#also I would never copy and paste peoples work now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monstersandmaw · 7 months

Text

Male gnoll x gn reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

As promised, the modern gnoll story is here!

Content: insecure, squishy, gender and body neutral reader; praise kink from gnoll boy if you squint; penetrative sex, knotting.

There's also very fleeting mention of a young, terminally ill patient passing off-screen. If you want to skip that entirely, skip from: "Halfway through the third time you encountered him there though, he got a call on his phone and his whole demeanour changed." to the paragraph beginning: "Three days later, and you’d been to the gym every day in the hopes of catching him, you hadn’t seen him."

Wordcount: 6934

You stared at the weights rack and felt a bead of sweat roll down your spine that had nothing to do with your previous sets.

This would be the heaviest you’d ever attempted to chest press, and while it might not be much by some people’s standards — that half-orc last week had really put you off your stride by snorting at you, but we can’t all be built like brick fucking walls, can we? — it was more than you’d tried so far. But you were ready. You just… needed someone to spot for you. Just in case. Safety first, and all that.

But the only people in the weights section were the kind of people who, through no real fault of their own, you tended to find nauseatingly intimidating. Like that troll who could probably bench press one of you in each hand. Or that werewolf who was fully shifted and currently on her hundredth(?) chin-up on the bars. Or that gnoll. He’d been doing slow, measured bicep curls for the past five minutes and you’d been trying not to stare at him. Most male gnolls were a bit smaller than their female counterparts, and tended to be less aggressive and competitive in the gym, but this guy was huge.

You must have looked a little too long though, because his dark, rounded ear twitched and he turned his head to look at you. Instead of glaring at you, he offered you a wide, friendly grin that showed off his massive, chunky teeth and made you a bit weak at the knees. Always good to go weak at the joints when you were about to attempt a personal best in the weights section at the gym…

Fuck.

“You ok?” he asked, setting down a dumbbell that was heavy enough to double as a battleship anchor, and you swallowed.

Now or never.

“I…” you croaked and cleared your throat, looking down at the bench and back up at him.

“You want someone to spot for you?” he asked, stepping a little closer. His paws were massive and while he had clothes on — black gym shorts and a big, baggy, white tank top — he wore no shoes. His claws flexed as his dark, smoky brown pads spread to take his weight, and you swallowed again. He had really adorable freckle-like spots up his shaggy legs too.

“If you wouldn’t mind?” you finally managed to squeak.

At that, he beamed at you and gave a gnollish giggle that seemed genuinely pleased. “Happy to.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and took a breath for courage. No going back now.

You lay down on the bench and he came to stand behind the rack. His big, clawed hands hooked under the bar but he didn't take any of its weight as you adjusted your grip and got settled, and prepared to lift it free. He loomed over you, his face serious with concentration. It was a comfort to know he was focused on the task, not gawping around at the other gym-goers. The future integrity of your chest and ribs depended on his concentration if your arms failed you, after all. You had no doubts about his strength though. He really was massive.

Getting your breathing under control, you shoved carefully upwards, and he grinned as you took its weight and began your reps. After five, you felt your arms start to burn, but you pushed on towards ten.

At nine, your muscles shuddered in complaint.

“You’ve got this,” he said in a low, quiet rumble, and it spurred you on to do the last one. You hooked it back in place and met his dark brown eyes. “Nailed it,” he grinned, all teeth and joy. “I reckon you can go up another five kilograms…”

“I’m not sure,” you replied, sitting up carefully and swinging your feet off to one side. The idea of making it heavier seemed overwhelming.

“I’ll spot you again, don’t worry,” he said, reaching for a couple of the smallest weight plates from the rack and slotting them easily onto the end of your bar. “But you definitely had some in the tank. Take a minute, have a drink, and go again.”

His quiet, easy conviction was enviable, but it sparked something in you that had been dormant for a long time. Or maybe it had been smothered into dormancy. Either way, it felt a lot like the echo of self-confidence, though the feeling was unfamiliar these days.

When you set down your water bottle and paused to let your muscles relax after the first set of reps, your eye was caught by a wiry looking goblin doing weighted squats on the far side of the room. She had iron grey hair and looked to be in her sixties or seventies, and you felt the heat of shame flood your cheeks when you realised she was lifting more than you could, at half your height and a fraction of your body-weight.

Seeing where you were looking, the gnoll gave a little snicker and said, “Oh boy, don’t compare yourself to Rose, friend. I’ve seen her outlast full-grown orcs in friendly pull-up competitions, and she can plank for an hour without breaking a sweat. Goblins are made of steel, I swear. Focus on your own journey.”

You laughed, feeling stupidly grateful to him for his kind reassurance.

“Come on. Give it a go?” he said, and you nodded and lay back. “I’ll be here. I won’t let you hurt yourself,” he added.

It was a struggle, but you made it to five before you needed a pause, and he hooked his rough-padded fingers under the bar and took the weight for a second.

“Breathe, and then just five more.”

Somehow when he said it like that, it didn’t seem so bad.

Things got tricky at eight, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through, and when you hit ten and he took it from you, your arms felt like wet noodles, but you’d done it.

“Alright!” he exclaimed as you sat up and cast him a sidelong look. He offered his paw for a high-five, and, embarrassed by his enthusiasm for you, you answered it. The pads of his paws were rough and warm, and his entire hand almost engulfed yours. When you lowered your gaze again, you could just see his little tail wagging back and forth and that finally brought a huge smile to your face. How long had it been since someone was genuinely excited for your achievements?

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice cracking a bit. “That was really kind of you. I’m sorry I interrupted your workout.”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “Happy to help, and you smashed it! I’ll leave you to get on, but shout if you need me to spot for you again.”

“Thanks,” you said, but your shyness returned, and you didn’t trouble him again that session.

Three days later, you were back in the gym with your muscles mostly recovered. On the ground floor of the building, there was a huge swimming pool and as you passed the viewing window you could see a couple of humans and a few orcs and perhaps an elf doing serious, focused laps in the swimming lanes, barely making a splash as they powered through the water. This whole ‘fitness drive’ thing was still pretty new to you, and just walking up the stairs into the upper level of the gym where the machines and weights were sparked the same nauseous anxiety in the pit of your stomach that you always experienced at the thought of going to a public gym. You didn’t look like someone who belonged here, with soft edges and extra weight in places it wasn’t conventionally attractive for humans to carry it, and while you weren’t really here to please other people, you were trying to take better care of yourself lately and that, unfortunately, involved exercise.

Your eyes scanned the space and you’d have been lying if you weren’t searching for a flash of honey-coloured fur. There was a large group of orcs messing around in the weights section, so you bailed and headed blindly for the nearest cardio machine, heart pounding in a way that made you want to throw up.

“Guess I’m running today,” you muttered under your breath as you stepped automatically up onto the treadmill. Panic had made you go to this one, and you thought you’d probably look even more stupid if you changed your mind now.

After an overly-long warm-up walk, you cranked it to something manageable and felt your body complain already. You made it to about one kilometre before you had to stop. Deciding to pretend you’d always intended to use it merely as a way to loosen up, you hit the ‘stop’ button and ignored its friendly advice to do a cool down, grabbing your water bottle from the holder and turning around to see if there was enough room in the weights area for you to slink in and do a few reps.

And there, looking at you across the room, was the gnoll from before.

Your heart flip-flopped in your chest, first with delight and then with horror as you realised he must have seen you lumbering away on the treadmill. Fuck.

But when he met your eye, he grinned, showing all his teeth, and he waved. You smiled back, and wove your way through the bristling array of cardio machines to join him.

“Hey,” he said, scratching behind one large ear with his right paw. “I wasn’t sure if you were a regular… I kind of thought I might never see you again.”

“No, I’m usually wheezing away in a corner at around this time every few days,” you snorted.

He didn’t laugh at your self-deprecating humour though, and instead turned his muzzle towards the weights. “You need someone to spot for you again?”

You bit your lip. “Yeah, I guess. You can be my cheerleader again too if you like,” you added with a spur-of-the-moment burst of bravery.

“Gladly,” he giggled, tail wagging back and forth. “You wanna do a few warm up rounds first? I just got here, so I’m kind of cold anyway.”

As before, when you were ready, he came over and stood at the head of the bench, hands ready to catch the bar. It was harder to concentrate this time round, with him looming over you. He had to be nearly seven feet tall, though he had that distinctive hunch that gnolls’ unique biology lent to their kind where werewolves were more upright.

When he took the bar from you at the end of your first set of reps, his fingers brushed yours and you nearly gasped at how velvet-soft his fur was. “Thank you,” you said, and as you sat up to take your short break, you introduced yourself by name.

“I’m Cade,” he replied, and stuck out his hand for you to shake.

Conscious that your palms were probably super sweaty, you tried not to flush hot and make it even worse, and you slid your hand into his. Again, the size of him was striking, and you felt something in your core tighten and start to tingle at the sight of it, let alone the feel of his paw flexing around your hand. His claws were dark and neatly rounded and you wondered what he did for a living. Most gnolls — not that you knew any personally — seemed to have active, outdoorsy jobs, but there was something about him that made you curious.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, and you got back to it with a shy smile. “Ah, come on. It’s not that bad, is it? You might even learn to love it soon.”

“It’s better with company,” you admitted as you took the weight of the bar and looked up just in time to watch his face go from serious to delighted at the compliment. “Not sure I’ll ever come to love it though. Not the way you seem to.”

He grinned and giggled gnollishly — the sound high and bright and a little silly coming from someone so intimidatingly built — and you couldn’t help the way your heart felt a little lighter and your body a little more energised. “I did consider changing careers to become a personal trainer for a while,” he said while you started to count your second set.

“Oh?” You didn’t have the breath to ask anything more articulate, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Mm. I just enjoy helping people out, I guess.”

“What do you do now for work?” you asked in a bit of a garbled rush between reps six and seven.

“I’m a paediatric nurse,” he said, and you nearly dropped the bar on your chest. He reached down and snatched it before it had even dropped an inch, and he shot you a look. “Don’t worry, I’m used to that reaction,” he said with a wink. “I was expecting it.”

“Sorry,” you said. Jeez, what a charmer. “I just… I wouldn’t have thought… you know… I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he said. “Come on, get to ten and I’ll tell you the rest.”

You pushed through the last three and he took the bar and rested it on its hooks, allowing you to sit up with thrumming muscles in your shoulders and arms. You stretched out and twisted your neck to look up at him from your seat on the bench.

“We have a bad reputation still,” he sighed, “But actually, traditionally, male gnolls are the caretakers in our clans. Historically, the females did all the fighting and protecting, and we raised the cubs and taught them the basics before they went on to train with the females.” He shot you a cheeky look and added, “Statistically, male gnolls are the least likely of almost all species to be aggressive, so despite appearances, we make perfect caretakers. The kids at the hospital love me, once they get past the teeth and the size.”

“I can see why,” you said faintly.

Cade pulled a wide smile and eyed the bar. “Go for three sets this time?”

You did, and when you were done, you thanked him, and then headed to grab a kettle bell to do some other exercises. If both of you kept sneaking glances at each other for the rest of your session, well, at least it wasn’t just you.

Halfway through the third time you encountered him there though, he got a call on his phone and his whole demeanour changed. You’d been doing some lower-weight dead lifts, and as you set the bar down on the mat you watched all the joy bleed out of him; his tail bristled high and stiff, his ears swivelled back almost flat against his head, and his big brown eyes went wide with distress.

“Shit, now?” he hissed, turning away from you. “Fuck. Ok, I’ll be there as soon as I can. No, don’t worry about it. Thanks for telling me. Ok, I’ll see you soon.”

He hung up, took a deep breath, and then slowly looked over his shoulder at you. “I… I have to go. I’m sorry. Don’t try any more without someone to spot for you, ok?”

You nodded. “You alright?”

He bit his lip and shook his head. “No, not really. One of my patients is… Uh… Yeah. Not long left, apparently.”

“Oh shit, Cade,” you said, crossing to him. You laid your hand on his fluffy forearm and squeezed the solid muscle beneath your fingers. He seemed to relax just a fraction at that. “You need someone to give you a lift to the hospital? My car’s outside.”

Again, he bit his lip and then nodded. “You wouldn’t mind? I was gonna get the bus.”

You shook your head. “Of course not. Let’s go.”

He was mostly silent for the journey, his knee bouncing as he sat crammed into in the front of your car, but when you approached the main entrance to the hospital, he said, “You can just use the drop-off at the front. Thank you again. I’ll… I’ll see you around, ok?”

You nodded and reached for his arm again. “Take care of yourself.”

He smiled, gave a low rumbling noise that you’d never heard him make before, and then climbed out and strode into the hospital without a backward glance. You looked down at the seat and found a fair few golden hairs stuck to the fabric, and didn’t have the heart to brush them away.

Three days later, and you’d been to the gym every day in the hopes of catching him, you hadn’t seen him. Your mood was decidedly flat as you stepped out into the fresh night air and tried to plaster on a smile when your best friend uncoiled his muscular, python’s tail from the back of the taxi that was waiting at the curb and flung his arms around you. His dark brown skin had a pearlescent shimmer to it and his long, thick brown hair was plaited into a thick braid that hung down his spine. He wore a glittery, black shirt studded with a rainbow of rhinestones that matched the iridescent gleam that seemed to hover over his snake’s tail too, and he had the most exquisitely neat makeup on that you’d ever seen.

“Gods, Mal, you look incredible,” you wheezed as he hugged you.

“You look good too, sweetheart,” he grinned back. “Any sign of your delicious little puppy at the gym today? No, of course not. If there had been, you wouldn’t looked like a kicked puppy yourself. Come on. It’s my birthday. You’re not allowed to mope,” he said, and he practically bundled you into the back of the taxi before going round to the other side and piling in beside you.

He gave the driver the name of the club, and the car set off.

“There’ll be so many beautiful people there tonight, you’ll forget all about this gnoll of yours, I swear,” he practically purred in your ear, and you tried to smile.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” you said, and you drew an envelope from your clutch and handed it to him.

He frowned. “What’s this? We don’t do cards or presents anymore, sweetie,” he scowled, but he did look secretly pleased.

“Couldn’t resist this one,” you shrugged.

The card was nothing very special, just a lame joke about not throwing a hissy fit on your birthday, but it predictably made Mal groan and roll his eyes. “Really, darling? Didn’t we get over the reptile jokes in kindergarten?”

You did manage to muster a heartfelt smirk at that, and waved your hand. “I couldn’t resist,” you said again.

“You’re awful. I love you so much,” he laughed, and tugged you into a sideways hug in his arms. “You’re the only person I tolerate this kind of shit from, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

For a long moment, Mal held you and then he let you go and sighed softly. “I want you to be happy, you know?” he said. “You’ve been, like… ‘background miserable’ for ages.”

“I’ll try,” you said. It had been easier until Cade had vanished.

The club was packed already, but Mal dragged you to the front of the line and the two of you were admitted like celebrities and shown to the VIP area of the club. Perks of being with the brother of the owner, you supposed. Yves came over to greet you and his brother and to wish Mal a happy birthday. His present, it turned out, was unlimited drinks for the two of you all night.

For an hour, you and Mal chatted and drank leisurely, and watched the people out on the dance floor that was slightly below your booth, but just as Mal slithered with enviable elegance off the bench and started to make his way towards the dance floor, dragging you along with him, you caught sight of the familiar shape of a gnoll’s ears and froze so abruptly that your hands were torn from Mal’s grip.

“What, Sweets?”

You frowned, trying to make out the figure that was across the space, apparently also being dragged by his friends onto the floor. It was him. It was Cade. You had to laugh, and just as you did, he looked up.

