“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff.

Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes.

“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds.

Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods.

“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder.

“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow.

“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.”

No one nods.

Nick shakes his head leaving the room.

“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder.

“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further.

“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh.

“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan.

Nat and Sam stare at you.

“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched.

Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze.

Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust.

Sam nods, “Well best we head back.”

“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile.

“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead.

“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone.

“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back.

His mouth opens again to speak.

Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?”

“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out.

Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.

He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.

You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting.

“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”

“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.

“Vision.” He acknowledges.

“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head.

Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.

“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says

Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.

“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.

“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators.

“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator.

“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him.

Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away.

“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator.

Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you.

“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers.

“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again.

People trickle in and out.

Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you.

You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him.

Finally it's just the two of you.

The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender.

“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched.

“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker.

“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him.

“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes.

There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”

“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him.

“You lied?” You repeat.

“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,”

Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up.

“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,”

The doors open to your floor, you step out.

“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!”

“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door.

“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading.

He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over.

Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place.

Mixed training was now mandatory.

You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you.

Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties.

Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down.

“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh.

“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh.

“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.”

“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen.

The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you.

You grin at him.

“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Y/N.”

Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there.

You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench.

Sam takes his arm away.

You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem.

“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news.

“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.”

You glare at him, “Alright.”

An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough.

“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout.

You frown in recognition.

“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him.

“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead.

“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans.

Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands.

Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space.

Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you.

The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper.

He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”

You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps.

The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area.

You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.”

“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”

You give another once over and then follow him back down the path.

Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward.

Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him.

Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate.

Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck.

Why can't you move away?

Why do you want more of him?

Why do you miss him?

He hurt you.

He lied.

He hurt you.

You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway.

It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way.

You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall.

Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!”

You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you.

A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing.

Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous.

The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps.

“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort.

“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across.

Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew.

He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you.

“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it.

“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him.

Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,”

“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place.

Your palms cover his, you look up at him.

You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him.

Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view.

“Poppet, something is wrong.”

You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled?

Why was he falling to his knees?

You look behind him, people standing and watching.

The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield.

The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up.

“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body.

Steve keeps his eyes closed.

Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers.

How long was he out?

Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath.

He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them.

Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration.

“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.

“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm.

Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher.

“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend.

Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.”

A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own.

Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city.

Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside.

“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair.

Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you.

“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...”

He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors.

You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core.

“Steve—,”

“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you.

Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns.

The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?”

Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out.

“I see and why is she yours?”

He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.”

“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.

“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.

You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling.

“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked.

“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper.

Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place.

“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.”

Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.

“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch.

“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him.

“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured.

“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.”

Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed.

“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper.

“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again.

“You can’t have him at risk again!”

“I won’t let you die!”

“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you.

Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”

“Save it.”

“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts.

“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,”

“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.”

“You are not dying.” Steve grits out.

“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features.

“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him.

“He’s in the United Kingdom.”

“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?”

The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!”

Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.

You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you.

Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive.

He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way.

“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain.

A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault.

“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad.

The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.”

You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento.

You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across.

Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows.

“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off.

You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him.

“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over.

“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him.

His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief.

“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well.

“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away.

“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin.

He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you.

Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there.

“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.

“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.

Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop.

“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek.

His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you.

His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.

“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,”

His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.

The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.

“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall.

“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you.

When your thighs clench around him, Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos.

Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before.

“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.

“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.

You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.

Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched.

Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.

The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.

He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him.

“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy.

The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,

“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.

It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders.

Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture.

Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.

As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.

Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly.

You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.

Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet.

The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.

You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek.

Your eyes meet their old home of blue.

“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.

He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.

-x-x-x-x-

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undertheorangetree · 7 months

Text

To Be Alone With You

Summary- Osferth becomes infatuated with a healer from the continent.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Osferth's got a big old crush. Like he’s down bad. Blood. Minor injuries. Shoddy knowledge of 10th century healing. Blasphemy. Admittedly more plot than porn. Cunnilingus. Masturbation. P in V sex. Against a wall in a church no less.

Author's Note- The fact that Osferth canonically fucks and is good at it to the point where women fight over him lives in my mind rent free. Anyway read the rest on ao3 link is belowww

dividers by me lmao

Osferth likes to think that he's different now. Or at least, that he has changed since first joining Uhtred. He's grown further into himself- his confidence, his ability to be a warrior, that he himself has changed as a whole. He's stronger now and though he still values his faith, it does not feel so all consuming, an anchor around his throat forever reminding him of his bastardry. He is proud of the man he has become, of the one that he continues to grow into, and it feels right that, over time, he has changed for the better.

But he seems to forget all that the moment he lays eyes on her.

She had arrived with a traveling priest from the continent, one who had come with the intention of spreading the word of God to the infamously heretical ealdorman. And though she traveled with a priest and his retinue, she wore no habit. Her hair was loose, catching the waning rays of the sun and he felt his heart stutter in his chest when he caught the colour of it shining in the light. She had caught his eye then, as their little ship docked, and smiled at him so brightly he felt himself fall back into the boy he once was, the cursed baby monk.

Though Uhtred had wanted to throw the whole group out at the first sign of a sermon, he agreed to give them a night in the inn out of respect for how long they had been traveling- after they had paid a small fee, of course- and Osferth had managed to catch her in the tavern later that night.

The words had caught in his throat the moment he tried to speak, but Finan had been with him and it had been easy for him to ask if they could join her and begin a conversation. He had nursed his mug of ale while they spoke, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her further, and joined Finan in highlighting all that Coccham had to offer. Finan had quickly become drunk, but they had found a joint amusement in that and he had revelled in every smile she cast his way. They learned that she was the priest's healer, having studied in Frankia before deciding to join the priest in order to see what the world had to offer. She told them of her travels to Burgundy, Provence, and the Northern Byzantine Empire, regailing them with stories Osferth could only dream about. Uhtred had joined them midway through the conversation, allowing Osferth the opportunity to join her on her bench, their arms brushing against each other.

By the time morning came, the priest had gone and she had stayed on as their healer. Uhtred offered her a cottage and the promise to retrieve everything she could possibly need. He had grinned at Osferth the moment she turned her back on them, raising his eyebrows playfully, and he had felt his face begin to burn from how obvious his immediate infatuation must have been.

At first, he simply admired her from afar. Though he is proud of all the progress he has made to become the man he is now, that all seems to melt away when he is around her. More often than not, he stumbles over his words when he tries to speak to her, face burning scarlet and heart beating faster in his chest. It is clear that the others know of his infatuation, as they do everything in their power to facilitate some kind of interaction between them. Inviting him over when they are speaking to her, offering her his assistance whenever she needs it. Finan had gone so far as to shove him in her direction whenever he felt like causing trouble, though thank God he had only stumbled into her once. She had done little more than laugh then but he had avoided her for two days out of sheer humiliation.

It is safer to simply keep his distance. Though he enjoys talking to her- more than enjoys it, if he is honest with himself- he does little more than embarrass himself when he tries. He wants more, he wants everything, but for now he will settle for admiration. Distance.

It seems kinder. To both himself and her.

He can see her now, walking back to her cottage with a basket full of herbs and flowers she must have picked nearby the river. There is a woman walking with her, one he doesn't know well enough to know her name, but they are laughing as if they are close friends. The other woman reaches out to rest a hand on her arm and he watches longingly as she raises her own to clutch at the other woman's fingers. He cannot hear what they're saying over the echoing clack of the wooden swords the boys are using to practice- a sparring match he is admittedly supposed to be monitoring- but she has a pull on him he can't quite explain and he can’t bring himself to look away.

It comes with consequences.

Read the rest here

#osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth smut #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth tlk #osferth the last kingdom #osferth x fem!reader #the last kingdom fanfic #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom x reader #tlk x reader #tlk #the last kingdom

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asongofmarvelanddc · 1 year

Text

Ties That Bind

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Reader

WORD COUNT: 6707

WARNINGS: canon typical cousin-cest

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

A/N: It's been over a month since HOTD and I'm really rusty with writing so if you see bad writing, pretend you don't xx Please reblog, like, or leave a comment! I love hearing from you guys 💛

You were only two years of age when your mother, Laena Velaryon, and father, Daemon Targaryen, left you in King’s Landing while they went to deal with some business in Driftmark. Looking back, it’s unlikely that they intended for your stay to last longer than a few moons.

The weeks stretched into years, and as you began to serve as your Aunt Alicent’s ward, your parents had more daughters – your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. They visited once, after your cousin Rhaenyra had her son Luke. Your mother had hugged you so tight and for so long that you feared she would never let go. And your father…he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Only a few years after that visit, a raven came to the Red Keep from Pentos. Laena Velaryon was dead. Your Uncle Viserys was gentle enough while delivering the news. He sat by your side, ready to console you if you cried. When you didn’t, he felt safe dismissing you from his chambers.

“She’s in shock.” you heard Alicent whisper as you left the room. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it would not hit you until you were at the burial.

That was not the case.

Long after Lord Vaemond’s eulogy and everyone returned to the castle, you stood on those cliffs staring out into the sea where your mother’s body now lay. It was a strange feeling knowing that she was gone. You felt the loss in your heart, but there was no grief, no pain…you were not even certain that you would miss her.

A part of you was ashamed to feel that way, which is perhaps the reason why you felt the need to hug your father tightly when you were reunited for the first time in years. You wanted him to believe you mourned her as your sisters did. And you hoped being with your family would help you feel that pain. It was a misguided hope.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of gravel crunching under approaching feet. It was Aemond.

He walked over and stood beside you, searching the horizon with his eyes to spot whatever it was you were gazing so intently at. With you being a few years older than him, you stood a head taller, but he was growing fast.

Eventually, he realised that you were not looking at any specific thing and turned his gaze to you. He looked at you through squinted eyes due to the gusts of wind blowing his long silver hair into his eyes.

He examined your face for sometime before asking, “Are you sad?”

A simple question it was not. You thought of how you’d feel if your cousins, or Uncle Viserys and Aunt Alicent died and knew that you’d be inconsolable. You would not feel this…numb.

“I don’t know,” you chose to answer as you turned to face him, “She was my mother and I’m sad she’s gone, but…I never knew her really.”

Any grief you felt was over never getting the chance to know your mother.

These were not thoughts you’d share with anyone, but Aemond wasn’t just anyone. With no dragons to claim, you chose each other. He was your closest friend and ally, and you were certain that there was not a single person in the seven kingdoms that knew your heart better.

Aemond slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. He knew how conflicted you were without the thought being expressed, and he wanted to be your comfort.

You looked down at him and smiled softly, “Thank you. For coming to make sure I was alright.”

“Mother sent me,” he said quickly, sounding flustered. He never liked admitting how much he cared.

“Of course she did,” you chuckled just as a blush coloured his cheeks, “Come, let’s return inside.”

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You were not sure how late it was. All you knew was that you’d been put to bed a few hours earlier but had chosen to read while your sisters snuck out of the room. That reading was interrupted by chatter and yelling coming from down the hall. You would not describe yourself as a particularly nosy child, but the amount of voices made you curious as to why so many people were awake at this hour.

Following the voices, you approached a room where the noise was loudest and pushed the door open. Your father, Daemon, was standing by it and as you looked around the room, you realised that everyone was here; your sisters, Rhaenyra, her children, Aegon and Aemond, your Aunts Rhaenys and Alicent, Uncle Viserys – there were even members of the Kinsguard present.

Aemond was sitting on a chair facing away from you, his mother standing in front of him. As your father pulled you closer to him, you meekly asked, “What happened?”

“Aemond stole Vhagar!” Baela spat harshly as she glared and pointed at him

You shifted your gaze to Aemond who had slightly turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as your eyes landed on him, your blood ran cold and the air seemed to leave your lungs. There was a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, and his eye was swollen and stitched shut.

Without thinking, you slipped out of your father’s hold and brushed past your sisters, Rhaenyra and her children to reach Aemond, ignoring the looks from everyone in the room.

Aemond looked hesitant as you raised a hand to his face, your fingers brushing his cheek, but even that was too sensitive and he winced in pain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked back tears asking, “Vhagar did this?”

He shook his head and looked at his mother. You turned to face her and saw her burning gaze focused directly at Rhaenyra who was bleeding from one arm and shielding Luke with the other.

Realisation dawned on you in that moment. “Luke?” you gasped as the boy cowered behind his mother. You couldn’t believe it. What reason could he possibly have had to hurt Aemond?

“There is no need to start this quarrel up again,” Rhaenys said, “We should get the children cleaned up and put them to bed.”

Everyone nodded, mumbling words of agreement as they started to clear out the room.

“Come, Y/N,” Daemon reached out a hand as he summoned you from across the room.

You stared at him for a moment then looked at Aemond whose eye was still on you.

“Uncle Viserys?” he turned to look at you, an eyebrow raised, “Please may I go with Aemond?”

Viserys looked over your head, no doubt to your father, before letting out a sigh. “Of course, you may,” he cracked a smile, “But don’t stay awake too late.”

You smiled thankfully and returned to Aemond who was being helped out of his chair by Alicent. Almost everyone had left the room now, but Daemon remained by the door, watching you. You took Aemond’s hand in yours as you walked out of the room with Alicent and the Maester trailing behind you.

Alicent allowed you stay with Aemond for the night. She knew that both you and her son needed each other that night. He was laid on his back facing the ceiling, two pillows cradling his head to minimise movement. You climbed into bed beside him when he’d finished his tea and held his hand gently under the blankets.

“Does it hurt terribly?” you whispered after staring at him for a while.

“It did,” he said, “But the Maester’s tea is helping.”

You could see him trying to turn his head to face you completely, but wincing every time he moved it. It broke your heart to see him in so much pain. You didn’t realise when you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” you spoke through tears as you squeezed his hand.

Aemond was quiet at first, but then you saw a tear roll out of his eye and disappear into his silver locks. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“Angry?” you asked, wiping your eyes, “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I thought– Baela and Rhaena said–” he started through sniffles, “I should’ve given you a chance to claim Vhagar before I did.”

He thought he had stolen your chance at having a dragon, and that you would resent him for it.

“Vhagar chose you,” you reassured him, “She wasn’t mine to claim.”

Aemond seemed to blow out a breath of relief as more tears rolled down the side of his face and into his hair.

You decided to change the subject to make him a big happier, "Once I find a dragon, you could teach me how to claim it."

"And then you and I can go flying together," he said, his tone sounding lighter, eager, "We could race each other around King's Landing!"

"We could fly anywhere we want," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "Just us."

Aemond did his best to look at you properly as a soft smile formed on his lips, "Just us."

You moved up in the bed and hugged him close. He didn't say anything even when your tears surely soaked through his shirt, and so you didn't let go even after he'd fallen asleep. Not even as you drifted off as well.

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It was dawn when you suddenly woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. You glanced over at Aemond who was finally sleeping soundly. He'd woken up twice during the night crying in pain. Only milk of the poppy could ease his plight and allow him to return to his slumber.

The Maester said it would remain like that for next few nights. Alicent seemed even more terrified for Aemond, but you didn't care. You were going to stay by his side and help him through it. When he woke during the night, you whispered that promise to him over and over again, and his body seemed to calm.

Carefully, you slipped your hand out of Aemond's and climbed out of the bed. You gave him one last glance to make sure he was still sleeping before tiptoeing out of the room and returning to your own chambers.

As soon as you entered, you came face to face with your handmaiden, May.

"My Lady," she curtseyed, "Your father is expecting you in Princess Rhaneyra's chambers."

It was an odd request, but you went anyway. You noticed that your sisters were not in their beds and assumed they would be with your father as well.

When you finally arrived at Rhaenyra's chambers, Daemon was visibly annoyed. He turned to you, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Where were you?" he asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

You nervously glanced at Rhaenyra who was standing beside him before explaining yourself, "Uncle Viserys said I could go with Aemond."

"Yes, to escort him to his chambers, not spend the night," he snapped, eyes burning deep into you.

His anger was unexpected. You and Aemond had practically shared a bedchamber since you were small. He would often climb into your bed late into the night and you into his. After some time, Alicent no longer cared to send you off to separate rooms, knowing come the morning, you would be found curled up next to each other sleeping soundly.

Of course, your father wouldn't know that. He was never there.

"I'm sorry, father," you bowed your head, mostly to avoid his eyes.

"It does not matter," he grunted, "I called you here to tell you that we will be returning to Dragonstone today."

The news was unsurprising considering what happened to Aemond. It was good they would be gone while he recovered.

"I need you to go and pack your things," he continued, "We will be leaving soon."

You froze. He could not be suggesting what you thought.

"Why?"

"Because you are coming with us," Rhaenyra answered. Coming from her lips, it sounded more like a declaration.

You began to panic as you looked between the two. "But…I don't want to," you said as you took a step back, "I wish to return to King's Landing."

They both seemed taken aback by that. Rhaenyra shared a glance with Daemon before stepping closer and taking your hand.

"Y/N, your father is going to Dragonstone. Your sisters too," she smiled encouragingly as she crouched down slightly, "Don't you want to be with them?"

"I want to go home," you snatched your hand away, suddenly terrified of how this situation may unfold. You couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not once did Daemon shift his stance. He just stood there, weight resting on one foot as he stated, "We're your family."

It was true. But your sisters had never needed you, and you questioned whether your father ever did either. What had changed? Why did he want you with him now that your mother was gone and Aemond needed you the most?

"Aemond is family too," you whispered, your gaze never leaving your father's.

Daemon rarely lost composure, but in that moment you saw anger awakened in him. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes before moving closer to you.

"That little cunt stole your mother's dragon," he hissed, "Your dragon."

That set you off. Your fists clenched at your sides and your skin felt like it was burning.

"You cannot steal a dragon," Daemon reacted to that like you had spit in his face, "And I don't want to go to Dragonstone, I don’t want to leave Aemond. I want to return to King’s Landing with Uncle Viserys.”

Daemon was silent as he watched you. He meant to intimidate you, but you were too angry to be affected. Rhaenyra’s eyes were trained on him, seemingly concerned about what he might do.

"I am your father,” he said after a moment’s silence, “You will do as I say."

He brushed past you as he walked out of the room and that was that. Tears began to well in your eyes as you looked down at the ground. You promised Aemond that you would be there for him. You promised…and then you didn’t see him for six years.

***

In some ways, being on Dragonstone had not been the worst thing imaginable. You cherished the opportunity to form relationships with your sisters, and your cousins Jace, Luke and Joffrey. But even as you grew closer to them, they could not replace the people you had lost.

For a time, the relationship with your father was improved. It was only in recent years when his many attempts to have you betrothed had been rejected by you that your relationship soured. You could not provide him with a reason for your rejections despite the suitability of many of the matches, and so he washed his hands off of you.

Your father loved you. You knew he did. But he loved other things – and people – more. It was a reality you came to accept in the years living with him.

When Rhaenyra announced that the family would be travelling to King's Landing on short notice, you could barely contain your excitement. You did not care that it was to go and defend Luke's claim to the Driftwood throne, all that mattered was that you were going to see your family again.

Arriving in King’s Landing on dragon back for the first time was surreal. You did not wait to see the Senryr taken into the dragon pit by the keepers, nor did you wait for your sisters or cousins when you landed. The only thing on your mind was finding Aemond and...well, you did not know what you would do or say yet. But you knew you needed to see him.

Starting at Aemond's old chambers, you were surprised to find Alicent coming out of the room.

"Aunt Alicent," you breathed as she wrapped you in a hug.

She was beaming when she pulled away, even stepping back to take in your appearance. "Y/N," she gasped and cupped your face in her hands, "How you've grown!"

You smiled and looked to your feet as heat rose to your cheeks. "How is Uncle?" you asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

Her face immediately dropped, eyes glazing over as her lip twitched. She didn't have to say it. It was as everyone feared – he did not have long left in him.

"I'm sorry."

She nodded, accepting your condolences before plastering another smile on her face, "Were you looking for Aemond? He'll be on his way to the throne room. For the hearing."

