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shortnspidey · 9 months ago

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SILENT RIFT

JJ maybank x cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

➩ main masterlist

➩ jj maybank masterlist

"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

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wheeloffortune-design · 2 months ago

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Mrs. Victoria buys a brothel

a novel by Talhí Briones

1865, United States— It took thirty years and a dislocated arm for Victoria to leave her abusive husband. Heartbroken, she has to choose her own life over the hope of ever seeing her son again. She escapes the manor in the dead of night, only bringing with her a white wedding dress.

She ends up in Swainsburg, a minuscule town in Wyoming, where she’s adopted by the local prostitutes. To save them from expulsion, she buys the building and learns that in these parts, entertainment is worth more than gold. It’s almost easy, even fun, to organize piano recitals and cancan shows for the cowboys of the area, but being a Madam comes with responsibilities and dangers she isn’t ready to face. Her husband, after all, has contacts everywhere.

It’s hard to navigate the delicate tensions between respectable ladies and whores, between white society and the ‘others.’ Her new friends are women who carved their place in this merciless life; people who, like her, ended up in Swainsburg when they got tired of running.

Victoria doesn’t notice, can’t even imagine the possibility; but she falls in love. The townfolk say the widow Díaz is strange, but Natane is actually incredibly awkward, kind, and very lonely. Victoria has no name for this burning friendship, but the feeling grows and demands to be acknowledged.

This is a story about women who age, gossip, drink, love... and help you hide the body of your dead husband.

---

Launch: May 20th, 2025

Here are some places you can order the book:

Barnes and Noble

Indigo Canada

Amazon.com

Renaud-Bray

FNAC

Get the e-book directly from the publisher, helping me get a bigger portion of the royalties.

You can also ask for it at any local bookstore or library :)

---

Kickstarter news

The kickstarter for Mrs. Victoria buys a brothel managed to reach more than 350 backers! All the reach goals were unlocked in 48h!

If you bought a physical copy of the novel on kickstarter, it's on its way!

The e-books will be sent to kickstarter backers during the week of May 5th, 2025.

Tales of Swainsburg, a series of short-stories set in the universe of Mrs. Victoria buys a brothel, will be sent in August 2025.

An audiobook will be produced and sent to kickstarted backers, date to be determined.

All those books on their way to their future readers ❤️

---

Discord channel

Want to read along with everyone else? We have chatrooms specifically tailored to share your reactions with other readers without spoiling the rest of the story.

Link to the discord channel

---

FAQ

- Is this book in English of French?

English :) My previous books were in French, but this kne was written directly in English.

- Is this an illustrated book?

There are chapter headers drawn by me, and illustrated maps. All the other illustrations you see online are not included in the book, I just like to draw my girls.

- Is this self-published?

No, it's traditionally published by Renaissance Press, who focus on printing diverse Canadian voices.

- What is Tales of Swainsburg?

A collection of short-stories I am currently writing, set in the universe of Mrs. Victoria buys a brothel, centering various characters with interesting backgrounds. Tales of Swainsburg will be sent as an e-book to all corresponding kickstarter backers, and as a printed paperback to everyone who backed the higher tiers. After, Tales of Swainsburg will be available to buy as an e-book. I do not yet know if a printed paperback version will be available to the general public.

- Will there be an audiobook?

Yes! The kickstarter reached enough money to let us produce a professional audiobook. We have no planned release date for the moment, but I will announce it. Corresponding kickstarter backers who receive it automatically.

- Can I get a hardcover?

A number of hardcovers were produced exclusively for the kickstarter, backers will be receiving them. There's a number of them left, but we still don't know where/how we're going to sell them. Bookstores will only sell the paperback version.

- Can I buy your art?

Not for the moment, but I do want to reopen my online store. Any updates will be posted here.

---

You loved the book? You think other people will love it? You want to promote queer stories and bipoc authors? Don't hesitate to talk about this book with your people!

❤️

#mrs victoria buys a brothel #i'm gonna make a more rebloggable version of this-- this one is just for the pinned post.

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that-neurodivergent-gay · 1 year ago

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(not so) friendly reminder that a non-exaustive list of war crimes that isreal has committed is:

Wilful killing

Torture or inhumane treatment, including biological experiments

Wilfully causing great suffering, or serious injury to body or health

Extensive destruction and appropriation of property, not justified by military necessity and carried out unlawfully and wantonly

Intentionally directing attacks against the civilian population as such or against individual civilians not taking part in direct hostilities

Intentionally directing attacks against civilian objects which are non-military

Intentionally directing attacks against humanitarian assistance

Intentionally launching an attack knowing that it will cause loss of life, injury or harm to civilians or civil properties

Intentionally launching an attack knowing it will cause significant damage to the natural environment without necessity

Attacking or bombarding, by whatever means, towns, villages, dwellings or buildings which are undefended and which are not military objectives

Intentionally directing attacks against buildings dedicated to religion, education, art, science, charitable purposes, historic monuments, hospitals, and places where the wounded are collected, assuming they are not military objectives

Employing asphyxiating, poisonous, or other gasses, and all analogous liquids, materials or devices

Employing weapons, projectiles, and material and methods or warfare which are of a nature to cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering

Intentionally directing attacks against buildings, material, medical units and transport and personnel

Intentionally using starvation of civilians as a method of warfare by depriving them of objects indispensable to their survival

If you still think this is isreal defending itself, you're ignoring the signs. This is a genocide. These are war crimes. More than 25,000 civilians have been murdered. This is not okay.

Edit:

For all the people asking me for a source, here is a list:

https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/12/18/israel-starvation-used-weapon-war-gaza

Any of Bisan's videos/writings. There are so many people on the ground in Gaza who are documenting this. Stay safe and stay educated

#from the river to the sea palestine will be free #free palestine 🇵🇸#this is a genocide #isreal is a terrorist state #immediate ceasefire #these are war crimes #ceasefire #ceasfire now

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slut4megantheestallion · 3 months ago

Note

Hello, I was wondering if you could accept my request and publish it. Arcane women x reader who has favorite (sexual) activity to do scissors! If you're uncomfortable with this, it's not your style or anything else, it's totally fine if you don't write it down. That's all. Regards, and have a nice day!

Arcane Women x reader - their reaction to Scissoring being your favorite Headcannons

Characters: Jinx, Vi, Mel, Caitlyn, Sevika, Ambessa

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Scissoring, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Praise, Dirty Talk, Intimacy

Jinx

●Jinx loves that this is your favorite. She’s a chaotic, energetic lover, and scissoring is perfect for her fast-paced, playful nature.

●"Holy shit, babe, that’s so hot. Why the hell haven’t we done this already?!"

●She giggles, teasing you while locking her legs around yours, rolling her hips wildly. Jinx likes to make a game out of it, seeing who can last longer before cumming first.

●"Think you can outlast me, sugar? Hah, good fuckin’ luck~!"

●She’s loud, unfiltered, moaning and whimpering with every thrust. She’ll make the whole thing messy, leaving hickeys on your thighs, fingers gripping your ass as she whines about how good you feel.

●"Fuckfuckfuck—ohhh, babe—hah, I’m gonna—ahhh~!

●Vi is absolutely down for it. She’s strong, passionate, and loves anything that lets her be close to you—physically and emotionally. The first time you bring it up, she smirks, running a hand through her pink hair.

●“Damn, babe, that’s hot. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

●She loves watching your body move against hers, the way your thighs squeeze together, and how wet and desperate you get for her. Vi is dominant but enjoys when you take control, gripping her hips and grinding hard.

●"Shit—yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

●She’ll hold your waist, pressing her forehead against yours, moaning into your mouth as you both chase release. Vi is a sucker for eye contact, her blue eyes locked onto yours as you both fall apart together.

●"God, I love seeing you like this, baby. Can’t get enough of you."

Caitlyn

●At first, Caitlyn was a little surprised. She’s used to a more traditional pace in the bedroom, but the idea excites her. She pushes her dark hair behind her ear, blushing.

●"Oh? That’s… quite the request. But, I have to admit, it sounds rather enticing."

●She loves the intimacy of it—how your legs tangle, how your bodies align so perfectly. Caitlyn is incredibly attentive, watching your every reaction, making sure she’s moving just right.

●"You feel amazing, darling. Look at you… absolutely breathtaking."

●Caitlyn grips the sheets when you take control, dragging your body against hers with need. She moans softly, but when she gets overwhelmed, her posh accent becomes more desperate.

●"Y-Yes—keep going! Just like that, love, don’t stop—!"

Mel

●Mel is amused when you tell her. She swirls her wine, a smirk playing on her lips as she watches you with a knowing look.

●“Oh? That’s what excites you the most? How very… refined of you.”

● She adores the sensuality of it. Mel loves slow, drawn-out pleasure, teasing you with barely-there movements until you’re begging for more.

●“Patience, my love. You’ll get what you want… eventually.”

● She’s all about luxury and control—her hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements with practiced grace. She enjoys watching you squirm under her, your lips parted as you struggle to keep up with her precise pace.

●“Yes, just like that. You look divine, darling—so desperate, so needy. It’s beautiful.”

● The eye contact is intense—Mel’s golden irises locked onto yours as she whispers filthy praises, watching every shiver that runs through you. She never lets you finish quickly—she drags it out until you can’t take it anymore.

●"Tell me, my love… how badly do you want to cum?"

Sevika

●Sevika raises a brow when you bring it up. She’s used to being in control, so the idea of something so intimate makes her pause. But she’s intrigued.

●"Huh. Didn’t peg you for the type to want something so... close."

●She tries to act like she’s unaffected, but the first time you grind against her? She loses it. Groaning low in her throat, hands gripping your waist as she mutters curses under her breath.

●"Shit. Yeah, just like that, baby. Fuck, you feel good."

●Sevika isn’t as vocal as Jinx, but she makes up for it in deep, raspy moans. She’ll grip your thighs, forcing you to move slower, making sure she feels every slick, heated drag of your bodies.

●"Don’t rush it. I wanna feel you—every inch of you."

Ambessa

●Ambessa raises a single brow when you tell her, her lips curving into a smirk as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest.

●“So, that’s what you like? Hmph. You have fine taste.”

●She’s commanding, completely in control—even when you’re on top - Ambessa makes you work for it. She grips your hips, forcing you to move at her pace, watching you with an almost predatory gleam in her eyes.

●“Slower. I want to feel every inch of you.”

●Ambessa is ruthless in her teasing. She never lets you set the rhythm fully—one moment, she’s letting you grind desperately against her, and the next, she’s gripping your thighs and flipping you beneath her.

●“You thought you were in charge? Adorable.”

●She growls low in her throat when she feels you tense beneath her, dragging her body against yours in slow, powerful movements that leave you gasping.

●"Look at you… so desperate for me. You want more? Beg for it."

●Afterward, she doesn’t let you move. You’re completely trapped in her arms, her powerful body keeping you close as she chuckles against your skin.

●"You wanted this, didn’t you? Now, you can rest right here, little one."

#arcane smut #wlw #wlw x reader #sevika smut #sevika x reader #vi smut #vi x reader #jinx smut #jinx x reader #caitlyn Kirraman smut #caitlyn Kirraman x reader #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #mel medarda smut #mel medarda x reader

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noirscript · 3 months ago

Text

the lion's shadow

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Warning/s: Surprisingly, none?

Read the series: [ ONE ] | [ TWO ] | [ THREE ] | [ FOUR ]

Note: I might publish this series and other future releases in advance somewhere. Also, if I were to write a book, will you support me? Just wondering before releasing something.

TIP JAR | COMMISSION

For the first time in a long while, your days were quiet. Peaceful.

The shack, though small and weathered by time, had become a sanctuary. The morning sun spilled through the cracks in the wooden walls, dust motes dancing in the golden light as you stirred awake to the soft chirping of birds. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the stifling perfume and candle smoke that clung to the walls of the palace you had once called home.

Here, you woke to silence, not the murmurs of servants or the distant chime of the court’s bells. Here, you chose how to spend your days.