His jaw dropped and he fell utterly still as well, then he laughed and shook his head.

“No way,” Mal breathed, now leaning in to hiss in your ear. “That’s him?”

“Yeah,” you said, and as Cade joined you, Mal — the cheeky shit that he was — gave you a solid shove between your shoulder blades.

You stumbled forwards and Cade shot his hands out to catch you before you planted face-first onto the dance floor. You whipped around the moment he had steadied you, and shot Mal the most venomous glare you could, and then turned back to Cade. “Thanks,” you yelled above the music. “My meddling best friend isn’t exactly known for his subtlety.”

“It’s ok,” Cade chuckled. “It’s good to see you. Sorry I haven’t made it to the gym lately. You find someone to spot for you?”

You shook your head and realised you were still holding his forearms. He hadn’t let go either, so neither did you. “How are you doing? I was worried about you when I didn’t see you after… you know…”

He bowed his head in understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d worry about me, if I’m honest. I’m good. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, even if it was still really sad. It’s part of the job sometimes though. It’s… It’s not my first. But I’m not here to mope.”

“Why are you here then?” you asked, squeezing his forearm gently as someone knocked into you from the side. “You look about as comfortable as I am in places like this…”

His ears were pricked as far forward as they could go, straining like satellite dishes to catch your words above the thundering music, and the urge to make an inhuman squeak rose up your throat like a physical presence. For someone so huge and muscular, he had no right to look so heartbreakingly cute.

“My friends’ house purchase went through so they decided to celebrate and drag me out with them. You?”

“Mal's birthday. His brother owns the club, so we’ve had free drinks for the night.”

“Nice,” Cade laughed. “You want to dance?”

You did, but it wasn’t something you were any good at. Then again, looking around you, there weren’t many you’d have said were actually dancing. Shyly, you managed a nod, and he grinned at you again, and held out both paws. You slid your hands into them and he exhaled, his chest falling noticeably.

“What?”

“You’re so small,” he said. “I… I’m so afraid I’m going to crush you all the time.”

“You won’t,” you smiled, and stepped even closer to him. Close enough to smell the soft musk that rose from his fur. Close enough to see the lights reflected in his coffee-dark eyes and watch the way the pale whiskers on his dark muzzle splayed wide with his anticipation. In the lights you noticed that the white trim of fur along the outer edge of his ears looked like a fine line of silver. “You’re really beautiful, Cade,” you whispered, certain that the music would drown your words, but he pulled his dark lips back in a broad grin and dipped his head shyly.

He turned you in his arms so that your back was to his chest and he stepped a little closer, moving his hands to your waist. You tried to fight the self-consciousness that roared to life like a wildfire in your mind, and when he felt you tense, he leaned down and murmured in your ear, “Is this alright?”

You nodded and leaned back into him, looking up at his pale throat and chest. It was a surprisingly familiar view by now after your sessions in the gym. He was wearing loose jeans that ended at the knee, the way many non-humans did, and he had a black t-shirt on that fitted his muscular frame beautifully. His red-gold mane melted into the dark fur of his ears and the creamy underside of his chin and neck, and you wanted to melt against him and have him hold you forever.

“Yes,” you exhaled. “It’s just been a while, that’s all.”

“We can go however slow you like, but you should know I like you,” he said in a low, inviting rumble. He pressed his cold nose carefully against your cheek and then nuzzled you with his jaw. “A lot. Gods, you smell amazing,” he blurted, as if he couldn't help himself.

That self-conscious heat evolved into something entirely different, and pure want coursed through you instead. You ached again and your body seemed to prickle all over with desire.

His hands drifted a fraction lower, to frame your hips, and his fingers dug into your soft flesh. Above the music you heard him give a long, deep lowing sound; primal and visceral and honest in its appreciation, and it made you shiver.

You lost track of time as you danced together. It wasn’t so much ‘dancing’ as ‘sharing the same space and touching wherever you could both get away with it before it became completely indecent’.

At one point, when you’d turned to face him again, someone nudged into you from behind and a hand wandered over your back, and you flinched closer to Cade. He pulled his lips back and showed all his teeth, and the human who had wandered too close to your corner of paradise shied away with hands raised.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” you said, and Cade growled at you instead.

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am protective. If you want to leave here with someone else tonight instead of me, I won’t stop you.”

“I don’t want to,” you said, placing your hand on the centre of his chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go home with you tonight either, but I do want your number and I do want to see you again.”

He smiled, and drew his phone from his back pocket. He twitched his muzzle towards the edge of the dance floor and then offered you his palm, leading you through the jostling crowd towards a quieter spot and shielding you with the bulk of his body when you had to force your way through the crush. You exchanged numbers, and then he looked over your shoulder and said, “Your friend is coming over.”

You turned to find Mal easing his way around the edge of the dance floor. He was moving slowly, carefully, the way he did when he was very drunk and trying not to show it. “Ah, man, I’ll have to get him home safely,” you sighed. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

Cade nodded. “I’ll see you both to a cab if you like.”

“You are protective,” you chuckled.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“No, you’re not,” you smiled. “If you like, you can get on the other side of Mal and see that he doesn’t slither off somewhere.”

The two of you wrangled a very curious and very obvious Mal into the back of a cab, and Cade came to stand with his hands on your waist. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his ears tilted back in a perfect display of meek shyness.

“Yes,” you exhaled.

He lowered his head and brought his muzzle to your lips. His mouth was soft against yours and he pressed his lips against you and then let the very tip of his tongue lave over your lips while his rough hands rose to cup your jawline and hold your face delicately. Cade didn’t spend long kissing you, since it was evident that this was a human gesture for which his body was not really built, but he did move to nuzzle your cheek with the velvet fur of his muzzle before stepping back and breathing out a long sigh.

Before he could say anything sweet or romantic, Mal opened the door and half his tail spilled back out onto the tarmac, and he cursed. “Fuck. I just wanted to say to hurry the fuck up because I’m cold and drunk and I don’t want to sit the back of this cab any longer than I have to,” he slurred, his forked tongue thick with drink. “Sorry,” he tacked on a little late.

Cade chuckled and helped you tuck Mal’s python tail back into the car for a second time, and you shook your head. “I’m so sorry,” you said, and squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you at the gym? And I’ll text you.”

He nodded, and you got in to the taxi next to Mal and shot him a flat look. “That was not cool,” you said. “You only get a free pass because it’s your birthday.”

And with that, you told the driver his address, and then, when Mal was safely inside and a little more sober, you headed home.

A text was waiting from Cade but you saved it for when you were finally ready for bed, and as you lay there in the dark, you opened your messages with a little trepidation.

>> You looked so beautiful tonight. I was *this* close to not going out tonight, but I’m so glad I did. I hope you got back ok and that the birthday boy isn’t going to suffer too much. I’ll be at the gym tomorrow. Perhaps we can grab a coffee somewhere afterwards if you’re going to be around? Night, and sleep well. C x <<

You read it through four times before you replied, and after that, you saw each other every day for a fortnight solid.

It started with coffee after the gym and then progressed to drinks, and then drinks and a snack, and then dinner, and then dinner and a movie, and then dinner and the same movie again because there was nothing else on that you wanted to watch, and then dinner and a stroll along the riverbank while the city lights twinkled around you. Finally, after two weeks of meeting every day, he took your hands in his and kissed you silly on one of the bridges over the river.

He nuzzled you afterwards and let out all these delicious, gnollish noises that made your heart skip and dance and skitter around like a trapped bird in your ribcage.

“I want you,” you gasped as he leaned you back a little way and closed his mouth around your neck, raking his teeth oh so gently across your skin. He froze, and then drew back.

“You mean it?” he asked in an equally soft voice. His dark eyes were huge and his ears frankly adorable as they swivelled first back against his head in uncertainty and then pricked forwards in undeniable hope. His tail rose high and fluffy behind him and you giggled softly.

“Yes, I mean it,” you laughed. “I want you.”

“Now?”

“Not ‘now on this bridge’,” you snorted. “Now as in tonight. Now as in take me home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Whose is closer?” you asked in a decidedly hoarse voice.

He paused. “Mine, probably.”

“Then let’s go there.”

He held your hand all the way there, and stopped at least five more times to nuzzle you and kiss you.

You’d been to his a couple of times before during your whirlwind courtship, but you’d only cuddled on the sofa while eating popcorn and watching reruns of your favourite shows. This time, you didn't bother with the sofa.

You kicked off your shoes at the door and he backed you towards the bedroom, growling and making those delicious, low-frequency lowing sounds in a constant, rumbling song. He loomed over you, but you grinned up at him and tugged at the lower hem of his black t-shirt.

He tore it off over his head to reveal the coarse, ivory fur of his chest and throat, and you reached for him, watching as your fingers disappeared into it. He growled — actually growled — when you scrunched your fingers and tugged experimentally, and you looked up at him again. He was panting softly, eyes half-lidded with his muzzle tilted upwards a fraction.

“Bed. Now,” you said in an unusually assertive voice.

Cade gasped and then simply picked you up by the hips. You looped your legs around his middle and let him carry you into his bedroom, where he deposited you carefully onto the bed and leaned down over you. It didn’t take you long to discard your clothes and he stared at you in wonder when you lay back again.

He was hard and as he rutted through his jeans against your thigh, you arched your back off the bed and moaned. “Now, Cade. Please.”

You ached all over and you’d never been this turned on in all your life. Every nerve ending seemed to have been dialled up to eleven and every time his rough paws skimmed over your skin, you gasped and jerked and groaned.

“So sensitive,” he purred, leaning back to undo his jeans and cast them aside. His boxers came next, and you tried not to stare at the size of him. You hoped you could take him.

He knelt between your legs and gently bit and mouthed his way up your inner thighs before closing his mouth over you and letting his tongue savour you. It should have been unnerving to have the most powerful jaws of almost any creature on land so close to where you were most delicate, but it sent a thrill up your spine instead. He moved his head between your legs and you let your hand rest between his ears, guiding his pace and taming his ardour a little.

Cade drew back, his eyes glassy and his muzzle wet with a combination of your arousal and his drool, and he rasped, “You taste incredible.”

“I want to come with you inside me,” you moaned. “I want you to knot me, Cade.”

His eyes fluttered and rolled at that and he gripped his cock in one hand as though trying to stave off his own orgasm already. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Fuck, that’s about the hottest thing you could have said to me. I’m really not gonna last long now. Oh fuck, I can already feel —”

“Cade, inside me. Now.”

“You’re sure?”

“Cade…” There was a growl to your voice too.

His cock was leaking all over his hand, all over the back of his fingers, and he wasn’t even working himself. You weren’t going to need any extra help to ease him inside you, but you were going to need him to take it gently.

“Slowly,” you warned as he lined himself up. He nodded, looking nervous and earnest.

The tip of his cock nudged inside you and you groaned and lay back, enjoying the huge stretch of him. Cade, meanwhile, bit back a curse and began to shake all over.

“I can’t,” he gasped. “Please… I…”

“Keep going,” you said, sounding gloriously winded already and he was only a little way inside you. “Don’t stop.”

The gnoll let out a long, lowing groan and then braced himself on both arms. You drew your knees up to help him and he began to pant again. “Fuck,” he cursed as he eased himself further inside you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I can’t I’m… I’m going to come… fuck, you’re tight. Oh fuck, beautiful, I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” you crooned, though the seduction in your voice was a little strangled by the intensity of the stretch as he eased almost all the way into you. “You can wait for me, I know you can. You’re so good; you’re so kind, Cade. You’re going to make this amazing for me, I know you are…”

At the string of praise, his heavy jaws parted to show all his thick, sharp teeth and he began to shake with the effort of not plunging into you in a single stroke until finally, finally, he was seated inside you to the hilt of his cock.

“See?” you said, reaching for the ruff around his neck and threading your fingers into the depths of the soft fur.

He keened and began to rock his hips. “Please… Please can I move now?”

“Yes, Cade. Let me feel all of you inside me.”

What began as a slow, careful slide of his huge cock inside you hastened to a desperate rhythm in minutes. His hips snapped against yours and you felt the weight of his balls as they rocked against you with each thrust. Cade was whining with each stroke, and you realised that the delicious stretch was growing, and each time he withdrew, it was a little less far.

“You’re going to knot me, aren’t you?” you gasped, drawing your knees up even further so that he hit you just-so with the tip of his cock at the apex of each desperate thrust.

“Mmnn,” he whimpered. “Fuck. I’m so close. You’re so gorgeous. Been thinking about this since… since we danced. Gods, I wanted to fuck you that night. Came all over myself when I got home. Popped a knot and everything, oh fuck, oh fuck you’re so tight I’m going to come, I’m so close, I’m going to come, can I come? Please let me come, beautiful, please let me fill you —”

His babbling, rambling pleas devolved into another gnollish low and he threw his head back, picking up the desperate pace. His hands grabbed your hips and his claws pricked your skin as he pulled you further onto his growing knot with every thrust. Delirious pleasure coursed through you and you barely had the presence of mind left to give him the permission he clearly craved.

“Yes, come for me,” you slurred. “Come inside me, Cade. Fill me —”

With a roar, his hips snapped against yours one last time and his whole body locked up. His lips pulled back from his huge teeth into a rictus of ecstasy and his eyes rolled as he came in huge, shuddering waves, lost to the pleasure of your body as his knot finally swelled to fill you and the sensation of it tipped you over the edge as well. As your body clenched around him, he cursed again and tugged you somehow even further onto his knot. His hips spasmed against you and you could feel him emptying himself into you in waves.

It was a long time before he stopped coming, and even with his knot plugging you tight, you felt some of his come start to leak out around you already, spilling down your thighs and onto the sheet. “Fuck,” he hissed again, and his body went suddenly slack, though his chest was still heaving for breath.

He fell forwards over you and braced himself at the last second on his forearms. You lowered your legs and he grunted as the movement jolted his over-sensitive knot, but you stayed there for a long time.

Gradually, your breathing settled into the same rhythm and your heartbeats slowed, and a leaden satisfaction descended into your whole body. You felt full, and cherished as he held you.

You lost track of time as you lay there together, but finally his knot receded and you felt a lot more of his come start to slide down your thighs. “Making a mess,” you mumbled from where you were half-buried by the soft fur near his ear.

“Mmph.”

“If you’re expecting me to have put on enough muscle to chest press you off me, you’re sorely mistaken,” you quipped, and to your joy, he gave a delighted, gnollish giggle and lifted his head enough to regard you with his slightly unfocused, dark brown eyes.

“You’re really something,” he said, and he let his pink tongue just grace the tip of your nose. “You sore? You want me to run you a bath?”

“Oof, yes please,” you smiled. No one had ever offered to do that for you after sex, and you were indeed a little sore from where he’d stretched you further than anyone ever had.

He lifted himself off you carefully, withdrawing from you and giving a little grunt as his softening cock slid free. He sat back on his haunches and ran his thumbs over the curve of your thighs, staring at where you knew you were probably gaping a bit. It was hard not to feel embarrassment until he murmured, “You’re exquisite.”

Cade leaned over you and fondly raked his upper and lower teeth over the soft flesh of your thigh before laving his tongue over your skin and then finally standing on shaky legs. “Been a while since I came like that,” he admitted shyly as he staggered towards the door. “Think I might skip leg day tomorrow and just chill out here.”

“I’ll join you,” you said. “I may never regain feeling in my legs.”

“I’ll carry you around anyway,” he grinned as he left and went to run the bath.

True to his word, Cade did carry you around his apartment the next day, and your feet barely touched the ground from the moment you woke to the moment you fell asleep in his bed for the second night in a row.