"I'll go there now," you pecked her cheek and hurried down the hall.

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The sheer amount of people filtering into the throne room was clear indication to the importance of this particular hearing. Rhaenyra was standing with your father at the very front of the room on the right side of the aisle. You bowed your head and briskly walked towards them to stand with your cousins.

On the opposite side of the aisle, you spotted white hair very similar to yours on three heads. One of them was sweet Helaena, and Aegon was more than likely the man standing next to her looking bored. Towering over the both of them was Aemond. His hands were clasped behind his back, long hair cascading over his shoulders. The eye patch gave him away instantly.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw him, and as if he’d heard you, he snapped his head in your direction. Even from this distance, you saw the way his eye widened ever so slightly upon making eye contact. Every inch of you wanted to dart across the room and throw yourself into him, but you knew what the consequences of such a public display would be.

Where you were anxious and jittery, Aemond froze at the sight of you. He'd gathered that you were in the Red Keep when he encountered his nephews in the courtyard, and yet he was still so unprepared to see you again. Instantly his walls began to crumble and he found himself scrambling to keep them standing.

You smiled at him and he melted, but he could not let you see that. Instead of returning it, he turned away from you and faced the Iron throne. It was an unexpected action, but it didn't hurt yet. Perhaps he had not actually seen you.

You kept your eyes on him for the rest of the hearing, hoping to gain his attention – to no avail. When the entire farce of a hearing was ended, you tried to call out to Aemond, but he disappeared amongst the crowd of people.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding you, much to your frustration. It is why you were glad to hear that Viserys had requested to have his entire family join him for dinner. Before Aemond could protest or find another place at the table, you occupied the seat next to him, hoping it would force him into acknowledging you.

It did not work.

Despite being sat right beside him, Aemond made no move to speak to you or even look in your direction. He was actively ignoring your presence, and it would be a lie to say it did not cut you deeply.

It remained that way for most of the night. At one point, he actually turned his chair away from you to watch Jace and Helaena dance. It wasn’t until after his toast to your cousins and the scuffle which followed that he acknowledged your existence.

Everyone but you was on their feet, a few guards held Jace and Luke back as Aemond stared your father down. For a brief second he glanced in your direction, a second that felt like a lifetime, then he turned, hummed to himself in annoyance, and strutted out of the room. Without thinking about it, you rose to your feet and followed him out, ignoring the stares of confusion from your father and Rhaenyra.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside Aemond's room, you raised a hand, intending to knock, but decided against it and pushed the door open. The two of you never knocked in the past, why should it be any different now?

Aemond was sitting in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand resting on the arm while he cracked the knuckles of his other hand. He paused when you entered and tilted his head slightly to see you with his right eye. Once he confirmed it was you, he turned back to the fireplace, not acknowledging you at all.

You scoffed and looked around the room, spotting a gold chalice and some wine sitting on a high table on the opposite side of the room. You walked over to it and filled the chalice before approaching Aemond. He finally lifted his head to look at you when you held out the cup for him.

“What are you doing here?” the smoothest Valyrian danced off his tongue as he accepted the wine from you.

You smirked and raised a brow. “He speaks,” you said, “I was beginning to fear that you had taken a sacred vow of silence. One that only applies to me, of course.”

He scoffed and took a sip of the wine, ignoring your comment. Despite his attempts to pretend you didn’t exist, you did not miss the way his body tensed as you sat down on the arm of the chair.

“Your Valyrian has improved.” Improved was an understatement. His accent was perfect.

Aemond shook his head and downed the drink before rising to his feet. “‘Tis impolite to enter one’s chambers without first knocking,” he said, his back to you.

The hostility was less amusing now and increasingly annoying. “You’ve grown bitter,” you narrowed your eyes at him from where you were seated.

He turned to face you and cocked his head to the side, “I’d like to think I’ve grown honest.”

“It was unnecessary,” you said, referring to his toast.

He smirked when he caught on to what you were talking about. “It was fun.”

You cracked a smile at that and Aemond’s lip twitched, his eye gleaming. Slowly, you pushed yourself off the chair and walked closer to him. He didn’t even flinch when you came so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“You don’t talk as much you used to,” you whispered, your tone sad “You don’t smile either.”

He seemed so…guarded. He was looking at you like you were some kind of predator that he had to protect himself from. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but feared how he might react.

“Much has changed,” he said with the tiniest shrug, “It has been six years.”

Six years of yearning, you wanted to say.

Time had passed, it was true, but that did not explain why he felt so far from you. Or why he’d been ignoring you since you arrived. Bonds like the one you shared are not so easily damaged, nor broken.

“You have changed,” you said, eyeing him in the least discreet way possible.

He too drank you in unashamedly, taking his time from the bottom of your embroidered silk dress, to the top of your silvery-white, curly hair, before finally meeting your gaze. He looked seconds away from saying something, or doing something, but then he caught himself and shook his head.

“As have you,” he chose to say instead. The words came out steady, but when you glanced down, his fists were clenched tight. You reached out to take his hand and he moved back.

"Why are you being like this?" you snapped, though you never raised your voice, "What have I done to upset you?"

He was taken aback by your straightforward question. His plan had been to maintain a wary distance from you until you left again. He did not want to dig into memories of the past...but he couldn't deny you answers when you looked at him with such desperate and confused eyes.

He licked his lips and confessed two words, "You left."

You stepped back in surprise. That was it? Of all the things you may have done to earn such a cold reception from him, leaving him all those years ago never once crossed your mind.

"What?" you practically spluttered.

“You abandoned me,” he reiterated.

“Aemond, you can’t possibly be angry with me over that,” you smiled nervously though you were confused, “You must know I had no intention of leaving you.”

His voice was measured, unemotional. “And yet, you did.”

“I was a child. I could not have prevented them from taking me anymore than you could have.”

He was unconvinced and looked away from you.

“Aemond.”

He didn't respond.

“Aemond, would you look at me.” You grabbed his chin to force him into facing you. With reluctance, he met your gaze.

“My mother had just died. And seeing you hurt that night, pained me more than standing at her funeral,” you whispered it like a dark secret, “That is how deeply I care for you.”

Aemond was stubborn – more so than you – but his features softened at your admission.

The day he woke to find that you had left was the worst pain he had ever felt. He'd been inconsolable for weeks, even attempting to fly Vhagar to Dragonstone and bring you home. But when the tears dried and the irrational thoughts quieted, Aemond came to understand what he had to do to move on. He chose to forget the things he had lost. He chose to forget you.

Despite what you’ve admitted, you do not look away from him shyly, or run away in embarrassment. You keep your gaze steady so that he knows your heart is true.

Your voice trembles slightly as you lower your hand from his chin and ask, “Do you understand?”

He hesitates before nodding slowly. Not once since the day you left had he allowed himself to imagine that you might say anything like that. He spent years hating that you were his weakness. Resenting the fact that years later, he still felt the ache of missing you when he lay in bed at night and you were not there beside him.

And even though he successfully hid his true feelings from everyone else, he could never fool himself.

“I’ve often thought about that night,” he muttered so quietly that it was as if he was speaking to himself, “When I do, this,” he points to his eye patch, “is not the loss I mourn. It is you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You cared for me?”

“I breathed for you,” he said, then dropped his gaze to the floor in embarrassment, “I fear I still do.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, "Aemond, why would that be something to fear?"

He looked up from the ground and met your eyes with an intensity that made your smile falter. Your heart began to race as he took a step closer, and almost instinctively you moved to him.

He raised a hand to the side of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Then he let his hand fall to your cheek where he stroked it gently and lightly brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You sighed and leaned into his touch, raising a hand to his and holding it just where he cradled your face.

"I fear it," he started as he looked over your face, committing every detail of it to his memory, "because you will not stay. And you are not mine."

"Now is not then," you whispered, "If you want me, Aemond...then I am yours."

With that, he leaned down, his lips hovering over yours as he paused to take in your scent – sweet and earthy – before capturing them in a kiss. He knew that after this there was no returning to what once was. There would be no 'forgetting' this time. He knew this, and he eagerly accepted it.

His hands gripped your waist. You pulled him closer, wanting – no, needing to disappear into him. His scent, his touch, his kiss. It was dizzying, euphoric, and you fell into him happily.

"We must stop," you breathed between kisses, "Anyone could find us."

Aemond didn't respond as he chased your lips fervently.

"We must stop," you repeated, this time gently pushing away from him. You stopped to gather your thoughts, one hand pressed against his heaving chest. You could not look at him, no. If you did, you feared you would not leave this room again.

"We ought to return to the table," you said as you began walking to the door, "You and I have been gone for too long, they will begin to search for us."

You waited by the door until you heard Aemond's footsteps follow behind you. He stopped beside you, one hand on the door handle.

"You'll stay this time," the familiar lilt at the end of a question being asked was missing, but the hesitance in his voice and the pleading look in his eye showed he was asking.

You slipped your hand into his, just as you had done so many times as children, and with conviction answered, "I promise."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you returned to the dinner table, most of the food had already been cleared away. Luke, Jace and your sisters were dressed in their cloaks and being escorted outside by the guards while your father and Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent and Otto.

You shared a confused glance with Aemond before approaching the four.

“What is happening?”

Your father's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. “Come,” he motioned you over, “Your things are already in the carriage outside.”

“In the carriage?” you frowned, “What for? Where are we going?”

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, "Back to Dragonstone."

“But we've only just arrived,” you chuckled, "Why the hurry to leave?"

An answer was not given, but Rhaenyra's quick glance over your shoulder to Aemond said it all.

“We never intended to stay long,” she offered instead.

Your father motioned you over once again, “Say your farewells then go and get Senryr.”

The request came out like a man ordering his pup to fetch his shoe. He had no sympathy for the position he was forcing you into yet again, and did not care to pretend to show compassion to you. His daughter. It did nit make you sad, it made you angry.

“No.”

Daemon reacted as though you had just slapped him across the cheek.

“What?”

You stepped back to stand by Aemond's side. “I said no,” you repeated, jutting out your chin, “You cannot make me leave, Father. Not again.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I am not asking, Y/N,” he spoke slowly, “You will do as I say.”

It used to terrify you when he spoke in that intimidating tone, even though you knew your father would never harm you.

Perhaps that knowledge is what gave you the courage to say, “I am not leaving.”

Daemon was not often challenged, especially not by his children. He'd known from a young age that of all his children, you had inherited the worst of his temper. Your defiance was not only aggravating, it was insulting.

He stepped towards you, but before he could take another, Aemond moved in front of you protectively. The bold action stunned everyone in the room — including yourself.

Aemond was a good few decades younger than Daemon and therefore little challenge to your father. His wordless threat only indicated one of three things: stupidity, arrogance, or...

You ignored the suspicious looks thrown between you and Aemond as you placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. He broke his stare down with your father and looked down at you. Upon seeing the pleading look in your eyes, he stepped back to your side but remained close enough that your arm was still brushing against his.

Daemon was seething. He could see what was happening right before his eyes. Many years back when you'd refused to return to Dragonstone, it was because of Aemond. All those proposals you had turned down were because of Aemond. Even your excitement to return to King's Landing – it was because of Aemond.

He'd known all along, but he'd never spoken it aloud, thinking it beneath him to even entertain the idea that his eldest daughter cared for a Hightower – be him Targaryen or not. But how could he ignore it when it was being thrown in his face like this?

"He," he nodded his head to Aemond, "is the reason you want to remain here?"

Rhaenyra quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. "There is no need for this," she looked directly at you as she spoke before turning to Alicent, "I will see the children back to Dragonstone, then I shall return on dragon back."

That barely seemed to satisfy Daemon. And if Rhaenyra was suggesting that she could return and convince you to leave, she would be in for a surprise. Alicent was the only one who seemed happy with this solution. She embraced Rhaenyra with a regretful smile as Daemon walked towards you.

Your body stiffened as he approached. He glared at Aemond before looking down to address you, "You may not have to choose today, but you will soon."

He gave you a long look before placing his hand on the hilt of Dark Sister and turning to leave the room. Deep down, you knew he was right. Your Uncle was fading fast, and once he was gone, lines would be drawn and sides would have to be chosen. You only hoped that you had some time before then.

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It was difficult to part with your sisters after growing so close over the years. You would miss not having them around, but you knew they would never stay. They still hated Aemond for what happened that fateful night years ago, and neither could understand why or how you were able to forgive him. You didn't know how to tell them that to you, there had been nothing to forgive.

You remained by Aemond's side as Alicent showed you to your chambers, each of you like the other's shadow. Alicent was walking ahead of you and when she noticed you trailing behind, she stopped and turned to look at you both.

She raised a brow as she looked between you. "Aemond, I believe your room is down the other way," she pointed to the hallway leading in the opposite direction to where you were heading.

Aemond glanced at the hallway, then to you, and back to his mother. He seemed lost.

She ushered him away, "You may have spent your younger years sleeping in each others' beds, but there will be no more of that."

He nodded once and gave you a final look before walking off to his own chambers. You followed Alicent to the end of the hall where you parted ways at your room.

She was barely gone two minutes when you heard a knock at the door. You knew who it was before you even opened it. Aemond stood there under your door frame, his shoulders hunched slightly, no doubt feeling guilty for defying his mother.

You didn't say a word, you simply stepped aside to let him in. He kicked the door closed with his foot and moved closer, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand.

"I want to sleep here with you. If you'll have me."

You turned and walked to a table at the other end of the room. You removed your bracelets, earrings and necklace and placed them on the table. Brushing your hair to the side, you looked over your shoulder at Aemond.

"Can you help me with these laces?"

He looked unsure at first before following you. His fingers trailed along your hip before finding the two laces and undoing them for you. There was a pause as he debated what to do next, then he stepped away and sat down on your bed just by your pillow.

You chuckled to yourself at his level of restraint and removed the sleeves of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. Stepping out of the dress, you could feel Aemond’s eyes on you as you removed the pins and ties in your hair and placed them on the table by your jewellery. There was no seduction in your actions. You were simply undressing, and he was simply watching you do it.

When you turned to look at Aemond, he had already kicked off his shoes and was now leaning against your headboard. He sat up when he saw you approaching, his gaze never wavering. There was so much love in his eyes, but it didn't make you shy, it made your heart race. You stopped when you were standing between his legs, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“How come you let your hair grow so long?” you asked as you ran your hand through his long, white locks. He didn’t answer, however. His eye was focused on something else.

His hand slid the hem of your slip higher up your thigh as his brow furrowed in concern. “What caused this?” he asked as he traced his fingers over two jagged scars on your knee and up your thigh.

“Senryr,” you sighed at the feeling of his touch, “She clawed me when I went to claim her. Tore my favourite dress to shreds.”

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, tracing higher to the very tip of the scar on your hip, “She could have killed you.”

You smiled as you looked down at him. “You claimed Vhagar alone,” he looked up at you as you gently stroked his jaw with your finger, “Perhaps if you’d been there to teach me, she never would have hurt me.”

He laughed then. A low, quiet one, but a laugh nonetheless. It lit up his entire face and made his eye sparkle. You felt your heart swell at seeing him so happy, so content.

You climbed over him and into the bed, slipping underneath the blanket, "Are you going to undress?"

He shook his head and climbed in after you, "I'm comfortable like this."

He lay facing you, his arm resting on your waist as he drew circles on the small of your back over your satin slip. You raised a hand to his cheek and touched the bottom of his scar.

"It wounded me when you ignored me today," you said to distract yourself from the question you wanted to ask.

Aemond chuckled, "That was the intention when I did it."

You rolled your eyes and giggled, but your gaze returned to his eyepatch. What did it look like under there? Aemond noticed your furrowed brows and understood what was playing on your mind.

Your hand hovered over the eyepatch, "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded quickly, and removed it before he could change his mind.

A deep blue gem in the place where his left eye used to be. A sapphire, glimmering in the candlelight.

"Beautiful," you whispered absentmindedly as you stroked his cheek just below the sapphire eye.

He softened and pulled you closer to him, placing a light kiss on your lips. You curled into him and tucked your head under his chin, releasing a deep sigh.

Aemond's hand found yours under the blankets, and he smiled when you threaded your fingers together. There wasn't much he wanted to say. He just needed to be here with you, listening to your quiet breathing and feeling your heartbeat against his chest.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye x reader #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower

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thelightsandtheroses · 4 months

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five: we'd only die of lonely secrets

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter Summary: Your relationship with Joel hits some challenges when something happens with Ellie. Meanwhile, Gabe has some questions for Sean. Word Count - 3466 Chapter Warnings - mentions of self-harm (Ellie burns herself to cover her bite as in canon and the reader discovers her afterwards), mentions of secrets, disagreements, discussion of a child’s parentage, reader is a single mum of a teenager, possibly warnings for implied cults, 18+ blog MDNI Notes: I’m sorry for the delay in updating - this chapter marks a little change in the fic and some drama and angst is coming but it’s been planned for a very long time. I really hope you will stick with it! Chapter title is from the National song the System Only Dreams In Total Darkness

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Being with Joel feels like second nature. It doesn’t move too fast or slow, your relationship feels like a natural progression. It’s inevitable and undeniable and it feels good. Really good.

In the weeks that have passed since you and Joel officially first got together, since you turned up at his house that night, you’ve grown stronger. Gabriel and Ellie know about you both now, people around Jackson have stopped gossiping as much about the two of you.

You’re taking things slowly; spending no more than one or two nights at each other’s a week, telling yourselves that it’s okay to slow down a bit now, that you have time. It doesn’t feel like you have time when you’re alone though; then it’s still desperate hands and lips and barely repressed moans.

You thought you knew what life in Jackson was for you now. Joel’s changed things.

The leaves in Wyoming are changing too; the foliage has become bright orange and yellow. It’s a sign of their incoming death and decay but it’s beautiful. You can’t help but be taken in by the colours and vivid beauty of the state you now live in. In Kansas, the city was built up and you hardly saw surroundings like this. Even when the leaves are dying, they’re still more beautiful than barricades and blockades.

You carefully check your reflection in the hallway mirror as you zip up your jacket.

After several artfully rearranged dates, Joel and you have been instructed to have dinner with Maria and Tommy. It shouldn’t be stressful; they’re your friends after all, but they’re Joel’s family and this feels like a test of your emerging relationship.

“Really mum?” Gabriel asks, leaning on the banister and smirking at you. His hair is getting long and in his favourite hoodie he looks younger for a moment, more like the little boy you remember. Not that you can say that to his face.

“Whatever do you mean?” you ask in mock ignorance.

“You nervous?”

”Of course not.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at you. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done the dinner with the family thing. It’s always been the other way around.”

“It’s Maria and Tommy,” he replies indignantly, shaking his head. “They were like, your friends before Joel even came here. Surely you’ve got the dibs here.”

“They’re his family.”

“They’re your friends.”

“I know. I’m relaxed, honest.” you reply, trying to hide your nerves as best as you can. You’re used to this being the other way around; to the dinners being with your family and this feels unfamiliar and daunting.

“So why are you wearing your best clothes?”

“Maybe, I just wanted to?”

“Uh-huh.” Your son shakes his head. “Well, hope you have fun anyway.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

You hear a knock at the door and Gabe raises his eyebrows at you, not moving from his position on the stairs and instead sitting down on a stair with a sly smirk.

You open the door and smile widely at Joel. He’s wearing a deep blue chambray shirt and jean. You can’t help but notice how suspiciously clean his boots are too.

“Well look at you,” you say as he steps into the hallway.

“Hi,” he replies, nodding his head at Gabe as well. “Hey, Gabe.”

“Hey,” Gabe replies as he observes Joel, carefully looking him over as well. “Not you as well,” he mumbles which cause you burst out laughing as Joel looks at you in confusion.

“Don’t ask,” you say, grateful for a sudden distraction as Beau steps out from the kitchen, nodding at Joel in greeting.

“You on patrol tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah, Tommy and I got roped into an extra shift. Well, Tommy did and he signed me up.”

“Gotta love family for that,” Beau says with a laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Joel replies, shaking his head and raising his hands in the universal ‘what can do you do’ pose.