You had found a rhythm in your solitude. Each morning, you would step outside, feet sinking into the damp soil, hands brushing against the wildflowers growing in the clearing. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckle, mixing with the distant smokiness of burning wood from a village far beyond the trees. You would gather what you could—berries, roots, herbs that you recognized from your mother’s teachings—and return home with your hands full, your child growing steadily beneath your ribs.

At midday, you would sit outside, weaving. A half-finished sweater lay in your lap, the wool coarse against your fingers, but you took comfort in the act of creating something. A gift for the child who had no name yet, who stirred within you when the sun was at its highest, reminding you that you were never truly alone.

Evenings were the most beautiful. When the sun dipped behind the trees, the world turned golden, the leaves burning in hues of amber and rust. Fireflies blinked to life, flickering like tiny stars caught between branches. The air smelled of earth after rain, of moss and damp bark, and in the distance, the distant hoot of an owl signaled the coming of night.

It was a quiet life. A small life. But it was yours.

For the first time in so long, you felt… safe.

No whispered court gossip, no watchful eyes lingering on your every move. No suffocating presence lurking just beyond your reach.

You dared to believe you had finally escaped him.

But peace, as you would soon learn, was a fleeting thing.

It came first as a sound.

A knock.

Loud. Desperate.

Your heart seized.

Another knock—no, pounding now. Fists striking against the wooden door, heavy enough to rattle the walls.

Your breath hitched. Hands trembling, you set the half-knitted sweater aside, gaze darting toward the door.

The knocking didn’t stop.

You swallowed down your panic, muscles coiling with the instinct to hide.

Then—

“Help me, please!”

A voice. A woman’s voice, raw and desperate.

“Help!”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. In two quick strides, you were at the door, hand hovering over the latch.

A plea like that—you knew it too well. The breathless panic, the urgency, the weight of something unseen pressing against the voice.

You had once been on the other side of that door.

With a final glance around, you unbolted it and pulled it open.

The woman before you was disheveled, dressed in tattered cloth, her hair clinging to her damp forehead. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself. Wild eyes met yours, and something in them—a deep, unshakable fear—sent a chill skittering down your spine.

She had been running.

And something—someone—was coming after her.

"Hurry," she gasped.

Without thinking, you pulled her inside.

Your peace was over.

She sat hunched in one of the old wooden chairs your father had carved, hands curled around a steaming noggin of water. It wasn’t much, but it was the only comfort you could offer.

She clutched it as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

The flickering candlelight revealed the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her fingers, dirtied and trembling, were curled tightly around the mug, the heat of it seeping into her skin. The moment she had stumbled inside, she had sunk into the chair as if her body had finally given out.

You watched her cautiously, standing by the small counter, one hand still resting against your stomach—a protective reflex.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken questions.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "How far along are you?"

You blinked at the suddenness of the question, then hesitated, glancing down at the curve of your belly. "I… don’t know."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she meant to say more, but she simply nodded. "Ah. My apologies."

A beat of silence. Then she took a sip from the mug, the warmth chasing away some of the tremor in her hands.

You weren’t sure why, but you found yourself speaking. "I’m not a lady."

Her gaze snapped to yours.

You gestured toward the tattered drape over her shoulders. "The quality of that fabric alone could feed an entire village. If anyone here is a lady, it’s you."

Something flickered across her face, a shadow of something old and weary, but she didn’t deny it.

"You could stay," you offered quietly, watching her reaction carefully. "This shack—it’s safe. If you need somewhere to hide, you’re welcome to it."

Her eyes widened, caught between gratitude and suspicion. "And you?"

You shrugged, already gathering what little you owned into a cloth bundle. "I need to get further away. If you found this place, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does too."

Her head bowed, shame and guilt evident in the way her hands tightened around the mug. "I’m sorry…"

"Don’t be," you said simply.

She hesitated, then set the mug down and looked up at you. "Please… take care of yourself. And if—if we ever meet again, I hope I can return the favor."

A wry smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so too."

And with that, you turned toward the door, pulling your hood low over your face.

You didn’t look back.

The journey was grueling.

For days, you moved through the forest, guided only by fading memories of old maps and the sun's slow arc across the sky. The dense canopy above swallowed most of the daylight, leaving you to navigate through shadows. Your feet ached, blistered and raw, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavy on your shoulders.

But you kept moving.

Every rustling leaf, every snap of a branch in the distance set your nerves alight. The paranoia never faded, not even when the trees thinned and the scent of burning wood and fresh bread filled the air.

And then, at long last, you saw it.

A village.

Small, tucked away beyond the treeline, its lantern-lit streets brimming with life.

The sight made your knees weak.

You pulled your hood lower, adjusting the strap of your bundle, and stepped forward.

The village was a sanctuary—a place untouched by the cruelty of men who sat upon thrones and dictated the fates of those beneath them. Here, the air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the laughter of children filled the streets, and the golden hues of sunset painted the rooftops with warmth. It was the kind of place where people looked after one another, where neighbors shared meals without expectation, and where secrets were hidden beneath smiles rather than steel.

It was the kind of place you could imagine raising your child.

Life had been kind since you arrived, a stark contrast to the gilded prison you had once called home. You had your own little room tucked away above the restaurant owned by Mia and Taren, two retired adventurers who had seen enough of the world to know when to walk away from its chaos. The couple had taken you in without question, providing a roof over your head in exchange for helping around their small yet bustling establishment.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.

Mornings were spent preparing the restaurant for the day ahead—wiping down tables, slicing fresh loaves of bread, and brewing pots of strong tea that carried the scent of herbs and spices through the air. The afternoons were busier, filled with the chatter of travelers passing through, adventurers boasting of their latest feats, and villagers exchanging gossip over steaming bowls of stew.

Evenings were the best. By then, the restaurant would settle into a comfortable hum of low conversations, the lanterns casting a soft glow that made the space feel even more like home. Mia would lean over the counter, eyes twinkling as she spun stories from her days as an adventurer, while Taren would shake his head and grumble about how she exaggerated every detail.

It was an ordinary, simple life. And it was yours.

You had begun to hope that maybe—just maybe—you had escaped the past for good.

“Did you hear?” Mia leaned in conspiratorially as she set a steaming bowl of soup in front of you. “The king has returned from his campaign.”

Taren scoffed, taking a long sip from his mug before setting it down with a dull thud. “Hmph. More like another bloodbath disguised as a campaign. Every time he rides out, he leaves behind a trail of bodies, and when he returns, the nobles praise him as if he’s the second coming of the gods.”

You blinked, gripping your spoon a little tighter. “The king?”

Mia nodded. “King Aurelian.” Her voice dropped lower, almost hesitant, as if speaking his name too loudly might summon him. “They say he’s taken a new interest in something—or someone.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the unease curling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Taren exchanged a glance with Mia before exhaling sharply. “Rumors. That’s all. But the capital has been restless ever since he returned. People whisper about a woman, someone he dragged back from the outskirts—”

Mia elbowed him. “Enough. We don’t want to be accused of treason, do we?” She turned to you with a reassuring smile, but there was something tight about it. “Don’t worry about it, dear. It has nothing to do with us.”

You forced yourself to nod, even as the conversation left a lingering chill on your skin.

Nothing to do with us.

And yet, an unease settled deep in your bones.

Two months passed in peaceful monotony.

Your belly grew heavier with each passing day, and though your movements had slowed, you were grateful for the stability the village provided. The people here were kind—offering remedies for your aching feet, slipping extra portions of food onto your plate, and treating you as one of their own despite your foreign accent and unfamiliar past.

The world outside these borders felt like a distant nightmare, something that belonged to another life entirely.

Until the night he arrived.

The moment the doors swung open, you barely registered the gust of cold air that followed. It was the silence that struck first—the sudden, crushing weight of it. The air in the tavern shifted, thick with unspoken tension, a hush so absolute that even the crackling fire seemed subdued.

And then, the man stepped inside.

You didn’t recognize him, not in the way you had once memorized names and faces back in the palace. But you recognized something else. The kind of presence that did not belong in a quiet village like this. The way everyone around you reacted—Mia shrinking behind the counter, Taren stiffening as his fingers curled tightly around his mug, the way the remaining patrons averted their eyes, some even lowering to their knees as if bound by an unspoken law.

Your breath caught in your throat, something primal and urgent seizing your gut. Your fingers clenched against your lap as you forced yourself to breathe, to stay still—because a reaction would only draw more attention. But it was useless.

His gaze swept the room, deliberate and slow, and then—

He saw you.

The moment his eyes met yours, something inside you recoiled, the hairs along your arms rising. You didn’t know this man. Had never met him. And yet—

Your stomach twisted.

The way he looked at you, the way his lips curved into something almost lazy, almost amused—it was the look of a man who had found something valuable. Something he wasn’t supposed to have, and yet here it was, sitting right in front of him like an offering from fate itself.

You felt sick.

He doesn’t know who you are, you told yourself. He can’t. You had left that life behind, abandoned it in the dirt along with everything else. You were just another villager now, another nameless woman hidden away in a place the court had no reason to look.

And yet, instinct screamed at you that it didn’t matter.

Because he didn’t need to know your name.

He only needed to know that you didn’t belong here.

That someone, somewhere, would pay handsomely to have you dragged back.

Nausea clawed its way up your throat.

“I never thought I’d find her here,” he murmured, his voice smooth, almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the moment.

Your stomach clenched.

His gaze drifted, lower now, to the curve of your belly. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, intrigue, and something deeper, unreadable. Then, a slow, dark amusement settled into his eyes.

“And a bonus.”

The floor seemed to tilt beneath you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, and for a split second, you couldn’t move. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run, but your limbs felt frozen, locked in place by the suffocating weight of knowing.

He wasn’t here for you. Not specifically.

But he would take you anyway.

And once he knew—once he realized—

Your stomach twisted violently.

You didn’t think. You moved.

The chair scraped against the floor as you shot to your feet, your heartbeat thundering. Taren inhaled sharply, but you barely heard him. Every instinct was screaming now, every muscle coiling with the need to flee—

Then, he stepped forward.

Unhurried. Certain.

His guards shifted in tandem, just enough to remind you that the door was no longer an option. And suddenly, you knew.

They weren’t going to let you leave.

Your breathing came fast, too fast, and for the first time in months, you felt truly trapped. Not by walls, not by distance, but by the simple, cruel reality that you were prey.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

You had made a mistake.

You had let yourself believe you were safe. That peace could be more than just a fleeting dream. That no one would ever come looking.

But safety has always been a lie.

And freedom?

It had never been yours to keep.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt

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javiersvest · 1 month ago

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breathe, hold, release (pt. 1)

joel miller x f!pilates instructor reader

summary: when sarah forces joel to drive her to a new pilates studio downtown, he finds a new favorite way to spend saturday mornings.

tags: mdni (18+ only), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader is afab/able bodied, has long hair, no other physical descriptors, meet cute vibes, no smut (yet! part 2 pending) but joel is having thoughts so, slightly pervy!joel, age gap (joel is 40, reader is 28), mention of a breeding kink if you really squint, joel is an angsty horny mess, if i forgot anything please lmk!

word count: 6.8k

a/n: this is my first published fic on here after bowing out of writing for a while, so i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys. my user is misleading but i will be writing for pedro's other characters as well :) ty to my besties for beta'ing this for me ♡ pls be gentle.. alright goodbye!

“Pill what now?”

Joel’s headache throbbed in time with the sound of Sarah thundering down the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he stepped in from the backyard. It was only May, and already an unbearable heat had settled over Austin – eighty degrees before noon, causing sweat to plaster his shirt to his back. He’d spent the morning in a losing battle with a rotted fence post, back aching as he tried to dig it out of the ground. Stubborn bastard that it was, it wasn’t giving up easy.

“Pilates,” Sarah repeated, breezing past him with a blue tote bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s a new studio downtown and Vic’s mom got us a free class. Can you drive me?”