You weren’t exactly complaining though. It was heaven.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#gnoll #gnoll x reader #male gnoll #male gnoll x reader #gender neutral reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend

321 notes · View notes

xjulixred45x · 2 months

Note

If you don't mind me can I request male reader who like Akaza from Demon slayer with the Hazbin Hotel.

Bonus: respect woman.

Hello! Normally i would Say no bc My Requests are Closed but you're lucky that i'm in a good mood to write and also i am a fan of this Man✨ 😭

Thanks for the Request ❤️

(to the other Readers, don't take this as something usual, the Requests are still Closed, i'm just in the mood to write THIS for now)

Akaza! Reader in Hazbin Hotel

Genre: headcanons

Reader: male

Warnings: Reader is a fighter, violence(?), hell, slight change in Akaza story so its not a Copy-paste and make "more sense",idk, I MAKE THIS IN A RUSH OF ✨INSPIRATION✨SO ITS NOT PROFFHEAD!!

You were born and raised in the Edo era, in Japan. and it was a nightmare.

You lived in poverty all your life, practically alone with your sick father who could barely take care of himself, but he always tried to take care of you above all else.

You spent a lot of your life trying to take care of him back, but it was difficult because of money, you couldn't afford it. so you did the only thing you could think of: steal medicine.

Obviously many times this didn't turn out well, and they ended up catching you and taking you to be beaten and tattooed like a criminal, but it was the kind of life you led until your father died.

That was when you hit rock bottom, but you met certain people who helped you move forward. a martial arts master and his sick daughter (who reminded you a lot of your father).

And it was the time when you lived better, you took care of your teacher's daughter and you learned from him, you had a good life.

you and his daughter even fell in love!

everything had fallen into place in your life...

until conflicts broke out again.

You don't remember much about your last days of life, it was a cycle of going, killing whoever got in your way, returning with whatever you wanted from your group, and whatever followed...

You just wanted to go home.

but you died before that.

and just as you expected, after everything you had done wrong in your life, you ended up in hell.

It wasn't exactly like the hell you had imagined growing up, but it was definitely difficult to adjust, knowing that you were dead, in this hole of misery, far from them...

but you didn't waste your time. You discovered quite quickly that several of your physical abilities had stayed with you, so you took advantage of them and became a quite formidable demon.

You wouldn't say you were an Overlord, but you were definitely an anomaly to Hell's QUO status, a demon who had become powerful without the need for owning souls.

something very strange.

so many Overlords, feeling threatened, tried to go after you, only to never be seen again...

As for the Hotel issue, I think that Akaza! reader would be skeptical, I don't think he would have a problem offering himself as a test subject for the hotel because 1- there is Alastor, someone very strong, and 2- he has a small hope that the hotel will work and maybe, just maybe he can redeem himself and go. to heaven with his love and his teacher, what he loves most. although he wouldn't say the last thing out loud.

Speaking of relationships, Alastor and him can actually get along in a very ambiguous way, Alastor is not happy with someone who is so strong without even having souls of their own, so he is cautious, but not in a threatening way.

Although there is something these two have in common, THEY RESPECT WOMEN.

Alastor can definitely introduce him to Akaza! read several of his female friends to be more "social" and get possible blackmail material.

Alastor secretly knows of the possible motives behind why Akaza! Reader would like the hotel to work, he thinks he is naive, but he doesn't make fun, Alastor partly understands why he feels that way. leaves him alone in that sense.

...but it bothers him in every other way! using it as an armrest, innocuous phrases, crushing it with things out of nowhere, etc. He always has something up his sleeve to piss him off.

but they can ally if women get involved ;)

Charlie is so so so so so happy to have Akaza! reader as another participant alongside Angel and Sir Pentious! She constantly thanks him for his collaboration and tells him how much it means to her.

Lots of encouragement during the trust exercises! she realizes that Akaza! Reader is not very talkative, and although he does not force him to change, he "subtly" encourages him to be more open with the exercises.

Although that does not mean that she admits the fights, she tries to encourage Akaza! reader to find another way to get out his anger and energy in less destructive ways.

I think I would be the only one who knows through Akaza! reader why he wants the hotel to work, and she is SO MOVED by him because Reader wants to redeem himself and that gives him a lot of motivation to do more exercises.

Aunaue is also sometimes a double-edged sword because she feels pressured not only by wanting to help her friends, but also by Akaza's cute motive! reader.

Akaza! reader is very protective of Charlie even if she is the princess of hell, he is like a bodyguard! or a very loyal pitbull. Charlie finds it endearing (but please don't rip that demon's head off please---)

Vaggie is scared of Akaza at first! reader for his aggressive nature.

She is afraid that he will end up directing that destructive energy towards them if he is very angry, so she is very cautious at first.

but eventually she can relax more and more with him as she realizes that (at least with women) he's not going to explode on anyone who doesn't deserve it. and that in fact he is a good man.

sparring together! Vaggie feels kind of bad that he doesn't have a gun, but is surprised at how tough he is.

If she finds out his reason behind going to the hotel, she supports him a lot in his journey of redemption, more than before, she empathizes with him.

They both have similar motives.

Vaggie really appreciates when Akaza! reader defends the female staff against Angel's out-of-place comments. she may even allow him to hit him.

You two are the main people in charge of protecting the hotel.

Let's be honest, Angel dust at first was just "flirting"/sexually harassing Akaza! reader until he beat him up and never did it again.

He thought he was simply bitter about life until he remembered that on one occasion he told him that "he was taken" and he didn't take it so personally.

After the duet with Husk, he went directly to apologize to him and they were on bad terms.

Angel occasionally likes to prank him like everyone else in the hotel, but he's considerably less annoying with Akaza! reader because he knows what he is capable of.

When he eventually finds out why he is "taken" and why someone like him is in the hotel, he can't help but empathize with him a lot (from his sister in heaven), and tries to be his "Husk" at his lowest moment. .

Even if technically Akaza!reader is stronger than him in every way, he takes care of him in his own way, watching his drink, not being robbed, etc.

Angel is definitely not used to so much respect when it comes to his gender identity, which is why he respects Akaza a lot! reader.

They generally start off on the wrong foot but manage to be friends.

Husk likes Akaza! reader, simply because it gets on Alastor's nerves and because he knows that he won't kick the ass of someone who doesn't deserve it. He knows everyone is safe with him.

He definitely knows about his reason for being in the hotel and pities him, respects his privacy a lot after that and doesn't let him talk drunk.

Husk may get to have his "loser baby" moment with Akaza! reader but in a platonic way, helping him when it is especially difficult to stay away from violence.

They can even have a father-son relationship, Husk is very similar to Akaza's teacher! reader in many ways EMOTIONALLY SPEAKING so Akaza! reader feels comfortable with him.

she definitely tells him things about her past as Overlord to entertain him.

Sir Pentious at first was TERRIFIED of Akaza!reader, his reputation was as a tough guy who went after evil people and Pentious (having his poor self-image) thought he would kill him as soon as he saw him.

but fortunately it was not like that!

but he was definitely avoiding it for DAYS before he heard from the others that Akaza!reader wasn't that bad and was actually quite nice. to give him a chance.

and Pentious did just that. and he was VERY surprised.

Akaza! reader has had to dismantle several of Sir Pentious's evil machines using his enormous strength, and although Pentious was heartbroken to see his machines destroyed, he was also VERY surprised by Akaza!reader's capabilities, even giving me more things to do. break and test their strength (imagine this pair getting to know the Rage Rooms).

Pentious Minnions occasionally go to Akaza! reader when P. is not there, which is fun to see because Akaza!reader would try to get away from the Minions that come after him like ducks.

Akaza! reader clearly notices Pentious's crush on Cherri, and encourages him to do something now that he has time.

(Can you imagine Akaza! reader's Koyuki becoming friends with Pentious in heaven? It would be Epico).

Mononeuronal pair.

Niffty is strange.

but I can definitely see Akaza! reader protecting it constantly. so Niffty likes him. But I wouldn't really say they are friends.

In general, everyone has some kind of respect for Akaza! reader. They hope you can reach your goal.

Shares, reglogs and comments are very welcome!

Again, this DOES NOT MEAN that orders are open again! I'm just taking a break and deciding what things to write and what not to. thanks for the request ✨❤️

#headcanons #male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel charlie #hotel hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel sir pentious #kny akaza

138 notes · View notes

flagbridge · 3 months

Text

Q&A: The Phantom Broadway Proshot

Happy 36th Birthday to Phantom of the Opera's opening night on Broadway! We should be celebrating at the Majestic. The show never should have closed.

In order to create "new" ish POTO Broadway content, @or-what-you-will and I promised to answer your questions about the proshot on POTO Broadway's birthday. Find our summary of the Proshot here.

We got dozens of questions, which we've consolidated into 14 questions. Read them all past the cut!

Wait, what’s the Phantom Proshot?

The Phantom Proshot is an archival copy of the original Broadway cast and production of Phantom of the Opera, filmed at the evening performance with a live audience on May 25, 1988. The New York Public Library, Theatre on Film and Tape Archive at the Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center has archival copies of Broadway, Off-Broadway, and Regional theater going back to 1970. You can’t view currently running shows, so since Phantom ran for so long, it was under lock and key.

2. How do I see the Pro-Shot?

Pretty simple how to guide here on the NYPL website.

We are both NYPL cardholders and made a reservation in advance. You are required to state why you are accessing the recording as they exist for archival and research purpose. Both of us are published authors and researchers under our real names.

Here's a picture of the room we were in from NYPL's website. We had an appointment and were set up in a room with lots of monitors. We were seated at monitors next to each other with two sets of headphones and had one set of controls to pause/rewind etc. There are 20 monitors in the room and it was pretty full that day. This was not my first time at the TOFT and it’s always had a good number of people around.

3. Can someone get a boot of it/send me the link to it? Pleeeeease?

No. Seriously, stop asking about this. Stop joking about this. It’s not online, and never will be. All of the recordings are on digital media (videodiscs or DvDs) in the basement and only library staff get to touch them. Don’t be the person who tried to do this and ruins the archive for everyone else. You can’t even bring electronic devices into the room.

4. Why won’t they release it to the public? And who the heck does it benefit to keep this locked away?

It isn’t. It was locked away when the show was actually running. It is available to the public. We are the public! We have library cards and went to a public library and watched it for $0! It’s owned by the library so the public can see it! At the library!

The availability of us to access it now that the show has closed is what constitutes public release. There were several other phans, members of the public there to see it after us, and the library allowed them to max out the number of monitors the library allows people to view on. They had a later appointment and were watching disc one when we were on disc two. I’m sure there was someone after them too. Were we all wearing Phantom gear? Also yes.

(@or-what-you-will here) The library is not allowed to show recordings of anything currently running on Broadway, presumably because of fears about economic loss from those who own the rights to the musicals. The library does not own the rights to the musicals in the archive, and there are likely a lot of stipulations the library has to follow to be able to have recordings like this.

As someone who works in a library doing digitization work, libraries and the media they contain are very complicated. TOFT likely has the rights to show it under a very limited license, and to make copies for preservation purposes only, but things like this mean they would not be able to do anything like put it online or charge for it or do anything that would be them acting as though they owned the copyright (as opposed to the physical media). This is why when a library or archive has a book or tapes they don’t usually have the right to photocopy the entire book or digitize the entire tape and put it online (unless it is in public domain), however, if you go in person you can see it all you want. Someone else (usually the creator) owns the right to distribute or copy, and libraries and archives can get in a lot of trouble for violating it.

The copyright is still owned by the holders of each respective musical’s copyright. It’s essentially like when you buy a DVD and you are technically not supposed to copy that DVD but you can invite your friends over to watch it at your house. Copying it and distributing it violates copyright. Putting it online violates copyright. If the library violated copyright it would likely lose the ability to archive musicals altogether. If you copied the DVD it would be a lot harder to find out who put it up because the DVD is owned by lots of people, though you could still be prosecuted by the law. If the library did, they would know immediately who did it because they are presumably the only ones with a copy of this recording.

Likewise if someone took a bootleg recording of a show and distributed it, the copyright holders wouldn’t know it existed. If they found out that individual would then be eligible to be prosecuted under the law. Because the library is a public institution, if they were found out to be doing this, it would be the library itself that would get in trouble and it would damage their reputation, their funding, and quite possibly the funding and reputation of libraries around the world. A lot of this is done on trust. The copyright holders trust the library as a public institution and the library has a lot more stakes in the game than a single person recording the show and distributing it.

It’s a very tenuous agreement at times, and likely the library is only allowed to even record because there are so many protections in place and they have a history of enforcing these rules. These agreements also usually cover digitization and preservation, but again, violating them could have those abilities taken away as well. It’s all tied up in copyright law and the library has no control over that. I have talked to archivists where I live who have to record performances with tape over the lens because it’s considered for preservation and they want to make sure it cannot be possible to profit off of it in any way.

When the show goes into public domain they will be able to put it online all they want without fear of repercussions, but until then, unless those agreements change, we are all limited by the whim of the copyright holders.

5. Hello! Is the pro shot you watched what this clip is from https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cp2_80CJqI3/?igsh=MWNja2wwYWw4OHUwbw== ?

I know all of us here on Tumblr were freaking out that they maybe had a copy of the pro shot when this came out. Thank you! (@imstillhere-butallislost)

Not the proshot, it's a press reel. It has its own cool story though! Answered this here.

6. How good of a shot was it? I know you said ProShot but is it a ProShot like Hamilton or just a camera recording the whole stage at once?

I’d definitely say it was Hamilton pro-shot quality as to what was available at the time between image quality and mixing up of close ups and wide shots. I’ve watched other proshots and many just park a camera in the back of the orchestra and call it good. Cats in particular had multiple cameras but just did close-ups when they felt like it, not when it made sense or added anything. As @or-what-you-will explained in their re-blog, Phantom was one of the first proshots where they had a soundboard plug in, and let me tell you, with the exception of a few moments in Act 1 where Sarah Brightman maxes out her mic, the sound was delicious. Have we talked about how Judy Kaye is singing over the overture (yes, that’s Judy Kaye, original Carlotta, warming up!)? Or that you can hear every single word of Notes I and Prima Donna and Notes II, which usually just sounds garbled because everyone is singing over one another? Actually hearing words that I sort of know exist changed my experience of the show for me.

7. How did the tempo seem, compared to the pace of the show at the end of its run? I saw the show a few times in the last few years, and the music seemed significantly faster in person than it sounded on the London cast recording. I’ve always wondered if that was just a difference between the London and NY productions, or if the tempo just sped up over the years.

Uh…normal pace??? I’ve watched a lot of boots and most solidly clock in 2:15 of run time. This was no different. There are definitely some that run a little faster. London during Earl Carpenter’s 2023 run was notorious as he had to catch a train. It does seem to have settled back out. I will say, the music does always feel more intense in person because the whole place just vibrates.

8. I'm curious about the comment about the Ratcatcher? I think I remember that character from a film adaptation, but was he ever in the ALW musical? (@lord-valery-mimes)

Yes, Ratcatcher is still in the musical, even now. It’s a blink or you miss it type of moment. If you hear a thud and a scream right before Madame Giry tells Raoul “He lives across the Lake, Monsieur”, the thud is the ratcatcher running across the travelator.

9. Does Christine really recognize the Phantom in PONR from his boner?

No, but at this point she probably already know it’s him and has been trying to get through the scene, but definitely acts surprised because, well, that’s surprising. But it’s definitely the moment where the Vibes Are Officially Off.

10. Can Sarah Brightman act?

Yes! All three of the trio have far more nuanced performances on stage. Sarah doesn’t act the way that we do see many later Christines (including late 80s and early 90s Christines), but she absolutely created the blueprint for the role. Her “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” is missing some soul, but at the end of the day she was one of a kind, and she made some very strong acting choices.