“Why are there extra shifts?” your son asks.

“Signs of infected, or … signs we ought to be a little more vigilant with our patrols for a couple of days,” Beau says and looking at your son’s face, quickly adds, “We’re not adding extra patrols for people in school, not right now. It’s just a precaution.” Joel looks at your face briefly and then back at Beau.

“Oh, okay.” You wish your son didn’t sound disappointed at the prospect of not being needed on additional patrols. He’s growing too quickly; in your mind he’s still this tiny baby you could hold with one hand and now he’s a man, creeping ever closer to adulthood by the minute.

“Right, we should head out.” You make your way over to Gabriel, briefly hugging him despite his falsified reluctance. “Love you,” you say in a quiet voice so the others can’t hear and squeezing him one last time before stepping away.

When you step outside your house, Joel clasps your hand, pulling you close to him on the porch.

He kisses you tenderly, wrapping one arm around you before you both head towards Tommy and Maria’s.

“You look real pretty today,” he says, emphasising the southern drawl that lingers in his voice. There’s mischief and desire and something else in his eyes. You’ve taken in the details on his face and committed them to your heart now. Each freckle, sunspot or scar has been logged over nights and mornings and stolen moments.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you reply, leaning into his touch. “We could change our mind -”

“Head to the bench?”

“Or yours. Either works for me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m just saying that we have an evening to ourselves and maybe we could do something else.”

“It sounds like an option. Probably for the best, Tommy’s really only good with a barbecue. Lived off our leftovers or takeout back in the day.”

“So you were the cook?”

Joel flushes. “I wouldn’t go that far. I - Sarah cooked too. I worked a lot.“

“Oh yeah?” you ask casually. You only learnt about Sarah recently under similar circumstances, a quick slip of the tongue, a panicked expression and then a brief confession. Joel’s experienced a loss you never want to truly understand, but one you need to try and empathise with. “You were a contractor, right?”

Joel raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Ellie told you that?”

“Oh, yeah. Ellie was extremely proud to tell me about you being a contractor Before. She seems to think it was a real popular job back then.”

Joel looks down, stifling a laugh. “I mean - you can’t argue it’s not better than being a politician, right?”

You smirk. ”Only just.”

Joel squeezes your shoulder tighter as you approach Tommy and Maria’s. “I’ll remember that,” he teases. “For that, we’re definitely not skipping dinner.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I respect the art of carpentry, and spirit levels and building stuff? Fixing stuff?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Spirit levels, really?”

“I didn’t hang around a lot of construction sites.”

“Good thing too. Right, let’s get this thing over with so I can get you back to mine.”

“Why Mr Miller, anyone would think you have plans for me.”

Joel smirks wickedly. “You’ll have to find out,” he whispers, kissing you briefly on the lips before knocking on Tommy’s door.

The sun is still rising as you approach the back porch of your home the following morning. The town is lit in a rosy glow; everything is softer, more mellow.

“I’m sick of feeling like she’s keeping secrets from me is all,” Gabe says, kicking the edge of the porch half-heartedly.

“She’s your mum, that’s just - that’s just being a parent. I don’t - I don’t think there’s any big secrets.” You steel yourself for a blow that never comes, for Sean to add something.

“But she never talks about him. I don’t know anything. You don’t say anything either, neither does Uncle Beau. No one talks about it.”

“I know. It’s - it was a difficult time, Gabe, none of us want to go back to then.”

“It’s not like when it had just happened - you know, you can’t just say that, Uncle Sean. I only want to know something - I want to feel like there’s not just this question mark over who my dad was. I know what happened to him and I know loads of kids who had the same thing happen but their parents tell them about the other one, they have photos or memories they talk about,” Gabe pauses and adds, “I want to feel like I had a dad. I’ve never ever seen a photograph of him. Do I even look like him? I know it upsets mum to talk about it. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

You can feel the tears building in your eyes, the stabbing ache in your stomach at your son’s words, at his plaintive desperate voice. What have you done? What are you continuing to do?

There’s a silence as you try and work out if you should intervene, if you should say something and join this conversation or if you’d only make things worse.

“I was there when you were born,” Sean says in a low voice that you can hardly hear.

“What?”

“I helped deliver you,” he says and you watch the way he puts a hand on Gabe’s back as your son sits next to him.

“I did not need to know that. I get it, okay. I know you and Uncle Beau - but that’s not the point.”

“I know it’s not, but I’ve been there for every milestone of your life. So’s your Uncle Beau. You have never been without love for a second. Your mum would do anything for you. She’s our family, you are our family. It might not feel enough, but it’s the best I can give you. I’m sorry you didn’t get to have a dad with you growing up, but you got me and Uncle Beau and that’s like double what most kids get.”

“Really? That’s your argument here?”

“It worked when you were seven.”

You hear the snort of laughter.

”Mum seems happier,” he says, ”She really likes Joel, I can tell.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“It’s a good thing. She’s - she deserves to be happy too. That’s why we all came here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Joel seems decent enough and I like him better than her ex already.”

“What an endorsement,” Sean says with a laugh.

“Whatever, I’m heading inside.”

“Okay.”

You watch your son head back inside and after a moment dare to step forward. A twig snaps under your feet and Sean instantly looks alert, his hands poised by his jeans pocket.

“It’s you,” he says as you approach. “Shit, how much did you hear?” Sean asks.

“Enough.” You lean your head back and sigh. “Thank you.”

“He’s not stopping, sweetie, he’s a clever kid. He knows we’re keeping something back.”

”I don’t get it.”

“I do. If I was keeping something from you, would you keep asking or let it go?”

“That’s-”

“He’s your kid for sure.”

“So, what it’s my fault for not talking about him enough?”

“I think we didn’t mean to, but we��ve made him realise there’s more to the story and so of course, he won’t let that go.”

“So what do I do?”

“We could -”

“That’s not an option,” you say firmly, arms folded. “We swore we’d never tell him about The Junction.”

“Well, that was when he was five and still fucking believed in the tooth fairy. I just think - maybe, I get it, I so get it, but maybe we’ve made it worse by not talking about it. About any of it.” Sean looks sad for a moment. “We put those years in a box, but they still happened.”

“We’ll figure something out, won’t we?” You feel so small all of a sudden; every moment of confidence, of happiness in the dinner at Tommy and Maria’s, your night with Joel has evaporated. You hug your arms around yourself and look up at the stars.

“Of course we will,” Sean says. ”So, uh, tell me about the dinner.“

You sit next to him and lean your head on his shoulder before you start to talk to your best friend.

You can’t remember if Joel’s due back from his day’s work yet. Him and Tommy were out on that extra patrol because there had been reports of potential infected or raiders nearby. You thought it might be good to

You hear a faint cry and muffled scream from somewhere in the house.

Ellie.

It’s automatic and primal, your instincts kick in as you open the door and run up towards the commotion in the kitchen.

You have no idea what you will find in the house - you prepare for an infected, an intruder, anything.

Somehow you didn’t even consider this though.

Ellie is standing over the sink and her arm - you think it’s cut. Then you realise.

It’s a burn.

Her arm is burning.

There’s a turned over bottle of kitchen chemicals next to the sink and you notice how your legs feel unsteady beneath you. You try and remember the basic first aid, the things you are supposed to and not do.

She needs you.

”Oh shit,“ she says, seeing your face. “I - I uh, spilt it. I didn’t - shit. It really fuckin’ hurts.” She looks so young, so scared and vulnerable at this moment.

“Okay, we’ve got this, Ellie. It’s all going to be okay.”

You exhale and then move.

You’re waiting for Joel. Ellie’s okay, her arm is clean and you’ve bandaged it as best as you can. There are hundreds of small alarms going off in your head. Something feels off about this incident; Ellie’s evasive, hiding something.

“Ellie - I -”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you - is everything okay, Ellie?”

“I just burnt my fucking arm so -” Ellie pauses. “Sorry - I’m okay, I’m fine. It’s uh, a good thing you were passing by.”

“When’s Joel due back?”

“Hey Ellie?” You ask, nervously twisting the edge of your shirt around your fingers. “Is - everything okay at home? Or school?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Why?”

You look at Ellie carefully, trying to sculpt your features into a clear message of ‘you can talk to me’. “I’m worried about you.”

“It was an accident,” Ellie says, looking at you with a piercing stare. “I was trying to clean the sink and -”

“Since when do you clean the sink?”

“Well, now we know why I don’t.” She reaches to touch the bandage and you shake your head.

“Try not to touch it. I don’t want it to get infected.”

“Okay.”

“You - you’re sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes!

Perhaps it’s foolish to think children can just be children these days, you’ve tried to shield Gabriel from so much. Maybe Ellie ….maybe she couldn’t be? You know enough about Ellie to know she’s an orphan, that her and Joel teamed up in Boston and that she’s become his family since then, his daughter.

Before you say anything else, Joel walks in. His face lights up when he sees you and Ellie only to very quickly fall when he sees her arm. He moves over to her quickly, his face wan and wrought with worry as he gets on his knees to examine her bandaged arm. “What the hell happened?”

“Ellie was cleaning the sink; she spilt the chemical on herself.”

“What?” Joel looks like he wants to be sick. He keeps looking at her arm and then at Ellie’s face.

“It was an accident,” Ellie says before looking over at you, “Luckily you were stopping by and you turned out to be pretty good with first aid.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. “I’m hardly a doctor.”

“Thank you,” he says with relief, sitting back on his knees.

“She looked after me. She was really nice,” she adds in a quiet voice. “She uh - washed it and then dressed it and - I’m, I’m going to head upstairs to do some homework.”

“Ellie -”

There’s a moment of silence after Ellie leaves the room. The only sound is Joel’s bones creaking as he gets up from the floor and sits on the sofa.

You move to the armchair next to him, your heart racing as you know you need to say the words you’ve been thinking since you walked into his home today.

“I’m worried she hurt herself on purpose,” you whisper, hands clasped soberly in your lap.

Joel freezes. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“I know you think that -”

“I’ll talk to her, okay?” There’s something in his eyes, some small sense of recognition or something that you can tell he’s keeping from you.

“What aren’t you tellin’ me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can tell there’s something, Joel, give me some credit. I’ve survived long enough to read faces.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re reading me wrong.”

“Joel, I - what are you keeping from me?”

“Don’t.” You understand where Gabe gets it from now. You can tell there’s more to this story and you want to push at it, poke the scab until it bleeds, know the truth because you only imagined a hundred terrible stories until you know this.

You’re both standing now, both looking at each other with equal parts desperation and concern. “Talk to me, Joel. I thought you trusted me -”

“You think you get to know everything right away? I have been honest with you, sweetheart, and I like you a lot. I didn’t think I’d find someone so - but that doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to ask that?”

“Joel -”

“I have never pushed you about your past, about your secrets. I have trusted you; I’ve let you into my home, my - Ellie’s home too.”

You feel your face heat with shame. “I just - I was worried about Ellie.”

“You don’t need to worry about her,” Joel snaps, “That’s my job.”

“Oh, fuck you, Joel.”

Joel swallows and exhales slowly. “I don’t wanna fight with you, please leave this. I swear I will tell you what you need to know.”

“I don’t want you to decide what I need to know.” There are moments, memories that rise to the surface like bile. You can’t fall into that trap again.

“Then what do you want? Total honesty, because that goes both ways, sweetheart.”

The conversation you overheard between Sean and Gabe flashes in your head, the many secrets you have kept from so many people, including Joel, over the years.

Sometimes you wonder if you’ve told so many half-truths, you’ve forgotten what actually happened in the past now. If all that’s left are lightly edited ghosts of a life half-lived.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here,” you whisper.

“I can - I promise you that I would never hurt Ellie, or you, or Gabriel.” He swallows. “Not ever consciously at least. I can promise you that right here and right now. Is that enough? Can that be enough?”

“I - okay.”

“Okay.”

You reach out and meet Joel in the middle, letting him wrap his arms around you. “I’ll talk to Ellie, okay? I promise.”

“Thanks.”

You shrug your bag to your other shoulder around you as you lock the library door behind you. It’s still light outside but there’s a chill starting that shows that twilight is on its way.

You turn around, ready to go home, when you notice there are two people standing ahead of you.

Sean and Beau are looking at you with grave expressions.

You take in Sean’s appearance first. His hands are fiercely dug into his hoodie pockets, he’s looking down and the way his leg is nervously shaking rings all too many alarm bells.

“Where’s Gabe?” you ask automatically, looking frantically around. Where is your son? What has happened to him?

“It’s not about him,” Sean says with a devastated voice and somewhere you know you’re starting to piece this together. For Sean and Beau to look at you like this, for your best friend to be acting this way, there’s only a few things it could be. This isn’t normal - something is terribly wrong.

“Beau, just tell me. Please!”

Beau doesn’t say anything immediately, he looks at Sean and then sighs. After a second, he produces a small piece of paper out of his jeans pocket, unfolding it carefully.

It’s such a small piece of paper; you wonder what on Earth is on this, what could possibly cause such distress to both Sean and Beau.

There’s a sick feeling rising in your stomach, the sense of someone pulling a thread tightly around your organs.

“We need to talk about the Junction,” Beau says flatly, showing you the simple design on the paper that instantly sends your heart lurching to your stomach.

Oh.

You knew things were going too well.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #your hand in mine fic #fic: your hand in mine

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alavestineneas · 4 months

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pairing: catohadley x fem!reder

summary: He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price. warnings: canon-typical violence; mentions of meat (as in reader owns a butcher shop); trauma and poverty word count: 6k

author's note: hello beautiful people! In honour of my birthday, I am posting about this bad boy today. Hope you like it - it was such a fun thing to write! Enjoy!

The stones under his worn boots are changing quickly; they are coloured in all shades of grey, sometimes with funny black dots on their rounded bellies. Cato would stop and collect a few if it wasn't for the important task at hand: Mom sent him to the butcher's, letting him take the thinly metaled coins for the first time, which are now snugly stored in the pockets of his raggy coat. He has the order memorized; Mom always buys the same. Three pig legs for the soup, which are then added to the porridge she cooks, and two bottles of the cheapest milk on the counter. It's good for the bones in his body, she says, and Cato believes her. Soon, he will start school; he has to be strong to get the chance to try out for the academy.

The butcher's is just around the corner; it's the only shop in their block that is always open. And, although the signboard is already faded, it is still his favourite place to visit. The door opens with a creek, and a small bell over Cato's head sings its cheerful melody. He takes a few steps inside, the colourful counters greeting him with all kinds of meat and sausages. He reads the curved writing on each of the signs carefully, trying out the way the letters come together in words. The sound of rushed steps is the only thing that breaks his mesmerization. They are soon changed by the grunting of the wood chair on the old tiled floor, and then, finally, a head pops up from behind the stands.

''Good afternoon!'' A pair of curious eyes stare at him, a smile missing a few teeth serving as a second greeting. ''What can I do for you today?'' the girl asks, changing her cheerful demeanour to a more serious, business-like tone.

Cato straightens up, his fingers finding the coins. He is a grown-up now; no other four-year-old he knows is allowed to go to the butcher's by themselves. ''I am here to buy meat.''

The girl laughs, her hair shaking with her mirth.

Cato feels the redness creep to his ears—of course, he is here to buy meat; everyone does. ''Why are you behind there anyway?'' he mutters, crossing his hands in front of himself. He thinks the girl should stop now; it's really not nice to laugh at others.

''Grandpa went to trade for bread and left me as the captain here,'' the girl boasts.

''That's a shame.'' Partly because Cato liked Grandpa Marc—he always sneaked a few pieces of candy for him and his brothers at home—and partly because he didn't like the little know-it-all. ''I would like three pig legs and two bottles of the cheapest milk,'' he declares in one breath, careful not to mess up. He isn't sure he can take another wave of her laughter.

''Sure,'' the girl nods, packing the meat in a big brown bag. Cato patiently waits as she moves her chair to reach the milk shelves, stopping before them. ''Which one again?''

''Shirley's.''

The girl doesn't move; the flowers on the back of her dress are still facing him.

''Shirley's,'' he repeats a little louder. Cato feels silly again; he doesn't like the mean girl and the way she teases him. ''Are you stupid? The one with the blue cap is Shirley's.''

''Right,'' she finally grabs it, moving to the register. Her hands work quickly, wrapping the goods and putting them together. ''The meat is this much money, '' she scrambles the numbers on the piece of paper lying nearby, ''and milk is this much.''

Cato goes over the symbols, carefully counting the total in his head. ''Here,'' he says, reaching for the money. ''And you wrote the two here wrong—it should be facing the other way, like a swan.''

''Oh. Sorry about that. Is this with change?'' She points to the colourful coins on the wood.

''Don't you know how to count? You need to give me 50 cents in change.''

''I do!'' she argues, her hand slapping the counter. ''I was just, hm, testing you!''

''Sure. Then why are you giving me two dollars back now?'' Cato raises an eyebrow. Part of him wants to laugh at her, just like she did moments ago. But he doesn't. Instead, he swaps the coins for the right amount, giving her the money back. ''Here you go. All good.''

''Thank you! Have a nice day!''

Cato nods, grabbing the bag and exiting the shop with a light heart. He did what his mom asked him to; she will be very happy to know that. The air is warm, and the soft wind is hitting him right in the face. In no time, Cato is home; the door is never locked. He places the bag on the kitchen table; Mom will see it when she puts the baby to sleep. His third brother - the other two are sleeping on the big bed in the children's room. That used to be his, but now he is a big boy—he sleeps on the couch in the living room, right near the kitchen. He likes it here; the baby's crying is not as loud, and he can see Mom as often as he wants to when she cooks.

There's not much to do right now; it's the ''quiet hours'' in Hadley's house. Usually, Cato would go play outside at this time, but instead, he grabbed the big book from the kids' shelf. There, with big, red letters, are all of the alphabets and numbers. It was his favourite. Cato remembers how mom would sit with him on her lap, her soft finger circling every picture. ''This is one. Look, it has a tiny nose, just like you do! Here, give me your hand—that's one finger you have, little gentleman!''

Cato throws one last glance at the closed door to the parent's room—he decides that mom won't be mad at him if he plays not in front of the house for once—and grabs the book, leaving the still place. This time, he grabs a few of the prettiest rocks on his way—he builds bridges and castles with them in the small creek behind their house. The butcher's is still empty when he gets there; the girl sits on the tall chair, drawing on the paper.

''What are you drawing?'' Cato asks, trying to see, but the counter is too tall for him to reach.

The girl doesn't look surprised to see him here; it's like he never left in the first place. ''It's worms. Papa worm, mama worm, and little worm. They are having dinner.''

''What are they eating? Meat?''

''No,'' she said, shaking her head. ''Meat is expensive; they have no money. They're eating a dirt pie. Here,'' the girl climbs off the chair, sitting down on the floor instead. Cato sits down near her, looking over her shoulder. ''They have small plates and spoons.''

''My dad doesn't like pies. He likes potatoes more.'' Cato thinks meat is better than pies and potatoes, but he doesn't tell Dad that. The girl tells the truth: meat is expensive.

''Where is he? At work?''

''Yeah, at the factory.'' Most people work at the factory—that's what Cato's dad says. They go when it's dark outside and Cato is still sleeping, and they return when the clock shows all zeros. Then, his dad eats while his mom drinks tea, and they whisper about something. ''And yours?''

The girl shrugs. ''I don't have one. It's just Grandpa and me. What is this?'' She points to the book in Cato's hands, and he finally remembers why he came.

''That's my book. It has numbers. Do you want to see?''

The girl beside him nods, and Cato smiles. He opens the book and proudly shows off the beautiful pictures. The girl likes them; she listens carefully to what Cato has to say about each letter. He likes it when he doesn't laugh at him.

''Good morning, Grandpa Marc!'' Cato greets the man behind the counter, cutting up yet another piece of meat. It's early, but he already stands in the butcher's, his dad's old bag on his shoulder. They can't be late for the academy.

''I'm coming, I'm coming!'' YN shouts, biting into the apple in one of her hands and tucking in her shirt with the other. ''Bye, Pa, see you!''