Joel bit back a groan, swiping the sweat from his brow with the heel of his hand. “Downtown?” he echoed, already dreading the traffic. Saturdays downtown were a nightmare; the farmer’s market turning a ten minute drive into half an hour, easily. Joel had unfortunately gotten stuck in the rush each time he had to make a supply run. He glanced toward the oven clock, the dimming light blinking 10:43 a.m. He needed to fix that, too.

Sarah had begun filling her water bottle – the matching one he’d bought her two birthdays ago.

“You need to shower before you take me, you’re gonna get me kicked out.” Sarah remarks, her finger pointing at him and motioning to all of the grime and dirt that clung to him like a second skin. “Class is at 11:30, we have time right?”

Joel ignored the question, sliding the back door’s lock into place. “What the hell is it anyway?” He rarely said no to her, despite his perpetual bearish nature and overall aversion for people. Too many times had Sarah dragged him out of the house just for him to get stuck somewhere that only reminded him of how lonely he was.

“It’s like yoga but with machines,” Sarah’s words are muffled in between her bites of an apple.

Joel’s brow raises. “Thought you said yoga was boring?”

She rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch, already absorbed in her phone. “Go shower. If we’re late, they’ll charge Vic’s mom.”

He sighed, deep and through his nose. Muttering something about who in their right mind pays to do yoga on machines, he trudged up the stairs.

The truck rumbled down South Congress, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, one finger pressed to his temple in an effort to soothe the persistent ache pulsing behind his eye. A silver sedan cut him off with zero hesitation, and he bit back the curse rising to his lips.

“I told you we should’ve left earlier,” Sarah said from the passenger seat, craning her neck toward the window in search of the new studio.

Joel huffed, his tone dry. “I was covered in dirt, you said I had to shower.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were a walking health code violation.” She laughs at her own joke and Joel’s expression remains in a comfortable scowl. Such a smartass. As he made a sharp right turn into the plaza, Sarah perked up and let her arm stretch out of the open window. “Right there! That’s it.”

Joel gave the building a once over. It was new, pristine, and pretentious. Probably owned by some well-to-do Texan socialite who spent more on coffee in a week than he did on power tools in a month. He parked with a heavy exhale and cut the engine. Sarah had one foot out the door, stressed about missing a second of class, when she paused. “Oh – you have to come in and sign a waiver.”

Joel paused, fingers still on the keys. “Thought the whole point of this was me sittin’ in the truck.” Driving back home and turning around to pick her up again would be a waste of time; and gas. But lingering outside in a baking metal box didn’t sound much better.

“It’s five minutes,” Sarah assured him, then smirked. “Unless being surrounded by chicks in leggings is too overwhelming for you.” Joel shot her a long, withering look in response.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shoving the door open with a little more force than necessary.

The parking lot shimmered in the sun as Joel stepped out of the truck, the soles of his boots crunching against the asphalt. Sarah was already halfway to the entrance, her tote bag bouncing against her side, curls swaying. Joel followed at a slower pace, dragging a hand through his hair. The studio came fully into view. Floor-to-ceiling glass, a glowing sign that read MOTIV in green serif, flanked by potted olive trees and dangling strings of fairy lights.

Inside, everything looked soft, curated, and suspiciously spotless. He walked through the front door and was hit with a cool rush of air and the sharp scent of lavender and orange; his headache vibrates in his skull. A display shelf of similar cups to Sarah’s and matching workout sets sat to the right. A neon pink sign above a brushed gold water dispenser glowing Hydrate + Radiate. He hovered near the entrance while Sarah went to check in, arms crossed with a faint scowl. The chalkboard on the wall read “Today’s intention: be here now.” The hell does that even mean?

Joel felt like a sore thumb with a heartbeat.

“Wow,” Sarah murmured, her voice echoing against the sleek linoleum floors as she looked around. “This place is so nice.”

Joel made a low sound in his throat, eyes narrowing at the bright lighting. The walls were all soft blush tones and polished wood, greenery hung in just the right places. Overhead a top fifty playlist sounded through the speakers, Joel recognized the current song from Sarah’s collection.

A woman steps out from around the corner, clipboard in hand, smiling bright and open. Your hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, loose strands of it catching the morning light and framing your face. If he looked close enough he could see the flush over your skin, probably due to the heat. You wore a soft pink sports bra and black leggings, a matching sheer wrap tied around your waist in a loose knot that somehow made the whole ensemble seem less like activewear and more like intention. Not flashy, not performative. Just… natural. Must be what that stupid chalkboard was talking about.

“Hi there!” you greet warmly, approaching with the kind of ease that could only come from liking the act of getting to know people. “Checking in?”

Your eyes meet Joel’s and he feels something stutter in his chest. He might’ve managed a proper introduction if every part of his body hadn’t suddenly forgotten how to function. He’d expected your voice to be sharp and high-pitched, but it was lower than he thought, and warm.

“I’m Sarah,” she answers, and Joel is grateful for it. “This is my dad. He’s just here to drop me off and sign the waiver thing?”

“Got it!” you beamed at her, then turned your attention back to Joel, your smile undimmed. “We ask all guardians to fill one out - liability stuff, just in case. These machines are a little weird for people at first.”

Joel feels like you’re overexplaining, his expression flat as you extend the clipboard to him. Behind him, Sarah coughed pointedly, silently telling him to stop being such an ass. When he glanced at her, she was already watching him with narrowed eyes. The pen attached had a small, fake sunflower affixed to the top. Joel stared at it like it was a trap. “...Really?”

You laugh, light and unbothered. “I know, but everyone seems to like them.”

Joel doesn’t do the polite thing – a laugh, a nod, that reflexive smile people give each other when they lock eyes in a grocery store. Instead, he exhales slowly through his nose and squints at the waiver, pen scratching across the lines with a kind of grim determination. His handwriting is slanted and a little sloppy, like he’s trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

You turn your attention to Sarah, your voice softening. “We’ve got a few machines open, most people like being up front their first time so they can see what’s happening.”

Sarah perks up. “Cool. Is my friend Vic here already?”

You glance over your shoulder, smile brightening when you spot her. Now you remembered checking her in ten minutes ago, she’d mentioned she was saving a place for a friend. “Yep! She checked in earlier, I think she snagged the one in the middle for you. You two are doing this together?”

“First timers,” Sarah grins, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. “Her mom booked us the free class.”

“Trying new things, I love it!” you say, giving her a high-five. “She asked me earlier if it was normal to feel like Bambi on ice during the first class. I told her that’s half the fun.” Sarah laughs and heads toward Vic, who greets her with a dramatic stretch.

Joel is still standing at the counter, hunched slightly over the clipboard. He scrawls his signature on the last line, clearing his throat as he hands the clipboard back to you. Your eyes scan the page, and you find his messy handwriting endearing.

“Thanks… Joel,” you say, softly - not like you were spitting it out. Maybe he imagines that part. Joel gives a grunt that might be a thank you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You tuck the form under your arm and check your watch.

“You’re welcome to wait inside if you’d like - there’s cold towels and water in that fridge over there.” You motion to the bench in the corner with your chin. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He can’t formulate a response, can’t even mumble a simple token of gratitude. You gave another breezy smile and turned to greet a pair of women walking in behind him, slipping easily into conversation. Across the room, Sarah and Vic are giggling over their machines, pointing at the foot straps like they’re some kind of amusement park ride.

Joel lingers for a beat too long with the clipboard no longer in his hands, as if waiting for something else to anchor him. He wondered if you were pretending, if you ever talked to people the way he did; uninterested, rushed.

He sighs and moves toward the bench in the corner. The cushions are softer than expected. They remind him that he doesn’t belong here. He pretends not to notice the way each woman looks him up and down, probably wondering why the hell he was there. Still, Joel sits. Just a few minutes, he tells himself. Long enough to cool off. Long enough for his pulse to stop kicking at his throat. But as your voice drifts through the room - steady and laced with quiet command, he decides to stay.

Joel hadn’t meant to stare.

He really hadn’t.

But somehow, he found himself still on the bench fifteen minutes into the class, a cold towel slack in his hand, no longer pressed to the back of his neck. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, as if that’d make him less conspicuous. As if anyone in this goddamn studio even noticed he was still sitting there – except maybe Sarah, who'd sent him a single, suspicious look before disappearing into your instructions.

But Joel couldn’t look away. Not from you.

You’d claimed the reformer at the front of the class, surrounded by the ten students. Joel watched, rooted, as you’d settled onto it, feet covered with pink socks on the bar. You were fucking adorable. Every movement was fluid – graceful in a way that made his jaw clench. You moved through the class with quiet precision, your legs extending in a slow push that brought your hips off the carriage, then back down with a faint hiss of the springs. Your body stretched; long, flexed, contracted, then stilled. And then again. Again. Again.

It was obscene how hypnotic it was.

"Place your heels on the foot bar, toes flexed toward the ceiling. Keep your spine neutral and engage through that core,” your voice cutting through the lowered music like warm honey. You spoke like you trusted everyone in the room would follow you – even Joel, even though he wasn’t on a machine, even though he hadn’t moved an inch.

“Good. Now press through the heels, extend the legs. Slow tempo. Four counts to extend, four to return. Feel the hamstrings fire up.” And God help him, he did. Watching your body glide slowly along that strange looking machine, smooth and controlled, everything tight and drawn in. You continue until the class is warmed up, then step off your machine to observe.

“Now that we’ve got our legs warmed up, we’ll go ahead and move into foot loops,” you said. You’d taken the pink wrap from around your waist and tossed it onto the wall hooks, leaving only the curve of your hips in black leggings, your baby-pink sports bra clinging to your skin. Joel’s eyes followed you as you walked between the machines, stopping next to Sarah to help her get the foot straps on. Your voice lowers to guide her on where to place the straps, but he can’t hear you over the buzzing in his ears.

You moved down the row, adjusting tension springs on Vic’s machine. “We’re going to start with some wide leg circles. Let the loops pull your legs back as far as they can go, feel that stretch through the backs of the legs and then pull down through the middle.” Your arms lift and mimic the gesture, feet padding along the floor as you inspect each student to check for anyone needing guidance. When you’re satisfied with everyone’s form, you return to your machine and slip your own feet into the loops.

His breath caught when your legs started moving outward in slow splits, carving invisible circles in the air. Joel pressed the towel to his mouth. Not to cool off – just to keep from making a fucking sound. The straps catch in the pulleys above you, like silk thread tugging you from some invisible point in the ceiling.

“Keep your spine anchored, core doing the work. Focus on your breathing, that’s where the strength is.”

Joel feels his breathing switch up to match your pace, and it felt good. The straps kept tension in your limbs, your legs moving in wide circles, gliding just inches above the mat before rising again. The control it took – not just to move like that, but to make it look so easy – tightened something deep in Joel’s gut.

Joel could feel the resistance just from watching. The subtle burn in your thighs. The strain in your lower belly when you drew your legs tighter. The slight tremble in your inner muscles that showed, just for a second, before you steadied again. And Jesus, the way your stomach drew in when your legs came together, toes pointed, straps pulled taut… Joel shifts on the bench, one hand pressing into his thigh. He blinked, trying to scrub the image from behind his eyes. But it was seared there now – your legs in those slow, perfect arcs, hips pinned down, your voice soothing and low.

Then came bridges, and his jaw ticks.

You guide the class through the setup with that same calm cadence that had been slowly wrecking him all morning. “Alright, this one is going to burn after the first few, but I promise it’s worth it.” You joke and earn laughter from the room. “Pull the carriage in with your feet, arms straight and long on the carriage.”

And when you demonstrated the motion yourself – feet on the bar and your hips rising until you were up in the air – Joel’s brain completely derailed.

From the bench, he could see it all: your knees bent, heels digging into the foot bar, the slow articulation of your spine as it peeled away from the mat. Shoulders down. Hips up. The curve of your back forming a line he had absolutely no business thinking about.

“Feel the glutes working here, not the low back. Squeeze and hover, then we’ll pulse for ten and roll down,” you said, calm as ever, like you weren’t using all of your strength. You rolled down slowly, vertebra by vertebra, until your spine was flat again.