11. there anything unexpected? Any interpretation that stood out to you and particularly striking but didn’t stick around as others took on the roles and put their own spin on things?

Guys, I want to talk about Steve Barton as Raoul. The man made choice, after choice, after choice. And yet we have had so many Raoul’s that are kind of just strutting about looking pretty. Some seem to even forget they’re onstage during Final Lair. It can be such a juicy role if the actors choose to make it that way but so few do.

Besides some small details I mentioned, the show did maintain its integrity through its 35 year run, which is truly remarkable.

(@or-what-you-will here) Seconding what Flag said, Steve Barton brought so much more to the role than I’m used to seeing, and it really opened my mind to what Raoul could be.

The blocking in PONR did surprise me, I knew they had changed it but I hadn’t realized how much. I always found the kind of pinwheeling arm thing Christine does with the phantom strange, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that they didn’t do that at all, the embrace from behind made more sense to me.

I also found after she took his hood off no one really ran out, the phantom and Christine got to have their moment. The blocking where they (the managers and Raoul) run out and tell Christine to stay makes no sense with their motivations to stop him. The more recent blocking where Christine motions them to stay in place as the phantom sings the All I Ask of You Reprise makes way more sense with the characters’ motives and matches this original blocking much more.

12. Also are you truly working on a research project? If so, how is progress and where might we find your final results when it’s complete?

To quote Dr. Who, “Spoilers.” Yes, always. Both of us have day jobs that have us doing research, but I can’t promise I’ll put it on here when complete since I keep fandom and real life separate. Sorry to dodge this one but getting into specifics about this starts to identify us.

(@or-what-you-will here) Seconding what Flag said.

13. Hi there, I was wondering if I could ask you a general question about the NPL’s archive. Something about the language on their website made it sound like viewers could only watch a recording “once”. I wasn’t sure if that meant “once per visit” (i.e. you can’t sit there for 8 hours restarting the tape every time it ends) or “once” as in forever (like, once you’ve watched a recording you are never allowed to request it again). Did you have any clarification? I wasn't sure if the librarians explain the policies when you arrive at your appointment. Thank you for providing so many details about the Phantom pro-shot and offering to answer our questions! That's really kind of you!

You’re welcome! So if there’s nobody after you, you can hang out with the media as long as you want. However, we did have another group come in about 90 minutes after us. That gave us enough time to watch both acts with all the rewinds we wanted. We watched PONR and parts of Final Lair like five times. On a previous TOFT trip I watched two shows and was there for like six hours. The prohibition is on coming back and watching the recording again. I have no idea how strict they are about this, although I suspect it’s to keep people from monopolizing certain media. Would I want to try to watch the proshot again in the future? Probably! I know there’s stuff I missed, or I’d see something different depending on what I’m working on. The TOFT is also an absolutely incredible resource and I have so many other shows I’d like to check out.

(Will here) They do log on your library account when you visit that you visited and what you saw. However, if you have accessibility needs that would require you to watch in multiple viewings or something along those lines, I would talk to them about it, because I’m sure they’d be able to work with you to figure out something so you wouldn’t have to sit through the whole thing in one shot.

14. > Barton Raoul’s “There is no Phantom of the Opera” comes off more as “Christine this is just some dude” vs “he doesn’t exist at all.”

Could you elaborate on this part? I'm having trouble imagining how that would be conveyed. (also, thanks for sharing your notes on the procast!) @clutzyangel

You're welcome! Yes, he's telling Christine that the Phantom is a human, flesh-and-blood man, not some fantastical creature. I've seen many Raouls who seem to try to convince Christine that the Phantom doesn't exist at all. Barton's Raoul seems to understand that he's a man with ulterior motives possibly duping Christine.

And he's not wrong.

#phantom of the opera #poto #alw phantom #phantom proshot #happy birthday phantom broadway #phantom broadway #michael crawford #sarah brightman #steve barton #judy kaye #andrew lloyd webber #nypl #research #I wish Phantom were still be on broadway #we should all be wilding out at the majestic

154 notes · View notes

abbyromanoff · 10 months

Note

hey babes! could i request a story based on this version of unholy (Nat's pov)? r has no idea her partner is doing something unholy and ofc, Nat knows everything so tells r. or maybe r just finds it out herself. (Nat wants r to be hers for a long time and r is actually also into Nat but she thought Nat does not like her that way stuff like that maybe) if you could also add some smut in there that would be awesome👀 thank you so much! <3

also i hope you're doing okay and taking care of yourself<3

Unholy

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x afab!reader

Word count: 1819

Warnings: smut, kinda toxic!Nat, housewife kink, pet names, cheating, kinda dubcon, praise kink, degrading kink, fingering, cumming untouched, small daddy kink (like 2-3 times), think that’s all

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“Seriously, Y/N? Everyone knows it except you!” You stopped in your tracks, your back facing the older woman who was giving up on informing you of the truth.

“No. No, you don’t get to dictate my marriage, Nat! You don’t get to ruin us all because you feed off of it. You feed off of others' pain, I’m not letting you do that to me too.” You both were pacing and ended up in the living room. You sat on the couch, your head in your hands as you rubbed your temples. Nat hesitantly sat next to you, wrapping one arm around your back and the other grasping your knee. You tried pushing her off to no avail; she was always much stronger than you.

“Y/N, you need to listen to me-”

“And why would I do that? Look, I know about your feelings for me, you make them pretty fucking obvious, but that doesn’t give you the right to destroy my happiness just so you can have me.” She sighed, looking down at the floor as you continued to stare at her side profile. She was deathly alluring and so very seductive, but this was wrong on so many levels. You were married. Your wife would most likely be home in less than an hour and greeting you with a kiss as always.

“I need to start dinner before it’s too late. If you’d like to stay with us that’s fine, but I advise you don’t go near me anymore.” Deep down you both knew she was right. You had heard of your wife’s cheating scandals while she was on business trips or even right next door. The man, Vision, had always been close to you and Wanda, but you never thought your wife of all people, the same one who’d bring you home flowers three or more times a week, would have an affair. You trusted her, or so you thought.

Natasha was sick of your defiance and stormed after you, determined to make you believe her one way or another.

“Do not walk away from me when I was not done talking to you, Y/N.” She used your full name, you’ve never heard those words leave her mouth. You turned to look at her with a cold gaze, at least your best shot of one. Your teeth were clenched together and your fists were gripping the stove handle with a deathly hold.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house, Natasha.” She took a step forward, cornering you in between her and the cooking appliance.

“Your house? Or Wanda’s?” You looked at her with widened eyes, your hand just begging to be connected harshly with her face by now.

“Don’t go there.”

“Oh, but I think I will. You see, I think I know why you’re trying so damn hard to prove to me that I’m wrong when you know I’m right, we’re all right. You can’t live without her. She was the one who bought this house with her money, she’s the one who buys the groceries, she’s the one who pays the bills while you just set the table for her every night like a good little housewife. Is that what you are? Just a pathetic little wife to Wanda that gives her everything she wants? You’re so far gone that you refuse to accept the fact that she’s been fucking that guy for the past seven months, but you knew all along, didn’t you? But you knew you were nothing without her. I mean, you don’t even have a job, Y/N, how would you ever make it in the real world except for slutting yourself out to any businessman who wants it?” Tears threatened to escape your eyes at the harsh words, but she wasn’t exactly wrong. You didn’t have a job, you relied on your wife for all funds and she didn’t disappoint. It’s not like you didn’t want to support yourself, but Wanda had already convinced you years ago to be her perfect housewife and while you completed your job with ease, there was always that want of more. You felt like nothing without her, and you were starting to truly believe it.

“Get out.” Was all you were able to muster out. You heard a scoff as Nat shook her head before locking her eyes with you once more. You refused to stand down or show your fear, you kept your eyes in line with hers just like she was doing now.

“What?”

“I said,” You paused, gritting your teeth and leaning in so her face was nearly touching yours. “Get out of my house.” She placed her hands over your clenched ones but only received a slap on the cheek. She tumbled back a few steps before chuckling to herself.

“Fiesty, huh? That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You rolled your eyes and tried to point your attention to the pot boiling on the stove. That was until the woman came up behind you, placing her hands on your hips and her crotch against your ass. You tried paying no mind to her, you really did. But that was nearly impossible as she grinded her body against your backside. She bit her lip as the fabric of her undergarments rubbed just perfectly against her clit. Her hands traveled your body, landing on your breasts and palming the soft skin.

“Fuck, Wanda’s such a fucking idiot for letting this go.” You hated to admit it, but her touch was fascinating. You wanted more, you needed more. And her degrading words from earlier didn’t fail to leave a wetness coating your thighs. You couldn’t help but imagine this situation another way, being Nat’s housewife and having her come home to use you like this - like you were a toy. Like you were nothing but a hole for her to use when she needed it. She was wealthy, very wealthy at that. She was the CEO of a large investment company and, while she didn’t like to brag about it, you knew she had more than enough to support herself. All she needed was a sugar baby like you by her side to spoil immensely.

When you let out a small moan as she tweaked your abused nipples she slyly smirked to herself. “Awh, you’re liking this, aren’t you? You like the thrill of it? Knowing that your wife could walk through that door any second now and see her innocent little girl being used?” You shook your head, trying to come up with a reply until you were interrupted by a gasp leaving your lips. You were so lost in the feeling that you hadn’t even noticed one of Nat’s hands moving down your stomach and into the waistline of your panties. She teased the band of your undergarment by pulling it back and letting it slap your skin. You bucked your hips at the sudden shock. She continued her voyage, slipping her fingers into your panties and grinning when she felt your wetness coating her fingers.

“Nat, stop it.”

“Hm, I don’t think that’s true, love. You tell me you want me to stop, but the way you’re grinding on me tells me otherwise.” You hadn’t even noticed how you had started mindlessly rubbing yourself onto her. Her fingers would just graze against your clit and cause chills to run down your spine. You attempted to stop yourself, but your body was moving on its own.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on daddy’s fingers.” You moaned at the title she gave herself and did as she asked, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure of her digits on you.

“Tell me how it feels, baby girl.” She placed her head on your shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume that had her addicted from the beginning.

“It- it feels good, really fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned your back into her front, grasping her arm and holding onto her for dear life. You could feel her muscles tightening beneath you, only being able to picture how she must’ve looked completely bare, all of her muscles shining and on display. Her fingers teased around your hole before she eased two of her digits inside of you, the feeling still not being enough.

“Oh, fuck!” You whimpered loudly, quickly being shushed by the redhead behind you.

“Shh, sweetheart, I don’t want anyone but me hearing these perfect melodies.” Her lips pressed against your neck, leaving a small trail of her red-stained lipstick before she connected them with your own, one of your hands grasping the side of her face and pulling her impossibly closer.

“Please, daddy, please fuck me.” You whispered against her lips, feeling her hot breath against yours. She bit her lip before diving back in for more, requesting access with her tongue that you soon gave her. You felt a third finger prodding at your entrance, your nearly gaping hole letting her slip in with ease.

“Look at how well you’re taking me, baby.” You looked down, still feeling her sloppy kisses against your cheek. You were restricted from seeing her thoroughly with your now ruined pants still on, but you watched as her hand moved at impossible speeds inside of you.

“Your ass looks so fucking good in these jeans. God, you’re gonna make me cum already.” She could feel her stomach tightening and the coil becoming unbearable. You were the same, being so close to the edge that the orgasm you were so desperately chasing was the only thing on your mind besides the beautiful woman giving you it.

“I want you to cum with me, Y/N. Make a mess of me, darling.” You threw your head back on her shoulder, her lips continuing their assault on your neck as she released, her hips creating slow yet hard thrusts against you. It was crazy how she didn’t even need to be touched to finish, but you weren’t going to complain.

“Oh, love, you’re so irresistible, you drive me mad.” She could feel your cum painting her digits and soaking your panties, knowing the only thought in your fucked-up mind was her.

“You believe me now?” She asked after moments of silence that was filled with both of your heavy breathing. You gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I always have, Nat.” The thought was saddening, to say the least, but you knew that as long as you had Nat by your side, everything would be okay.

“Well, why don’t we put on a little show for when your wife comes home then?” You both giggled, rushing to the couch after you turned off the stove. She lied below you, watching with mesmerized eyes as you removed your shirt, leaving you in nothing but your white bra.

“Why don’t you let me thank you this time?”

568 notes · View notes

abrcmswrld · 1 year

Text

Talk to Strangers

Edward Nashton x Coworker! Reader

━━━━

Word Count: 4,951

Warnings: smut (18+ only MDNI), stalking, unprotected sex, angst and fluff and smut, a decent bit of tears, obligatory mentions of murder

Summary: You’ve warmed up to Edward despite his cold nature, but what happens when the puzzle pieces start to fall together and you can feel someone watching you in the darkness?

Authors Note: I actually tried so hard on this yall, I posted this to my ao3 page first so I am sorry if the formatting is all kinds of messed up on here :( This is my first fic i’ve posted since 2017 so I sincerely apologize if it’s meh, i also don’t have anyone else proofread my fics so i apologize for any errors i missed! enjoy!

Ao3 Link

He's arrogant. Oh so arrogant, and you can't fucking stand it. You watch him every morning as he strides in, past your desk at reception, white button up shirt, clear framed glasses, shaggy hair that falls over his forehead . He's certainly not a hit among the office, so maybe you're not wrong in your feelings. Though your other co-workers generally regard him as a pushover- not a self-absorbed asshole. He's good at what he does, sure. He's earned his spot, but he often brings a shadow into the rooms he walks into. A presence that you can only describe as infernal.

You don’t know much about his story. You generally pride yourself on getting to know the people you surround yourself with, but he has never let you get close enough to find out. Maybe that’s why you find him arrogant. He thinks he’s too good to speak to you for more than two sentences related to files he needs you to fax for him. What you do know about him is that he’s been at KTMJ for longer than you have been- maybe 5 years more. You can still remember the first time you met. You were fresh faced and eager. Seeking validation, in desperate need of some stability.

You extend your arm for a handshake. His hands are slightly clammy as he accepts your handshake. And though you had greeted him with your brightest smile (might as well go all in if you ever wanted to be anything other than a receptionist) he hadn't smiled back. He'd kept a rather straight face as he gave his brief introduction. "Edward."

Now you have a sense of stability. Sure, the quality of life in Gotham is subpar and you still haven't received that promotion, but you make enough to live comfortably in comparison to others in the city. You try to count your blessings.

━━━━

You had already been having a shitty day. Your landlord had informed you of an increase in rent rates by slipping an envelope under your door. Sure, it sucked to be asked to pay more for an apartment that could be deemed shitty by any normal person with a pair of eyes, but it was the lack of communication that got you. Not even the decency to call your residence and tell you with their own voice. Just a slip of paper under the door.

But you tried to bring a good attitude to the office. You hate being the one to damper the mood. You would rather leave that to him. Always him. Never smiling back at you as he walks through the door, never meeting your eyes to acknowledge your presence, nothing. And you were used to that. It would be okay, if it weren't for the stack of papers that laid on your desk when you got in. Neatly stacked with a green sticky note reading "Need copies. -Edward" scrawled in messy handwriting. You immediately feel the flames rise into your chest.

It's a quick stride from your desk to his cubicle, stack of papers tightly tucked into your fist. You slam them onto his desk as soon as you reach it, and he raises an eyebrow at you in response. "What the hell is this?" He glances at the papers and back at you. "The copier isn't working. I wrote what I needed." You sigh, annoyed at the fact that he doesn't understand.