They both passed the exam for the academy; only four people from their neighbourhood did. They got the chance only because they were ''exceptional'' students, the only four whose training was free for now. The debt will be paid by them volunteering or after the academy through their future salaries. Cato knows that no one is actually able to pay it off; he will volunteer as soon as possible. YN will go; they agreed to go in different years.

That's how it always was with them—they walked to the academy and home together, trained, and learned together. Cato helped Grandpa in the shop, and YN often looked after his brothers. It was the endless stream of jokes from everyone around—you never saw one without the other, not even on the rating board. That was until year nine.

''I decided I'm not going to sit with you at lunch,'' Cato tells the girl walking beside him on the dusty road.

YN doesn't answer right away; she watches her feet instead. ''Let me guess—you will be with the mayor's son and his pack?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. They are my friends, and they invited me to sit with them.'' It annoys him the tone she is using.

''They are not your friends, Cato. They only do that, so you will volunteer for them when the time comes.'' YN is angry; her hands on the straps of the backpack are tightly clenched.

''So what? I'm going to volunteer anyway, so why not sit with them? There is nothing to do here, and they are always hanging out at movies or something.''

''Oh, so that's what it is about.'' YN stops, turning to him. ''You want to be one of them now.''

''Of course, I fucking do!'' Cato exclaims. ''We are dirt poor, YN. I don't want to live all my life in this shithole.''

YN's face changes; her eyes look at him as if for the first time. ''This is home, Cato. This is where we belong.''

''I don't. And I will find a way out of here, and you can stay in this mud as much as you like, but I will not let you drag me down with you.''

She slaps him. The hit is heavy; they are both trained to take blows, but it stings him more than it should. Cato watches as YN leaves, her quick steps echoing on the empty street in the morning fog. He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price.

YN can live without him as much as he does, she tells herself. She didn't decide to ruin the friendship, so she won't be the one to apologize, no matter how long the silence lasts. If he thinks that she will run back to him after four months of not talking, he is wrong. YN is fine; she still has two friends at the academy, she still has her grandpa and the beautiful sun above her head. It smiles at her every time she walks home alone, filling in the small gap in her chest with its golden rays. Her new companion.

What she doesn't expect is a group of people in front of the shop; they shout and argue, running around with ice and water in their hands. YN runs too; something happens. Fear rises in her stomach and travels to her throat when she sees the white coat of the doctor standing near the counter, a concerned expression on his face. ''I'm sorry,'' he tells her. YN clutches her bag, trying so hard not to cry as the crowd of familiar faces surrounds her.

He fell while trying to reach for the shelf, and a customer found him unconscious on the floor. Grandpa broke seven bones in his body and damaged his head. They are taking him to the hospital for, god knows, how long. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder; the cost of surgery is covered by the state, but she needs money for the medicine. They don't have any.

YN spends an hour crying into her pillow before pulling herself together—she is alone. It's not some stupid game they play—they pretend to win for years in the generated arenas in some big green boxes—it's life. The most brutal arena of all. So, she does what any fifteen-year-old would do—she washes her face with ice-cold water and grabs the keys from the shop. She has to speak with a few people.

The door to Hadley's home is never locked; nobody closes it in their neighbourhood, but YN still knocks out of respect. Cato opens it; she is surprised he is here and not with his new friends. He wants to say something, but YN has no time for him.

''Is your dad home?'' YN asks, trying to look over his shoulder.

Cato nods. ''Come in. Mom, it's YN.'' He shouts, closing the door behind her.

''Ah, YN. How is Grandpa Marc?'' She is cooking something—a big pot boiling with the best smell one could imagine.

The woman's concerned face stirs something in YN, so she fights the urge to cry and swallows her tears instead. ''Alive

''Come sit with us; we were just preparing to eat.''

YN wants nothing more than a plate of something warm, but she declines. She came here not to lessen the portion of someone; nobody here has money to make extra food. ''Thank you, but I need to speak with Mister Janus.''

''Spill it.'' Mr. Janus nods, standing up from the couch.

''Can we speak outside?'' YN asks, feeling a pair of blue eyes on her.

''Of course,'' Mister Janus shares a look with his wife before stepping outside. ''What happened, kid?''

YN takes some air inside her lungs. ''Is there a place for me at the factory for the night shifts?'' The man opens his mouth to argue, but YN is quicker. ''I know I am young, but I am strong from all the training, and I know a lot of useful things. I can reach where most men can't, and I will do anything you ask me to, I promise.''

Mister Janus sighed. ''I know you are good, but what about the academy? Night shift is six to six; you won't have time to get enough sleep and do the homework.''

''I quit the academy.''

''What?'' Mister Janus's face changes. ''YN, why? It's the only chance for you to survive.''

''Work is the only way for me to survive. Poverty and an empty stomach will kill me much faster than some games. I need the job, Mister Janus, please. If you don't give it to me, I will look for it elsewhere.''

The man thinks, his forehead creased with worry. ''Fine, kid. But be careful—get enough rest and don't push yourself too hard. We are here to help if you need us to.''

''Thank you, thank you so much!'' YN smiles, a few tears escaping her eyes. She hugs the man tightly, a glimmer of hope finally appearing. ''Thank you, Mister Janus; I will not let you down!''

Mistes Janus smiles back, patting her back. ''Go before it gets too dark; I'll see you tomorrow at five thirty.''

He watches as YN turns the corner of the street before returning to the warmth of his house. How much do these kids have to endure in this world?

YN didn't push herself too hard; she simply did what she was supposed to do. At six, she returned to the shop after the shift at the factory—butcher's opened at eight—so she had two hours to wash the dirt and sweat away with the old basin and a little warm water from the kettle and to master something edible on the stove. When that was done, she would dissect the meat and check the dates on milk bottles; the soon-gone bad would go to the sale section, and the new ones took their place. Then, the doors of the butcher's opened—people still needed to eat, and YN wasn't about to let them starve because of her own ''tiredness.''

The heaviest flow was in the morning, with the shop becoming quieter in the afternoon—that's when she took most of her sleep in, resting her head on the wooden counter and closing her eyes for a second. Oftentimes, customers would find her like this—they gently shook her shoulder and woke her up before ordering. Each time, YN felt shame creep to her cheeks, but each time, no one said a word to her; they just smiled, thanked her, and left the shop with a big brown bag in her hands.

That's how the rest of the year passed, with it becoming slightly easier when Grandpa was finally discharged from the hospital. His right arm didn't move like it used to, and it was hard for him to walk, but it was still better to have someone home to return to. Besides, he insisted on still serving the customers, so YN had an opportunity to sleep in her own bed for a few hours before a new portion of cut meat was delivered.

That's what she thought about standing in the main square in a crowd of children—how much meat she needed to cut before her shift. Grandpa was also here; some man had to hold him up so he wouldn't fall from being on his legs for too long, but he could at least enjoy the fresh air, which YN was grateful about.

The reaping was going quickly; the girl named was from the academy, so they didn't have to go through all that volunteering. YN didn't know her personally, but she saw her a couple of times; she was good with knives. As for the boys, it didn't go as smoothly—some poor eleven-year-old's name was called out, and he burst out crying on the spot.

''I volunteer!'' the voice boomed through the street, and YN turned with everyone to see who it was, although, in her head, she knew the answer.

Cato. He walked to the stage calmly, his legs conquering the steps in no time. He looked determined and happy, but YN knew better—that's what they taught them to present. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Killers. She hears distant cries from the crowd behind her—it's probably Miss Hadley. YN clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together until her head rings. It isn't the time for her to break.

Cato can't bear to watch his mother's puffy face as she clenches her arms around him, whispering something like a prayer into his chest. His father is silent, a lonely tear escaping his eye as he holds Cato's youngest brother closer. The twins are also here; both of them are at the academy, so they have a faint idea of what he is doing. They tell him he will win because of how big he is, and that will be very easy. Cato smiles at them reassuringly—if only it were that easy.

''Dad,'' he nods in the direction of his crying mother.

''Come on, darling, you will upset him before the games,'' his father tells her, carefully pulling her way and placing a hand on Cato's shoulder. ''Stay strong, my boy. We will all be rooting for you every second you are in that arena; don't forget that.''

''Thank you, dad. Boys,'' he watches as twins show each other away, trying to get to bed first. He hugs them both; he has two hands for a reason. ''Behave and don't bother mom too much, or I'll have to kick your ass once I get back,'' he whispers into their heads.

The youngest one waves goodbye, blowing him a kiss. Cato smiles, watching his family leave the room. He wants to remember this moment forever, to put it in his pocket, and to never let it go. He knows why he is doing this—for them to have a better chance at life, for his father to finally have a day off, and for his mom to have new pots she secretly gazed at when she thought he wasn't looking.

''Hadley. Seven minutes.'' The peacekeeper announces, opening the door once more, even though Cato doesn't expect anyone else. Well, he hoped she would come—he really wanted her to—but he believed she never would. YN is not the type. Still, she is here. Closing the door behind her, in a simple blue jumpsuit and a nice scarf around her head.

''Hi,'' she nods. ''I came to say goodbye.''

Cato's heart skips a beat—those words hit harder than seeing himself on the big screens, with a tribute written under them. Soon, he may be dead; she will watch him on her small TV in the living room.

YN speaks quickly, almost in a rush. ''I know we don't speak anymore, but I know how you fight—you are capable of winning more than everyone else out there. Please, just don't think too much about what you are doing; just do it, okay?''

''Yeah, I'll try.'' He finds it weird that she doesn't want him to think, but Cato doesn't question why—she does know him better than anyone, having been training for a lot of years side by side.

''You have to return; your family needs you.''

''Don't worry too much about them; we already got the money for my volunteering from the mayor. They will be fine; dad can still work, and twins could help out. You have enough on your shoulders as it is. How is Grandpa Marc?''

''Better. He can't move like he used to and still needs help with walking and eating, but other than that, it's good. Although he is devastated that I didn't let him handle the meat, you should've seen how he tried to sneak a few knives at night.''

Cato's lips turn into a smile. ''That does sound like him.''

''Oh, I almost forgot. Here,'' YN rumbles in her pockets before taking a few pieces of candy out. ''We thought you should have a few.''

''You are kidding me? Lucky-talkies? I haven't had one in ages!''

YN laughs at his excitement, carefully placing the sweets in his hand. ''I know. They are as hard as they used to be; don't chip your tooth; it'll look bad at the promotion.''

Cato chuckles, pocketing the candy before his mentors have a chance to take it away. ''Thanks, YN. For everything.''

''I'll give you as much as you want if you don't die in there. Just try to stay alive, okay?''

''Easier said than done. But I'll try.''

YN smiles. Their time is up. The peacekeeper opens the door for her, his gun tangling dangerously around his neck. She doesn't turn around as she exits; her walk is steady. Cato thinks that he caught her shoulders shaking, but it could be just a twist of his tired brain.

The days after that are agony. YN doesn't know if it was her tiredness that finally caught her in a narrow corner or the grim reality of her life—it was definitely both. Even her favourite silent friend didn't cheer her up like it used to—the sun shone almost violently, burning her skin and leaving her body dizzy. The rotten cycle was now worsened by the non-stopping playing of what seemed to be a thousand screens, with stomach-curling screams echoing from time to time. They were everywhere—at the shop and their small flat above it, on the main square she passed each day, and, what was worse, they were at the factory, where she couldn't pretend to watch even for a second.

The work she does is heavy—carving the stones on the machinery bigger than her; her muscles were constantly aching, begging for a break. The suit she wore was too tight and too hot, and the annoying voice of the announcer blared through the speakers, stealing the air in her lungs. YN wanted nothing but to make it stop—for the world to go silent and still, even if just for a moment. But wonders didn't happen with people like her, so she continued to work, pushing herself through her gritted teeth.

''Welcome, welcome to what seems to be the last day in this beautiful arena!'' The blue-haired man spoke, his accent making YN's head hurt even more. ''To remind our dear viewers all across the Panem, here is a small recap from my colleague and sometimes friend, Claudius.''

''Thank you, Caesar. We are left with only three tributes on day eighteen—the first, of course, being Cato from District 2. His strategy has proved efficient so far; no doubt, he is one of the best contestants we've seen in a long time. And then, much to my surprise, a pair of tributes from District 12 are still in the games—their love story truly captivated the audience. Let's see what this day, or should we say night, brings us today and who will have the odds in their favour in the end.''

YN doesn't react to their comments; it feels wrong to compare herself to the kids out there, being selfish enough to think she deserves a break. She should be counting her lucky stars; it isn't her there, going through the bodies of the competitors one by one. Cato received body armour from the sponsors; that was good. He also lost his district partner; YN remembers her now; she was in his ''new'' friend group. She feels sorry for the girl; her death was awful, and her screaming Cato's name will forever be engraved in YN's memory.

''Aha, here he is! Our gladiator from District 2—he is running from—what's that?—wolves! Look at that speed—he surely is a good runner!''

YN turns her attention to the giant screen—surely enough, Cato is running from some monstrous creatures. He is bloodied; his skin is covered in bruises. YN prays it all will stop soon and he will get home safe. He doesn't even flinch when the arrow shot by twelve hits his chest; he just keeps running towards the Cornucopia.

''Please,'' YN whispers. He can't die, not when he has survived for so long.

''Look at them—all of the tributes managed to get on the Cornucopia just in time! Oh, here is a clever move from Cato's side: having Peeta in a headlock is a classic move. Now, he is sort of a ''human shield''. Brilliant!''

"Go on, shoot.'' Cato's voice booms through the speakers, sending shivers down YN's back. She missed hearing his voice, but it didn't even sound like him anymore. Like a stranger talking from the inside of what looked like her friend. '' And we both go down, and you win. Go on. I'm dead, anyway! I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?''

What the fuck was he doing? YN's mind raced—why won't he just kill him and get it over with? She doesn't notice how her hands begin to shake and how everyone else in the room seems to be eyeing her.

''No! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

''Kill him! For fuck's sake, just kill him!'' YN stands up, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice echoes—she didn't mean to say it out loud.

''No talking!'' The peacekeeper in front of her shouts, his hand steady on the gun.

YN turns to face him slowly. Who was he to tell her to shut up when it was her friend who was dying right before her eyes? She feels her hands clench into fists; she will be able to take him down in a fight, maybe even kill him. YN was willing to try, at least.

''She won't talk no more,'' one of the older men in the group mutters, his voice bitter. ''Sit down, child.''

YN wants to argue, wants to scream or run until the bullet catches up to her, but she doesn't. What use would her dead body be to her grandpa? So she sits down, biting her cheek until her mouth fills with a familiar iron taste. Everything she wants to say, she tastes in her throat instead.

''Wait, can we zoom in on here?'' One of the announcers asks. ''Here, yes, what exactly are they staring at? It fell from Cato's pocket, right?''

'''Well, Claudius, it looks like a candy wrap to me. The real question is: why does Cato have one in the first place? He didn't strike me as a big sweets fan. ''

''Well, whatever it is, it seems to have changed his mind—look at how masterfully he throws Peeta down, like a feather! Oh, and now he is lurching for the girl on fire!''

A loud snap is heard through the speakers, and the girl falls, lifeless. YN covers her face with her hands, the dirt from them leaving a mark on her sweaty face. A choir of relieved exhales rings through the room.

''Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have our 75th victor!''

It's hard, the first thing Cato realizes. Being here, breathing in the air that feels like spikes inside his lungs—everything was supposed to be easy, but it's so far from that. They have a nice house now; it has a room for each of his brothers, and even twins don't have to share anymore. His dad doesn't work; it's not fitting for victor's family to do so, so he takes up gardening instead. If a few years ago Cato heard that his father would ramble about how badly roses had grown on this soil, he would've checked himself into a mental asylum.

He isn't very loved in the Capitol, but his mentors said it was for the best. Cato believes them, but it stings a little. He wanted glory but got disgusted instead. It was not a fair trade, but at least his debt is paid, as is his brothers'. Money could buy a lot of things, just like he predicted, but it couldn't buy him peace. Cato has nothing ahead of him; he can't study like his peers do, can't work, can't live, and pretend it didn't happen. It very much did—when he closes his eyes, he can still smell the blood on his hands.

That's why he is here instead of Victor's village, eating ice cream on the empty main square in the warm evening. It's funny to think how he wanted to try it, collecting the money his father let him have for almost a year before ordering his first chocolate scoop. It was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten; now, it tasted just like every other one.

He hears the nearing footsteps—the people are returning from the day shift in the factories. Cato nods to a few of them—old neighbours, parents of classmates, or dad's friends. The men are all different—short and tall, ginger, blond and brunette—but they all bear the same expression that Capitoleers called ''a district 2 glare'' once. Cato used to get angry when he heard it, but now his face is no different—the word is a heavy thing to endure.

His eyes drift to the only person looking up and not on the road ahead—of course, it's YN. She thinks about something only she and the sun know, her steps mirroring those of the people ahead. One of the men notices him watching; he gently shoves her shoulder, whispering something in her ear before pointing in the direction of his seat. Suddenly, Cato wants to hide the ice cream in his hand and run away, but he doesn't.

''Enjoying your victory, Mister Hadley?'' Her voice is loud and filled with teasing, and a few men snicker at them.

Cato isn't angry; he deserves it, quite frankly. ''Always was known for the sweet tooth,'' he shrugs. ''As a matter of fact, are you free any time soon?'' He asks when the crowd is far enough away.

YN raises an eyebrow at him. ''Why is that? You know I work.''

''I was hoping you and your grandpa could come by sometime. Mom is awfully lonely, and the boys would love to see you, too.''

She nods. ''I am free on Sunday, but Grandpa is still a little shy about eating in front of people.''

''I'll ask mom to cook a soup then—it's better?'' He would cook the damn soup himself if it meant seeing her for longer than five minutes. If it meant not being alone in that house, that reeked of the arena.

''Yes, I think we can do that. What about 12? We could be a little late with all that walking.''

''Thank you; it's perfect.''

YN smiles at him. For the first time since he won, someone smiled at him. Cato smiles back, although he is sure it comes out more as a grin. YN doesn't notice or pretends to do so.

''Oh, come in! Janus, come right down; the guests are here!''

YN and her grandpa are greeted with Miss Hadley's voice, her warm hands wrapping first around her, and then the older man. YN smiles; she missed just sitting down for a meal without having to worry about how much money she was going to need for the next one. The boys have grown. They shout, each trying to be the first to show her their own rooms and the cool things they have. YN tries not to get lost in the maze of toys, balls, books, and a thousand other different things, while Grandpa talks with Mr. Janus.

When the boys start to embark on what feels like a fifth circle around the house, Miss Hadley puts an end to it. ''That's enough! YN, darling, come sit here—what would you like to eat?''

The table is full of different things. There are so many that they could eat for a few weeks and be full. YN doesn't think she saw that many vegetables and fruits in her life. She asks for what everyone is having and is happy to have her plate full. Grandpa also seems to be enjoying himself; he insists on wearing his best shirt for the occasion and now listens attentively to what the twins have to say. They make a good team, YN thinks—twins finally found free ears that are not yet tired of them, and there is nothing that Grandpa loves more than a good story.

When the dinner is over, YN speaks, talking to Miss Hadley beside her. ''Thank you for the invitation; your house is just lovely.''

''Cato made us clean every corner of it before you came—I didn't even have time to play outside!'' The youngest boy whines, pouting slightly.

YN chuckles as she watches colour gather at Cato's ears, his eyes glued to the dish in front of him. ''Well, it was definitely worth it—I had the most marvelous time with you here. And the food was delicious! But I am afraid we have to go; Grandpa should walk when it's still light outside.''

''We will take you home,'' Cato announces, nodding to the twins to put on their shoes. They do so happily, grabbing them and their jackets before Grandpa has a chance to stand up and stick to his side like glue.

The evening is pleasant; the wind is quite chilly, but Cato doesn't mind. The only sound on the street is twins arguing over who will help Grandpa Marc with his cane for the next two minutes.