“Keep it steady. Don’t let the carriage slam. There’s strength in control.”

His jeans tighten further, jaw going slack.

He could see every line of your body through those leggings – the way your hips rose and fell in rhythm, the tight pull of muscle around your thighs, your stomach flexing, ribs shifting beneath your skin. That pink sports bra rose with each inhale, clung tighter with every breath you blew out.

Joel couldn’t stop imagining your breath against his throat, hot and shallow. Couldn’t stop picturing what it’d be like to have those thighs wrap around him in the air, hips shaking as he traces his name with his tongue in your sweetest spot. To feel the strength of you – the steadiness, the ease, the command. Would you still talk him through it? Patient, encouraging, eager to watch him fall apart?

His jeans were fucking unbearable now.

The machine creaks beneath you, slow and steady as you release and tell the class to catch their breath. Your palms flatten beside your hips, body curling as your knees drew in and your stomach hollowed. You begin rocking side to side to stretch through your lower back, instructing the class to do the same. His mind flashes with the image of you doing it in his bed, exhausted from him spending the night buried deep inside you, knees in the air to make it stick.

Joel dropped his gaze to the floor, pushing a sharp breath through his lips. What the fuck was wrong with him? His daughter was here, just a feet away, laughing quietly with you, following your cues without hesitation. And him? He was on a bench with a hard-on, staring at you like some fucking creep. Arousal simmering under denim like he was seventeen again. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to will the tension out of his shoulders.

This wasn’t who he was. He was a father. He should’ve been paying attention to Sarah, making sure she felt supported, safe. But his mind had gone somewhere dark and hot and selfish – and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t drag it back.

All because of the way your voice wrapped around the room. Because of the curve of your back, the power in your legs, the way you didn’t even seem to know what you were doing to him.

And that was the worst part, this wasn’t a fantasy. It was real, you were real.

You sit up on your machine momentarily, one knee bent on top as you face the class.

“To cool down we’re going to do the same thing, but with our legs this time. What I mean by that is,” you pause and lie back down, everyone in the class sat up to watch your demonstration.

“Feet into the loops, your shoulders should stay grounded. With bridges we roll the back down one vertebrae at a time, this time think of lifting up with your spine instead.” Your legs rise up towards the ceiling, your toes pointed. Voice steady, you say something about keeping your tailbone tucked in, but Joel isn’t hearing you.

His eyes follow your body like he’s a snake charmed, lips parting in awe. He’s watching so closely he can see your abdomen flex just slightly as you lift up through your hips, practically suspended in midair if not for your shoulders staying down. And your face – focused, serene, utterly unbothered by both the difficult maneuver and the effect you were having on him just feet away.

You were so strong, so beautiful. Hell, he was old; probably didn’t know much about what people could do with their bodies outside of hard labor.

He bet you’d teach him a lot of things.

The best his imagination could do still had all his blood pumping to his cock.

If he had you under him, legs hooked over his shoulders, spine arched, stretched and slack like that for him… christ he wouldn’t be able to stop. Guiding your breathing as he turns you into a soft puddle of skin in his grip, fingertips pressing into your knee as he holds you still. He’d do it all night if you would let him. Now that he’d seen you like this, strong and sweet and sexy without even trying, he had to show you how good you were.

You held the pose for a few more seconds, some polite applause sounding from a few of the women. A bashful smile appears as you set your feet down, motioning for everyone to try. You start moving slowly, taking the time to correct each person’s form if necessary. The way you instructed was never malicious, no undercurrent of judgement if someone wasn’t at your level. Joel half expected every girl in here aside from his daughter to have that catty personality that made people feel bad about themselves just for saying hello.

He follows you as you get to Sarah’s machine, the teenager’s brow furrowed as she tried to lift her hips in the air how you did. Her legs were shaky, unsure. Joel almost stood up in case the machine did something wonky and hurt her. Soon there’s a pair of hands on Sarah’s calves, supporting her legs while you talk to her.

“Breathe into it, Sarah,” you say softly. “Imagine there’s a string pulling you right up, like you’re nothin’ but a feather.” You laugh airly at your own comment, Sarah’s eyes scrunching as she giggles back. Then your fingers are wrapped around her ankles, shoulder blades flexing under that baby pink sports bra as you guide her legs up.

She tries again – and this time, her body rises just like you’d said, wobbly, but right. You nod excitedly, a beaming smile on your face as you encourage her to hold the post without your support. Your fingers release and Sarah cranes her neck towards the bench.

She was checking; checking to see if her dad was watching. Just like at every soccer game, every choir show, Joel was. He sees her trying something new and succeeding, and sees you helping her get there. Joel’s smile is soft and immediate. Pride floods his chest as he gives her a small nod, then his eyes carry back to you.

You’re already looking at him, and Joel’s breathing nearly freezes.

There’s a look written across your face that he can’t decipher. A flicker of curiosity, maybe? The way you’re looking at him now, head tilted, lips parted, chest rising slow; it tells Joel you know. You know what he’s been thinking. Know he’s been watching you, wanting you, sinking teeth into every soft command and slow stretch like a starving man. And worse than that: you’re not stopping it. You’re not asking him to leave, or giving him dirty looks.

Joel swallows hard, jaw flexing as he drags his gaze down your throat, your shoulders, the curve of your waist. Lets you watch him imagine your thighs hooked over his shoulders, his hands keeping you steady, taking what he’s been aching for since the first breath you took in that room.

You blink slowly.

And just like that, it’s over. You turn back to the class, guiding and praising like you didn’t just fucking unravel him from across the room. His hands curl into fists on his knees when he realizes this isn’t just some fleeting crush. Not anymore.

The room settles, your voice softer but clear as you lead the class through a final cooldown. Your chin is tilted up towards the ceiling, shoulders rolling back. Then your hands come together in a gesture of appreciation. You thank everyone for coming, a few women already reaching for towels and water bottles. Sarah steps off the reformer and starts tugging her shoes back on, you coming over to adjust something with the machine Joel can’t see. She says something, he can’t hear it, but you both laugh, and Joel feels his chest crack open with something warm. Something more pure. But it’s not enough to smother the want.

Sarah joins Vic by the water refill station, the girls chatting excitedly and sharing their surprise for how fun it was. You’re kneeling by the machine she’d used, a bottle of disinfectant spraying onto the leather as you wipe it down with a rag. You do it to each machine, diligently moving through the motions like you’d done it a million times.

Everything is back to normal except him.

His body is still too wired, every nerve still lit up from watching you teach. And now he has to walk over, play it cool, and be a good dad. Ask Sarah if she had fun and tell her how proud he is – without letting a single thing on his face give him away.

God help him.

Sarah bounds towards him, some of her curls stuck to her forehead with sweat. “Who’s the walking health hazard now?” Joel teases, bumping his fist into her shoulder gently.

“It’s way harder than it looks,” she says with a tired smile, ignoring his banter. She must really be burnt out then.

Joel chuckles and looks at the reformers with a dramatic puff of air. “Those look like hell.”

“They are,” her grin grows, proud now. “But it was fun! Like, weirdly fun.”

He hums and lets her take a drink of water before asking, “You wanna come back then?”

Sarah doesn’t think anything of his question, but shakes her head. “No way, I just wanted to try it. Pilates is expensive,” she answers. Joel’s heart clenches a little, a flicker of insecurity on his face with the knowledge that his daughter was aware of their financial situation. They were comfortable, but things were definitely tight most of the time. Joel did what he needed to do.

“I’m sure they’ve got a payment plan or somethin’, c’mon let’s ask.” Joel jerks his chin towards the front desk. You’re sitting there now, sipping from a water bottle. Sarah looks at her dad in confusion, surprised that he was even entertaining the idea.

When they approach the desk you set the bottle down, smiling at Sarah. “Hey! How’d you like it? You did an amazing job for it being your first time.”

Her face lights up, and she can’t help but beam under the praise. “It was awesome, I didn’t think I’d be able to do half of that.”

“You’re always stronger than you think you are, at least that’s what I’ve learned doing this,” you offer kindly. Always affirming and attentive.

Joel clears his throat, voice steadier than he feels. “We were just wonderin’ about the membership. If there’s uh, a rate or somethin’ like that.”

Reaching under the desk you grab a piece of paper, placing it on the counter. You turn it so they can read it, your pointer finger tracing the rates as you explain each one. “Since we just opened a few months ago we're still running a 25% off discount if you buy three months of classes.”

Joel and Sarah share a look, but they don’t say anything, silently communicating. Joel’s hand moves to his back pocket, digging out his wallet and sliding one of his cards out.

“You better become star pupil, how much this is runnin’ me,” he jokes with her, handing the card to you. You laugh at the exchange, not impolitely. Joel feels a sense of accomplishment that he’d made you laugh.

“She’s already on her way, don’t worry.” You hand over his receipt with a smile, that same pen from earlier nestled between your thumb and the thin paper. The pen clicks against the counter as he hunches over to sign; sign himself away to you, it felt like. This time when the fake flower taped to the top grazes his knuckles, he just smiles to himself. Welcomes it, like that little flower was the closest he’d ever get to you.

It had become routine, sacred in its quiet regularity.

Every Saturday morning, he’d watch her fill up her water bottle, tousle her hair, then watch her sling that tote bag over her shoulder like she’d been doing pilates her whole life. Then Joel drove Sarah downtown, pretending to dread the drive a little less each week that passed. The first time back, he’d tried to leave after dropping her off. Using coffee as an excuse only worked that first time, though, Sarah knowing there was no way in hell Joel was going to drop $9 on a latte three buildings down. At least not on a coffee for himself.

It’d been about a month now; four Saturdays. Maybe five, he couldn’t remember. It was long enough that the receptionist knew him by name, long enough that Sarah had a favorite reformer, right next to yours, and a pre-class stretching routine. You had grown roots in his mind, but not just his – in Sarah’s too. Every afternoon after class she’d rave about your teaching, how funny you were, how she thought you were “just the coolest.”

Aside from the fact he already thought you were beautiful, the way his daughter spoke about you made appreciation bloom in his chest. You really saw her. You never shrunk her, always met her teenage uncertainty with warmth and ease, matched her sense of humor. In a room of older women, toned and polished, you treated Sarah like she belonged. The studio, with its sun-warmed floors and pop music, had become a place they both looked forward to.

And so, Joel would sit on that bench in the corner for an hour every weekend, watching you stretch and manipulate your body in ways he didn’t know were possible.

He told himself it was purely for Sarah. That it was about her confidence, her joy. And it was. The way she’d fallen in sync with you each class, it was worth every penny. He’d picked up some night jobs on the weekends Sarah was at a friend’s house just to make up for the splurge, his back aching in places it hadn’t before. He bet you’d be able to soothe that ache in his back, your hands gently nudging him over the line of satisfaction, voice gentle as you guide his breathing.

He couldn’t tell if you were aware of how much you fed his delusions. It was the way you smiled each time the pair walked in, the way you warmed up any conversation. The small talk had started slowly. Mundane things, safe things, like how long have you been doing this? 3 years. It’s really heating up out there isn’t it? I love the sun, it’s not so bad. Then it turned into questions about his week, how Sarah was doing, how he was doing.

You never seemed rushed, never distracted. Even when students would trickle in, you never ended your conversation with him. Some mornings, your eyes would focus on him in a way he had deemed unnecessary, eyes searching for something in his face while he talked.

Then you would laugh, quiet and low, when he said something he hadn’t intended to be funny. He wasn’t sure when you started touching his arm when you said goodbye, but he noticed now. The warmth of it. The quick, electric trail it left behind. You never lingered long enough for him to know for sure. Never stepped out of line. But you didn’t avoid him, either.

You followed him home every weekend, embedded in his mind’s eye. Your smile, your body, your voice. Dancing around in his head like the ballerina in a musicbox. One absolutely insignificant detail he’d latched onto was your backpack hanging up behind the desk. Specifically, the pink and silver bow chain dangling from one of the zippers. He’d watch it clink against the fabric each time you took a step, or watch it catch the light when you went to grab something from the small pocket in the front.

