#a very warm thank you to @/cafekitsune for the divider!

[lonely-ey3s]

Ride or Die | Chapter Three

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : With you and Joel growing closer on the Ferris wheel and afterwards - your father continues to overstep boundaries. When Joel invites you to go dancing with him and his brother, Tommy, your trust is tested, and you've never felt so confused and conflicted with those around you that you thought you could count on.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn-ish, angst, Joel pre-outbreak and pre Sarah. Joel and reader are mid to late 20's. Joel speaks Spanish (translations will be there), reader has a somewhat emotionally abusive father, gaslighting, racism, flirting, flashbacks, sexual harassment, drinking, mentions of SMUT (18+ MDNI), teasing, sexual tension.

word count: 7.3k

a/n: as a reminder, chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

The Ferris wheel rose slowly, the car swaying just a little as it climbed higher into the summer night.

Below, the fair stretched out in every direction — glittering booths, winding rows of food trucks, the carousel spinning in soft, golden circles. Music drifted up on the breeze, mixed with the distant laughs and voices of those below. 

You leaned slightly over the edge, not dangerously, just enough to take it all in. The air felt cooler up here, the chaos below softened by distance. It was beautiful. It felt like magic.

And then… a knot formed in your chest.

Because you’d seen this view before.

Same fair. Same warm air. Same twinkling lights.

Only back then… you’d been alone.

The memory hit you fast — unexpected and sharp. 

The night you’d begged Riley back in high school to take you to the fair, just like this. You wanted to see the 4th of July fireworks show, something your mom always took you to. It was something special, something you wanted to share with him.

You could still hear the sound of his voice, flat and dismissive: “You seriously gonna cry over corn dogs and Ferris wheels?”

The sting of standing there in your sundress  – one you wore just for him.

The pain of watching him peel away in a car full of his buddies, like you were nothing more than an inconvenience.

You remembered walking the fairgrounds alone that night, pretending not to care. Telling yourself the lights and the noise were enough. But up on the Ferris wheel alone, you had looked down at the fair and realized something you couldn’t un-realize.

You hadn’t just wanted cotton candy and fireworks. You wanted to be chosen.

And he hadn’t.

Your chest tightened, but before the ache could pull you under, a warm hand settled on top of yours.

You turned your head, blinking back into the present — into this moment.

Joel sat beside you, his fingers laced with yours, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles along your knuckles. 

He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. He just looked at you with that open, steady kind of gaze that made you feel like maybe the whole world had waited for you both to get here.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle.

You nodded slowly, your throat thick. “Yeah. Just… remembering an old memory...”

He didn’t press. He just lifted your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly, holding you like something precious, something wanted.

And when the Ferris wheel creaked to a stop at the very top, the fireworks cracked open in the sky — brilliant and loud and beautiful.

You leaned into him, looking above you in awe, and whispered, “Thank you for being here.”

Joel smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, hermosa…”

You smiled and leaned your head onto his shoulder as the two of you watched the show.

A few moments went by, and the tension of the show building up to the big finale made the tension between the two of you intense. 

You looked down at your hand in his and bit your lip, remembering the events of today: the photo booth, the stables, the kiss.

You couldn’t put it into words, the feeling. The light sense of comfort you had all day, the safety, the sense of being desired by someone who was a good person — a good man.

He looked down and did the same, reminiscing about every moment he’d had with you today. His heart hadn’t calmed down from constantly pounding in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach kept fluttering, and his mind was racing. You — it was all you. He was consumed, intoxicated, and completely committed to you. 

He turned his head a fraction to kiss the top of yours before softly saying your name.

You glanced up at him and hummed in acknowledgment. Your eyes danced across his features, slowly, as a warm smile stretched across your face, taking in the look in his eyes. 

His hand reached across with his free hand and tucked your hair behind your ear before his fingertips softly caressed your cheek. The lights of the fireworks making your eyes sparkle. "God, you're so beautiful..." He leaned in and whispered. “Soñaré contigo…” (I’ll dream of you)

Before you had a chance to speak, he closed the distance. He kissed your lips tenderly but deeply, moving his hand further back to cradle you by the base of your neck. 

Fireworks began to go off rapidly as the show began it's finale presentation. 

But you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t jump when they struck the sky like you usually did. No – everything was muted, floating around you in slow motion.

His lips on yours had the effect of putting you into a trance, slowing down all space and time — doing something that no physicist could ever explain. 

Your hand instinctually moved to his chest. Your palm laying over his heart as it beat rapidly in his chest. 

When he pulled back he leaned his forehead against yours and nudged his nose against yours gently. “Wanna get a funnel cake to share and go sit in my truck? Talk for a bit? I’ll drive ya home…” he opened his eyes and stroked your cheek with his thumb.  