''Thank you for coming,'' he says, looking at the woman walking beside him.

''Of course. We had a good time, - I hope you did too. How's life been? We haven't talked in a while.''

''Good,'' Cato lies. ''And yours?''

''Better. Since your dad quit, I got the day shift; it pays better, and I can finally get rid of those horrible dark circles.''

Cato nods. ''I've been thinking a lot about our past these days, especially our childhood. It feels like a lifetime ago.''

''Things change,'' YN shrugs. ''We've grown and become different people since then. I would've never imagined working at the factory, but here I am. And you win the games—that was your dream.''

''Don't you miss it? How easy were things back then?''

YN smiles. ''They never were easy, I think; we just couldn't understand them properly. Besides, not much changed, if you think about it.''

''Maybe not for you.''

''Why?'' YN turns to look at him.

Cato swallows. ''YN, they made me different. The games, all those kills—they changed me.''

''You did what you had to survive. It doesn't matter now that you are here.''

''You think I don't notice how people tiptoe around me now? How can Mom stand to look at me for more than a minute? How do boys try to avoid me at all costs? And dad—he doesn't even speak to me! ''

YN is silent. Cato curses in his mind—he shouldn't have said that. He takes a deep breath. ''I'm sorry. It just feels weird. It's like I don't have a home to return to and can't get into a new one. Just hanging there, mid-air.''

''When Grandpa was in the hospital, that's how it felt. I was too young to be alone, but there was no choice but to watch as everything I once loved fell into ruins. I was supposed to be going to movies, partying, and sneaking out, not juggling the bills from medication and the shop. But life decided otherwise. So, I built my own home within myself—one that nothing could tear down or take away.''

''I don't think there is anything left to build on. I'm not like you; everything anyone sees when they look at me is a monster .''

''I don't.'' YN stops. ''I see the boy who brought me a pretty big book with pictures so I could give the change correctly; I see a man who volunteered for his family to have a chance at a better life. I see you, real you, not the role mentors or Capitol made you play. Just Cato.''

''Can I hug you?'' His voice is barely above a whisper.

YN doesn't answer - she just takes a step closer into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

''I'm sorry; I am so sorry for everything I've done," Cato mutters, his hands trembling as he holds onto YN tightly. ''I should've said it sooner. ''

''It doesn't matter now. We survived this; we are still here, you and I.''

Cato nods; his tears mix with hers, pooling in patches on his shirt. They are different—children who were forced to grow up too early in a world that wasn't for them. ''I think I never lost it—my home. It was always here, with you, on this street. Isn't it funny? All those years of searching, only to return here, where we truly belong?''

''The butcher's, you mean? If you wanted more candy, you could've just asked,'' YN smiles, whipping away her red eyes.

''Fucking finally,'' an aged voice mutters from behind the corner.

''Grandpa Marc!'' the twins turn to him, surprised.

The old man just smiles, his wrinkled face appearing younger with joy. ''Don't tell YN I said that. She'll never let me live it down."

The twins giggle, their happy laughter echoing on the street. A few moments later, Grandpa Marc joins in, his breathy laugh adding to the chorus. It's not the first time the street leading to the butcher's was woken up by sounds of joy, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

#imagine #hunger games #character x you #cato hunger games #cato hadley #cato x reader #cato hadley x reader #cato hadley fanfiction #the hunger games #district two #childhood friends to lovers #au #love this pookie so much #careers #thg cato

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thedancefloorsilly · 2 years

Note

Hi! I think this is your ask/request box so please correct me if I’m wrong lol.

If you don’t mind could you do Shalnark,Feitan,Phinks, and Illumi with a s/o who asks to paint his nails? Just like a head canon of if they’d allow it and what colour n stuff

Also I love your blog, I love how you pretty much stick to the canon. Have a good day/night :)

𐐪♡︎₊˚ trouble trio + illumi :: reader asks to paint their nails

hii!!! and yes youre totally fine this is the right place <3 imma just say rn that i LOVEE this req lol its so cute! and thank you so much omg <33 i like to try and stick to canon so i appreciate you noticing i hope u have a great day/ night as well MUAH

cw :: might have spelling mistakes its a lil long hehe

✧.* phinks

- you and phinks were absentmindedly watching the t.v., when a nail polish commercial came on and immediately struck you with a certain idea. you smiled to yourself, and called out your bf’’s name, "hey phinkkkksss," you sang out, which caught his attention. "yeah?" he answered.

- "can I paint your nails?"

- he makes a grimace when you first ask him this, and by the looks of his face... he's ready to tell you a hard no. it's going to take a bunch of 'pretty pleases' and other ways of convincing for him to give in.

- but once he's thought about it, phinks will finally let you paint his nails.

- you tell him you're only gonna put clear polish on him, just so its not too ‘showy’. then again, phinks’ hands and nails are... a little roughed up so to say, which prompts you to think: why not just give him a whole manicure!

- once you start, phinks never realized he’d feel this relaxed by this process. he’s just sitting down watching you intently cut his nails, filing them down, shaping up his cuticles, while also thinking to himself, “is this why people love getting their nails down??”.

- plus he just lovesss all this attentive care you’re giving him!

- right as you were about to paint his pointer finger with the clear polish, he immediately stops you. “i changed my mind,” he says abruptly , “go paint ‘em however you want,” phinks then smiles. and nooo he totallllly didn’t say that to make the process longer noooo.

- but you smile at his request, and follow along with a green polish. phinks notices this and smiles, appreciating how you chose his favorite color to paint his nails :)

- “finished already?” phinks asks once he sees you start to dry them off. “Nope!” you say, and then immediately take his hand to plant a kiss on them, “but now i am.”

- he chuckles, and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, while then eyeing the work you did. this whole manicure thing really wasn’t as bad as phinks thought. in the future, there might be a chance where phinks might suggest for you to do his nails again <3

✧.* feitan

- believe it or not, feitan actually enjoys watching you paint your nails. he finds the whole process of it so satisfying whenever you do.

- the precision of each individual stroke, along with the gratification he gets whenever you perfectly paint your nails is something he'll never get tired of (except when you mess up...)

- but one day after you were finished painting your nails and waiting for it to dry (of course he was there next to you), you brain lit up with a little idea.

- "how 'bout i paint your nails for a change fei?" you asked him, to which he just looked at you stoically.

- now feitan didn't give an immediate response right away... he just had this blank look to him, a look that would be almost impossible to decipher.

-"fine," feitan decides, which makes you happy and surprised to see. You search through the colors of your little bag filled with nail polishes, but immediately stop once feitan tersely says, "black" (no surprise tbh).

- so as you find the black sitting at the bottom of the bag, he puts his hands out toward you and you get the nail polish wand ready. the thing about feitan is that his hands aren't shaky or anything so its really easy to paint!

- as you precisely cover each nail, feitan literally finds everything SOO relaxing likeeee

- watching you do your nails is one thing but being the person getting their nails painted is another!! he loves the pampering feeling you're giving him, and though his usual bare expression says otherwise, he's actually thoroughly enjoying himself!

- once you're done and they’ve dried, feitan intently looks at all of them. now you might be nervous about what your boyfriend might say, but no no no he's looking at his nails like that because he LOVES it!!

- it's really adding to his look he thinks, and under his mask feitan has this cute smile on his face.

- he then pulls down his mask to give you a small kiss to your temple :) and as he notices that you haven't painted your nails yet, he's asking if he could paint yours black so that you guys can match.

✧.* shalnark

- definitely the most lenient of the four to allow you to paint their nails!

- So the minute shalnark jokingly asks, “what if you paint my nails someday,” you immediately take it as an opportunity to do it!! when you ask him what colors he wants, he just leaves it all to you so that you can surprise him (”pick whatever color you want, _____.”).

- now obviously you’re gonna take advantage of that opportunity... which leads you wanting to do the most extravagant nail design ever-

- each finger is gonna be some different color and different design, whether it be polka dots or stripes or glitter or gems... shal literally does not KNOW what he’s got into.

- and he even realizes this the minute you take out EVERRYY single color and little design accessory you’re gonna be using on him... for sure you know that your inner nail artist is come out so shal better come thru with a tip and everything LOL

- now as you start painting his nails, the colors you’re using are... questionable to say the least, and shalnark can’t help but make a jovial grimace when he see’s them.

- “that’s an— interesting design choice you’re going for, _____!” your boyfriend says oh-so cheerfully when he see’s how you’re doing his middle finger .

- “hm? i don’t see a problem with them?” you joked back giggling, as if you weren’t trying to recreate a portrait of shalnark literally onto his nail. spoiler alert: it looks like a giant glob.

- (listen, your intention is to have fun, not to make them look pretty!)

- so once you’re on your very last nail to paint, and shalnark has experienced every stage of grief after seeing how you did them, the minute you place those last gem stones onto his left-hand pinky is when you finally announce that you’re done!

- and the minute you give him that excited (and giggly) smile, he gazes over at your creation and you two just can’t help but to laugh.

- now shalnark hopes that chrollo doesn’t call a troupe meeting anytime soon, because its practically be impossible for him to remove them off from the amount of top coat you put on them. and noticing that your nails aren’t painted, nows your turn to experience the saaame treatment.

✧.* illumi

- the idea of you painting them actually came from a dream, in which you were decorating his nails with a shiny black paint on them. though you really weren’t sure how he was going to react, you decided to give it a try and ask illumi.

- now at first, your lover just stares at you with no trace of emotion found in his eyes. in his mind he was confused. he didn’t really see the purpose of painting them or anything. they were only a weapon, nothing more nothing less.

- but you explained to him that painting his nails was honestly just for fun, something you guys could try together!

- and so illumi takes this information with ease and allows you to paint his assassin nails (even though he still didn’t really get the hype with them...)

-when you start painting his longgg nails, he’s kinda just STARING at you the whole time... it’s a little pressuring because illumi’s gaze can be a little intense sometimes.

- everytime you make a teeny mistake, he might point it out 😭 saying stuff like “you smudged it” or “there’s a spot you missed”. and this isn’t him trying to be rude or anything, illumi’s just trying to help in his eyes.

- even though things feel quiet, deep down illumi actually really likes this whole process. illumi never really got any kind of attention growing up, so seeing you putting this much effort in something as little as painting his nails, it really makes him feel appreciated.

- so yes, he’s very much enjoying the process now :) even closing his eyes in relaxation as you continue down the line of nails. once you tap your hand, signaling that you’re finished, he opens his eyes again.

- “done already,” he asks, and as you nod, deep deep down Illumi feels a little disappointed (he was really enjoying himself after all)!

- the minute he looks down, he takes his new painted nail’s in. once again... cue that blank stare. does he like them?? does he hate them?? does he—

- “they look nice,” illumi finally says, making you let out a quiet sigh in relief because you honestly can never know with him...

- even though your boyfriend’s lack of words might suggest that he didn’t think much of them, deep down, Illumi was more than impressed! he really thought they looked nice :)) that, and every time he see’s them, illumi will just be reminded of you <3

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kiatheinsomniac · 1 year

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Hello there :) please can I request a oneshot of alucard meeting and falling in love with Trevor Belmont’s sister who’s a fierce warrior but kind and caring towards others💙

──── 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ﾟ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: hope you like it ♡

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Adrian 'Alucard' Tepes x Reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 0.8k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: brief canon-typical violence

When he first met you, he had very different impressions of you and your brother. While Trevor had engaged him in a battle that was intended to be to the death, you were the one insisting on patching up his injuries later when your little quartet were taking shelter in a barn and Sypha had instructed you to watch over your brother and Alucard to assure that they didn’t try to kill each other again.

He had found it so strange that while your brother was ready to dive head-first into a fight, you were the one treating his wounds; and, for a heart-wrenching second, you reminded him of his mother.

“My brother’s a bit hot-headed but it’s saved our asses enough times. Of course it’s got us into trouble more often though but that’s just a consequence, I suppose.” You had said as you covered his wound.

“And you?” He asked.

“I’m the one that’s able to talk our way in and out of anything.” You gave him a gentle smile with a hint of cheek to it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──��

As it turned out, you were as agile with a sword as you were with your tongue. Alucard had watched you in awe as you cut down night creatures, using not only your weapon but the environment around you as to never lose an advantage. You had turned towards him afterwards, brow still furrowed in concentration as you wiped a splatter of blood from your cheek. When your eyes met his golden ones, you had brightened up entirely and given him a victorious smile.

Around the campfire that evening – wary to not let your brother see – you had reached up to clean the dried blood from Adrian’s face with such care. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours as you looked at him with such tenderness. His heart fluttered in his chest at your gentle and attentive touch and it felt so intimate to be alone with you like this. Did you intend for it to be so? Is that why Trevor wasn’t here even though your brother had watched you patch up Adrian’s wounds before?

He missed your touch when you were done and said that the two of you should head back to Trevor and Sypha.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your chest felt tight as you waved them off, watching the wagon leave the castle and hold. You had never been apart from your brother, the two of you had always had each other (more often than not, you had only had each other) and now you wouldn’t see him for months. It was a lot to handle but you didn’t want to tag along with them and be a third wheel while Adrian was left behind at such a difficult time for him.

While you missed Trevor and Sypha – who had become your first real girl friend – you were beyond happy that you had chosen to stay with Adrian. The world seemed more colourful with him and every little thing you did with him was so exciting, even if it was just boarding up broken windows in the castle or cooking dinner together.

But what truly made you relieved that you had stayed was when you would wake in the night to the sound of sobbing. More often than not, you would find him in his childhood bedroom, empty bottles around him while he was on the floor, curled up on himself and crying. Each time, you would take him into your arms despite whatever slurred protests he would throw your way. You’d sober him up and help him clean up in the morning as you helped to treat his hangover with a herbal blend that you had always given Trevor after a rough night.

One evening, when he was sober but he had gone as quiet as he always did when you would later find him drunk at the site of his father’s death, you had managed to get him to talk. You had taken him into your arms once again and managed to talk him through everything, to calm him down and get him to smile once more. When you withdrew to gently wipe the tears from his face, he had thought back to that night at the campsite and realised that he had fallen in love with you then, that he had been carrying it with him since and every day alone with you in this castle had only fuelled those embers into a fire.

You had frozen up for a moment when you realised that, unlike that time at the campsite, his gaze wasn’t on your eyes but on your mouth instead. The wind outside and the crackles from the fireplace seemed to melt into silence around you and all you could hear was your heartbeat, maybe even Adrian’s too, as you leaned in closer and closer until your lips met in a kiss that filled you with warmth. You held each other tighter against each other’s bodies as you kissed slowly, pouring out unspoken confessions and passions all at once as you fell deeper into one another.

Nothing needed to be said when your eyes met as you pulled away.

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#adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard #castlevania alucard #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #alucard x reader #castlevania x reader #netflix castlevania #castlevania

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kaladinkholins · 4 months

Text

Seeing fan discussions about Blue Eye Samurai and especially Mizu's identity is so annoying sometimes. So let me just talk about it real quick.

First off, I have to emphasise that different interpretations of the text are always important when discussing fiction. That's how the whole branch of literary studies came to be, and what literary criticism and analysis is all about: people would each have their own interpretation of what the text is saying, each person applying a different lens or theory through which to approach the text (ie. queer theory, feminist theory, reader response theory, postcolonial theory, etc) when analysing it. And while yes, you can just take everything the authors say as gospel, strictly doing so would leave little room for further analysis and subjective interpretation, and both of these are absolutely necessary when having any meaningful discussion about a piece of media.

With that being said, when discussing Blue Eye Samurai, and Mizu's character in particular, I always see people only ever interpret her through a queer lens. Because when discussing themes of identity, yes, a queer reading can definitely apply, and in Mizu's story, queer themes are definitely present. Mizu has to hide her body and do her best to pass in a cisheteronormative society; she presents as a man 99% of the time and is shown to be more comfortable in men's spaces (sword-fighting) than in female spaces (homemaking). Thus, there's nothing wrong with a queer reading at all. Hell, some queer theorists interpret Jo March from Little Women as transmasc and that's totally valid, because like all analyses, they are subjective and argumentative; you have the choice to agree with an interpretation or you can oppose it and form your own.

To that end, I know many are equally adamant that Mizu is strictly a woman, and that's also also a completely valid reading of the text, and aligns with the canon "Word of God", as the creators' intention was to make her a woman. And certainly, feminist themes in the show are undeniably present and greatly colour the narrative, and Episode 4 & 5 are the clearest demonstrations of this: Mizu's protectiveness of Madame Kaji and her girls, Mizu's trauma after killing Kinuyo, her line to Akemi about how little options women have in life, and the way her husband had scorned her for being more capable than him in battle.

I myself personally fall into the camp of Mizu leaning towards womanhood, so i tend to prefer to use she/her pronouns for her, though I don't think she's strictly a cis woman, so I do still interpret her under the non-binary umbrella. But that's besides my point.

My gripe here, and the thing that spurred me to write this post, is that rarely does this fandom even touch upon the more predominant themes of colonialism and postcolonial identities within the story. So it definitely irks me when people say that the show presenting Mizu being cishet is "boring." While it's completely fine to have your opinion and to want queer rep, a statement like that just feels dismissive of the rest of the representation that the show has to offer. And it's frustrating because I know why this is a prevalent sentiment; because fandom culture is usually very white, so of course a majority of the fandom places greater value on a queer narrative (that aligns only with Western ideas of queerness) over a postcolonial, non-Western narrative.

And that relates to how, I feel, people tend to forget, or perhaps just downplay, that the crux of Mizu's internal conflict and her struggle to survive is due to her being mixed-race.

Because while she can blend in rather seamlessly into male society by binding and dressing in men's clothing and lowering her voice and being the best goddamn swordsman there is, she cannot hide her blue eyes. Even with her glasses, you can still see the colour of her eyes from her side profile, and her glasses are constantly thrown off her face in battle. Her blue eyes are the central point to her marginalisation and Otherness within a hegemonic society. It's why everyone calls her ugly or a monster or a demon or deformed; just because she looks different. She is both white and Japanese but accepted in neither societies. Her deepest hatred of herself stems primarily from this hybridised and alienated identity. It's the whole reason why she's so intent on revenge and started learning the way of the sword in the first place; not to fit in better as a man, but to kill the white men who made her this way. These things are intrinsic to her character and to her arc.

Thus, to refuse to engage with these themes and dismiss the importance of how the representation of her racial Otherness speaks to themes of colonialism and racial oppression just feels tone-deaf to the show's message. Because even if Mizu is a cishet woman in canon, that doesn't make her story any less important, because while you as a white queer person living in the West may feel unrepresented, it is still giving a voice to the stories of people of colour, mixed-race folks, and the myriad of marginalised racial/ethnic/cultural groups in non-Western societies.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #fandom critical #blue eye samurai meta #wank.mp3 #shut up haydar #fandom.rtf #this is a bit of rant but the prevalent whiteness of fandom in general just gets on my nerves i'm sorry #giving me flashbacks to a:tla fandom fr cuz it's the same shit! people love to devalue the stories of non-white non-western identities #also to be clear i am a southeast asian living in southeast asia and similar to mizu i am often alienated for having mixed ethnic ancestry #and even for speaking english (bcs my granddad served the fuckin. british colonials. so my fam speaks mostly in english)#cuz where im from it's still extremely hegemonic racist patriarchal misogynistic homophobic like the setting in the show #so like even though the story is set in historical japan and may seem far-removed from the experiences of a US or european audience #those of us outside the west and in the global south still face a lot of the struggles that mizu goes through till this very day #so please dont just dismiss that. it feels incredibly tone-deaf #okay rant over

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extremelyblackandwhite · 2 years

Photo

ʟᴜꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛꜱ ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ

pairing: ares!bucky x aphrodite!reader

warnings: forced arranged marriage, angst, cheating, liberties with greek mythology canon (i.e. i do what i want with the canon), smut (18+), oral (male receiving), worshipping

inspired by the myth of ares and aphrodite’s affair

She’d been gone for a while, a while which was considered too long. The God of Gods had merely thought she was pulling a silly tantrum, still upset over her recent marriage, yet once it came word to him that the mortal world was in shambles for far too long when it came to love and lust, he immediately sent Hermes to fetch the goddess of love from her haven in Sparta. She returned against her will, her beautiful face refusing to contort into any smile as she was brought back to Mount Olympus. She refused to even look at Zeus, merely passing by him without as much of a sign of respect - instead, choosing to play the dutiful wife and walking towards her husband’s palace, yet all she wanted to see was him, James. She couldn’t, she knew she couldn’t so she mainly kept on her merry way towards her husband’s resting place.