She’s got a bow on her keys, he’d think to himself, laying in bed with an arm behind his head.

Of course she does.

You become Joel's little secret, the adoringly kind pilates instructor downtown who always wore matching sets and had a bow keychain hanging on her bag.

Another class had concluded, women passing Joel as he leaned on the front desk, elbows starting to ache a little from pressing into the hard surface. Sarah started helping you around the studio a couple of weeks ago, wiping down machines and mindless tasks, anything to talk to you. This meant he got the hang around a bit longer, watch you. Talk to you. Sarah’s laughter echoes behind him; she offers to fold the towels, her good deed for the day, he hears her say.

You stood behind the desk, shoulders relaxed now that the class ended, a faint sheen still clinging to your skin. There was a different ease to you in the emptiness. The professional brightness dimmed, leaving something quieter in its place – closer to the woman he imagined when he was lying awake at night, chasing the sound of your laugh in his memory while he stared at the ceiling.

“Got anything fun planned for the rest of the day?” you ask him coolly, head tilted in curiosity. You lean into the counter just a little, eyes catching his in that way that knocks the wind out of him.

“Mm,” he hums. “Laundry, dishes. Fix this drawer in the kitchen that never shuts right.”

You lift a brow, smile pulling slowly. “Wow, that does sound fun,” you tease, but not unkindly.

He huffs a dry laugh, lets his gaze drag down the line of your arm and back up again. “Yeah, well. Sittin’ here in the air conditioning beats fixin’ drawers, but it’s gotta get done. Sarah’s been complainin’ about it for days.”

You smile knowingly, a clever glint in your eye. “And here I thought you were sitting in here cause you liked the view.”

He feels himself shift as he straightens up, like he’s been caught red-handed. His lips part as though he’s about to say something else, defend himself, put your suspicions to rest or apologize for being perverted. But nothing comes out. He could try to laugh, make a joke, say he’s just here for Sarah. Hell, maybe he could’ve done that a few Saturdays ago, but not now.

Not with the way you’re looking at him.

Like you already know.

Joel swallows thickly, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he might say something slick, something brave. But it falters, and he comes clean. “Would be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.”

Your brow arches, just barely. You don’t retreat, don’t fill the silence with something easier. You just hold his gaze, head tilted like you’re wondering how honest he’ll let himself be. He lets out a breath through his nose. “”M real sorry, I didn’t mean to..” he trails off, redness creeping up his tanned neck and peeking through the collar of his t-shirt.

Then you laugh; not loud or cruel, just amused. “Relax, Joel,” you say easily. “Be lying if I said I minded,” you copy his words and they land right in his chest.

He glances down at the counter. “Thought maybe you were just bein’ polite, or I read things wrong,” he shakes his head, brows knitted together.

“I was being polite,” you confirm with a nod. “But no, you didn’t read it wrong.”

Joel scratches the back of his neck, the shift in his stance subtle but telling. There’s still heat in the air between you, but now he’s glancing toward the hallway like he’s trying to redirect it, tuck it somewhere safer.

“By the way,” he says, clearing his throat, “Noticed one of the sinks in the men’s room’s got a slow drain,” he said, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “These new buildings they rush the plumbing.”

You blink, then your brows lift in amusement. “Oh does it?”

“Yeah,” he nods, earnest as ever. “Probably just a loose fitting or the trap’s clogged, but,” he shrugs, hands sliding into his pockets, “I could take a look if you want.”

It’s so innocent on the surface. Almost too innocent. You tilt your head, watching him and waiting for a punchline. “Is this a ploy for something?”

His head jerks back slightly, as if the thought scandalized him. “What? No –” he rubs a palm over his beard, then exhales a quiet laugh. “I mean… no. Just hate bad handiwork, drives me crazy.”

You’re smiling now, arms crossed, leaning just a little into the counter. “So you’re not trying to impress me with your plumbing skills.”

He gives a low chuckle, something sheepish flickering in his expression. “God, no. Just wanna help you out, ‘fore it gets too bad.”

You purse your lips, fighting off an even wider smile. There’s something magnetic about his awkwardness. The way he tries so hard not to overstep, even as his interest leaks out bit by bit.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to show you're considering him. “Does Monday work? That’s our upkeep day.”

“Monday’s great.” Joel nods once, his eyes meeting yours with a tender expression in them.

Sarah steps into the room and squints at the freshly printed class schedule taped to the wall, her gaze quickly moving between it and you.

“Monday?” she asks, her brows furrowing. “Did the class get switched?”

The words hang in the air, and the shared look between you and Joel is one of fondness, like you’re sharing an inside joke.

“Your dad offered to fix a sink for me, what do you think it’s gonna run me?” you say, sliding a small pin across the counter toward Sarah.

You had a matching one affixed to your backpack, the studio’s name printed on it, and Sarah’s eyes light up. The beginning of a smirk starts to appear as she turns the pin over once. She doesn’t miss a thing.

“Hard to say,” she says, she muses, exaggeratedly thoughtful. “He’s not cheap. You might end up owing him dinner.”

You stifle a laugh, trying not to look too pleased as you lean on the counter. “You go around fixing every girl’s sink in exchange for food?”

Joel opens his mouth, but Sarah cuts in before he has the chance. “Just the girls he has crushes on.”

Joel groans low under his breath, head tipping back like he’s asking the ceiling for mercy. “Jesus, Sarah.”

Sarah taps the pin once against the edge of the counter, then pins it to her bag. “Well,” she says with a shrug, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you next Saturday, and he will see you on Monday.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, eyes lingering on Joel just a moment longer, catching the way he shifts under the weight of all Sarah’s teasing.

Sarah leads him to the door and he hesitates, his hand grazing the back of his neck like he’s not quite ready to go, like there’s something else he wants to say but won’t.

“See you Monday,” he says at last, voice low, sincere.

You smile, warm and easy. “I’ll be here.”

Joel nods once, then turns to follow Sarah, who’s already halfway out the door. Just before it swings closed behind him, he glances back over his shoulder – there’s a quiet hopefulness in his eyes, an understanding that the feelings are mutual. That you saw him and his inner turmoil weeks ago, and you didn’t shy away.

You lift your hand in a quiet wave, no teasing this time.

Sarah is saying something about getting food on the way home, but Joel’s mind is still inside, with you. The way you’d smiled at him like you meant it. The way you leaned on the counter, eyes full of mischief, sweet as sin. He hadn’t expected any of this, and was getting more than he bargained for. As he gets into his truck, something settles in his chest – something heavier.

He’d looked too long. Thought too much. You didn’t even know what you were doing to him, and that made it worse. You were so good, so damn sweet, and he’d sat there every week with his head full of things he hadn’t let himself want in years. Things he wasn’t sure he had the right to want now. He told himself it was harmless. Just a little crush, something to think about at night to help him fall asleep.

But he was already thinking about Monday. The sink, sure, but mostly the quiet. Just the two of you. No class in session, no students to pretend around, no reason to keep his distance.

And that scared him more than anything.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

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konglindorm · 2 months ago

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Jenny Prater’s novel When the War Ends will be released on July 1, with preorders opening on June 1. Check back in on May 5 for the official cover reveal, and follow us for future updates!

A princess betrayed by a childhood love. A boy banished for a crime he may not have committed. A mysterious kidnapper grown fond of his victim. A woman determined to save the island from war, one refugee at a time. A heartbroken baron, and an inexperienced new queen. Join our cast as they face memory and regret, conspiracy and betrayal, in this sweeping romantic fantasy about the enduring power of love.

All Eloise wants is to forget every detail of the doomed childhood romance that destroyed her reputation and launched her kingdom into an endless war. But when she’s kidnapped shortly before her wedding, the man who took everything from her may be her only chance at survival, not just for herself, but for the entire kingdom.

She’ll trust him with her life; she has no choice. But does she dare to trust him with her heart again?

#writing #my writing #reading #books #book release #cover reveal #new book #coming soon #fantasy #small press #indie publishing #when the war ends #WTWE #wax heart press #Jenny prater

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infamous-if · 7 months ago

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Hellooo December! Christmas and New Years are my favorite times of the year so I'm really pumped. I get super productive and hyper near the end of the year so I'm hoping that translates into writing lol (Usually people relax, no? I'm the opposite. I'm always convinced I'm going to change my life in like a month before the next year commences).

Chapter 4 is going well. This month I'll likely be dropping the sneak peek and hoping to test and release chapter 4 at the beginning of the next year. I've also been chipping away at chapter 5 so that's fun. There's also another thing I want to release in December but I won't say it until I'm pressing publish on that so as not to repeat history…lol

November was spent writing that chapter and planning out the next. I suck at keeping track of word counts and things I've done and achieved so I never have actual concrete data for you guys sorry lol but yeah, that's all I've been doing.

Happy Holidays <3 December will hopefully be an eventful month for Amy Infamous and Infamous readers 🫡

#mini #author update

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nyletac · 19 days ago

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Steam

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female! Reader

Summary: You were trying to relax on your own after a stressful mission. However, that plan changes when someone walks in on you.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, Smut, Female masturbation, Water Pressure play, Watching (female receiving), Fingering, Cursing, Vaginal Sex, Dirty talk, Fluff, Aftercare

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: It took me so long to write this oh my god. I’m sorry if it’s a little messy but I needed to publish something, hope you enjoy and I might come back to this to fix it up if it needs it! Also if you’re wanting to see something specific from me I should have my Anon requests open! And thank you guys for all the love on “Toxic Heat”!🥺💜

The safehouse was quiet, the kind of silence that clung heavy like thick fog after a storm. You barely noticed it anymore. After so many missions, so many moments spent waiting for the next crisis, the tension weighed heavy. You craved the peace, but you also felt the weight of everything unsaid between you and Steve.

The bathroom was your sanctuary. A place to rewind and relax. After a particularly hard and tiring mission with Steve, your partner for these missions, you stepped under the steaming water, spraying from the shower shower head above you, letting it cascade down your, washing away the grime of battle and the ache of exhaustion. The heat seeped deep into your muscles, loosening tight knots of tension that had built up over days. You let out a pleased sigh, feeling your body slowly but surely begin to decompress. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back, feeling the water wash through your hair and run down your back.

The sound of the shower was hypnotic, rhythmic—the steady pulse of warmth and release. Your hands wandered on yourself, trailing over damp skin, fingertips mapping the familiar landscape of your body in the privacy of the steam. You let out a slow breath, the subtle pressure building between your thighs as your fingers dipped lower.

Your mind wandered, painting vivid pictures of him.

Steve.

You tried not to but being locked up in a house with just him for weeks… his broad chest, the way his strong hands moved with quiet authority, the softness hidden beneath his soldier’s exterior. You imagined him here with you, close enough to feel his breath, to press your bodies together beneath the water. Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the slick skin of your inner thigh.

Reaching for the detachable shower head, you grasped it with flushed hands and pressed the warm spray against your wet skin, letting it pulse in teasing rhythms against your most sensitive places. Over your chest, trailing down your stomach, up agasint your inner thighs, before finally settling on your heat. The water’s temperature mixed with the intense pressure had your breath hitching in sharp gasps as the pleasure spiraled higher.

You begin to imagine Steve again, imagining there with you, images flash through your mind. Him on his knees between your legs, your body pressed against his with his hand on your clit, or him pressing you up against the shower wall, taking you as the water falls on you both.

You bit your lip, fingers tightening around the handle, your eyes squeezed shut as waves of release built and crashed beneath the mist.

But then—

The bathroom door creaked open.

Your eyes snapped open.

Steve stood frozen in the doorway, his mouth slightly parted, eyes wide as they took in the sight of you—wet, flushed, your hand wrapped around the detachable shower head pressed firmly against your skin, the evidence of your intimate moment impossible to ignore.

You froze, cheeks burning hotter than the steam around you, caught in the most vulnerable way imaginable.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The hot water sprayed over you, mixing with the steam, wrapping you in a warm, private haze. Your heart pounded, cheeks burning hotter than the mist.