"You couldn't have waited for me to get here and brought them to me yourself? I would really appreciate it if you would treat me like a human being every once in a while, ya know, actually acknowledge my existence." You realize how dramatic you must sound, but in all honesty you've been thinking it for years, it was only a matter of time before it came out. "I needed copies. I didn't think my acknowledgement meant that much to you." He holds his hands out in defense, feigning that he actually cared if he had hurt your feelings.

"I think you think you're smarter than everyone else here." You plant a hand on the table in front of him as you crouch to his level.

He sighs and you can see the corners of his mouth twitch. "I do. Is that so bad?"

"It makes you an asshole."

He finally faces you.

"Better to be an asshole than to be an idiot."

His voice doesn't carry any malice, yet the words feel like a slap in the face to you. It leaves you scrambling for a response, opening your mouth only to close it a second later. Until you decide to merely respond with a nervous chuckle. Sure, you thought his response showed his ego, but you had to admit. He got you. He faces you once more at the sound of your light chuckle, green eyes meeting yours completely. "I guess you're right."

You catch the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"If it means that much to you, I will greet you next time."

━━━━

And he does. Greet you that is. You find yourself talking to him more and more. Sitting in the break room with him at lunch, looking over his shoulder at the crossword puzzle he works on at his desk and giving your best shot at an answer, relishing in the furrow of his brows as he turns to look over his shoulder at you. He's an asshole. He's arrogant. But there's something about him that's drawing you in. Sometimes you feel like a fish caught in a net. All those moments he'd brushed you off and yet you find yourself repeating the little quirks of his soft smiles in your head. You hate the term "work husband", but it seems that Edward is slowly becoming the very definition of that.

You don't speak outside of the office, but you find yourself gravitating towards him when you're stressed. You tell him about your landlord and the reason you had gotten so defensive with him. He understood.

"It's a cesspool here. None of these people actually care about people like us, not the landlords, not our coworkers, certainly not the politicians." He had said in that moment.

As October rolls around and the leaves begin to fall, you find yourself beginning to bring two coffees to work, one for you, one for him. He always shows an appreciative nod. But the moment you start to think about asking him to actually go out with you for coffee is like being the fish pulled out of the water and accepting it's inevitable fate. You were gonna let him drive you insane.

You're sure of it as you are caught up in the nerves and find yourself softly grabbing his hand to stop him outside the front doors of the office. You quickly pull your hand from his. no doubt blushed a deep red. But he just stares, waiting for you to speak. You clear your throat. "I- um- Sorry, I was just gonna see if you had plans now." And it pains you the way he doesn't speak, just continues to stare.

"There's a diner on the corner near here. I think they have decent pie."

He loosens the tension in his shoulders and looks down. "Oh. I'm actually sort of drowning in... paperwork right now." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. God, you hoped you hadn't made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

You quickly shake your head and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh no! It's totally fine, I probably have paperwork to finish too." You hope it hides the pang you feel in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow." You swiftly turn and walk away before he can respond.

━━━━

But you wouldn't see Edward tomorrow. Matter of fact you wouldn't see him for the next three days after Halloween. You try not to let it bother you.

It's the beginning of a cold November, he's probably just sick or desperately needed a vacation. Or perhaps you'd seriously fucked it all up and he couldn't even stand the sight of you. You can't stop the deep sigh that comes from you as you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand. Embarrassingly, you ask Zach if he's heard from Edward. Not that you expected him to be particularly helpful. "Are you guys, like, fucking?" You are stunned and stammering your words. "Wha- No! No. I just worry about him."

"Look, I wouldn't worry about him too much, I mean the guy's basically a fucking recluse. When do you ever see him outside of here? Maybe it's good that he's somewhere besides here."

Still, there's no chance of you actually focusing on work and you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through news headlines, before one in particular catches your eye.

'Mayoral Incumbent Donald Mitchell, Jr. Murdered in his Home on Halloween Night.'

Holy shit.

━━━━

Edward is back at work after three long days, and despite your worry of his annoyance and anger, he is oddly elated.

It's the first time he approaches your desk. Leaning against it, coffee cup in hand, and flashing an awkward smile before asking, "So did I miss anything?" It leaves you a little taken aback, but it's a relief to see him approach you willingly after your last conversation.

"Um yeah, Zach was a total prick as usual- Oh! And our mayor was murdered."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from the coffee cup. You feign annoyance, "No but seriously where were you? I started to wonder if that psychopath got you too."

He smiles. "Just sick. November weather and all."

━━━━

The first time you see the green mask you are in a huddle of coworkers around a computer screen.

'Police Commissioner, Pete Savage, Murdered. Killer Leaves Shocking Confession.'

"My God. What a sick freak." Zach interjects.

You can barely stand to watch. The video is hardly graphic aside from the disturbing voice of the masked man, but the implications of what happens when the video cuts off leaves your stomach turning. You walk away. Desperate for some space, but also desperate for a distraction. Edward sits straight in his office chair across the room. You hesitate slightly before striding toward his desk and leaning your weight against it. You can feel the sweat beading at your forehead as you lightly brush hair from your eyes. "Shit."

It's merely a whisper to yourself, but he turns his head to face you. For once his face shows concern towards you. Yet he still says nothing, only looks. Observant as always.

"Sorry. I needed to get out of that." You gesture towards the group of coworkers still huddled and murmuring among each other. He glanced back, before turning back towards his work. "The news?" He inquires quietly.

"Yeah. It's a little too much for me to stomach." There's a little pause as if he is hesitant to say anything before finally replying, "They were pricks. Don't you think they kind of deserved it?"

You straighten up, looking at him with shock. "I think they were still people with families." He frowns at you before you finally walk away from his desk to make your way to the restroom. You needed to get a grip.

━━━━

Edward apologizes for his insensitivity after work. You had stayed with him outside of the building long after all of your other coworkers had left. "It's fine." You refuse to look at him as he lights a cigarette and gets in a few quick puffs. You're being mean. But if you're honest the combination of his rejection and his comment earlier in the day had set you off. "And I'm sorry for last week." Only then you look up at him.

"I've had a lot going on, and it feels a little unfair to bring you into all of that."

"This feels like an excuse to let me down easy. It's okay if you just don't want to go on a date-"

The feeling of chapped lips on your own stops you mid sentence. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes and you crave more, but he pulls back quickly. His free hand remains at your cheek, holding your face in a gentle caress. "It's not an excuse. Things are just complicated for me right now." His eyes never leave your face. It's the best look you've gotten of them. Of him. His features are gentle behind shaggy hair and acetate glasses.

Something feels wrong and eerie in the back of your mind. Like seeing him this close gave you a sickening feeling of deja vu. Things were definitely complicated. The bags under his eyes were showing his exhaustion well, he had gone from elated to unwell since his return. He seems like a broken man, but he'd never let you close enough to find out why. You can't help but feel the connection, like he deserved a shot even if he didn't want it. Even if he thought he was smarter. Even if there's a side to him that could hurt you. You push down your feelings of uneasiness.

You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

"When you're ready."

━━━━

You're awake nearly all night the next weekend. Spending the entire time digging through news about the figure known as The Riddler, his possible next targets, possible identities, and most importantly all of the video footage he'd put out in the last few weeks. It's certainly not healthy. You generally steer clear of these sorts of things. Years of therapy had gotten you far and you would rather not ruin it by desensitizing yourself. But you can't help it. You find yourself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole until you find yourself tuning into his streams late at night.

He speaks with such a confidence in himself. As if he has all of the answers, and is just waiting to enlighten the world. His followers are even more terrifying. They'd do anything for him. You wonder how low a person must be in life to resort to this sort of behavior. But, you're not a psychiatrist. Who are you to speak on these people. These strangers.

"We are going to cleanse this cesspool of city."

You slam the laptop shut.

Sleeping isn't easy after this sort of activity. You should've known. You turn on a show you don't actually care about to give yourself some sense of security in background noise. And soon you find yourself drifting asleep. It's not great sleep. You can sense yourself tossing and turning, but you can deal with it. Everything is fuzzy until you find yourself on your back.

Paralyzed.

It's not uncommon for you to experience sleep paralysis, but you've experienced it less after your time in therapy. You try to keep your breathing steady, trying to convince yourself that whatever you see is merely a hallucination.

Shh. Shh. Just breathe.

But the figure that appears is familiar. That's what scares you the most. The green coat and mask is horrifying as it inches towards the bed, and you can't scream. you can't move away. You can only watch the blood drip from his gloved fingertips onto your floor as he stares. Tilting his head at you slightly, as he brings a hand up to his head. You can hear your heart pounding and you are practically internally begging yourself to wake up. The latches on his mask pop open and you're horrified to find that the face underneath is so familiar. A slight smirk on lips you have kissed before. Blood dripping from a hand that you've held before. You try to scream. Tears falling down your temples until he is suddenly gone and you shoot up in your bed.

You can't hold back the cry that escapes your throat. It wasn't real, he's gone, and you're safe in your room.

━━━━

Until suddenly the safety of your room begins to feel a lot less safe. You hear it. The creaking of the floorboards at night, the slight tapping against the glass of your bedroom window. The slight squeak of leather rubbing and rustling together. You're too scared to open your eyes those first few nights. You'd rather be blind and take your fate than die in paralyzing fear.

But you know it's him.

It was never unclear what was staring at you in the night. Maybe the nightmares of the leather gloves touching your skin hadn't been nightmares at all. You want so badly to be sickened. To run into your bathroom to empty your stomach out of panic and fear. Instead you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and arousal in your gut.

He thinks he's smarter than you.

You find yourself playing into his games.Attempting to one up him. To show him you aren't scared of him. That you can keep up. You begin to deliberately change in front of your window. Letting lacy fabric hit the cold floor and standing just a tad longer, stalling before covering yourself back up.

You hope he's watching when you peel off your work tights. You hope he's imagining himself on his knees tearing the delicate fabric from your form, only to be blocked by a thin pane of glass. You wanted the upper hand.

You hope he's watching as you sink two fingers into yourself, thinking about crisp, white button ups and clear framed glasses.

━━━━

The next few weeks are tense at work. You heard the news of what happened to Gil Colson at Don Mitchell's funeral. Edward would walk in everyday, and attempt to greet you, only this time it's you who is short. You have a little hope that he can't see straight through you. But you can see it in the way that he looks at you that you're an open book. Who's to say that he won't just watch, but actually kill you to keep you from talking. But deep down you both know your lips are shut tight.

So you work through the days, just ready to get home. You can hardly stand to look at him. It makes you feel like you're an accomplice. A sitting duck for a man who probably doesn't even care about you, withholding a tip to the police because deep down you really do like him. And you had hoped he liked you too until things got complicated. Now you think it would just be best if he abandoned you right where you were. But he doesn't. In fact, he suddenly has more courage than you'd ever seen from him. It's evident as he catches you by your arm and pulls you into the alleyway beside the office after work is over. It's dark and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but he kisses you like nothing is wrong. Like he has no clue. Like nothing has changed.

You pull away from him, wide eyes staring back at him. "Are you okay?" He asks quietly as he brushes a hand up your arm. You can't help the break in your voice. "I know, Edward."

He just stands and stares. "What?" You take two steps back. "You're killing people." He continues to stare. He drops his hand from your arm. The silence scares you more than anything. But he simply sighs.

"I think you should go home and get some rest."

And before you can argue he walks away with a quickened pace.

━━━━

So you do. You return to your shitty apartment and try to compose yourself. What would he do now that you said that? Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had accused him of something he genuinely didn't do. But it didn't feel wrong. You sigh as the hot water hits your back. You had hoped a shower would help you feel refreshed, but for the first time in a while, it feels like a chore. You can't enjoy it, so you rush through it. As you step into your bedroom you stop in your tracks. The window is slightly ajar, a cool draft flowing in tingles your bare legs. And then you see him. The figure in the darkness of your room. This time you're not dreaming.

He's in your room. You're paralyzed. The position you swore you'd never let yourself be put in. He's got the upper hand.

He just stands there. A part of you wishes he would attack you. Kill you. Anything just to break the still silence. You realize you're shaking. You agreed to play his game and now you're trailing his lead, allowing yourself to be beaten.

"Edward."

It comes out as a shaky whisper, but he visibly takes it in as he steps toward you to close the distance. You can see his eyes crinkle at the corners through the green mask. He's smiling. And he reaches a gloved hand to your face, cupping one cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand even through the glove. So, he is human. The Riddler has a beating heart and flowing blood. He is not a cold, lifeless monster. His stoic frame you had become so familiar with at work was gone. He catches a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

He is terrifying.

"No more through the window. I'll be gone soon."

Before you can entirely comprehend the statement and it's implications, your brain forms the word that leaves your mouth. "Gone?"

He simply smiles again, this time reaching his hands behind his head to abandon the mask he had come in with, and there he is. Cherubic features glowing under the street lamp light that flows in from your window. "I watched you live for a month. I watched you eat, sleep, undress, touch yourself. But you knew that right? Otherwise you wouldn't have put on such a show."

You attempt to struggle away from his grasp in disgust at his words but he holds you tight in front of him. "But that's alright. I'll tell you the truth because I hate liars. I liked knowing that you were doing it all for me. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse Gotham, to give them true salvation, but you put a dent into that plan. You became a distraction that I foolishly indulged." The soft light is hitting his features just right. He looks like an angel in devils' clothing. And his tight grip is right back to a gentle caress. His hand reaches the small of your back and you're sucking in a shrill breath.

His kiss is soft, inexperienced. Much like the other times you had kissed. But he is treating you like glass that might break. You think it might be the first time you've seen him relax enough to be seen as a particularly gentle being. He's ditched his looming, arrogant behavior you're so used to just to show you his utmost affection. It's the first time you have seen him like this since the first time you had kissed.

But some part of you is burning. He's not your prince charming. You know exactly what he is capable of, you've seen it. You're not glass. You're not a damsel. This is a man who has watched you undress for him through your window for weeks. This is a man who has killed. And it shouldn't bring heat into your core the way it does. Perhaps it's the thrill of the danger.

You kiss him so hard that your teeth clash. It stuns him as his hand lifts from your body momentarily before finding purchase at your hips. He's inexperienced, but the desperation coming from both of you is enough to cover it up.

The warmth and weight of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating. The little sparks of guilt and shame that flash in your stomach are quickly subdued by his nimble fingers caressing under your nightgown and up your thighs to hook in the waistband of your panties. You can't help the pathetic moan that escaped your mouth as he slowly drags the fabric down your legs.

"I wanted to do it right. Wanted to take you to that diner, buy your food, take you home, and act like I hadn't thought about fucking you into your mattress every single night."

It's almost strange to see him on his knees. He has built himself up to be godlike. You were sure he wouldn't mind you on your knees in front of him. Absolutely worshipping him. The warmth of his tongue swiping over you has your thoughts lurching, and yes, god, he is divine.

"But it would be wrong to pretend to be someone I am not. I'm not a liar."

You can't help but tangle your fingers into his beautifully unkept hair and pull. He is ravishing you. Sinking two fingers into you until you feel the heavenly curl right into the spot that makes you whimper. "Eddie-" He swallows your moans in a desperate openmouthed kiss. His fingers are working you open, you can feel tightness build in your stomach. Like a rubber band ready to snap. But it's ripped away from you as he pulls his fingers out of you and swiftly pushes you to the bed. The sounds of his belt buckle coming undone has your heart racing faster than it already was, your stomach fluttering.

He buries himself inside of you with no hesitation, no time to adjust. It hurts and his inexperience is noticeable, but the look of bliss on his face and his slight whimpers has you ready to cum before you've even started.