As she walked in, he was once again busy metalworking so she distracted herself with the new weaponry hanged on the walls. From swords crafted of legendary metals to legendary kings, to shields and armour, it was almost as if entering a war without its soldiers. Usually, she would find herself lost in each piece, her fingers tracing the blades softly enough so it wouldn’t break through her skin, yet a familiar piece of metalwork caught her attention. There, hanging on the wall almost like a trophy, a gold and metal arm, the same arm she recognised didn’t belong to this wall.

- You’re back early. - her husband finally acknowledged her presence, turning from his work to face her. - Did you get distracted in your travels?

- That’s James’ arm. - she said, shock painted over her face.

- I shall not give my work to the undeserving.

- Why would he be undeserving? I thought all twelve Olympians were deserving. At least that’s what you said when we married, remember?

- I respect you, Aphrodite. - she stared at him with an almost angry look, not angry enough it clashed with the vibe she usually put up for people she didn’t trust, but unkind enough to look threatening. - I expect you to respect me as well.

- What would James’ arm have anything to do with my respect towards you?

- I know what you’ve done.

- Of course you’d have your lackeys following me around.

- You don’t deny it?

- Why should I? - she crossed her arms, a small tantalising smirk forming on her rose coloured lips. - I just find it funny how you’re allowed to criticise me when you’ve fathered children with several nymphs.

His facade broke as he grabbed her elbow, keeping her close by, painfully unaware of what she could do. She always thought it best to keep it hidden, but part of her blood boiled once he dared touch her without her permission. She’d given punishments for much less; yet the thought of James and what could happen to her as well as the facade she had to maintain. She had no choice.

- You are my wife, you will respect me as such.

- I am no such thing. - she shook her elbow off him. - Touch me again and you will wish you hadn’t?

- And what are you gonna do?

Her blood boiled over but she avoided a major conflict, instead turning around and exiting her husband’s abode. An aura of blood lust followed her as she passed down Olympus, a fair sight to see such beauty mixed with the need to cause chaos. She couldn’t help it, it was part of her own essence, a daughter of Uranus herself. She continued with her walk, passing all the other deities and small nymphs who merely allowed her to pass by, all gossiping about her affair as if she had been the first goddess who decided to have an extra marital relationship. She hadn’t even been asked if she wanted to be married, she’d just been told.

She made her way towards Ares’ place, entering like a thief and expecting to see him training like he usually did whenever he was not in war. However, she merely saw the swords and bows either on the ground or neatly stored away, and that smell of him, of fire and forest, was nowhere to be sensed. Her expression dropped as her bare feet padded through the sanded arena and further into his resting place. He had to have one of the most interesting resting places of all of Olympus - a massive arena covered with sand surrounded it yet at the centre laid his resting place with soft draped red and golden fabrics covering a bed. Not even while resting was he outside the trait which was the only thing associated with him. Footprints were left in the wet sand as she made her way towards the centre but it was too dark to make up any of him. All she could see was his silhouette.

- Don’t come near. - his voice, horse and tired, echoed throughout the arena, stopping her on her path.

- It’s me, James.

- Then definitely don’t come near. - she still couldn’t see him, but could hear the rustling of the sheets as he turned around, the silhouette of his back facing him.

- I’m sorry for leaving without telling you, I ... I had to leave, had to clear my mind.

- I could never be angry at you for retreating to your safe place. In all honesty, my goddess, I could never resent you for anything.

- Then why won’t you let me see you? - she took a testing step forward but the lights were still dimmed lowly enough she could only see the outline of his body, briefly lit by candle light.

She hoped he’d let her see him, hoped he’d let her see the face which had been haunting her the past month. Turns out even in Sparta, a place where he wasn’t even worshipped, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. Every warrior reminded her of him and every love sick woman reminded her of her own self. Sometimes, later at night when she was laying in bed, she could hear his moans against her ear and his touch against her skin. And now, now that she was so close to him, it felt even further than before. He sighed, the sound of rustling sheets returning.

- I can’t let you see me like this.

- It does not matter. - she took yet another step, rebellious to the distance between them. - Please.

- I don’t want your memory of me to be tainted, my goddess. Please. - her heart tightened as she heard those words. - I’m sure you’re aware ...

- I don’t care. Please let me see you.

- Are you demanding it?

- Yes.

James didn’t light anymore candles, instead he merely pushed the curtains away, showing his figure to the goddess of beauty herself. A part of him died as her gaze immediately went to the arm which had been stolen to him while he had been asleep. He didn’t look the part, didn’t feel worth of even being looked at by her. No matter how much he’d missed her, and he had missed her, he wished she would’ve remained in Sparta for longer, long enough where he could’ve sorted the problem.

- Oh my love ... - there was no hiding from her. It was as if she was feeling every single emotion of his, her pink dress following her as she kneeled in the middle of his parted legs.

Her hands cupped his face, her eyes filled with both sweetness for the man she love and ire as if she were ready to fight any negative ideas. Her touch alone was enough to lighten his spirits, but as he looked to the place where his missing limb should’ve laid, that guilty returned. Her thumb carefully rubbed his cheek in circles as she leaned up to kiss him. He swore he didn’t deserve it and she swore she was wicked by forsaking her own marriage bounds - but if it feel so right, how could it be wrong? She’s supposed to know better as the goddess of love, but she didn’t. None of them knew better.

- You could never taint my memory. - she whispered against his lips, her forehead against his. - I’m so sorry.

- I want to hold you. - his voice trembled as he attempted to wrap his arms around the woman he loved, but found himself unsuccessful. - I can’t ... I can’t hold you.

- I can. - she climbed on top of his lap, her arms wrapping around as much of him as she could. Her head leaned against what was left of his shoulder, trying to take as much memory from his as she could. - I can always hold you.

She turned her head towards him, meeting his lips yet once more. It wasn’t angry or desperate like their other meetings had been, it was soft and filled with sadness as if they were to merely disintegrate in their own sorrow if they were to stop kissing. However, they eventually broke off the kiss, her eyes meeting his azure ones before she started to kiss down his neck.

He let out a soft groan as she paid particular attention to his sweet spot, her teeth softly nibbling and sucking at the spot as her hands made do of his linen clothing, pushing them away from his body. James was just stunning to her, the pure picture of beauty and sensuality all together - her hands ran down his torso, a path which her lips followed until she reached his Adonis’ belt.

- You don’t have to do that. - he spoke as her eyes looked up at him.

- I want to. Why don’t you let me worship you, this time?

He groaned as he felt her warm lips cross over his mound of hair and kiss down his erected dick which had became hard the moment she sat on his lap. She kissed down to his tip, her tongue flattening against it, collecting the salty pre cum on her tongue. Her eyes sparkled up, looking devilishly at him, the specimen of manly virility.

- Don’t ... don’t tease. - his voice broke as she licked a stripe up his cock, her hands foundling his balls.

She took him in her mouth, his tip resting heavy against her tongue as she took him further. He threw his head back, an animalistic groan exiting his throat. She smirked, hollowing her cheeks around him. James swore he was in heaven as she took him further, her small hands gripping whatever didn’t fit past those beautiful rose coloured lips.

- Shit, Y/N ... fuck ... - his hand gripped the edge of the bed, not wanting to hurt her. He started to thrust in and out of her mouth, using her like his own toy as her soft lips rubbed against the texture of his cock.

He looked down at her, her eyes watering as she attempted to continue with her pace, her free hand gripping at his thigh and his nails racking down the toned, tanned skin. His movements turned animalistic as his hand moved from the edge of the bed to grip her hair.

- Hm ... fuck! - he whined, his grip on her hair unforgivable as her moans vibrated against his cock. - Fuck, love ... my god ...

She knew he was close, his cock twitching as he came inside her mouth, his cum coating her tongue and tastebuds while some dripped down the side of her lips. She swallowed all she could, her thumb rubbing what laid her face and bringing it to her tongue before she climbed back in bed, her arms wrapped around him.

- We could run away. - she said in delirium.

- It’d never work. - he kissed her forehead. - Who would do your duties?

- Hera.

- My mother can barely keep her marriage afloat. - that seemed to put a smile on her face.

- Then what do we do?

- Every month we run to Sparta and forget of what’s ahead.

- Something’s ahead, isn’t it?

- Don’t worry. - she cuddled against him. - We’ll worry when it comes.

- It’s gonna be bad isn’t it?

- It’s gonna be disastrous, my goddess.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky/reader #bucky x reader #bucky/you #bucky x you #bucky/y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky smut

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kikis-writing-world · 2 years

Note

Can you give us any more information on your Oberyn/Ellaria wip please?? 😊

Happily! Thanks so much for asking! I'm guessing you mean the reincarnation/soul mate fic, since the A/B/O doesn't for sure have Ellaria in it yet... If I'm wrong, just let me know and I'll talk about that one too lol

More info on some of my WIPs here. Check it out and let me know if there's any that interest you!

In the canon era, Seren (F!OC) works for a cruel man who has underpaid her and mistreated her as a way of keeping her from leaving. He boasts being one of the finest tailors in Dorne, but is really taking credit for her hard work. Oberyn is gifted a sash she embroidered and loves it. He and Ellaria track down where it is from and go to meet the person making them.

Visiting the little shop, they see through the lies. They realize Seren is doing all of the work and offer her a job at the palace instead, where she'll be compensated fairly for her work. Of course she jumps at the chance. Over time, interest between the 3 grows into a full relationship.

I have plans for how it follows canon (loosely anyways, it's still fanfiction lol) up until... well, until the trio becomes a duo... then a single... then a none. Very sad, very angsty, and Doran is a bit of a prick after his brother dies.

BUT THE STORY ISN'T OVER, BECAUSE REINCARNATION AND I DO WHAT I WANT

Modern day, Seren is a student at a fashion institute. She is struggling to pull together a collection as a final project, which includes a runway fashion show. Enter Ellaria, a newer fashion model who is starting to get noticed. She is going to work the fashion show and works with Seren closely to make sure the garments are perfectly tailored to her body. Ellaria is charming, charismatic and openly affectionate to those in her circle (we know this) so it isn't a surprise that Seren starts to fall for her...

That crumbles when Ellaria's fiancé appears... doesn't it? The universe gives our trio a second chance at a happy ending, because they deserve it.

Below the cut is an early version of the prologue, when it was "Reader" and not an OC. I still love the way it's written and how it begins weaving their stories together.

WARNINGS: Unedited/Unbetaed. Mentions of mistreatment (Seren is more or less forced into a sweat-shop kind of situation,) mention of a parent's passing,

The room was hot and stuffy, sweat threatening to drip into your eyes as you worked. You spared a moment to wipe your brow with the back of your hand, making sure to keep your palms and fingers as dry as possible. Sewing with sweaty hands wasn’t easy, and you needed to finish this scarf quickly. You’d already been berated for it taking so long in the first place and, if Damek was to be believed, the customer was coming to pick it up today. It wouldn’t be the first time he had lied to get you to work harder, work faster, to push your limits. Still, you didn’t dare slow down on the chance that he was telling the truth.

The scarf was so ornate, he never should have promised the turnaround he did. The stitching so small it appeared as fine lines across the silken fabric, the pattern so detailed. You had been working on it for so many hours you were seeing it in your dreams - the short time you were allowed to sleep for, anyway. The cream fabric, the golden thread, it all swirled together as you slept, like a magical potion.

You didn’t know what time it was, unable to see how high the blazing Dornish sun sat in the sky. There were no windows in the back room, lest someone find you working. No one was to know that Damek wasn’t the tradesman behind the delicate stitching. The bold, stylized “D” of a logo that was supposed to brand each piece as his was a slap in the face every time you stitched it. It was your blood, sweat and tears that went into every garment, not his.

You’d thought about leaving, but it was a fleeting fantasy. A fairy tale you whispered to herself as you fell asleep, trying to invoke happy dreams. Your own colourful shop in the market. Happy townsfolk breezing in and out to browse. Taking orders for bespoke pieces such as the one in your hands now. A bright smile on your face as you reaped the benefits of your hard work. A smile so wide, you weren’t even sure you knew how to anymore.

The last stitch was finally done. You thanked the gods you had completed it before Damek had a chance to charge into the room, demanding the finished piece. Your fingers were numb from working hours without stopping. Even the calluses you had spent years growing as you mastered sewing were no match for the amount of work the scarf had needed.

You laid it out on the table, carefully examining for any errors or loose threads. Damek had told you it was for an important customer. You thought all of your customers were important, but you knew what he was implying. The scarf was for a rich customer. Someone was going to pay handsomely for all the hours of work. Too bad you would see next to none of that coin.

The wages had diminished slowly over time. At first Damek paid you for your time, supplying all the threads and fabrics you needed to create the pieces. Soon he would take more money away if you requested premium fabrics, promising to share the profits when the more expensive item sold. He never did. After that, he decided to charge you for room and board. It was a small price at first, but it grew steadily. You had been making enough to buy most things you fancied and keep a small stash of savings. Now he fed you scraps for the withheld money and you received a copper or two a month - unless he forgot, of course.

Nowhere to go, not enough coin to survive elsewhere, so you stayed. You sewed. You daydreamed of a better future, or your happy childhood before your mother’s passing, but reality always crashed down.

“Is it done yet, girl?” Damek huffed as he opened the door to your room. It brought in a breeze, still warm from the hot climate but cooling enough in the cramped space. “The customer is makin’ their way through town. Be here any minute.”

You smoothed the fabric out with your hands, pressing out any wrinkles as you finished her once-over. “Yes. I just finished it.”

“Good, giv’it here.” He ordered, holding out his beefy hand. You folded the scarf carefully, not wanting anything to happen to it before it got to the customer. Hours and hours went into making it the treasure it was now; something you were proud of despite the conditions you had created it in.

“Yes, this’ll do.” He nodded, looking over the embroidery. He haphazardly unfolded it, making you flinch. He examined the corner, making sure that the logo - his logo - was properly stitched into the piece. He ran a large finger over it, smiling widely. If this scarf was going to a rich customer, he wanted to make sure anyone who asked where it came from would be directed right back to him. He didn’t even look back at you as he left the room, eyes locked on the shimmering fabric woven into the cream coloured silk.

He’d left you with no orders. No bespoke pieces to be made or colourful garments to entice passersby to stop in. You felt your body sag in relief and exhaustion. Leaning against the wall, you let yourself close your eyes. He might wake you in 10 minutes or he might wake you in an hour, but until then you would rest.

Oberyn smiled down at little Loreza, sitting in his lap and reaching for the shiny gold chain he’d just unwrapped. Her eyes were wide as she reached her chubby little palms out for it as it glittered in the sun streaming through the pillars of the courtyard.

“I think Loreza may like it even more than I do.” He joked, winking at Elia who had chosen the gift for him. He let the girl grasp at the metal, feeling it in her hands as she cooed at the jewellery.

“She likes pretty things, just like her mother.” Ellaria added with a smile.

“She likes expensive things, just like her mother.” Oberyn countered, making the older sand snakes laugh. The younger ones joined in even if they didn’t understand the joke. They wanted to be part of the festivities and cheer.

Ellaria scoffed, feigning annoyance despite the smile on her face.

“My turn, Papa!” Obella begged, holding something behind her back. “Dorea and I picked it out together.”

“Alright, alright, little love.” Oberyn chuckled, calming his daughter as he set aside the golden chain. Loreza watched it go, reaching for it as it fell farther from her grasp.

Obella skipped up to her father before revealing the hidden present. In her hands she held a scarf, cream coloured with golden accents. Her face was full of excitement as she eagerly awaited her father’s reaction.

“Oh darling, it’s beautiful.” He gushed, taking it gently out of her hands. He unfolded the fabric, examining the shiny golden thread that was so finely woven into the silk. Loreza babbled in agreement as she clutched a corner in her tiny fist. “You two picked this out all on your own?”

“Mama he’ped.” Dorea chimed in, making Obella nod in agreement.

Oberyn ran a finger over the delicate stitching, making the shape of a sun. He followed the pattern, watching as it pieced together elements of a story. The legend of the forming of Sunspear told through golden swirls. Down in the corner, a flourished “D” stood as the mark of the artist.

“I love it.” He told them honestly. “I can’t wait to wear it.”

“I he’p!” Dorea popped up as fast as her little legs would let her. She took the silken cloth out of her father’s hands, having to tug a little to get it away from her youngest sister.

Oberyn laughed as the child draped his shoulders in the cloth. When she finished, he pulled her tightly to his side, kissing the crown of her head as he thanked her.

He felt the scarf-turned-shawl adjust over his shoulders. He didn’t need to look to recognize the gentle touch of his paramour. He leaned into it, relishing the attention.

“Good Name Day, my love?” Ellaria purred into his ear as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

“Perfect.” He sighed, bouncing little Loreza in his lap as he squeezed Dorea once more.

#WIP talks #wookie tales #anonymous

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 years

Text

Keldabe

Mand´alor Din Djarin x Mandalorian Male Reader

Summary: Meeting Din Djarin had been the start of something great. Who knew you would fall in love, and that the man who you had feelings for would become Mand´alor.

I have decided some colours and details for the readers armor, but you can imagine something else if you’d like.

Ashamed to admit I haven’t finished the Mandalorian show so I’m going off of what I’ve read other places lol.

The reader’s armor is Orange (a lust for life), Blue (Reliability), and Tan (Loyalty). The colour of a mandos armor has meaning and fits the person, or at least I think it was canon until it changed but I’m keeping it. I took the meanings from the wiki.

Ill write more if you’re interested, especially if its requests with any mandos or clones since I love them more than anything.

All Mandalorian language used in this is from my memory.

Requests are open.

This is not proofread so ignore any spelling errors.

Translations for those who need it

Ad, shortened from Adiik = child

Beroya = Bounty hunter

Foundling = children adopted by mandos

Kar´ta = heart

Mandokarla = The right stuff that makes you Mandalorian.

Buy´ce = helmet.

Vod = brother, doesn’t have to be blood related

Beskar´gam = Mandalorian armor

Keldabe = headbutt, but also used for when you press your helmeted forheads together in something like a kiss.

Cyara = Love, sweetheart, a term of affection between lovers.

You had started traveling with Din not long before he had become man Mand´alor, shortly before he gave up his ad to the jedi. You had stumbled across each other, whilst you were on a bounty hunt. You are, or rather were, your clans Beroya. It was a place you had battled many of your clansmen for, and you had risen to the top as the best warrior out of them all.

You had been hunting a former empire official, who had a very hefty sum on their head. During this, you ran into a Mandalorian, went by the name Mando. Now, it could get kind of confusing, but you accepted his beliefs, as the way could be many things and followed in many ways.

Mando helped you catch your bounty, and in return you decided to help him as well. It was good you partnered up with him when you did, because soon his ad was taken, and he ran like a headless beast to get his foundling back.

You followed close after, and before you knew it you were fighting people from all around you, covering Mandos back as he took on the individual who stole his ad. When you heard the sound of a lightsaber, you wanted nothing more than to look back, but you had to focus on the current enemy. Before you knew it, the battle was over, and looking back you saw Mando, holding the legendary Darksaber. Part of you wanted to fall to your knee, and place your first over your kar´ta and swear yourself to him. Because from how shortly you’d known him, you knew he was the best option for a mand´alor there was. The man was pretty much overflowing with Mandokarla, even though he didn’t see it himself.