You watched Steve’s face progressively get more red although not being able to look away from the state of you. Your eye wander over his frame, stopping to see the straining beneath his pants.

Then something inside you snapped — the tension, the aching need, the desperation you’d been holding back all day.

You didn’t stop.

Not for Steve. Not for anything.

Your fingers slid down your body, fingertips trailing wet, slick paths as you pressed the shower head harder against yourself, letting the warm jet pulse harder over your clit. Your breath hitched, trembling with need.

Steve blinked, disbelief and something darker flickering in his eyes.

He just stood there.

Watching.

You swallowed the thick lump of embarrassment and confusion, your body on fire, craving every inch of sensation.

“Steve...” you whispered, voice rough and shaky, “I can’t stop.”

He swallowed hard, every muscle frozen, eyes glued to you like you were the only thing in the world.

For a long moment, the only sound was your gasping breaths mingling with the steady roar of the water.

Steve watches as the water sprayed over your body, casting a glistening sheen over your flushed skin. He could feel the restraint and suffocating tightness in his sweatpants.

He was supposed to be just coming in to make sure you were okay. He stood outside the door and knocked and called out your name, but when you didn’t respond, he got worried.

And now here he was, watching as you relentlessly pleasure yourself, looking at him in a such a way that is on the edge of making him fold.

Your eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, caught in that delicate moment between pleasure and shame. The heat pooled deep inside you, curling tight around your nerves and making every inch of your skin sing.

And Steve just stood there. Watching.

You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his breathing had shifted—deeper, uneven, as if he was trying to steady himself but failing.

Your other hand slid over your breasts, fingertips teasing nipples, slick with water. Your breath hitched sharply, a soft moan slipping free despite yourself.

You glanced up, locking eyes with him through the haze of steam. “Please...” Your voice was a low, breathy whisper, trembling with need.

He swallowed audibly, eyes flickering with a storm of emotions—shock, disbelief, longing, and something darker, more vulnerable. The space between you felt charged, electric, thick with tension so sharp it was almost painful.

His fingers twitched at his side, restless but unsure.

The way you looked at him—open, exposed, utterly raw—pulled at something deep inside him. The restraint he’d held so tightly over the years began to slip.

He always wanted you, the way you treated him even back when he was trying to learn the new world. He loved everything about you. But he didn’t want to risk losing you if you didn’t return the feelings, so he stayed reserved from that part of him.

But now…

A slow step forward.

Your heart slammed in your chest, every nerve screaming in anticipation.

Steve’s voice was barely more than a whisper as he spoke, “Let me help.”

You eagerly nod, a whimper escaping your lips as you continue to pleasure yourself, feeling so desperate but nothing yet satisfying your need.

His hands made quick work of his clothes. Your eyes glued to him, watching more and more of his skin uncover with hungry eyes. You analyzed every curve of his muscle, every vein peaking through the soft flesh, his sculpted chest. Your eyes traveled lower as he removes his sweatpants.

Your jaw drops.

You let out a heavy sigh filled with awe and desperation. Despite how horny and ready for him you were, his size worries you. You’ll have to ask later if it’s due to the super soldier serum.

Before you could think too much, you were pulled back to reality as Steve opened the glass door to the shower. You watched as he steps in a hunger and desire evident in his eyes as he scans over you, his arms reached towards you steadying you as they slid around your waist. You trembled beneath his touch, a delicious shiver rippling through your body, still shocked that this is happening.

He took the shower head from your fingers, adjusting the water pressure to a softer, teasing rhythm. The jet traced lazy circles over your skin, the sensation heightened with his steady hands guiding it. You closed your eyes, mouth open in soft pleasure.

His mouth ghosted over your collarbone, lips brushing and sucking, breath hot and intoxicating. You tilted your head back, giving yourself over to the slow burn of his kisses and the pulse of the water.

Your hands reached up and tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer as his lips moved to your neck, then down your chest, fingers tracing the line of your ribs, sliding lower with reverent care.

Time seemed to slow, the world shrinking to the two of you — water, heat, heavy breaths, and the steady crescendo of your need.

His eyes met yours again, dark and intense, searching for permission.

You gave it willingly, heart pounding as your lips finally closed the distance.

Steve’s lips found yours—soft at first, questioning, then deepening into something urgent, desperate. Your hands roamed his chest, the muscles taut beneath your touch, as he pulled you flush against him, the shower head being let go and long forgotten in the moment

The water slicked your skin, your bodies pressed together in a perfect fit.

You shivered under his hands, every touch igniting a wildfire of sensation, every kiss stripping away years of yearning and friendship tempting into something more.

Steve’s lips moved with yours with a tender hunger that made your knees weak. His hands roamed down your back, sliding over the curve of your waist, moving down to your softness of ass, his hands giving them a gentle but firm squeeze. You moan into his mouth, your back arching.

His mouth left yours only to trail down your neck, sucking marks into your skin that will surely be there later. His hands moved and cupped your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they peaked under his touch, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through you. You moaned out his named, as he gives them gentle pinches.

You whined and shifted your hips against him, craving the press of his hardness. Steve groaned low in his throat, a sound that rumbled straight into your core, “You’re so fucking gorgeous”.

He reaches over and grabs the detachable shower once again, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he guided it back to the sensitive spot you’d been teasing before. The warm spray hit you with a delicious rush, and you whimpered, head falling back against his shoulder.

“Tell me what you want.” He whispered into your ear.

Your fingers traced the hard lines of his chest, heart pounding as you answered seemingly searching for anything to hold onto as he pleasures you, “You. Everything.”

His lips brushed against yours before a teasing smile appears on his face.

“Not yet…”

You whined in frustration, fingers slipping lower to trace the muscles of his hips, moving closer and closer to his cock. You looked down, mouth practically watering at the sight of it, head flushed with need and precum leaking from the top.

Before you could act on any of the sinful thoughts going through your mind, Steve’s hands found your wet hair, firmly pulling it, making your head tilt back as he leans forward, sliding his wet warm tongue across the expanse of your neck, finishing with kisses before his mouth covered yours once more, tongue teasing, exploring, claiming.

Steve shifted, his hardness pressing firmly against the curve of your hip. Your breath hitched, and your body responded instinctively, pressing your ass against him, grinding slowly as his hand reached around cupped your breasts again. Giving pulses of gentle squeezes and kneading.

With the shower head still pulsing warm water against your clit, he gently readjusted it—circling around your mound, you feel the heat quickly increasing in your lower belly. Your eyes roll back, trembling at the sensation, your hips bucking toward the shower head.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

You shook your head, words caught in a breathy moan. “It’s perfect.”

Steve’s other hand slid between your legs, warm and steady, fingertips gently sliding through your folds. The water from the shower head mixed with his touch, slick and warm, and your hips pressed harder, chasing the growing heat inside.

His fingers rubbed a few gentle circles before sliding one finger into your heat. He groans as he quickly puts it to work, coaxing every sigh and moan from your lips. You arched into him, every nerve ending alive with pleasure.

“So goddamn tight… I don’t know if I’m gonna fit” He growls out, his head falling on your shoulder, relishing in the feel of your tightness.

Steve’s breath was ragged against your skin. Working you and stretching you out, before adding another finger. You groan as you wince at the small sting. Eventually feeling the pain subside, you rock your hips with his movements. He began to move with more purpose, the rhythm slow and teasing, while changing the water pressure to a harder, more relentless mode, making the pleasure rise like a tide.

“Oh god…Steve..”

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? Be a good girl and cum for me, princess.”

You let go with a shuddering gasp, clinging to him as waves of sensation rolled through your body, Steve talking you through your pleasure with praises and dirty talk, leaving you trembling and breathless.

His lips captured yours again, slow and gentle, grounding you in the aftermath.

Steve gently place the shower head back onto the stand, the water, somehow still hot, poured over both of you, washing away the last barriers between friends and something so much more.

Your fingers slid behind you, trailing over his stomach, making your way downward. Your fingers wrap gently around his cock, you hear him let out a curse as you give him a teasing squeeze before setting a loose, gentle rhythm.

Steve groaned low, fingers roughly grabbing at your hips as you feel him buck his hips into your hand.

You turn around, facing him as your eyes look him over, his eyes lidded with desire, his cheeks flushed, looking further down you watch as he continues to desperately thrust him into your hand. You bite your lip as you let out whine at the sight before you, before looking back up at him.

“Please, Steve….I need you inside me, so bad”

That’s all he needed.

Steve lifted you easily, your legs winding around his waist as he pressed forward. The slick slide of his skin against yours sent a rush of heat and longing crashing through you.

He aligned himself, the tip of him pressing against your entrance, warm and eager.

“I hope you’re ready sweetheart, cause I’m not stopping until you’re a moaning, whimpering, mumbling mess under me.”

You gasped, hands clutching his shoulders as he slowly pushed inside, every inch a delicious burn and stretch, his fingers definitely did not ready you for this.

Steve filled you slowly, inch by inch, until your back arched with the stretch and the delicious pressure of him seated deep inside. The thick head of his cock nudged against that sensitive spot with perfect, maddening pressure.

“God,” you moaned, barely able to breathe, “you feel so good, Steve.”

His jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he held himself still inside you, like he was savoring every inch, trying not to lose control too quickly.

“You’re so tight,” he growled against your lips, voice ragged. “So warm—fuck.”

Steve began to move.

Slow at first. Deliberate.

He pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed back in with a smooth, controlled thrust that rocked you against the wall. Your breath hitched, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders as pleasure bloomed in your core.

He found a rhythm that made your head spin—steady, powerful, each deep thrust sliding against just the right place inside you, making stars bloom behind your eyes.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “Please, Steve…wanna cum around your cock”.

That did something to him.

Something in him snapped as his grip on your hips tightened, he slammed into you harder, faster, the sound of wet skin on skin drowned only by the water and your loud, broken moans.

You clenched around him involuntarily, and Steve nearly lost it, his head dropping to your shoulder with a low, guttural groan. “Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so fucking perfect. Tight little pussy was made for me.”

His lips found your throat, kissing and biting and sucking, marking you as his hips snapped forward with urgent, unrelenting need.

Your legs tightened around him, needing him deeper, closer. Every nerve inside you was lit up, desperate, trembling.

One of his hands slid between your bodies, fingers seeking your swollen clit. He circled it in rhythm with his thrusts, watching your face with parted lips and hooded eyes.

“Come for me,” he murmured, voice dark and commanding. “Right here. With me.”

You shattered.

Eyes squeezing shut, cry caught in your throat as your orgasm hit like lightning. Your whole body spasmed around him, pulsing, clenching, milking him deeper.

Steve groaned your name, hips stuttering, thrusts growing erratic as you clenched around him again and again. With one final deep thrust, he came with a choked gasp, holding you tight, spilling deep inside you as your lips locked in a desperate, messy kiss.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of rushing water, labored breathing, and hearts beating furiously against soaked skin.

He pressed his forehead to yours, brushing a wet strand of hair from your cheek with the gentlest touch. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that.”

You smiled, boneless and breathless in his arms. “You could’ve just walked in on me sooner.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound vibrating through his chest, and kissed you again, slower this time. “Next time,” he murmured. “I won’t wait.”

The water had long since cooled, but neither of you moved right away. Steve held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, lips brushing your damp forehead as your bodies slowly calmed. His chest rose and fell against yours, still slightly uneven, still pressed flush to your skin like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, legs weak but heart impossibly full.

“I think I’m going to melt into you,” you murmured with a lazy smile, your voice raspy and worn with pleasure.

Steve chuckled, voice low and fond as he rubbed slow circles over your lower back. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He finally reached over, turning off the water with a sigh. He gently slides out of you with a groan and gently helps you stand back on the ground. Silence replaced the rush of the shower, save for your shared breathing and the slick sound of skin as he helped you step carefully out onto the soft bathmat.

Your legs wobbled for a moment, and he caught you instantly, one arm slipping under your knees, the other behind your back.

“Oh my God—Steve,” you laughed, surprised as he scooped you up bridal-style, your wet bodies pressed together again. “I can walk, you know.”