You're gripping onto the back of the green leather parka, reminding yourself of who you're with. Who you're letting fuck you right now. But those green eyes bring you back to all those times he'd flash a slight smile your way in the office. He'd try to hide it but you're the only person he showed fondness towards in that hell hole of a workplace. Thinking back to the night he had kissed you has tears welling up in your eyes again. He notices.

He slows his pace momentarily, letting his short thrusts turn into long drags. A gloved hand wipes tears away once again and you meet his concerned gaze.

"Does this not make you happy?"

Your hands move to cradle his face. A move that he's certainly not used to as his thrust halt for a moment in surprise. "I am happy. But what comes after this? Am I supposed to ignore you and pretend I know nothing about you? That I feel nothing for you?" He stops his movements completely now. The room has fallen silent apart from the heavy breathing between you two.

"I have to mean nothing to you. Momentarily."

You knew the answer before you asked the question, but it hurts just as bad anyway. You don't take your eyes off his. The Riddler's facade is cracking before your eyes, you can see his eyes becoming glossy. It's almost like he's turned into a completely different person. He kisses you. Deeply, but not rough. There's so much pent up feeling behind it, you could sob even harder. But you don't and he keeps kissing you as he resumes his movements.

You're not using any protection, but you're too blissed out to care. You crave that feeling of warmth. "Eddie- I-"

His hips start to stutter as he cuts you off and buries his face in your neck. " I love you- please God- just say it back to me. Tell me you love me." You hold his face in your hands guiding his gaze to meet yours again. "Edward, I love you."

That's all it takes for him to fall apart. His whimpers and cries are like music to your ears and the feeling of warmth as he releases everything he has into you is blissful. You both have to take a second to recover, foreheads pressed together. But eventually he rolls off of you carefully and tucks himself back into his pants. The silence is deafening. You said it to push him over the edge, but was it true that you loved him? The idea of falling in love with Edward was easy in your mind, in a perfect world the idea of settling down somewhere else and waking up next to him felt good. But this wasn't a perfect world. Edward killed people, powerful people, and the chance that he'd get away without paying for it was slim.

"I'm gonna turn myself in in a couple of days."

"Okay."

"You should leave Gotham. It's not going to be safe for you here. If the cops ask you're visiting a friend in Bludhaven."

His hand grips yours as he looks at you.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

━━━━

You do as he asked of you. Got a hotel in Bludhaven and in the next couple of nights you watched the television endlessly, waiting to see his face. The night you finally did, you cried yourself to sleep, gripping the hotel sheets as you buried your face into your pillow.

But you held yourself together and did as Edward asked.

When the man in the bat suit showed up at your hotel door a week after the flood you give your best answers.

"I'm visiting a friend, but the flood has kept me in town."

"No, I didn't know him well, we just worked together."

"I mean he was a little strange, but I never thought he would murder someone."

“I would never have expected it to be him.”

"I hope he gets the help he needs."

#edward nashton #dano!riddler #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #dano!riddler x reader #paul dano #danonation #the batman #edward nashton smut #edward nashton fluff #edward nashton ily forever -abram #gonna log off for the night to keep my nerves down i think

934 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 9 months

Note

As someone who's college age: yeah, there's a TON of people my age who don't know how things work and don't try to learn. Can't unzip a zip file, want to know where to download anime but haven't tried looking it up, ask things on subreddits a Google search or quick search on the wiki would answer, ask questions answered in FAQs or by professors or in the syllabus, say they can't download and install a new browser or app or program because they don't know how and they never think to look up how to do so, go months without logging into their student email because no one explained to them how to do so and they never thought to ask anyone how to do it, go months without washing their laundry because they don't know how and they also don't know how to look up instructions on how to do it, don't know how to cook and can't Google a recipe so they throw things in a pan and pray it works out, don't understand how to back up files, don't know how to attach a pdf to an email to send to a professor, cannot manage to put stuff on a USB drive + go to the library + print it off of the library computer, etc.

I spent most of freshman year teaching people things. The year after, my patience got more frayed and "Google it" started coming out of my mouth a lot more. This last year I gave up and now if people fuck themselves over, that's their decision. I'm not going to stand there begging people to do basic things they should already know how to do.

It was really funny when someone from Career Services came to talk to us about resumes and said we didn't need to put down 'can use Microsoft Excel' on there because everyone knew that and all but three people said actually no, they didn't. People who are 40+ really think we're all good at tech by default, like we fall out of the womb clutching a little phone already making spreadsheets in Excel or coding computers or whatever.

Meanwhile in reality you see a ton of people posting on tumblr going, "How do I post fic on tumblr?" whose blogs proudly state that they're under 18. The thought that you could just type into a Word doc and then copy and paste onto here never hits. And it's not going to.

I hate to break it to millennials and older people but yeah, actually, my generation does in fact have morons. We're not a moron-free demographic. I'm pretty sure moron-free demographics don't exist, tbh.

It infuriates me that my father (in his 80s) is always saying to me that he needs to find a 12-year-old to explain his tech to him. I (40s) keep telling him it's more like a bell curve or something. We had a blip of people being taught in school or having their asses kicked about technology. But then it went away again.

I think we made computers and then phones much more accessible, which is great, but we forgot we still need to teach people things. I know not everyone got explicit instruction in school even in my era, but it seems like the US, at least, phased some of that out as we started assuming The Youth automatically knew it all.

That said... in my day, college freshmen were also terrible about doing their laundry, so some things never change.

262 notes · View notes

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

i'll tell you my sins | b.b.

SUMMARY: If religion was the safe haven where Bucky found reasons to be alive and see the good in this world again, loving you was where he found the freedom to be more than just expectations once again. Human emotion, connection and need more than anything else. Also, devotion. Bucky already understood that one, but with you, it reached heights he never dreamt of before.

⚠️ This work is intended for 18+ audiences. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex. Religious theme. Smut. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, or reuploaded on any other platform. | WC: [7.2k]

part one

The sound of a storm, pouring heavily outside with wind howling, knocking against the windows, and being as loud as the skies allow, it was now tainted. Painted. It would never be the same for you.

Not when it was the soundtrack to Bucky standing right behind you, his whole body's front glued to your back, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as his hand held your face in his hand, and the other arm wrapping around your middle, his other hand busy making a mess of every cell in your body. Touching you. Buried inside your panties, his fingers circling your clit or dipping inside of you.

His breath on your ear and the stubble rubbed on your neck and cheeks turned you delirious. A whole month of doing nothing more than a few kisses and in one night, he does this.

In your ear, Bucky groans. "So good like this. I missed hearin' the little noises you make," his mouth kisses the part that it can reach of your face, and you want to tell him to speed up, but then remember what brought you to be bent over his kitchen counter with Bucky turning your reality to something mellow, and red, and sinful:

"I just wanna see you feel good for a little. I wanna touch you. Can I? Can I take my time just... touching you?"

That's when you learned Father James would be the death of you.

It all started because you decided to help him clean after the Church's latest event instead of going home.

Bucky accepted your help, and you two managed to update one another on your week as you helped him around the Church. Outside, the sky did its watercolor dance throughout the last hours of the daylight, and you two smiled and flirted while moving boxes, cleaning the kitchen, and discussing yourself as well as others.

After what happened at the confessional, Bucky had done what he said he would:

Took you on dates. Picked you up, asked you more questions now that were not only about the world and the wonders, and 'did things the right way'. For the past month, you got to know more of him than you did in a whole year.

It was fun. Exciting, emotional, and nerve-wracking.

Bucky's eyes on you made you feel things you thought could only be felt in books or movies—the way he looked at you sometimes did that.

The things he said.

"It's kinda hard for me to let... people in. Most of the time. But not with you."

"I like it when you tell me these things that go through your mind. No, really—don't look at me like that. I do. I meant it when I said I liked you, and you are who you are with all those things. Knowing what goes on inside that pretty head makes me... happy. ... Even if you can be a cute lil' weirdo sometimes."

All those things—the dates, phone calls, the kissing.

Bucky deserved for you to try and do the impossible too and allow yourself to try.

That's what you're thinking about when the noise amplifies out of nowhere outside the heavy wooden doors.

Not expecting a flood pouring from the sky, both of you are caught off guard:

Bucky only takes public transportation, you came with a ride: the only solution is to go for it; you two run until the bus stop and, soaked to your bones, opt for you two to get down at his place which is closer than yours.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder right there, in the middle of the bus where anyone could see, and got as close to you as possible.

"Your mouth's so pale," he told you. It made your gaze drop to his lips, too, and you understood what he meant.

You nodded. "Yup." Yours too.

Bucky chuckles then kisses your temple. "My bad. You stayed to help me."

Even with the chill in the air freezing your fingertips, your chest warms up for a second. "It's ok, Buck. I stayed 'cause I wanted to."

"Thanks, dove."

Fuck. He used the nickname so rarely now that you shuddered when it came, and you were thankful you could blame it on the cold. If Bucky noticed the electricity running higher in you for a second, he kept quiet about it.

You should have seen it then on the bus.

The way the world diminished until only the two of you existed.

You'd been there before and yet, you missed it.

Too lost in how cozy Bucky's words and gesture of holding you made you feel, you missed all the cues, and when you realized that both of you had set up and walked into the Universe's trap again, it was too late.

Bucky welcomed you into his house with you two shaking so violently that all you wanted was some whiskey, to be quite honest.

"Stay put," he told you the minute you two walked in.

Then, he started removing as many clothes as possible right at the door.

Right, you remembered. My little neat freak.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you ignored it. Bucky took off his black pants, sweater, t-shirt, and socks, leaving nothing but his underwear on, and put down his shoulderbag there with all the wet clothes, then padded softly upstairs.

That's my cue, I guess.

You did the same as him after waiting a few minutes, giving him time to switch to warm and dry clothes and pick out some for you.

After you two were changed and the wet clothes were in the dryer, Bucky looked at you standing there in front of the door still.

He frowned.

Then you realized you never really came inside his house.

You two always hanged outside, or in the year.

When Bucky extended his hand, you walked in trying not to be too obvious about how giddy it made you feel.

"I'll heat up some of yesterday's leftover. Is that okay?" He asked.

"Sure." You felt like a caterpillar trapped in the blanket cocoon. Sitting on the chair, you looked around as he rummaged through his kitchen. "I didn't expect this many... stars," you commented.

His house was filled with space things.

Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled at you. "You're never getting inside my room," he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. The teasing was obvious in his face. "Duly noted, Father.

"D'you want anything else?" He asked.

There was nothing religious-themed in his house, and you felt weirdly relieved as you looked around. "Uh—do you have whiskey?" If there were Jesuses staring down at you from everywhere, you'd reluctantly pick to hang outside every time you came over.

Bucky closed the fridge with his foot, and you learned another neat trick of his crazy moby mobility.

He sometimes did stuff without even looking at them, like he had perfect air.

"You're for real?" He asked, making you look away from the constellation painting he has hanging up on the wall behind you.

"Yeah," you nodded. You gave him a cheeky smile. "Gotta warm my insides."

He gestured dramatically to the leftovers he was putting inside the pan. "What's this?"

"Sustenance," you answered. The smile widened. "I need hot."

In a rare display of cockiness, Bucky gestured at his own body.

Your cheeks flamed, and he laughed at you.

"No fair," you mumbled. It's not like you're giving it to me, a bratty voice said in your brain.

"I'll give you a shot, you pouty thing," Bucky said when he was done laughing. "Gimme a moment."

When you weren't thinking about all the cool things you did know and were learning about him, your mind diverged to his past which he disliked so much and hid in his mind attic.

Where was he from?

Bucky's accent was definitely not from here.

He had an easiness to his step that said big town, too—his cheekiness told you that Bucky's years had been well lived.

Even his leftovers tasted amazing.

What kind of man knew how to take care of themselves so well? Not many, that's who.

"D'you like it?" He asked.

You two sat on the couch finishing your food, and after the two shots of whiskey you both shared, the deluge outside was just great soundtrack.

Bucky's legs tangled in yours underneath the blankets moved a little and his foot poked your thigh. "Answer me," he said, smiling on the corner of his mouth.

As if you hadn't told him already you liked it.

Bucky loved the praise.

"Shut up," you whined, laughing with a mouth full of food. "I'm eating."

He nudged your thigh again, moving your plate. "Your cheeks are red."

"That was really good whiskey."

He did the foot thing again and you yelped when he moved your plate a little too much. "Tell me it's good—"

"Father James if you put that foot against my leg one more time I will bite it." He burst out laughing. "You're gonna make me drop my plate. That's blasphemy."

He laughed harder. "You're impossible."

"And you're a good cook, now shush and let me eat," you said.

He nodded, pleased, and put his empty plate on the center table.

Bucky watched you eat — like a weirdo! your brat teased — and made a few comments every now and then that you agreed with a hum or disagreed with a nose scrunch, and when the food was over, he pulled you to his lap, adjusting your legs on either side of them.

It was the most compromising position you two had been in weeks.

And then he used it to kiss your nose, and ask you, "'You warm, dove?" in a low whisper.

God.

"Yes, I am."

"Good," Bucky leaned his head up, angling for a kiss. "Gimme a kiss and I'll make you hot chocolate."

You felt even warmer if that was possible, but in more than just one place.

His face was so gorgeous.

Flashes of that closed booth and that pretty face between your legs made you shiver.

You hid in a kiss that you tried your best to keep innocent.

Four weeks ago, Bucky had told you, "I wanna take it... slow. So we can... think better, getting into this. Is that ok?" and yes, it was.

But at the same time—hmnm.

He tasted so fine.

When he pulled back from the kiss and smiled, you whined.

"Ah—don't," he warned. "I'm making you hot chocolate even though you're bad and told me my place is decorated like a ten-year-old with a Nasa obsession. No whining."

You snorted, trying to not laugh.

"You're so bad," he said, unable to hide his own smile.

That's how you two ended up in the kitchen for the second time.

You followed him there, too cozy in his presence to be too many feet away from it, and watched as he separated the ingredients: the milk, chocolate — which he was going to grate — and everything else.

You picked up your phone from where it was charging when you arrived and took some pictures. Then, you played some music while he stirred the pot, and you retired the blanket over the back of the couch, not feeling cold anymore.

When the mugs were served, Bucky opened his cabinet, put on the marshmallows in it and slapped your hand away when you tried to pick up yours.

"Ah. It's hot," he warned you off.

You rubbed the sting away from your hand, and stared at him. "Outch," you said.

Bucky was leaning against the kitchen counter.

The black sweatpants were identical to yours, but his navy Harley looked way cooler on him than the black one looked on you.

At least you thought so.

"—enough for you?" Bucky's voice finishes.

Fuck. You were staring.

Licking your lips, you look away from his body. "Huh?"

Bucky arches one eyebrow up. "You didn't hear me?"

Double fuck. You shook your head, feeling hotter out of nowhere.

Bucky nods. "Hm." His eyes rake you up and down. "I said... I know of your sweet tooth, so I wonder if this one will be sweet enough for you?"

There was a lump in your throat.

The energy this man radiated made you weak in the knees. "I'm sure it will," you replied with a weak smile.

On his face, a smile grew like a flower blossoming at night. "So polite out of nowhere..." he comments, feigning wonder. Bucky's head tilts to the side. "No one would believe you mean you were to me on that phone call yesterday."

Shit. Shit, shit shit—you thought Bucky's grunts and extended silences as you got ready to go out with your friends with him on the other side of the phone right after you shower, lotioning up your body, and talking about which outfits you'd wear were just him playing. He talked normally most of the time. You thought he was just going along with your teasings.

(You might've had too much wine before the shower. No one could blame you for teasing him.)

Right now, he looked like he was enjoying something.

You.

"That was me being nice," you said. it came off in a whisper.

Bucky stayed in silence for a second, his eyes on your face and his hands gripping the counter behind him. "C'mere," he said.