You blushed, your eyes staying close, staying in the moment with him as long as you could. You softly giggled as your eyes opened and you looked up into his eyes, “Yeah, I’d like that…” 

He smiled and leaned up, kissing your forehead before he leaned back, and the two of you waited together as the ride came back down. 

After the two of you got off the Ferris wheel, the night died down, and the fair had quieted. 

The fireworks were over. The Ferris wheel lights had gone dim, and most of the crowd had filtered out, arms full of prizes and leftover popcorn.

You and Joel sat on the tailgate of his truck, parked just far enough from the fairgrounds that the noise felt like a memory. A half-empty cup of lemonade sat between you two as you sat and shared that funnel cake together. 

The night air had cooled, but his hoodie around your shoulders kept you warm. You hadn’t asked for it—he’d just handed it to you the second you got out there without saying a word.

You were quiet for a while. And he didn’t rush you, he just enjoyed your company.

Just sat with you, shoulder to shoulder, like silence wasn’t something that had to be filled, but something you two could share.

Finally, you exhaled slowly and said, “I’ve only been up there one other time… on the Ferris wheel.”

Joel turned his head, waiting.

You stared straight ahead, fingers picking at the hem of the hoodie sleeve. “It was years ago. High school. I really wanted to come, but Riley… well, he ditched me. Said he had something better to do. So I came alone. Rode the Ferris wheel by myself. I was so convinced I was fine, that being alone was ok.” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you kept going. “But, I remember sitting up there, watching everyone else laugh and hold hands and... I just felt stupid. Like I wanted something from him… something that I didn’t deserve.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just gently reached over, threading his fingers through yours, letting the silence stretch—safe, not empty.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said finally, his voice steady. “You never deserved to be made to feel small. Or unwanted.”

You looked over at him, your eyes wet but clear. “I know that now. Hell, I don’t know why I left here to follow him to Nashville. I knew it wouldn’t work out… I mean, deep down, something always sat wrong,” you sadly scoffed and shook your head. “But back then… I really thought it was my fault, or things would get better.”

He turned fully towards you then, reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand.

“I wish I did a lot with you back then… I saw how he treated you, and I just sat back. I didn’t think it was any of my business." he looked down for a moment, shamefully, then back up. "But — I regret the time I haven’t been able to give you — time where you feel like you are enough.” he paused, and his eyes scanned your features. 

“I wish I could've been up there... to hold your hand and tell you that one day, you’d never have to wonder if you were enough again.” He sat there for a moment then spoke more surely.

Your breath caught.

“Because you are,” he added. “You’re more than enough. You always have been. And I’m sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks silently, but he kissed them away — slow, tender. No urgency. No performance. Just lovingly pressed into your skin like a promise.

“I felt it tonight,” you whispered when pulled away. “The difference. What it’s like to be… chosen.”

Joel smiled, soft and sure. “I’ll choose you every damn time, querida.”

You leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder, as his arm wrapped around you, strong and steady.

After some time you both decided it was time to head home.

The drive back was quiet in the best kind of way.

Your head leaned gently against the passenger window, the distant glow of the fairgrounds fading in the rearview mirror. The truck's cab smelled faintly of mint and dust, and his cologne — the kind of scent that settles into your memory whether you want it to or not.

Joel tapped the steering wheel softly in time with the country song playing low on the radio. Every so often, he glanced over at you, like he was making sure you were still okay… still with him after the heavy conversation earlier.

You caught one of those glances and smiled softly. “You’re doing that thing again...”

“What thing?” he asked, but his grin gave him away.

You let out a light chuckle, “Looking at me like you’re trying to figure something out.”

He shrugged, eyes flicking back to the road. “Just trying to decide if I’m gonna be able to wait more than a day to see you again, hermosa.” 

Your heart fluttered — the same way it had when he held your hand at the top of the Ferris wheel or when he kissed you in the photobooth like the world had stopped for just the two of you.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, cowboy…” you teased.

When he reached your driveway, he threw the truck in park but didn’t turn the key. The engine hummed quietly beneath you two. Crickets sang outside like the night was still wide awake, even if the rest of the world was asleep.

He climbed out first and came around to open your door, offering his hand like a cowboy straight out of a movie — the good kind. The kind who meant every gentle touch and slow smile.

At your doorstep, you turned to face him, your fingers brushing his lightly.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking up at him as you wore his two-sizes-too-big hoodie over your sundress. If he could, he’d take a picture at how damn cute he thought you looked right now.

“For what?” he teased his fingers with yours as they lay between the two of you, shyly. 

“For today... for tonight. For… being the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever known.”

Joel stepped a little closer, his voice low and warm. “You deserve everything good, you know that?”