But you held yourself back, and helped him fight his way through his enemies and get his foundling back. When he took off his buy´ce, you almost choked on your own tongue at the beautiful man in front of you. Your knees felt like they were made of jello, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close and kiss away his tears.

The next time was a blur, even for you. Suddenly Mando had given his child to the last jedi in the galaxy, and after the jedi left it was just you two. Mando, or rather Din as he told you, had no ship. You had left your ship behind where you met, with some trusted people, and had gone with him.

But to your surprise, Boba Fett of all people showed up. His ship looked like it had seen better days. When he pulled of his buy´ce you couldn’t help but make googly eyes at his handsome scarred face. Of course, he wasn’t as attractive as Din, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t look.

Boba looked sorrowful when he saw Dins state, the older making his way over and clutching his vod close. Din broke, sobbing into his shoulder and babbling in a mix of Mandalorian and other languages about his ad, and what happened.

You came with when they left, and ended up sharing a room with Din. It seemed the slaver didn’t have much extra room, but you made do. As Din laid in his bed riddled with grief, you pulled off your buy´ce and held it in your hands. On the helmet was painted Jaig eyes, a design you remembered picking because you had seen clone troopers with it during the war. They had seemed so strong and brave in your mind, and you wanted to be like them.

Days passed, and even after reaching tattooine Din stayed swallowed in his grief. Boba, Fennec, and yourself did everything you could to support him, and he slowly got better with time. You and Din became even closer as you taught him how to use a blade, as he only had practice with one handed swords and daggers, and he taught you how to use a spear.

The both of you started pulling of your buy´ce around each other, having grown comfortable around the other. You hoped the flush wasn’t visible on your face when Din would come up behind you to fix your posture with the spear, or when he leant close to whisper instructions into your ear.

Boba and Fennec definitely knew of your growing feelings, going so far as to tease you when Din wasn’t around. You couldn’t deny it as much as you wanted, why would you? Din was incredible. He was so strong and smart, he was loyal to a tee and did everything he could for those he loved.

The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine when you started taking bounties again. First it was smaller bounties on tattooine, before it slowly spread to other planets in the outer rim. The two of you stuck close, and had even become close enough to remove all of your beskar´gam around each other when between bounties.

Soon news spread of a Mandalorian in unpainted silver beskar´gam, who possessed the darksaber. Some said he looked like someone out of a legend, and that the light would reflect off of the unpainted beskar and make it glow all the colours there was. Of course, tales of yourself spread as well, as the first loyal follower of the new mand´alor. In bright orange, blue and tan armor. Orange for a lust for life, blue for reliability and tan for loyalty, the perfect individual to swear themselves to their new leader.

There were apparently more Mandalorians left than you had thought, and they all seemed to hold their breath, as if to see what this new candidate would do. Din was very put off by the idea of being a ruler, first trying to make Boba take the saber which was denied. He even tried to give it to you, but you ended up saying something about him being the best leader your people could need.

In the end he gave up, and accepted his new title. He really didn’t know what to do, where to lead your people or how to even unite them. It was this predicament you were in now. The two of you sat on Dins new ship, a gift from Boba, and were going over plans.

“You know, they’re gonna make you marry someone. The elders?” you joked, nudging him with your shoulder. He groaned, burying his buy´ce into his hands. You heard him mutter something, but it was so quiet his microphone in his buy´ce didn’t pick it up.

“What? Couldn’t hear you” you said, leaning closer to him in a teasing manner. Sure, it made your heart hurt, the idea of him marrying someone else, but you also wouldn’t hold him back. “I don’t… I don’t wanna marry just someone. I want to marry someone important to me” he murmured, just barely loud enough for the mic to pick up.

“Oh? Have someone in mind?” you joked, trying to hide how much your heart ached. Luckily you were wearing your buy´ce, so he couldn’t read your face. He was silent, and you were sure his face was beet red under the beskar layer. “Come oooon. You can tell me” You whined, leaning down so close your buy´ce almost bonked together.

Din murmured inaudibly to himself some more, seemingly hyping himself up for something. When he turned to talk to you, the clang of beskar hitting beskar rang out in the cockpit you were in. Your foreheads had smacked right into each other, in an accidental keldabe. The two of you both started sputtering in embarrassment, you almost falling backwards out of your seat.

The two of you found yourselves back in your seats shortly after. The air was thick and awkward. You knew you were blushing from how hot your face got. It sounded like you both were searching for words, but coming up with nothing.

Finally Din spoke. “The… the reason I don’t want to marry someone random is because… well… Id much rather… marry you” he muttered, wringing his hands in his laps as his eyes were locked on the floor. Your heart shot to your throat. What? He couldn’t be meaning that. Someone like Din?

It seemed as if your silence racked up his nerves, and he turned to look at you and said “please… just say something”. Before you could stop yourself, you jumped forward and placed your forehead against his, your buy´ce not ringing out this time as it was with less force. It seemed to be answer enough, as his hands hesitated but wrapped around your torso and pulled you close, almost pulling your entire weight out of your chair and into his lap.

When the excitement died down, the two of you kept your foreheads pressed together. “I… I take that means you like me as well?” Din said, his voice sounding breathy like the two of you had been kissing through your lips instead of your helmets. “Of course,” you laughed. “I think I’ve liked you since we met Din… no… cyara”. You definitely knew he was blushing this time, as he sputtered softly, before pulling back and burying his head in your shoulders. You threw your head back and laughed, tightening your arms around his shoulders.

You would worry about the duties of being mand´alor, and what being his lover meant for you. Right now it was just you two, the stars outside the window, and the feelings you had both been suppressing for too long.

#male reader #star wars x male reader #din djarin x male reader #mandalorian x male reader #star wars imagine #din djarin imagine #mandalorian imagine #star wars headcanon #din djarin headcanon #mandalorian headcanon #din djarin #mandalorian reader #i had a hyperfixation with mandalorian culture #all the mando language used in this is from memory #mand´alor #mand´alor din djarin

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt #aaron hotchner x gn reader #hotch x gn reader #request

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pumpkin-stars · 3 years

Text

✨ PEDRO CHARACTERS MASTERLIST ✨

Updated 23 June 22

Main Masterlist

Space Cowboys ‘Verse Series. Din/GN!Reader/Ezra. (mostly) canon compliant to star wars and prospect. updated 02 May 21. currently 13k.

Ni Kar’tayl Gar Darasuum Din was friends with another foundling as a child, they never saw each other’s faces, both shrouded in beskar from everyone. But feelings form from actions and words, not sight. AKA Din gets married to someone equally touchstarved. GN!Reader. Fluff. 1.3k.

Comfort There’s only one bed on the razor crest, which makes for interesting sleeping arrangements. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.6k.

Pitch Black Din makes love in the dark. GN!Reader. Smut. 0.5k.

Caught Kinktober Day 7 (Role-play). GN!Reader. Smut. 0.9k.

Chosen Kinktober Day 25 (Breeding). Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.8k.

Need Kinktober Day 31 (Monsterfuck!). AFAB!Reader. Smut. 2.3k.

Misc. Headcanons about the Armourer

Space Cowboys ‘Verse Series. Din/GN!Reader/Ezra. (mostly) canon compliant to star wars and prospect. updated 02 May 21. currently 13k.

Specks of Colour There’s a garden on the Pug, and you and Ezra spend your days walking laps of it. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.6k.

Even Score Kinktober Day 1 (Face Sitting/Cream-pie). AFAB!Reader. Smut 0.7k.

Breathe Kinktober Day 27 (Swallowing). GN!Reader. Smut. 1.0k.

Ezra relaxing on the pug headcanon

Comforting Ezra after a nightmare headcanon

Enemies to lovers headcanon

Warming’ Up Joel takes a bath in a stream and you help him warm up afterwards. AFAB!Reader. Smut. 2.8k.

Temptation Kinktober Day 6 (Deep Throat). Thief!Marcus Pike. Fem!Reader. Smut. 1.6k.

Mix Up Kinktober Day 16 (Accidental Stimulation). Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.6k.

✨ Coming soon ✨ Maybe more of this?

Can’t Be Better Max grants your wish, just not in the way either of you expected. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.8k.

Just Maxwell Post-movie!Max is trying to cope with less money, more relaxation, and more laundry than he knows what to do with. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.8k.

A Deserved Break Kinktober Day 9 (Lingerie). Fem!Reader. Smut. 1.1k.

Recovery Kinktober Day 22 (Thigh Riding/Praise Kink). Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.7k.

Strung Up Kinktober Day 12 (Begging). Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.5k.

Croak and Dagger An undercover mission in New Orleans leads Agent Whiskey to a couple with a less than legal business plan, who want to get their hands on his cover story’s apparent fortune. Things don’t go quite to plan, and his partner, Agent Rum, is tasked with finding a cure. Fem!Reader. Fluff & Angst. Ongoing Series.

Debrief Your job goes off without a hitch and Dave debriefs you in the shower. The rest of the team try to block you out. Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.8k.

Reconciliation Kinktober Day 4 (Knife Kink). Fem!Reader. Smut. 1.6k.

Temptation Kinktober Day 6 (Deep Throat). Thief!Marcus Pike. Fem!Reader. Smut. 1.6k.

Magpie Kinktober Day 28 (Almost Getting Caught). Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.9k.

Magnetism Kinktober Day 5 (Uniforms). AFAB!Reader. Smut. 0.6k

✨ Coming soon ✨ Maybe more of this?

Mi Amor Javi's got a rare night off, and he's determined to show you how much he's missed having you beside him. And below him. And above him. AFAB!Reader. Smut. 0.5k.

Sudden Shower Javi walks you home from the market and you get caught in a downpour. So, of course, you have to dance. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.5k.

Taking care of you after a trip to the ER headcanon

Waiting It’s the last night before Frankie’s final deployment. He doesn’t want you to worry while he’s gone. GN!Reader. Angsty fluff. 1.4k.

His Eyes Only Frankie writes a letter home with no intention of sending it. Fem!Reader. Angst, Fluff, Smut. 0.8k.

Your Eyes Also A follow-up to ^ where you find Frankie’s letter. Fem!Reader. Fluff. 0.8k.

Better Places Kinktober Day 2 (Threesome). GN!Reader + Santiago Garcia. Smut. 1.3k.

Compromise Kinktober Day 8 (Size difference/Cunnilingus). AFAB!Reader. Smut. 0.7k.

Taking Frankie to your high school reunion headcanon

Singing to Frankie at Karaoke Night headcanon

Peaceful Living Post-Colombia, Frankie buys a farm, the boys help him get it in working order. 0.6k.

One Two Three Will and Frankie attend their first Pride Parade. 0.8k.

Popsicle Max wants to have lunch with you, but his plans are disrupted. AFAB!Reader. Crack/Smut. 1.1k.

Worst Nightmare Max wakes up in the Twilight Universe. Crack. 0.5k.

Blood Sugar Kinktober Day 10 (Hickey/Biting Marks). AFAB!Reader. Smut. 0.5k.

Helping Out Kinktober Day 29 (Period Sex). AFAB!Reader. Smut. 0.6k.

A Cozy Night In Omar’s post-fight routine involves a lot of cuddles. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.5k.

✨ Coming soon ✨

Little Bit Of Luck A lazy night in in front of the tv, a lot of kisses, and a surprise question. GN!Reader. Fluff. 1.2k.

Apartment 1B Kinktober Day 15 (Masturbation). GN!Reader. Smut. 0.6k.

Under The Moonlight Pero and Reader are both (pleasantly) surprised when their late night skinny dipping plans are disrupted by the other. Fem!Reader. Smut. 2.5k.

Queen Consorts ft. Charlie Hunnam’s King Arthur. Straight up PWP, The King and Queen spend a night with a Mercenary. Fem!Reader. Smut. 2.2k.

Winter Watching Pero takes a job at the local smithy and oggles the local baker. GN!Reader. Suggestive Fluff. 0.5k.

Good Timing Kinktober Day 14 (Bath/Shower). Fem!Reader. Smut. 0.7k.

to soften the hardest touch Series Pero and William seek shelter for the winter - where’s better than a brothel in a small town? They want food and warmth, but Pero gets a lot more… Fem!Reader. Smut. 16k.

Jealousy Oberyn doesn't get jealous, but seeing you on another man's lap makes something stir in him. GN!Reader. Fluff. 0.6k.

Unexpected Kinktober Day 21 (A/B/O). AFAB!Reader + Ellaria Sand. Smut. 1.2k.

Coming home to fresh sheets

You/They are touch-starved

They find out you’re trans (male!reader)

Reactions to you pampering them

Winning you back after rejecting you to ‘protect’ you

#stuffiwrote #din djarin/reader #ezra/reader #marcus pike/reader #maxwell lord/reader #jack daniels/reader #dave york/reader #thief/reader #marcus moreno/reader #javier peña/reader #frankie morales/reader #max phillips/reader #omar assarian/reader #zach wellison/reader #pero tovar/reader #oberyn martell/reader

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Aphrodite’s Stone [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT *sex pollen*

Summary: Your boss, Maxwell Lord, tasks you to acquire an important gemstone from the Smithsonian museum's annual gala, not realising the powers that it possesses and how it can possibly affect you when an accident occurs.

Rating: 18+ ONLY.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SMUT (sex pollen, automatic dub-con due to the nature of it being a sex pollen), female recieving oral, thigh riding, fingering, creampie, boss x employee relationship, mutual pining. No spoilers for WW84 but some slight references and mentions of canon type mythology/lore. Oh, and there's actually plot!!

Author's note: Feels like all I ever do is write for Max Lord hehe. This is my first ever sex pollen so I hope it’s okay! I tried to make it as canon-typical as I could and I’m actually really happy with the outcome. Also I haven’t written mutual pining in so long so this has been really fun!

Masterlist

"Did you get the stone?" you whispered, waltzing over to Maxwell who had been schmoozing with a few of the gala guests. He stiffened up when he heard the sweetness of your voice. Your presence always took his breath away. He cleared his throat and placed his half empty champagne glass on one of the silver trays that were getting passed around.

"No, not yet," Maxwell admitted and you sighed. "I've tried swindling the geology department but they won't budge."

"Can't imagine why," you rolled your eyes sarcastically, referencing the time earlier in the year when Max had stolen a very specific citrine stone from the Smithsonian Museum. Of course their trust in him would've been altered. Maxwell quirked an eyebrow at your brief comment and you raised your hands defensively. "Sorry sir." you looked down nervously and he nodded his head, choosing to dismiss what you'd said.

"This is where you come in," Maxwell said, clicking his tongue. Your eyes met his again with curiosity. He took your hand, carefully dragging you to a quiet corner of the party. "You can get the stone."

"Me?" you asked almost rhetorically, your eyes turning comically wide. You were his assistant. He trusted you with menial tasks such as making coffee, handing over paperwork and grabbing his mail— not acquiring some ancient artifact from a different continent.

"You can do it!" he grinned enthusiastically. You were beginning to think he was putting on his charming and persuasive television voice and you furrowed your eyebrows together unimpressed. "Carol Thomas over there, she's the director of the museum. You must make sure she doesn't see a thing. But that tall guy with the dark hair? That’s Ken, and he’s been watching you all night."

You blinked in bewilderment. "He has?" you tilted your head, looking at the man Max had pointed at.

Maxwell's gaze burned into your body as you watched the geology department interact with one another. Of course he has— Maxwell felt like saying. Every man at the damn gala had their eye on you. You looked remarkable, and you were too humble to have even noticed. He brushed off your question.

"Go over there and butter him up a little," Maxwell smirked as you turned back around to face your boss. "But not too much." he quickly added on to the end, feeling a little too defensive over you. "Find out where the stone is. Can you do that?"

"What does it look like?" you mumbled, not really liking the idea of having to flirt with a slimy looking man just to get some random rock thing.

"Ruby." Max snapped back like there was no question about it.

You looked back at Maxwell, a small gasp escaping your lips as you took in his appearance. He looked drunk with desire, and you realised how much he must've wanted that stone. Maxwell's eyes were a beautiful shade of honeyed brown that sparkled under the amber lights; they were beautiful. You felt your lips curve into a small smile of agreement and you felt Maxwell's large, ring clad hand rest on your shoulder, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You made the decision to get the stone, knowing how much it meant to him. You hadn't even realised that the primal, hungry look that crossed his face was actually nothing but pure lust for you.

The second you walked away, Maxwell picked up his champagne glass and finished it off with one quick swing, the bitter taste of alcohol rolling down his throat. He tried to shake off these feelings he had for you, deeming it as unprofessional. He knew from the very start that it was a mistake hiring you. The moment he saw you waiting outside his office to be interviewed, was the moment he had to have you. But of course, his own insecurity meant that he felt as though he couldn't act on these feelings. He may have been a charismatic TV personality but deep down, he had his own, personal reasons that made him feel smaller and weaker than everyone else. For who could ever love a man like him?

"Hey, Ken, is it?" you smiled, extending your arm and grabbing the man's hand. You immediately cringed, feeling the sticky nervous sweat that coated his skin. The dark haired archeologist pushed his glasses up the curve of his nose and shook your hand a little too aggressively.

"Wow," he muttered, looking you up and down before clearing his throat. "Uh, yes. Ken."

You fake smiled, hiding your disgust, tearing your hand away from his and rubbing your palm against the material of your dress in disgust. You wanted to kill Maxwell for making you do this. From the dark, shadowed corner in the ballroom, Maxwell watched you intently, a flame of envy burning in the pit of his stomach.

"I hear you have an exhibition happening?" you took a glass of your favourite alcoholic beverage that was being passed around by a waiter.

"Yes, but it's not ready yet." Ken revealed and you nodded your head understandingly.

"That's a shame," you sighed, a fake sadness dripping from your tongue. "I'm a sucker for gemstones."

"Yeah?" Ken asked as you peaked his curiosity. "What's your favourite kind?"

"Oh, I like the red ones," you joked, and to your surprise, Ken actually laughed.

"We have a whole sub-section on garnet," Ken admitted and your lips parted slightly, omitting a small ‘oh’ as he continued on. "It's beautiful."

"I'm actually more of a ruby type girl myself." you explained, wondering if you were evening making the slightest bit of sense. Even if you weren't, Max knew that you'd be able to wrap Ken around your finger from your good looks alone. And he was right.

"We have one ruby," Ken whispered, leaning into you. Maxwell scowled as he watched Ken push his body into yours. He was seconds away from intervening. Max wanted the stone, but not if some slimy gemologist was making you uncomfortable in the process. Maxwell paused dead in his tracks when he saw you gently push Ken away from you, laughing politely. Max decided he couldn't watch anymore and decided to walk away, finding a group of women to distract himself with.

"Can I see?" you shot Ken your best pleading eyes.

"I'm afraid not. I could pull a few strings with the garnet collection but the ruby is 3000 years old. It's from ancient Greece, and it's the last of its kind."

You pouted, turning your heel, about to walk away, when Ken grabbed your arm and stopped you. "I mean!" he called and you raised your eyebrow, trying to hide your winning smirk. "I suppose I could pull a few strings. It's in the gallery, you must go alone though. And don't tell anyone. And remember to look— not touch."

You grinned, leaning in and gently pecking Ken on the cheek. "Thank you." you said, feeling his cheeks heat up under your lips. You pulled away from him and spun around. You watched out for Carol Thomas, making sure she wasn't looking before you slipped out of the gala and made your way to the gallery.

You were truly in awe as you looked over all the different rocks, each different sizes and different colours but all equally as beautiful as each other. Your eye finally caught the attention of the ruby Max had sought after for so long. You were no expert on geology but this didn't seem like any normal ruby, it sparkled and glittered and stood out from all the others. It was caged in an acrylic box, but it took no effort for you to lift the box off the crystal and swipe it, pushing it into your purse. It barely fit, but you managed to make it work. Double checking that no one was around, you swiftly exited the gallery and made your way back to the main party.

Maxwell wasn't in the corner you had left him, but instead, he was talking to a group of women; flirting no doubt. You rolled your eyes as they tossed their hair and giggled as he leaned into them. You couldn't help but wonder what exactly he was saying to woo them. Grimacing, you stormed past the group of girls and grabbed Max's arm, tugging and pulling him away from them.