You walked over, and he held you close to him. One hand on your waist, the other holding your face.

His hand caressed your cheek and time started moving differently as you gazed into each other's eyes.

The air got a little thicker. Static.

Your eyes closed, and your face leaned into the touch.

"I like seeing you happy, dove," he whispered.

Whether it was the nickname or the sentiment behind his words that hit you harder, you were unaware, but the feeling took over at the speed of light: happiness, all over and around you. "Bucky," your whole body dropped against his, and you angled your head in search of a kiss. "You make me so happy."

His lips on his were his answer.

The short, weak grunt on his mouth as he kissed you hard, lips smashed on yours.

He pulls back only to say, "You make me happy too, dove," then he dives right in.

It had been so many days without kissing him like this that you forgot what it was like.

The power that he could have.

The way his kiss deepened with each stroke of his tongue on yours, and how the deeper and more in the rhythm that you two were with one another, the more his body came alive, limb by limb.

First, Bucky stood up straighter, cupping your face in both of his hands, and moving your head to his wish, opening your jaw wider. Then, his hand flew to your hair, and the other started exploring your body.

It was exactly like the rain pouring outside.

When it all started, it was too late already.

You moan so loud when Bucky pulls your hips to his with force and grips your hair in his fist that it's all fucked from the start.

"Oh," he mutters, a single inch and a string of saliva separating your lips. "Y/n."

"Bucky," his name already sounds like a prayer.

He closes his eyes, and nudges his nose on your face. "Baby..."

The way he extends the word makes you realize how hard you're holding onto him. Your hands grip his shoulders so tight that your fingertips hurt a little, but all you want is a little more.

Then, Bucky whispers. "Dreamt so much of you these weeks." He takes a step forward, guiding your body to where he wants. "It was so hard. So—fucking—difficult," the last three words he punctuates by caging your body against the counter instead of his, then pulling you up by your waist to sit on it, then pulling you by your ass to fit against his body.

You lunge forward like a starving madwoman.

Bucky takes it very well.

He gives back, much to your relief, and to your utmost pleasure.

With his mouth, Bucky manages to answer all the doubts you have not even dared ask yourself, and he tells you his secrets with his hands as they roam you, as desperate for a feeling of your burning skin as you are for him.

When he pulls back, Bucky holds you by the hand fisting your hair at the nape, and the sight of his swollen pink lips is a bit much.

"Dove," he groans.

"What?"

"I'm... I don't know if I'm ready to do anything, but—are you? Because—fuck, I miss touching you so much. It was only once but I miss my hands on you—making you feel good."

"Bucky, please," you nod, desperately. "Please."

He smiles, and nods too. "Yeah?" He confirms. "I just wanna see you feel good for a little," he says, starting to leave a trail of kisses on your neck. "I wanna touch you," he licks your earlobe in his mouth and hears chuckles when you whine like a cat made of puddy in his hands. "Can I? Can I take my time just... touching you?"

"Please," you beg.

"Okay, dove." There's one more kiss on your neck before he pulls you down from the counter. "C'mere."

That's when Bucky turns you around and presses your back against his front, bending you over the counter a little. He holds your upper body up with his left arm wrapped around your shoulders, his left hand gripping your chin and moving to his waiting lips while his right hand is doing the most.

On your sides, under his shirt, and on your breasts, getting a feel of them, pinching and grazing your nipples like a feather right next.

There's thunder and lightning, and then there's you, whining and moaning like you're in heat before his hand even drops to your panties.

Your soaked through panties.

"Oh, god, oh my god," Bucky mutters under his breath.

Bucky can fit one and then two fingers between your folds with ease due to how wet you are.

He tells you as much. "All of this for me, dove?" He asks, breathless. Your neck is going to be a red mess tomorrow—his kisses, teeth sinking on your neck and shoulders, the beard he keeps rubbing on you like he's a wolf and you're his to mark—it'll be a mess, and you whine even louder at the thought of it.

He takes that as your confirmation.

"So good for me," Bucky kisses your cheeks like he's thanking you. "Still your hips. I'm in no rush," he laughs.

He sounds like he's having so much fun. If it's possible, that aids in making you even wetter.

You can feel the outline of his cock through both the sweatpants pressing against your ass, and Bucky's hips buckle sometimes, grinding minimally against you.

If there's one thing to get on your knees for and thank this evening is how strong this man is underneath all his clothes.

Bucky spreads your legs apart wider with his feet and then goes to town.

He starts on your clit, with a light, but speedy touch. It's certainly a quick way to get your pussy clenching and begging for more in minutes. It makes your hardened nub so sensitive that you start begging under your breath for more, and Bucky ignores you for a couple of minutes until out of nowhere, he slips a finger inside of you.

You moan, happily, leaning your weight on his arm, in the direction of the counter.

Bucky's hips grind on you again, and then there's one more. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, fucking you with them properly until he stops, pulls them out and grabs your cunt with his whole hand, getting a feel of how drenched you are. Spreading your slick on his palm.

His breath on your ear and the stubble rubbed on your neck and cheeks turned you delirious. A whole month of doing nothing more than a few kisses and in one night, he does this.

In your ear, Bucky groans. "So good like this. I missed hearin' the little noises you make," his mouth kisses the part that it can reach of your face, and you feel like you're gonna cry.

He circles your clit more, and you want to grind back against them, but even in your delirious state, you remember what he said.

"Please," you cry. The only thing holding you up is his arm and his hand between your legs. "Please."

"Please what?" He says as he slowly pushes his middle finger in, curling it in the perfect spot.

"Fuck!"

Bucky sighs happily on your neck, and goes, "Hmhm," with another chuckle.

He enjoys this, and it's in the next few minutes you understand why:

In this position, Bucky can take all the time in the world.

He can go back and forth between fucking two or three fingers deep inside your cunt, moaning alongside you when you start filling his kitchen with your pleas of his name and your near-screams and then playing with your clit as he pulls you back from an impending orgasm.

His hand won't get tired like this; his wrist won't crane in a weird direction.

When your orgasm comes, it's a tsunami.

Bucky edges you three times before your body can't take it and you cum with a scream, chanting his name as your body convulses, legs shaking violently as you cum, probably more than once with how he doesn't stop.

He lets you come down from your high.

Bucky holds you up with his arm around your waist, pressing several kisses on your nape, and down your back.

The whispers of, "Did so good for me. You're amazing," are repeated until you hear them.

Bucky waits until you look back over your shoulder before he pulls his hands from inside the pants, and instead of going to wash them, he licks them.

"Oh my god," you whisper.

He shrugs his shoulder at you, and licks his fingers clean. "Hmmm," he hums. Don't say it, don't say— "You taste good."

Your cunt pulses at the words, and you hate yourself for wanting even more.

Can your legs move? No. Do you still wish to wrap them around his waist and sit on him, again?

"Shut up, Father."

Bucky laughs, "Alright. I see how it is," he kisses your cheek, and your lips. "I—" he takes a deep breath. "Am going to shower. You—hot chocolate. Drink it." He kisses your nose. "I'll be back."

You nod. "Ok."

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

You have to repeat the words to yourself as Bucky walks away to take care of his own problem. You'd call it 'little problem' if you hadn't felt that problem inside of you, and knew that there was nothing little about it.

Or about how much of a problem he was. To your health, at least—feeling this hot shouldn't be normal.

You get your mug of hot cocoa and put his inside the microwave for when he comes out, then go back to sit on the couch.

With your brain too fuzzy from the orgasm, most of Bucky's absence goes into white noise. Then, when you hear the shower turning off, your brain turns on.

It doesn't shut up when he comes back, or when he heats up his cocoa and sits behind you on the couch again.

"Watch something?" He asks, making himself comfortable as your couch pillow.

You shake your head. "Hm." If he loves hearing the thoughts in your brain so much, then he might not hate you for asking this. "Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I do something... wrong... that day?" You ask.

Bucky lowers his drink, and he has a hot cocoa mustache. "What?"

You wipe it off with your thumb, sucking it in your mouth. "That day. Confessional day."

Bucky puts his mug on the table and turns your body to the side a little so you two can look at each other. "You did absolutely nothing wrong that day. Why would you think that?"

"Because... my head likes to overthink?"

He narrows his eyes, but within a second, a look of realization dawns on him. "Right. Y/n—me wanting to take it slow has nothing to do with you, dove." He cups your face in his hands. "Please don't think that. I promise you it doesn't. It's gotta do with me."

"And I can't help you with it?"

He shakes his head. "Not really, no."

"How are you so sure of it?"

"Because you can't change the way my brain's wired, cute thing," he chuckles. His fingers caress your cheeks, then tuck your hair behind your ear. Bucky likes to touch you as he thinks. "I can, though. And I'm trying to."

Still feeling lost, you frown. "What's wrong with your brain's wiring?"

Bucky takes a moment to look at you before he answers the question, searching for something in your eyes. If you mean the question, you imagine. When he nods, all serious and taking a deep breath, you know you were right.

"A lot," he chuckles, deprecatingly. "But when it comes to this—to sex, it was never so bad. At least I think not. See... I wasn't interested in many people in my life, but I guess that even with the ones that were just a fling, I was always a bit... aggressive. Dunno if that's the word. Rough, maybe. And I know all of them liked it—I'm not—you know. They asked for it." Like you did, your mind provides. "But I always wondered why I didn't wanna all that sweet love-making stuff most people do. Never thought too much about it. Just enough to feel a little like a dick sometimes. Now... I don't wanna be like that with you, dove." He pierces you with his blue oceans, looking at you earnestly. "You mean too much for me to think about you and my brain to just use these—these degrading shit. You know?"

The words sink in slowly, like a body at the sea.

As they do, one single thought forms in your brain:

Am I this man's damnation?

To put it simply, you're turned on once again.

"Bucky..." give me a second to think.

He does it without you even asking for it.

It's a power he has—delivering your needs regardless of words.

"Okay." You take a deep breath, too, and then sit face to face with him, both of your hands laid on his chest. "I'm gonna try to... explain the way I see things, and then you tell me if they make sense to you, okay?"

Bucky takes a moment, then nods. "I'm listening."

Good. You swallow the knot his words twisted in your throat. "Bucky, I feel like... there's a lot of negative connotations on certain feelings we have, and they were placed there by people who want to weaponize our very fucking... human experience. You know? Like—how we're not allowed to be too curious, or how they make being educated so difficult, and how sexuality which is the most normal thing in our species became an issue, and then a... thing to repress." You swallow an even thicker knot, this time for being talking about the very institution for which he works. "Does that make sense to you?" Because continuing if that doesn't would be hard.

You see Bucky licking his lips, eyes going around his living room, but as they come back to you, there's knowledge there. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Okay. Good. See—I hated myself for years growing up because I was never a very 'sexual' person or whatever the fuck that means, and I had to deal with everyone judging me for it. 'Prude', or 'virgin', or 'is there something wrong with you' or whatever. And then!" You laugh, humorlessly. "Then, when I started to be active because I wanted to and I found who and what makes me feel good, I was judged again. For being sexual, and for being safe about it, and for educating myself and other people around me on it. And then it hit me! They're gonna fucking hate me no matter what."

And I won't live like that.

You touch Bucky's cheek, running your fingers on his bear. "I'll never ask you for anything you don't want to give me. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Here's the bottom line: what you want to give me, is mine to accept or not, Father James," you whisper. "I don't care if you think... I wanna ruin her. I don't care if you wanna wrap your hands and choke me 'till I can't breathe when you're manhandling me around like I'm a doll—like I'm yours, because if you're doing that, I wanted it too."

The blue that once was the majority is now nothing but a string.

There's very little light streaming through his tiny glass windows so high above in the living room, most of the illumination coming from the kitchen, but you can still see it.

He closes his eyes, shaking his head at you, and the knots start spreading to your stomach before Bucky leans in closer. "How on earth did I find you."

From the way it comes out, it sounds more like he's talking to himself than to you.

"Do you get what I mean?" you ask, feeling his breath on your face. "Those things can't be bad, or your 'brain wired wrong'. They're just—desire. A lot of it," you chuckle, breathless. You can feel it between your bodies—desire, licking its way up like the heat of the sun permeating through the skin. "And I want you too. If you ask me and I'm being honest here... I wanna ruin you sometimes."

Faster than you can catch, Bucky's lips are on yours and he's got your body in his hold.

The kiss is something so desperate that it's more you two biting and licking each other's mouths and kissing, but it's what you two as Bucky holds your legs around his waist and guides you to his room.

He had piggybacked you before.

"Aren't I a little to heavy for this?"

The deadpanned look he threw you almost made you whimper. "Y/n. I carried a backpack with your weight for hours roaming the desert with an arm almost as tall as you on my front. Hop on my back and shush, please."

"What?"

"Your feet's getting more swollen. Hop on, dove, Jesus Christ."

That had been how you discovered his past involved being drafted. It made you shut up now at least whenever he wanted to carry you.

There's no time for you to tease him about any decor because you're too busy pushing him against the wall and dropping to your knees the second he walks in and shuts the door behind him.

"Fuck," he looks up, rubbing his face with his hands. "I thought I couldn't get hard this fast anymore," he laughs at himself.

The hushed reminder that Bucky's in his forties hits you in the face.

So does how hard his cock is in his sweatpants.

He had taken care of his erection earlier on in the shower — you presume — and that thought brings you joy because it means you can taste him as much as you can, and he probably won't cum from it.

"You wanna do this?" Bucky asks as he watches you pull his dick free, sucking air between his teeth. "Fuck."

"I really wanna do this."

"Okay," he nods. "Here. I'll hold it for you," he grabs all of your hair, gathers it in one hand, and then secures it in his grip.

You guide the tip of his cock to your lips and it's inevitable.

His cock is so pretty. Dicks can be so ugly, but Bucky is so damn thick, and he's long — but not long enough that it feels like he's poking your stomach — and the tip starts leaking with your kitten licks on it.

Bucky's great at receiving head just like he's great at giving it.

He keeps his hips still at the start as a gentleman's courtesy: he gives you time to get all of his cock wet with your licks, sucking it into your mouth and pooling drool on your tongue for a better glide. You like this wet, and messy, and if his increasing groans are an indicator, so does he.

The praise doesn't lie, either.

"Look at you, dove." You love how awed he sounds. "Oh. You suck dick as well as you take it—yeah, like that." He looks at you, but sometimes gets lost when you start bobbing your head; his neck cranes back, and he groans to the ceiling. "F-Fuck—oh, your mouth's so wet. No, no—slower... yeah, like that. Wanna feel the tip sliding down your throat. Sounds so good. Suck harder—o-oh my fucking god, you take instructions so—fucking—well."

Bucky fucking your throat makes your hand fly between your legs in a desperate search for some relief, but he catches the motion somehow even with his eyes closed and he laughs.

"Nuh-uh, you better take that hand off." Bucky pulls his cock out of your lips and holds it an inch away from your face. "Did I tell you that you could touch yourself?"

Fuck.

"No, Father."

Bucky's dick twitches right in front of your face. He sighs, angrily, and lets go of his dick to grip your chin and make you look up to his face. "Then don't do it. I'm the only one to touch that cunt. That's all mine, dove. To make it cum, to touch, to make it feel good. Mine. Understand?"

You nod, "Yes, Father."

"Good, precious thing." His hips move slightest, and his dick is close enough that you can guide it back to your lips. "Yes," he groans, loudly. "Suck me really nicely, dove, and I'll ruin you like I've dreamt of."

If there is one truth, it's what James said: you are very good at taking directions and orders.

Guided by the grip he has on your hair, you let Bucky dictate how deep you should be and serve the purpose of being on your knees like this: eyes closed, sucking and bobbing your head on his cock with tears pooling in the corner of your eyes when you hear him lose himself in the pleasure and moan brokenly, calling your name.