A slight breeze blew behind you, blowing a strand of hair onto your face, causing you both to chuckle softly. 

He reached out and tucked it behind your ear, letting his fingertips trail down your jaw before tilting your chin up.

Then he kissed you.

It was soft, at first — careful. But it deepened just enough to leave you breathless, your hands curling into the front of his shirt. It was a goodnight kiss that didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

When you finally pulled apart, he kept his forehead resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the quiet.

“I wanna take you dancing,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He chuckled. “Me, you, and my brother go out to this cowboy bar on the edge of town. Live music, two-stepping, probably some terrible line dances... you in?”

You grinned, heart skipping. “Are you asking me on a second date with your brother as a chaperone?” you teased, reaching up and gently combing his hair back over his ear. 

He craved the contact you gave him; the small gestures like that will have him singing Frank Sinatra on the way home with the windows rolled down. 

“He's more of a third-wheel, really,” Joel said. “But yeah. I’m asking.”

“I’m in,” you said, smiling up at him. “But only if you promise to spin me around at least once.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing one last kiss against your lips. “I’ll spin you all night long.”

You laughed and then hummed against his lips, “It’s late…” you whispered. 

He whispered back, “I know…” he took a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent once more before he pulled away and walked backwards, slowly letting go of your hand.  

“Goodnight, cowboy...” you said as you reached behind and twisted the door open. 

“Goodnight, querida…” he stood at the bottom of your porch steps, looking up at you. 

You reluctantly stepped inside with your heart full and your cheeks warm.

But when you closed the door, you didn’t feel the old familiar ache of being left behind.

You felt chosen.

You sighed softly with your back against the front door and smiled to yourself.

After a few moments, you quietly took off your shoes and started tiptoeing towards the stairs. 

Right before you crossed the boundary from the living room to the hallway, a light from behind came on.

“It’s 1 o’clock in the mornin’, where the hell have you been?” your dad said, sounding annoyed, a hint of anger. 

‘Oh for fuck sakes…’ you thought, annoyed. 

You turned around and sighed. “I told you that I’d be home late. Not to wait up.” 

“Yeah, and I texted back sayin’ to be home before midnight.” he stood from the chair he’d been sitting in. “Was that him? The Miller boy?” 

“You say that like saying his first name makes it dirty or too real.” You shook your head and leaned against the doorframe. “His name is Joel… and yes, that was him.” You crossed your arms over your chest, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from mouthing off.  

He stood there and clenched his jaw, trying to keep his temper under control. “I told you he wasn’t welcome here…” 

“Yeah I know — which is why he dropped me off at the door.” you bit out harshly. “What? Is he barred from the property?” you sarcastically asked. 

He turned and looked out the window, his anger starting to boil with your lack of respect and sarcasm. 

“Dad, I’m a grown adult. For you to tell me that my date can’t come onto the property seems ridiculous and an abuse of power.” you said plainly. 

“Yeah, well, you don’t pay the mortgage, do you? So I guess I pay — I make the rules,” he said without turning his head. 

“Oh, so if this is about money, I’d be happy to pay rent if it means I’m contributing to making this house less of an authoritarianism,” you scoffed and pulled open your purse, searching for your wallet. 

Your dad turned around and saw what you were doing, and let out a chuckle, “You can’t pay me re—“ 

You slammed $300 cash onto the coffee table that laid between the two of you, “I know you pay two thousand for the mortgage. Consider that half of my third. I’ll have the rest to you tomorrow morning if that's the game you want to play.” 

He didn’t say anything.

Truthfully he didn’t think your job paid you that well, enough that you could do that.

He stood there, too stunned to speak, but then looked at you and swallowed, “Just because you pay me doesn’t mean I want that boy over here.” 

Something in you broke. Nothing would be good enough.

All you could feel was hopelessness at this moment.

The little girl in you started to fracture. 

The little girl whose mom died when she was just barely becoming herself.

The little girl who’s daddy resented her and her siblings for being alive afterwards.

The little girl who was forced to grow up before her mom was even in the ground.

The little girl who lost her dad the second her mom took her last breath. 

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyes glossy, “What happened to you?” 

His eyebrow raised and he scoffed, “What? Nothing happened to me — what do you mean?” he asked, feeling cornered.

Your eyes went sad, and the little girl that you hid and protected from so much, she came to the surface.

“You became so cold when Mom died. You just… you’re not the dad that used to go horseback ridin' with me, that made heart-shaped pancakes for me every Sunday morning, the dad that would have marched to Nashville to beat my cheating fiancé — instead of blaming me… I..." Your lip quivered, so you stepped back and clenched your jaw to suppress the emotion. 

You watched him stiffen up as well and turn away, staying quiet. 