"I got the stone," you informed your boss, briefly glancing back at the girls who were scowling at you for whisking away Max. You frowned, feeling unamused.

"Are you okay?" Max asked, sounding genuienly concerned. This was so dumb— of course you were okay. You had to be okay. It was completely fine that Max was flirting with other women, it's not like he had any interest in you anyway. It's not like you owned him. He was a grown man and he could do whatever he wanted.

"Yeah." you shot back, offering him a gritted smile. Maxwell nodded his head slowly and leaned into you.

"My driver is outside waiting. Head back to my office with the stone, I'll only be right behind you." you didn't know what it was, but suddenly, your boss' voice sounded dark and... seductive. The way his breath fanned over the shell of your ear made you shiver. Without saying another word, you left the party and travelled back to your workplace.

It was no surprise that Black Gold Cooperative was deserted when you let yourself in, sliding your employee card through the terminal and squeezing through the revolving doors. It must've been almost midnight, and you were the only one in the building. You slipped behind the main desk and booted up the computer where you had access to turn on all the lights in the building so it didn't feel so sinister. As you waited for the computer to turn on (and it felt like forever), you took out the gemstone and placed it on the top of the desk. Even in the darkness, there was something so attractive about it. No wonder Maxwell was so desperate to get his hands on it. He had an affinity for geology, although it was almost secretive. You remembered the one time he invited you over to his house, he had a whole shelf that was proudly displayed with rocks and minerals. It was a hobby of his that he didn't share with anyone else. But he trusted you.

He definitely shouldn't have trusted you.

You left your purse on the main desk as the lights finally illuminated the building. Holding the ruby in both of your hands, you carried it up the stairs, through the call centre and into Maxwell Lord's extensive sized office. You admired the way it sparkled and shone under the bright lights, so much so, you weren't watching your step. You let out a yelp as you tripped over a chair which had been carelessly pulled out, falling to your knees as the stone went flying across the office, landing near his desk.

You felt your heart sink into the depths of your chest when you heard it smash. No— there was no way. Gemstones don't just smash like that. Terrified, you crawled over to where the stone had landed and saw that it had quite literally smashed into smithereens; almost like glass. At least, that's how it sounded. The crystalized rock had turned into some kind of sparkling red fairy dust that looked almost magical. It was like a shimmering illusion. You scurried around the floor wondering how the hell this had happened. How the rock had smashed and turned into a pile of glitter. You knew you wouldn't have long until Max came back.

Your legs began to feel weak, but you decided it was just from your anxiety. Shit, the rock meant so much to Max. He gave you one job. One easy fucking job and you couldn't even do that right. You were so fired.

You began to collect the sparkling red dust in your hands, desperately scooping it up but sighing when it fell through your fingers. Your actions became more erratic, knowing your boss would be back any second. No matter what, you couldn't pick up the dust. You looked around his office, wondering if he had a brush or something to shovel it up with, but of course he didn't.

There was something weird… the dust from the gemstone wasn't just glittering, it was quite literally sparkling— gleaming, even. When you touched it, it made your skin tingle. It sent aches of heat flooding down your body. It was enough to make you suspicious but once again, you shrugged it off as nerves. You cared about Max so much, and he was going to be so pissed with you.

When you heard the double doors to his office swing open, your whole body stiffened up, your eyes squeezing shut. You were on your knees still, your back faced away from Maxwell as he merrily came waltzing into his office.

"I called Roman Antiquities from the carphone," he announced, his voice as vibrant as ever. "They're so happy we managed to get the stone," You felt your eyes grow comically wide. Wait— the stone wasn't even for him. It was for somebody else. Things just went from bad to worse. "So," Maxwell slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants. "Where is it?"

You slowly rose to your feet, scrunching your nose up in displeasure as you prepared to tell your boss what had happened. How you had been so clumsy. "I- I didn't realise you were sending the stone to Roman Antiquities." you mumbled, slowly turning around and nervously biting your lip.

"I didn't mention it?" Max shrugged casually. "Yeah, apparently it's in high demand."

"Ken said it comes from ancient Greece, and there's only one made," hearing the words leave your lips didn't make the situation any better, you realised. "Do you know what's so special about it?"

"Yeah," Max replied, walking towards his desk. "There's a lot of things special about it. Can I see it?" His dismissive tone made you feel small and uneasy.

"Max…" you drew his name out like it was the longest melody in the world. He looked up at you, waiting for you to continue. "Something happened. I uhm…" you let your eyes wander around his spacious office, refusing to land anywhere but him. He, however, was staring directly at you. "I had it with me. And I carried it carefully to your office but— I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings and I-" you halted suddenly, feeling your whole body heat up, and a fire shooting through your core. You squeezed your legs together and pursed your lips into a fine line, stopping a moan from escaping. What was going on?

"And?" Maxwell urged, his voice growing increasingly more concerned.

"And-" you gulped. It was a weird, strange feeling. Like suddenly, all your scents had been heightened. The smell of Maxwell's rich cologne filled the room, intoxicating you and sending you into a frenzy. "Wow." you mumbled out.

Maxwell said your name sternly, breaking you out of your strange yet blissful haze. You were used to him saying your name, usually in a condescending way. But this time it was different. It was deep, gravelly and outright delicious.

"I broke the stone," you announced with a shaky exhale. You began to feel slick between your thighs and your eyes widened. Were you… aroused? You just about managed to look back at Max and suddenly everything felt different. You saw him in a completely different light.

Sure, you'd had fantasies about your boss before. He was an attractive, single bachelor and he always made you feel special. He always made you feel important. You would sometimes daydream about him at work, watching him from the back of the conference room as he led team meetings. You'd go home after a long day only to think about him whilst you showered, and even before you went to sleep. Suddenly, your feelings made sense.

"You. Broke. The. Stone?" Maxwell gritted out. Your eyes dropped down to fixate on his Adams Apple. Had his voice always been so sensual?

"Max," you whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you grabbed onto the edge of his desk, your fingers curling around the corner so hard your knuckles turned white. "I don't feel so good."

Max slowly walked over to you, looking you up and down. "Where are the remnants of the rock?" Max quizzed. You let out a moan as the feeling of arousal became excruciating. He called your name again and you just about managed to point in the general direction of the pile of glittering red dust. Maxwell's eyes widened. "Oh no no." he said, hurrying over and examining it, but being extra careful not to get too close.

"I know," you cried. "I'm sorry."

"Did you-" Maxwell swallowed the lump in his throat before turning back around to face you. "Did you touch it?"

"Y-yes," you drew out, rubbing your thighs together trying to create some feeling of friction, but doing so discreetly so your boss wouldn't notice. "I tried to clean it up."

"Shit," Maxwell muttered, hurrying over to his desk and spreading out a pile of papers. The papers were filled with information about the very specific ruby stone, and Max read it closely and as quickly as possible.

"What is it?" you asked worriedly. Maxwell's eyes widened and he wrapped an arm around you, carefully navigating you behind his desk and sitting you in his chair. You curled up into the softness of the leather seat, humming in delight your dress rode up slightly and the material stuck to the back of your legs.

"There's something you should know," Maxwell frowned. "The rock… they call it Aphrodite’s Stone."

"Aphrodite?" you breathed out. "Like, the goddess of love?"

Maxwell nodded, flicking through a few more of the pages. "Yes," he confirmed. "But uh- not just love. I mean, it was love, yeah but. She was also the goddess of beauty, uh- procreation, passion and…" Maxwell took a deep breath. "Pleasure."

You made a fist so tight your fingernails pressed into your skin as you shuffled around in the chair. Maxwell was so close to you, you just wanted to pull him on top of you and take him now— exactly how he was. But no, he was going on about some Greek goddess.

"Max please," you begged and his head snapped in your direction. You didn't even realise the way your chest was rising and falling, the way you were heaving and panting. Just the sight of you alone was enough to stir something up inside of Max. Beads of sweat laced your collarbones and hairline as you whimpered and moaned. "Can you just- please- tell me- what’s going on? What's happening to me?"

"The stone contains a kind of sex pollen," Max blurted out and your eyes snapped open.

"Are you kidding me?" you asked and Max shook his head quickly. "Like- a drug?"

"Yeah… and you touched it. Shit okay, let me go grab a bowl of water and we’ll try and clean the remnants from your hands…" Max said quickly, biting his lip and bolting over to leave his office when you shouted for him to come back.

"N-no, it won't work," you whispered, holding your arms out and ushering for him to come back over to you. "Please, please Max…" Your hands travelled to the hem of your dress as you started to peel it up. Max watched with intent, his once honeyed brown eyes turning so dark— almost black. His eyes raked your body as he watched you squirm in his office chair. The same chair he sat in every single day. "Please help me take this dress off. I feel so constricted."

"I-" Maxwell began but stopped when you sighed dramatically, tossing your head back.

"Don't fucking argue," you groaned and Maxwell felt taken aback by your attitude. You had never spoken to him like that before. He'd hate to admit it, but the desperation that dripped from your tongue caused Max's cock to throb in his pants. "Please."

Maxwell took your hand and pulled you up from his chair, briefly noting the wet patch from where you had been sitting. He had to sit back in that chair tomorrow morning, and you had made such a beautiful mess of it. His large hands manouvered around your body as he turned you around, finding the zip to your dress and pulling it all the way down to the small of your back. He took a step back as you shuffled out of it and he politely looked away, not wanting to invade your privacy or make you feel uncomfortable. He took off his tuxedo jacket and offered it to you, in case you felt the need to cover up, but instead you just glared at him.

Maxwell found himself subconsciously licking his lips as his heart rate climbed at the mere sight of you. There you were, standing before him in nothing but lacy black lingerie. He felt his cock grow thick and stand at full attention as he took in the sight of your alluring body. It was perfect in every way, even better than he had ever imagined in his dreams.

"What do you need?" Maxwell asked, his voice low. "What can I do for you?" The pollen in the stone made everything sound so seductive but you could swear that even amongst all the heat, you heard genuine care in his voice.

"I don't… I don't…" you weren't about to tell him that you didn't know, because that would be a lie. You knew exactly what you wanted, and he knew enough about the stone to know exactly what you wanted as well. You needed him, craved his body and ached for him to fill you up and pleasure you. You felt your cheeks heat up, unable to find the pride to actually ask your boss for this. Maxwell took a step closer to you, breaking any distance. He smelt so good.

"Anything you want," he whispered, wanting you to know that he'd be more than willing to help ease you. "Anything you want you can have it."

"Anything?" you asked, pressing your hands to his chest and letting your fingers trace the soft material of his dress shirt.

"Anything." he affirmed.

With that, you grabbed the straps of his suspenders and pulled his body into yours. A low groan emitted from the back of his throat as you pressed your lips against his. You wrapped your arms around his body, your palms laying flat against his back as he kissed you. His tongue licked your lower lip and you moaned wantonly, opening your mouth slightly and granting him access to explore you further.

Max's hands settled on your hips, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties. You moaned, dragging your own hands to his hair and running his fingers through it.

You loved his hair, you always thought about touching it and playing with it. He always styled it so perfectly but, to your surprise, it wasn't hard with hair-product. Instead, it was soft and glossy and it was like you could feel every wave. He eventually pulled off you, gasping for breath.

"I don't want to take advantage of you when you're like this," Maxwell frowned, as you pushed him into his office chair. "I mean, shit. I want this. I've wanted this for so long…" he rambled on as you slid out of your panties and unclipped your bra. His eyes widened when he saw you stand on his office, completely nude and shameless. He thought you looked breathtaking. You were quick to discard the garments, unable to hide the triumphant smirk that played across your lips as you straddled him. You perched yourself on top of his leg and instantly began to ride his thigh, rubbing your soaking wet pussy over his expensive pants.

"Let me," you moaned, leaning into him and kissing his neck. "Let me use you then."

"Yeah?" Maxwell asked shakily and he felt you nod into his shoulder as you gasped out another moan. "Okay. Take what you need." he said before wrapping his arms around you and dipping his fingers into the small of your back. You could feel the coolness of his gold rings tingle against your warm skin and it only turned you on even more. You couldn't count the amount of times you had imagined the ridged feeling of his rings press up against your walls as he slid his fingers inside of you. Max flexed the muscles in his thigh and you yelped slightly at the friction. "Oh, you like that?" Maxwell asked, and done it again before you could even respond. You tugged on his tie, fumbling as you slid up and down over his leg. You just about managed to loosen it, pull it off, and discarding it on the floor amongst your other pieces of clothing.

"I like these," you giggled, tugging on his suspenders. "But I want them off."

"Cum for me first," Maxwell growled, feeling his hard member press against the confines of his pants. They'd grown extremely tight around his now throbbing erection. You looked down and gasped just at the sight of him. You lowered one hand, while keeping the other hand draped around his body, keeping you steady. With your free hand, you traced the imprint of his cock and smiled when you watched his eyes flutter shut from only your gentlest of touches.

"You weren't even affected by the stone," you giggled, humming in delight as you reached for his zipper. You didn't stop sliding your slick pussy over his thigh, your movements building up your oncoming high. "And look at you." you wiggled your fingers into his pants and your eyes widened as you felt his cock. "Fuck… Max Lord going commando?" your laugh came to an abrupt end when Max's grip around you tightened. He took your hand away from his manhood and set it on his bicep as he held you by your hips and muttered dirty words into your ear.

"Cum for me." He gritted out again, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and gently nibbling at your skin. He pulls his hands down to your breasts and squeezes at them, his thumbs grazing over your nipples.

"So close," you warned him as your walls began to contract against nothing. You ached for his cock, now more than ever. Still massaging your breasts, he reattached his lips to your neck and trailed sloppy kisses all the way down your collarbone. "Shit Max, fuck I cant," you gasped.

"Can't what? What is it baby?" Max asked, pulling away slightly and cupping your cheek with his hand.

"I can't cum without… without…" tears pricked your eyes as the gushing sense of sexual desire coarsed through your body.

"What do you need?" Max whispered.

"You. Inside me," you managed to stammer out with absolutely no shame. Max looked absolutely wrecked, his dark blonde hair that was once perfectly styled had completely fallen out of place and his chocolate brown eyes were glazed with lust. But he was gorgeous and you couldn't help but smile knowing what exactly you had done to the esteemed Maxwell Lord. You shuffled back slightly, and Max glanced down at the wet patch you had left on his pants. He couldn't contain his grin.

"I don't have a condom," Max admitted. The revelation surprised you as you pegged Max for the kinda guy who endured a lot of sex in his office. It seemed like the perfect place, but come to think of it, he never really had girls around. Only you. You didn't care that he didn't have a condom. In fact, you kinda liked it. You wanted to feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock as it filled your pussy.

"Good," you smiled, standing up with a wobble. Max stood up after you and cleared his desk before patting the expensive oak wood, ushering you to lay down.

But first, you pulled down his suspenders, unclipping them from his pants and throwing them to one side. You worked at his shirt buttons one by one until eventually, you pulled it off and dropped it to the ground. You wasted no time, unzipping his pants and pulling them down to his ankles. You licked your lips in delight as his cock sprung free and he stepped out of the pants that had pooled around his feet.

Max gently pushed you backwards into his desk and you hopped up, sitting down and laying back. "You're so beautiful," Max sighed as he drank in your appearance, wanting to savour this moment and remember it forever. "Open your legs." he commanded as he stroked his cock. He gathered his precum which had been leaking from the tip for God knows how long, letting it slick between his fingers as he jerked himself off at the mere sight of you spread out on his office desk. You obeyed his instruction, closing your eyes as you prepared to feel his cock push inside of you.

But instead, you felt his hot, wet tongue lick a stripe up your clit. Your whole body stiffened up as you released a groan you didn't even know you were holding back. "Fuck- what the fuck," you curled your fingers into a fist as he continued to cat lick you. You just about managed to open your eyes and see the vision of his head in between your legs as he devoured your dripping pussy. "You're really dragging this out, huh?"

He was good. He was so good. He knew his way around your body perfectly and you swore, in that moment, that perhaps you were made for each other. Maybe it was just the effects of the stone but you had never had such a satisfying sexual encounter.

"When I saw the mess you made on my leg, and how wet you were, I knew I had to taste you," Max admitted, his voice was gruff and sent vibrations through your core. He continued lapping you up, humming and moaning in delight on the occasion he'd suck at the bud of your clit and draw out a moan from your lips. "And fuck, you taste so good."

"But I want your cock inside of meeee," you whined.

Max didn't attach his mouth from you once, but he did bring up his hand and push a finger in between your folds and began to massage the entrance to your hole.

"Gotta prep you first," Max told you, before pushing his index finger deep inside you. He moaned at the feeling of your walls around him and felt his cock twitch against his stomach. Obscene wet noises echoed through his office, as well as your moans and pleas for more. "So greedy," Maxwell chuckled. "Always wanting more," he pushed in his middle finger, stretching you open. He looked up at you, his eyes hungry as he pumped his fingers into your pussy. It wasn't long until your legs began to quiver and shake profusely. You screamed when Maxwell pulled out his fingers and shoved them in your mouth. "Taste," he told you as you sucked on his fingers. "Good girl. See? You taste so fucking good. I could get used to this."

When you had cleaned your juices from his fingers, you felt him line himself up against your entrance. You reached out, holding onto his strong biceps for support as he thrusted inside of you. He grunted, squeezing his eyes tight shut as your walls tightened around you. He was big— bigger than you'd ever taken before. If you weren't so aroused from the stone, you wouldn't know if you'd be able to take him. He filled you perfectly. He pushed himself balls deep into you and then came to a halt.

"M-move," you whimpered, pressing your nails into his skin.

"Beg." he shot back, smoothing the hair out of your face and running his thumb over your puckered and sore lower lip.

"Please Max, please. Fuck me." you felt tears prick your eyes and Maxwell took the hint, finally thrusting in and out of you. Your cunt was so tight around Maxwell he couldn't believe how perfect of a fit you were. He dragged his thumb to your clit and started rubbing intricate circles as he increased his speed. His movements became sloppy and rapid as his fingers pushed you over the edge. "Cum inside of me," you gasped out the second you felt his cock twitch inside of you, indicating that he was close.

"Are you sure?" Max asked and you nodded your head.

"Never been so sure about anything in my life." you screamed, your back arching as you finally came undone. You absolutely drench him, and if it was any other situation, you might've felt a little embarrassed. But Max was in ecstasy when your cunt tightened around his cock like a vice and milked him of all that he had. He spilt his seed inside of you, the warmth coating your walls and shooting jolts of pleasure down your body.

You found yourself completely engulfed in a post coital haze, and Max kept himself inside of you until he softened and could slip out of you without causing you any discomfort. "You might be sore tomorrow," he mumbled, pressing a kiss into your neck. You hummed, whispering something incoherent but your smile was very telling. You had never been so happy. "But the effects of Aphrodite's Stone should wear off now."

"You took care of me," you whispered, your eyes slowly opening. You sat up and wrapped your arms around Max, pulling him into you. You felt completely and utterly spent, and Maxwell couldn't disagree either. He walked you over to his chair and sat you in his lap.

"Of course I took care of you," his voice was gentle and sweet like honey. "This was all my fault. And I should've warned you about the stupid fucking rock in the first place."

"Stupid?" you raised an eyebrow. "That was the most fun I've ever had," you laughed and Maxwell couldn't contain how happy your revelation made him. "But… are we going to be in trouble?"

"You don't have to worry about a thing," Maxwell hushed you, smoothing out your hair and pressing a kiss into your hair. Something in his voice made you trust him and believe in him. You just knew he wouldn't let you get into trouble. "I'm glad this happened."

"Me too." you whispered before closing your eyes and burying your head into his chest. Curled up into his lap, your naked bodies tangled together, you both fell asleep in his office chair. Maxwell Lord created a frightening and intimidating aura, but, the truth is, you had never felt more safe and more comfortable in your whole entire life. You knew that this happy accident was going to be the start of something great.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #pedro pascal smut #ww84

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