It sounds divine.

When Bucky gets enough, he pulls all the way out, and then looks at you with drool running down your chin and your eyes teary and glazed, and he smiles.

"So beautiful," he whispers.

You close your eyes at the praise, clenching your thighs together.

"Get on the bed, dove."

Getting up on wobbly legs is difficult, but you manage. His bed is a queen size, thankfully, and when you lay on his white sheets, Bucky climbs between your legs, stripping you item by item.

"You have no clue how much I missed feeling you," he tells you.

"I do, I have," you whine.

"Poor dove," he coos. "You missed me, hm? Missed feeling my hands on you making you feel so good your smart brain goes a little stupid? Missed me stretching you out so nice you can't think?" When he has you naked and writhing on the bed, he starts taking his own clothes. "We were so irresponsible last time, dove. I just gave you all my cum because you asked so nicely, and I shouldn't have. Not without us talking first. I have condoms here, and also my latest medical check if you wanna confirm that I'm clean for—"

"I believe you," you tell him, sounding desperate. "I do. Please? I don't wanna hear a sermon, Father. I wanna feel you."

You notice the mistake of your words as soon as they're out and Bucky's eyes darken even further.

"What did you just say?" he asks in a lower, interested tone. Bucky kicks his pants outside of the bed and climbs on top of you. "Repeat."

Fucked before you're even fucked. "I—I said I wanna feel you."

Bucky grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him, and slaps your right ass cheek, hard. "Don't be a smartass with me."

It burns, and you moan. "I said I don't wanna hear a sermon, Father James. Want you inside me," you finish in a pathetic whimper.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and you hear him going tsk tsk close to your face. You open your eyes to see his smile.

"Get on all fours," he commands in a whisper, one hand cupping your face.

It takes you a second to digest it, but you do as he asks.

Bucky gets behind you, much like he was in the kitchen a couple of hours ago. Oh, how far we've come. He nudges your body until you're close to the headboard of the bed, and places all his pillows in front of you.

"Hands flat against the headboard," he whispers in the shell of your ear.

You place them there, your whole body tingling with the anticipation.

"Now, repeat after me: I should not be a fucking brat."

"What?" you ask, breathless.

The head of Bucky's cock brushes between your folds, and you see his other arm coming up, the hand gripping the headboard.

"If you don't repeat my sermon, there's no fucking, dove," he tells you.

Looking over your shoulder, you see he means it.

Bucky would give you both blue balls right now.

"I should not be a brat," you whisper.

He nods, very pleased. You feel the head pushing in, and both of you moan.

"Oh, I missed you," he mutters.

Bucky's got the same courtesy with his hips now as he did with his dick in your mouth—he knows he's thick and you need a minute, which he gives.

His movements start small and slow, gentle rocking of his hips back and forth until he's seated almost all the way in.

When he bottoms out, Bucky covers your back with his chest and you hear his delighted groan coming to rest on your ear shell again. "Say: I'll be good for you, Father."

Your moan comes out choked. "I'll be good for you, Father."

Bucky pulls out, and slams his cock back in.

"Do you want me to ruin you?" He asks, slamming in again.

"Yes!"

"Then say it."

"I want you to ruin me, Father," you beg, arching your back to him and whining like the heat has taken over your brain and fried it to dust.

"Oh, god," this one sounds earnest and honest, and it drapes over your skin like praise that Bucky is affected by this, too. "Say: Fuck the words out of me."

Whimpering, you say, nodding, "Fuck the words out of me. Please, please—"

Bucky does.

He holds onto the headboard of the bed and starts his hard thrusts with a pause between them, but the more you fuck yourself back on his cock, the faster he goes.

Bucky's hand that's on your waist suddenly comes up to your shoulder again, and you moan with nothing but pleasure clouding your brain for the second time that night: it's the same position as earlier, except instead of toying with your cunt, he's getting leverage on his bed to fuck the life out of you.

The words out of you.

"Say: Nothing feels better than this," he demands in your ear, slowing his pace a little.

"Nothing feels better than this—faster, please, please—"

"That's not what I said," he pulls almost all the way out, only his head still inside of you.

You cry, and arching again, your neck leaning on the touch of his hand, you mumble, "Nothing feels better than this," now please.

"Yes," Bucky goes back to fucking you, and neither one is able to stop this time.

He takes out his cock sometimes to slap your pussy and clit with it, and the filthy, wet sounds it makes are perhaps worse than your desperate moaning.

The next time Bucky asks for you to repeat his words, all that comes out is his name and please.

Your favorite prayer.

"Have I done—oh—done it, dove?" He sounds so far gone. His hips are faltering. "You close?"

"Bucky, yes!"

"Good. I wanna see it. Cum on my cock and I'll paint your back with mine."

"Nononono, want it inside me—"

The sharp slap makes you scream. "Don't. Y/n, please—"

"Bucky it feels so good," you babble. "Please, please? Don't wanna feel it? I want it—I need it."

"Fuckfuck," Bucky's hips starts hammering you, and your moans turn into screams. "Want me to breed you, dove? I fucking will."

"YES!"

"Then cum for it. Tell me you're gonna cum," he says over the sound of his hips slapping against your ass.

"I'm gonna cum!" You felt it, coiling around your belly and starting to zap in your brain. "Oh—FUCK! I'm gonna cum, James, James—"

"Do it."

You cum in a scream, and you grip the pillows as tight as your cunt grips his cock when it happens. You feel a few more harsh thrusts inside following but it's so tight that all that Bucky says is, "So—fucking—tight—all mine," before he cums too, deep inside you.

Heaven.

Divine.

All you can do is lay and feel it. So holy.

His touch makes you ascend to places you've never been.

When you come down from the white noise that's inside your brain, you realize you haven't moved.

Bucky has. He's gotten a wet cloth and is cleaning between your legs, and he looks at you peeking at him over your shoulder, smiling at you, shyly.

The audacity.

He goes to his bathroom to throw the towel in the washing bin. He removed all the clothes from the floor too and folded them.

Neat freak.

He lies in bed with you, and pulls you to lay on his chest. "You know, you gotta stop doing that—unless; wait. Do you want babies? Like, now?"

Your eyes go wide and you are suddenly very awake. "No!"

"Oh. Good," he laughs. "Then stop being a menace," he tells you, kissing your lips sweetly.

"It feels good," you mumble weakly.

"Oh, I know." He chuckles, kissing your cheeks and forehead. "We can pretend, though. Don't wanna do stuff we'll regret, dove."

He's right, you think. And you shouldn't take him by surprise.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"Was that... good for you?"

Bucky feels the seriousness in your tone and lifts your chin with a finger.

He smiles, all ocean blue eyes, sedated smile, and pink cheeks. "You make me the happiest I've been, Y/n. And that was heavens above 'good' and you know it," he says.

It makes your chest breathe easy. "Okay... good."

"Now sleep. I'll wake us up tomorrow," he says.

With the rain still falling and him wrapping himself around you like an octopus, that's the easiest thing you had to do all day.

↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ | ✒️ masterlist ↲

824 notes · View notes

amyispxnk · 2 months

Text

My Kind of Woman

Chapter 2: What he needs.

Series Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Series summary - Your song captivates Joel the second he hears you that night in Jackson, but he struggles to work up the courage to confess his feelings. With some (very heavy) encouragement from Ellie and Tommy, you two get closer and closer until he finally thinks he’s ready.

Chapter summary - The two of you make plans, Joel thinks about his past and how far he’s come in these 20 years.

A/N: Ngl Joel is falling really hard for reader, I didn’t plan on making him this head over heels for her but oh well.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: alcohol, light language, fluff, ANGST (sarah bby 🙁), mention of grief and losing a child, very brief mention of childbirth (not graphic)

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

The next time you saw Joel was another night you were singing at the bar, having just finished up, face flushed as you looked around for somewhere to sit and have a drink you desperately needed. You’d been taking dozens of requests for close to an hour after only expecting to be singing 2 or 3 songs, not that you really minded. You loved being able to make people smile, even with something as small as a song. Anything that could make someone feel a little happier was considered a great victory these days.

You spotted Joel, he was alone this time, and went over to him after grabbing your drink, sliding into the booth across from him.

He still wasn’t completely used to just talking with you, always finding himself getting nervous as you approached, getting even more nervous when you started hugging him as a greeting, feeling that panic again when you’d start talking about your day but all he could do was get lost in your beauty as the words went in one ear and out the other (one time, you were looking at him for a good ten seconds before he realised that you were waiting for a response from him and he actually went red with embarrassment, coughing and turning away as he muttered a reply).

You were so positive all the time though, never calling him out on his clear social awkwardness and never getting frustrated with him. It wasn’t a suffocating kind of optimism, though, it was just a nice change of pace having someone who could just talk and smile and laugh no matter what was going on. He wished it was that easy for him.

Immediately, you started talking about your day with him, asking what he did, giggling a little when he told you that he ‘spent half the damn mornin’ cleanin’ horse shit with Tommy because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and decided to drag me into it when his wife punished him’, and eventually asking him about something he didn’t realise you knew about.

“So.. Ellie tells me you play guitar.” You mused as you traced over the rim of your glass, looking up at him with a small smile.

“I do.” He confirms, brows furrowing a little as he wonders where you’re going with this.

“She also says you’re very good at it,” you say, which makes him a little more hopeful, “so I was wondering if maybe you’d consider playing with me sometime?”

You motion to the stage with your hand and his eyes go wide. He didn’t do that kind of thing. Performing. Prancing around, smiling and grinning so wide it made his jaw ache, all for a few claps and cheers from an almost totally drunken crowd. It wasn’t his thing. Even if he knew how happy it would make you if he said yes, he just preferred watching you do it.

“I um- Not up there.” He coughs, and you don’t look all that surprised, or upset. Maybe you knew it was a bit of a stretch to ask that of him.

“Okay, then.. How about you play for me, then? Just us, not in front of anyone else. I’m sure you’re a great musician.” You suggest with a smile, looking up at him a little more hopefully.

And, honestly, how could he deny you? Although his mind was going at a million miles an hour right now because how in god’s name would he be able to control himself alone with you?! ..he knew this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Yeah. That sounds good, sweetheart. When would you be free for it, then?” He says, thankful he could actually find his voice in that moment. You look at him for another second as your cheeks slowly go red again and you smile, the term always having that effect on you no matter how many times he uses it with you, before you tell him that you’d be free on Friday evening.

After finalising the plans and finishing your drinks, he finds a new surge of bravery course through him and asks if you’d like him to walk you home.

“Oh, yes! That sounds great.” You smile, and the two of you walk out of the Tipsy Bison.

You sigh when the doors close behind you, loving the feel of the cool air on your face and that comforting silence of the night all around you, a stark contrast to the inside of the bar, as the two of you start heading to your place.

He takes it upon himself to start some conversation after the first few minutes of.. not awkward, but not the most pleasant, silence goes by between the two of you.

“I actually wanted to be in a band, growing up.” He says, mumbling a little at the end as he finds himself getting nervous again.

“Oh yeah?” You grin, and he finds it puts him at ease.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Actually, I- I was plannin’ on trying to take it further, go to some auditions and shit when I left highschool.” He laughs, thinking about how funny it would’ve been if that had actually worked out and he spent his early years touring around America with some folk band.

Then he remembers why it didn’t work out. How, when he was only 18, he got a girl pregnant, and then that dream, along with basically all of his other ones, withered away.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances, he never backed down. Never got angry, or tried to find a way out of the situation he had put himself in. He took care of the girl as best he could - despite her wanting almost nothing to do with him and cursing him for knocking her up - and waited outside of the delivery room for hours as his babygirl was born, since the mother didn’t even want him in there with her.

After the first three hours went by, she eventually let him in just so she could squeeze his hand so hard he swore his skin was ripping.

She never really hated Joel, she just hated what he did to her, and hated what became of it. How could she hate him though, when he had stayed and treated her as best he could during the entire pregnancy? He took accountability, helped her afford bills, accompanied her to appointments.. It certainly went better than things normally did in these kinds of situations.

After Sarah was born, things got even more complicated, and he ended up a single father at 19 years old.

It was hard raising Sarah, but he loved her with his entire heart, and when he lost her he felt like he lost himself completely.

Then he met Ellie, and she saved him. She was his second chance. It almost felt like Sarah was there too, like she had sent Ellie to Joel so he could change for the better. In truth, he really did. Despite the grey area with things like Salt Lake, he left the cold, ruthless, murdering part of himself behind when he saved her from that hospital, when he came back to Jackson, and eventually when he met you. You didn’t know it yet, but you were the only other thing he had to look forward to after a hard day, a smile from you when you caught his eye up on stage his favourite way to ignore his problems.

“Joel?” Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, a gentle hand on his shoulder bringing him back to earth. “Are you okay? You zoned out a little there.” You murmur, looking at him with concern in your eyes. He hadn’t realised his eyes had gotten misty as he thought of his daughter, of everything that had happened. Maybe one day he’d tell you too, if you ever got that close.

He clears his throat, nodding and sniffing a little. “All good, sorry sweetheart.”

“You sure?” You press, and he nods.

You offer him a small smile before stopping, and he looks up to realise that you’re at your house.

He’s never really looked at your house before, he realises as he stands at the edge of the property with you. It suits you, he thinks. Cute little flower pots on the windowsill, a smiley-face painted onto the mailbox by your name, purple curtains that are drawn on the inside.

Her favourite colour was purple.

“Well, this is me. Thanks for the walk, Joel, I’m really excited to see you on Friday.” You say, preventing his mind from wandering any further, hugging him tightly before he says goodbye to you and you walk up to your front door, giving him another small wave before going inside. He watches the door close before letting out a deep exhale and turning to go back to his own place.

He spends the evening on his back porch, strumming at the guitar quietly as he thinks of his daughter. Music always felt like a kind of therapy for him, whenever his thoughts got too loud and worrying like this, he’d just let the instrument take over his mind. It was like second nature as he played the chords, stringing them together to form songs from another time, and it helped to take his mind off of things. It was definitely a better distraction than what he used to do, pure anger being his most prominent emotion from the grief, violence being the only solution back then in his mind.

He now believes that he is almost at that stage of complete acceptance, finally being able to just sit down with his thoughts, breathe, and try to process things, now that he was in Jackson. It was safe here, he had Ellie - even though he was always wondering what would happen if she found out about Salt Lake in the back of his mind - he found Tommy, and there was a community he had a home in.

It felt strange to say that he had a home in the apocalypse. The places he stayed just felt like houses to him. Buildings where you had a place to sleep and keep your shit - that’s what they had been to him after the outbreak happened. None of them ever felt like home. How could he have a home, when the one thing he’d look forward to coming back home to at the end of a long day, was buried in the cold ground?

As he mulls over his thoughts, letting the notes from his guitar flow freely through the air, he realises that this is now his home. With Ellie, with his guitars and his woodworking room, his bed and the framed photos that hang on his walls, his coffee machine, his brother down the street, with you and the sound of your voice being the thing he plays in his mind before going to sleep.

Now, he thinks he wants more than just your voice rattling throughout his skull. He wants you. Completely. Always. Everywhere, every day. He wants to wake up beside you in the early morning, drink coffee in the kitchen with you as you talk about your plans for the day ahead, come back home to the sight of you on the couch at midday, play guitar for you in the afternoon, take you to his bed at dusk, fall asleep with you in his arms at night, and do the same thing on repeat until his final day on this planet. He needs that in his life.

He didn’t think he’d be able to completely rest until he had you.

Thank you SM for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated 💞

Next Chapter

81 notes · View notes