He looked down at you, grinning. “I know. But I don’t want to let go yet.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your breath catch. You tucked your head against his shoulder, smiling like an idiot.

He carried you out of the steamy bathroom and into your bedroom, setting you gently down on the edge of the bed before grabbing a towel from the chair nearby. He knelt in front of you, draping it across your lap, and began patting you dry with quiet reverence.

Not rushed. Not sexual.

Just care.

You watched his face, the way his brows furrowed slightly with focus, the soft set of his mouth, as he ran the towel up your thighs, over your stomach, then to your chest, warming you with each pass.

“I didn’t think I could feel closer to you than I already did,” you said softly, brushing damp strands of hair off his forehead, “but I was wrong.”

Steve looked up at you, something tender and overwhelmed flickering in his eyes. “You’ve always meant more to me than I knew how to say. This… it’s not just tonight for me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, heart thudding hard again—but for different reasons now.

“I know,” you whispered. “Same.”

He kissed you, soft and slow this time, like he was learning you all over again.

Then he stood, drying himself off quickly, tugging on a pair of sweatpants before grabbing one of his old T-shirts and slipping it gently over your head. It was far too big, warm from his skin, and smelled faintly of him—clean, woodsy, and unmistakably Steve.

“I’ve wanted to see you in my clothes forever,” he admitted with a boyish smile, crawling into bed beside you.

You pulled the covers over both of you as he stretched out and gathered you into his arms, spooning you from behind. His chest pressed to your back, his arm heavy and safe around your waist, his nose brushing your temple.

The room was quiet, peaceful now, filled with the scent of clean skin and the faint trail of leftover steam.

“Promise me,” he murmured sleepily, “you won’t pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow.”

You turned in his arms to face him, lips brushing his jaw.

“I promise. You’re stuck with me now.”

His smile against your lips was the softest thing you’d ever felt.

And for the first time in a long time, you both fell asleep warm, satisfied, and wholly, undeniably loved.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america x female reader #chris evans #chris evans x reader

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controld3vil · 1 year ago

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sand walking?

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic!!)

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: how to seduce someone walking on sand.

notes: there hasn't been confirmed for dune 3 yet but denise villeneuve has said he's writing for it to happen. ill patiently wait for the day it's confirmed :) ALSO there are fictional/made-up mentions of the novel for the sake of the reader. they're made to be gender-neutral!! and this includes platonic flirting between cast members. i MAY have gotten carried lmaoo

“I mean- what do you think of the character? Do you think they deserved more screen time?” The clip starts off with you comfortably conversing with the interviewer. To say you weren’t deflecting their curiosity. In actuality, you were eager to learn what others thought about your performance and take on the character. The only other interpretation had on-screen was from the classic 1984 film by David Lynch.

The clip that has been widely retweeted back is of a cute moment you had from the first film of Dune (2021). Before release, little was known about your character’s potential. Apart from the enthusiastic book lovers, film viewers were clueless about what role your character would play after the first movie.

Denise Villeneuve didn’t reveal much to you in person. He wanted to keep ideas confidential until he was 100% on board making the project come to life. Still, rumors sparked through speculation and interviews with the cast members of Dune. Including an infamous short, that you forgot about, of yourself boasting about your hopes and wishes for your character.

“Yes! How could we not!” On the opposite side, the interviewer exclaimed as they leaned forward from their chair, closing into your proximity. Their hands clenched, tightening their grip on the flash card, full of questions. “The movie left us on such a cliffhanger. I think everyone would want to know what happened to Nerre,”

“That’s for Denise to decide,” Nodding you gave a relaxed smile while lifting one leg over the other. Your shoulders relaxed, feeling content and ecstatic about their response. “I can’t confirm anything until he gives me the green light to say anything,”

“I’ve also talked to Timothée this morning,” A shift in gears as the journalist flipped over another flashcard. You two had just fussed about the finale and its dramatic cliffhanger. “And all he had to say were the sweetest things about you,” At the mention of your costar compliments, you felt your skin heat up. Your eyes soften, expressing only fondness for the lovely message. A soft awh escaped your breath. “He’s very sweet. Timothee's always been fun to be around.” A fervent chuckle from the interviewer sends them into a feverish excitement. “And- he said- you had great flirting skills!” It was then your face morphed into complete shock and giddiness . “Really?!” The camera pans up on your initial reaction, eyes popping out in surprise and a bubbling laugh slowly erupting. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talents!”

Without context, the short clip seemed harmless. Your sheer reaction to Timothee's comment emphasized the fun chemistry the two of you had on set. Mirroring much of Paul and Nerre's friendship, you both complimented each other well in the first film, being the youngest surrounded by well-renowned actors. But the reason for the recent spike of interest was partially from Dune: Part Two and their interviews.

Fast forward to the debut of Dune: Part Two, it made success at the box office. Even surpassing the first film altogether. The entire cast of Dune was proud of the work they've made. The introduction of new characters played by wonderful actors and actresses all around.

Weeks after the early IMAX screenings, press interviews were being published amongst of the young cast members. A particular interview by IGV Presents brings together Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, and yourself.

This would be considered to be one of your first interviews with the Dune cast after the box office release. You felt nervous yet overjoyed at the same time to be meeting your co-actors again after the conclusion of filming had taken place.

The spokesperson of IGV, Simon Harkness starts off the interview strong with a pleasant greeting. "Congratulations on an incredible movie. Uhm it is the definition of a sci-fi blockbuster and is absolutely phenomenal, so huge congratulations to you all!"

"Thank you!" The five of you all politely cherish his kind words.

"It's so lovely to talk to you. Um- Timothee, Zendaya, I'm going to start with you. This is probably the hardest question I've ever asked in an interview so you've been warned." An endearing giggle can be seen from Zendaya before allowing him to continue. "Sand walking, who does it better?"

Timothee immediately lifts up his microphone. "I'm going to give it to Zendaya here." Without glancing at her, you could tell Zendaya was happily smiling at his compliments. How quick he was to answer made it seem how well connected the cast was even given the amount of time spent together. The main lead continues very swiftly, diving more into how cinematic the shot was from an outside perspective, "I think it's the most- one of the most cinematic shots in the movie and she really has it very precisely down but it's the nature of the movie too that she's supposed to be better than Paul,"

"Is that what it is?" In return, Zendaya who sat next to him gave him a teasing look.

Quietly from afar where you sat, next to Austin Butler, you whispered. "He acted like he couldn't do it but," Soft snickering can be heard across the room.

"In fairness to me, I was going 65%- 65 to 70 too hard," Chalamet reasons justly as he glances in your direction before looking back to the interviewer.

"You dumbed it down," Harkness nods in a high-spirited manner. Right after, Timothee reluctantly agrees, keeping the mood light-hearted.

"I had to!"

"Just how committed you are!" Austin steps in, joining in on the joke.

"Zendaya, you can take that crown. I love that," The brown-haired man reassures as she recuperates with appreciative laughter. In truth, it was a beautiful scene between Paul and Chani you were lucky enough to witness behind the camera. And contrary to their light banter, you thought both actors did well at accomplishing what it was meant sand walk. Truthfully you had no scenes beyond walking through the desert but understanding the mechanics and traditions of the Fremen was as fascinating as it was watching it up close.

Suddenly it was Florence's turn to speak, "Zendaya taught me the other day and I had to just stop to stare at her feet."

"The swoopy swoop?" You asked in a cutesy tone, with furrowed eyebrows. You couldn't help but remember the few instances you witnessed your costars practice the sand walk to be one of the more adorable rehearsals you've seen on the sand.

"Yeah, her feet were so pretty! She was doing the swoopy swoops," The blonde acknowledges, waving her hands in a zig-zag pattern. As the replication of water and how her feet moved.

The interviewer's eyes light up, "Honestly I tried to swoopy swoop at home- um because we have a carpet in the bedroom."

"How did it go?" The mixed actress puts forward.

"Awful!" An assembly of bewilderment is seen between Zendaya and Florence as they quickly question why. However, they reassure him in the end that they would practice together in hopes of him archiving the sand walk.

Talks with simple questions went down the row. Florence discusses her experience from her beginnings, starring in Little Women, comparing those scenes in terms of royalty to Dune. In both films, she's worked with well-known actors and now Christopher Walken as the emperor and her father. She raves about how it was a dream come true. A dream she had when she was little. From this experience, Florence emphasizes the concept of learning and observing her fellow actors.

Another intriguing topic follows Austin for his experience between learning choreography fighting and Elvis's iconic rubber legs. In a sense, as you leaned forward on one of your seats, you became fascinated by the Elvis actor's comparison of it all. While Elvis's moves were televised and had to be precise for the camera, being a Harkonnens gave him more leverage in the freedom to move. It was a captivating question that you couldn't help but want to listen to more.

Comparisons aside, you didn't have much to note for your upcoming question. Which is exactly why you felt unprepared for what he was going to ask.

Harkness brings up your name for the finale. "You have done stunt work before. For the first and now second film, I've heard you compared it to rather- dancing. Is that what you think your relationship with the choreography has been?"

You gave a content hum, "You see it with the Fremen or Harkonnens right? Everyone moves so differently and for the course for me, I've had to adjust my choreo little by little. And I think that analogy you mentioned really does relate back to dancing. I don't know if it's because I was once a dancer or that I'm a visual learner," You shrug your shoulders, "But I see the choreography as a dance routine. You're moving alongside people, doing hits and jabs. Both are very hands-on so I would like to approach it as something I can always work on." Satisfied with your answer, you clapped your hands together.

"Kind of like sand walking no?" It was then that Zendaya swerved counterclockwise to face you.

Bringing back the conversation they had in the beginning about sand walking, your eyes instantly brighten. "Exactly like that!"

"I feel like you would be great at sand walking," Florence puffs, mindlessly shaking her microphone back and forth. "You- You already got the moves." Even Timothee came into agreement, humming and commenting you worked well with the choreography.

Austin Butler raises his microphone. "I think you gotta learn with me because I don't think I could,"

"Nonsense!" You give him a silly glare. "If you can do a killer rubber leg, I think you can sand walk." Florence and Zendaya both mumble their support and your male costar leans to have his arm around the back of your chair, warmly.

"Is that an open invitation I see?" The spokesperson, Harkness giggly pokes at than the rest of the cast turns to look at you. Your scowl morphs into an innocent one.

"Hm?" As you squint your eyes in hesitation.

"I feel like you could have the potential to sand walk but just with the right partner," Timothee chimes in, spreading his arms over his chair as well. Your brows furrowed accusingly, as if wanting to clarify what he meant by his comment.

And the French actor gives you a look, one you became so sure of. "Mm right!" A slight eruption of laughs before you straightened your back with proper posture. "With just the right partner,"

There were also hints mentioned in your interview with Timothee surprisingly not. This was one of the more recent ones to be published, as you finally were able to pair up with your favorite co-star (besides Brolin) from the first film. The two of you had strong chemistry despite having less screen time together in the second film.

The beginning of the video cuts to a clip of you answering an innocent question. "What I think about every day, is Timothee going to send to me a meme today? Uh, I hope so!" You give a sarcastic look to your seat partner as he latently laughs in front of you. "Or when is he going to text me you know?"

It then transitions to an interviewer from Heart commercial radio as he shouts out your names. "How are you both?"

"I'm doing good!"

"Going great!"

The radio show was more relaxed than you would've expected as the spokesperson was very down to the earth with his conversation starters and contagious warmth. Timothee was able to catch up with him from his last interview when he premiered his Wonka film. Eventually, the interview became more casual discussing working together, cooking, and trendy topics.

Timothee and you both went back and forth on favorite memories you had of the first film. And talking about the new cast members and new elements it had brought to the table for the film itself.

"Cool new characters this time," As you played around with the fuzzy microphone the camera crew gave to you.

"Yup lots of new people to meet," Timothee adds on, nodding.

The interviewer proceeds with the question, "And also you have seen- there's a clip about of you running around actually." He signals to you, "Of your reaction to something Timothee said about your performance in the first film,"

"Oh! I've seen it," Almost instinctively, your co-star raises his hand. "I was supposed to send it to you but I forgot." As he turns, to finds you looking lost at the topic at hand.

"Really what was it?" You almost looked concerned, seeing how you didn't understand what they meant.

Luckily for you, the Heart radio spokesperson managed to get a hold of the video from his phone, "It was a little callback of Timothee raving about your flirting skills."

As it plays, the camera zooms in on you and your co-actors reaction. The French actor couldn't help but look slightly embarrassed but smitten when the timing of your reaction came on screen. While you held an intrigued stance, arms crossed and a content grin.

"I am pretty good at flirting,"

"You really are, huh." At the same time, you both turn to make eye contact.

"I also heard Tim- that you thought that they would be your love interest initially?" At the radio speaker's inquiry, you couldn't help but in mid-sentence, finally, swerve your head suddenly.

"Yeah well, fun fact actually," The male actor tries to reason, sitting up. "In the novels, Paul and Nerre almost did become a couple!"

It was a well-known fact of that in the first novel, there had been slight changes to the story. Initially, it was said that the author, Frank Herbert had planned for Paul and Nerre, the character you played to have a romantic connection after the fall of House Atreides. Nevertheless, it was later scrapped for another plot, that of instead having Chani as the love interest. But even decades later after the novel’s release, it was something fans still fuss about.

"Oh, I heard about that!" Almost in awe, you nodded, your attention fully on Chalamet, wondering how far he was willing to go beyond spoilers.

"Do you think Nerre would ever meet someone then?" The afro man questions, adjusting his microphone. "Since- Paul has Chani, I feel like if we ever get a potential third film, that could open some doors!"

"If a third film could happen," You start, fiddling with the lining of the mic cover, "I hope so! I mean I got the moves, I got the skills!"

"Keep practicing your sand walk and we'll see," Timothee cutely chimes as you proceed to blow a raspberry at him. Only for him to lightly swat you away.

Despite your failures to have scenes of sand walking, your cast of a crew were more than happy to show you. Javier Bardem and Jessica Ferguson were quite supportive in your interest for something you did not have any part-time. A few behind the scene videos show the actor demonstrating from afar the slower version of the walk.

Though your back was facing the camera, viewers would pick up and recognize it to be you. Jessica as well was off to the side, in her luminescent costume of a million robes, clapping from side to side.

Another later pans to you taking long strides across the sand in the background. In front of the camera are Josh Brolin and Javier having their turn in the video, to discuss their relationship and the previous they have worked on together. However, viewers couldn't help but pinpoint your figure alongside the frame trying to master the patterns of what Javier taught you from the previous clip.

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msfantasy-comics · 2 years ago

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The Wayne Welcoming

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: A short story sequel to The Family Meet and Greet, where Y/n meets members of the Wayne Family one by one.

A/n: honestly… I don’t like what I wrote…. But it took me a whole month to write it - so I’m just going to publish it.

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown

Steph keeps following Damian because she really wants to meet Y/n, Tim is following Steph to ensure her enthusiasm isn’t over exerted, as if it wasn’t already.

“Go away!” Damian shouts at the two who’s standing by the light post. Stephanie wearing her incognito hat and glasses. Whilst Tim just stands there out in the open with his hands in his pockets, not even attempting to hide himself unlike Steph, whose standing behind the thin pole as if it was a genuine hiding spot. Steph looks over her shoulder to see what Damian was talking about. As if her disguise wasn’t absolutely transparent. “Stop following me.”

Steph releases a small whine. “Aw but you two have been dating for like ever… I just want to meet her.”

“I don’t care, you weirdos will scare her off. I’ll never introduce her so long as I live.” Steph begins to swoon.

“Aw that’s so cute Dames, you’re such a protective boyfriend… too bad she’s here anyway.” Reaching her hand over Damian, Steph joyfully grabs your hand and begins to shake your hand with an unmatched enthusiasm. “Hi my name is Steph, and this is Tim! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Damian is sooo secretive! I tried to meet you like a million times but Damian always ruined our plans!” You begin to giggle, caught off guard for the unfiltered joy running off of Steph. Her over excited hand shake continues to the point of shaking your entire arm. Damian grits his teeth, ripping Stephs grasp from your own.

“Go. Away.” He says, eyes bearing into Stephanie’s soul, an earnest threat swimming in Damian’s ominous gaze. Steph winces at the sincere danger floating in the air.

“Alrighty, so what are we doing today?” Tim asks, immune from Damian’s demands.

“No. No. No. Go home. Right. Now. Or else I’ll call Conor to come get you.” The two besties look at each-other silently before laughing.

“… you know Conor would just join, he’s dying to meet Jon’s new friend.” Damian goes red in the face. You slug your arm around Damian’s shoulders in a friendly embrace.

“Come on, let’s seize this impromptu meeting! It could be fun!”

Jason Todd

You stood alone at the end of the red carpet, the cameras were flashing as arriving couples walk the velvet floor to have their photos taken before entering the Wayne’s Gala.

You looked around nervously, looking for Damian, waiting to walk the carpet with him. Instead, the ushers were rushing you to begin your walk alone.

Your requests to wait for your partner falling on deaf ears as they attempt to force you to walk the carpet by yourself. Panic filling you as the ushers continue to shout and push you towards to start of the velvet walk. You felt incredibly anxious to step out in front of the cameras, the attention was overwhelming.

Jason sucks his teeth, irritated that the ushers were putting unnecessary pressure and seemingly, ruining your night.

“The brat needs to pay better attention.” Jason mutters to himself, abandoning Roy with an eager gold-digger who is clearly not catching onto Roy’s disinterest. Walking up behind the beautiful girl. He loops his arm around your form, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“I’ve got things from here.” He guides you towards the velvet carpet and begins to stride slowly as the cacophony of shouts and flashing lights assault your senses. Jason digs his fingers into your side, grabbing your attention.

“Don’t pull faces, the press will run it for months.” He reminds you, pulling out his sparkling toothy smile.

You both walk the carpet together, before shortly reaching the entrance to the Gala.

“See first timer. It’s not so bad.” He says with his award-winning smile. His attention turns to a cranky Damian and Roy.

“I can’t believe you just ditched me like that.” Roy utters in betrayal as Jason shrugs unapologetically.

Dick Grayson

A drawn out yawn escapes Damian as he slowly stumbles into the sun room, ready to start the day with Alfred’s world famous onsen eggs.

But instead Damian is greeted by the most peculiar sight.

Shoulders touching, Damian sees his beloved girlfriend oddly cosy with his older brother Dick. More specifically, why the fuck is Dick slinging his arm around his girlfriends back, his chin resting on her shoulder as he looks down at the phone held in her hand. Giggles escaping the odd duo as they continue to watch whatever is on your screen.

Jealousy bubbles under Damian’s skin watching his brother touch his girlfriend in and oddly familiar way. This level of physical touch took Damian months to build up to, only for Dick to do it seemingly over night.

“Morning!” Dick beems seemingly, unbothered by the evasion of his girlfriends personal space.

“Morning Grayson. If you touch Y/n so familiarly again, I’ll break your fingers.” He threatens without so much as a blink.

The two sit, staring, only to break out in fits of laughter.

“Aw Dames! You’re such a protective boyfriend!” Dick cooes pulling Damian into a embrace, the scowl on his face looking dangerously similar to that of a cornered dog.

“Hehe, so protective.” Y/n also cooes, sandwiching Damian from the other side with a playful peck on his cheek.

“Oh god, now there’s two of you.” He mutters limply between his overly affectionate brother and partner.

Duke Thomas

The incessant buzzing amongst the couch cushions is ruining the heart-wrenching scene playing out on the TV screen.

On one hand, Duke is keen to remove the irritation immediately as to not further ruin his viewing experience.

On the other hand, Duke is not keen to relive the experience of finding Damian’s phone only to see a private message not meant for him.

However, the continuous vibrations running through the couch is grating on Dukes nerves. He cannot hold back any further. Stripping the cushions which were once perfectly place, moulding around his form, now strewn amongst the floor until Duke is able to find the black phone laying innocently under the seat covers.

Turning the screen he sees dozens of missed calls from Y/n.

Immediately, Dukes stomach drops to the floor as he quickly realises that Y/n may needed urgent help and instead of answering the phone like a normal person, Duke just tried to phase out the noise until it went away, all because of his favourite show.

Fumbling the phone, Duke quickly returns the call immediately, praying to any god that Y/n was okay and not dead just because he wanted to finish the last 7 minutes of the episode. God that would suck.

“Hello?” Y/n answers, her voice is shaky, as if confused.

“Erm-Y/n? It’s Duke, I found Damian’s phone and I saw your missed calls - AreYouOkay?” Duke blurts quickly. The line is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time because a snorting laughter blasts through the phone.

“Oh my god! Yes I’m okay! I was just calling Damian’s phone because he can’t find it! I promise I’m okay!” Giggles follow, which leaves Duke stunned.

“Why don’t you guys just use phone location services?” The line falls dead silent before another snorting laughter burst through the phone.

“Honestly I completely forgot that was even a thing! Hey do me a favour? Don’t tell Damian, I want to see how long it takes him to figure it out.” Oh Duke likes you. Damian’s loving girlfriend now pulling a harmless prank of the Wayne’s resident bad boy.

“Okay. $20 he finds the phone through some form of tech tracker.”

“$20 that he’ll use Goliath to try and locate his phone.” Oddly specific, but Duke is game.

Bruce Wayne

Damian would never willingly come to any Gala. Not without trickery, bribery, or blackmail encouragement.

But right now, Bruce stands in astonishment as Damian grills the poor event planner for not arranging for Y/n’s place at the VIP table.

“Everything has to be perfect. Please reset the table immediately.” Damian orders with crossed arms. Now examining the staff scrambling to reset the VIP table to ensure you had a place to dine next to him.

Shock was one synonym for what Bruce was feeling. He was sure Damian, would never set foot in the ball room, so long as he lived.

Yet to Bruce’s utter surprise, Damian pitched the gala event, hired the planners and set out the invitations.

Damian wasn’t just attending the gala… he was hosting the gala.

“I’m late for my red carpet walk with Y/n. Hurry up and finish.” Damian snaps, taking quick strides towards the exit.

Why was his dear son hosting a gathering he loathes attending? Why, it’s because Damian’s beloved girlfriend expressed her desire to one day attend such an event. She was in aw of the glitz and the glamour and wanted to try it at least once.

Instead of just taking his beloved partner to the next event. Damian insisted that if she was to attend, it will be the best gala she would ever attend.

So now, Bruce watches in delight as his children, who also never willingly attend a gala, along with Y/n boisterously bound around the hall, engaging with other guests, eating the hors d’oeuvres, clapping along to the entertainers and finally eating the delicious four courses whilst the MC engages the crowds interest, greasing the wallets of the wealthy for funding of social causes.

Damian’s eyes looking at his partner in adoration, gaging her delight at his hard work.

Y/n abandons her seat during the speeches to sit next to Bruce.

“Hi Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. My name is Y/n, it’s a pleasure to finally meet Damian’s father.” You smile shyly, sticking out your hand.

Your face is set with confidence, but your slightly shaky hand suggests your nerves are firing away with nervousness.

Smiling he takes his future daughter-in-laws hand and gives it a sturdy shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too Y/n. Please, call me Bruce.”

Talia al Ghul

“So you’re the girl whose stolen my sons heart.” Your neck just about breaks, your startled heart thumping at the sudden presence. Your demeanour is reminiscent of a frighten bunny.

A scowl presses along her face in irritation and dissatisfaction. “You’re who Damian picked to partner with?” Her mocking tone dripping with venom.

“Uh… yes?” Y/n utters awkwardly, not quite sure what to say in the presence of Damian’s supposed mother.

She hums unamused. “This is going to be interesting.”

And just like that, she was gone.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #batboys #batboys imagine #batboys x reader #Damian Wayne x reader #Damian Wayne imagine #Damian x reader #Damian imagine #Robin x reader #Robin imagine

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