You nodded and tutted, this was nothing new. He was never going to admit he's in the wrong.

“Whatever… doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed.” You turned around and knocked on the door frame. “Night.” 

He didn’t respond or say another word; he just stood there, stuck in his own guilt. 

You went up the stairs. Tears fell the moment you turned your back away from him. 

The moment you were in the sanctuary of your room and closed your door, you didn’t bother to undress. Not when you were wrapped in the last piece of Joel you could have to yourself. 

You curled up into your bed, sleeves close to your face, softly breathing in the remnants of his cologne stuck in the fabric. Breathing it in deeply as it lulled you to sleep. 

Saturday night 

The bar was already alive when you both walked in — boots thudding against the hardwood floor, twangy guitar riffs cutting through the air, and the smell of whiskey and barbecue thick in the room.

Joel picked you up from your sister’s place. 

Since that night, you and your dad continue to argue about Joel coming onto the property. So once Ev found out, she told you he could pick you up at hers until your dad woke up and smelled the roses.

When he asked, you just told Joel she helped you get ready, and with her little boy, it was just easier to go over to her house rather than her come to your dad's. 

You weren’t ready to let him in on that piece of information. That your dad loathed him for just being a Miller. That part wasn’t fair for him to know, at least not now — not when things were so good. 

Joel’s hand stayed at the small of your back, warm and steady as he guided you past the crowd. You liked the way it felt — not possessive, just connected. Like he wanted you close, and you wanted to be kept there.

His brother, Tommy, was already waiting by the bar, leaning casually against the counter, cowboy hat tipped back and grinning, seeing his brother with you.

Tommy was known back in high school to be the troublemaker, the problem child. You couldn’t count the times you saw him in the principal's office for something stupid he’d done. However, he was the life of any party and one of the kindest souls you’ve ever met. All of the Miller’s were kind, which is why you didn’t know why your dad had such a stick up his ass about them. 

"You're late," he said.

"We’re fashionably late," Joel replied, sliding his arm around your waist as he introduced you to Tommy. You smiled and shook his hand, charmed by the easy banter between the brothers.

“It’s good to see you back in town, Whitaker…” Tommy winked. 

You smiled softly and nodded. “It’s good to be back, Miller.” You winked back. 

He laughed heartily and looked at Joel, “She’s a lot less shy than the old days…” He looked at you, grinning. “You’re a lot less shy, darlin’…”

You chuckled softly and shrugged, “A lot can change in a couple of years." You smirked. "You still the troublemaker?”

He grinned and bit his lip. “Always.” 

Joel rolled his eyes and tsked. “That you are, little brother.” 

Tommy chuckled and lightly tapped Joel’s shoulder, “Ya’ll want a drink? First rounds on me!” 

Joel looked down at you, his thumb lightly rubbing circles into your waist, “What’s your drink of choice?” 

You looked at Joel for a moment and smiled, then looked at Tommy and nodded, “Surprise me?”

Tommy clicked his tongue and nodded then knocked his hand against the bar, “You got it!” He then turned to the bartender and ordered drinks for the three of you. 

Your phone buzzed, a familiar area code from Nashville popping up, making you think it was for work.

You turned back to Joel and put your hand on his chest before leaning up and kissing his cheek, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to use the powder room quick.” 

He put his hand over yours and kissed your forehead before telling you that he and Tommy would wait here for you to get back before finding a table. 

You quickly weaved through the buzzing crowd to the ladies' room and answered the phone, “Hello?” 

“Oh, so you’ll answer a random number but block mine?” Riley said, annoyed. 

Instantly, a wave of anger started to boil through your veins. “Riley, I said never to contact me again. What the hell do you possibly want?” 

The door swung open, and a couple of girls giggled as they came inside, country music briefly seeping through the room loudly. 

“Where the hell are you?” 

“That’s none of your business. I won’t ask again, Riley. Spit it out.” 

“You’re on a date, aren’t you?” he seethed. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Now I’m hangin–” 

He cut you off. “Your dad called, he begged me to make it up to you.” he chuckled coldly. “He said you’ve been going out with one of the Miller’s… uhm, what's his name... Joel?” 

“My dad called you?” You scoffed and huffed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” You muttered.

“Are you with him?” 

You chuckled at his continued disregard for your boundaries. “Riley, you aren’t my fiancée anymore. I don’t owe you any explanation for where I am or who I’m with. Stop calling.” You went to hang up the phone. 

He started to slur his words. “You’re fucking him aren’t you?” He taunted, and you could hear him take a swig of a drink, then mutter under his breath. “Fucking whore…” 

You paused and were momentarily speechless; every part of you felt like it would explode. Your temper with your dad had been simmering for the last few days, and now this? You were done. This was crossing the line. Calling your ex? Calling your cheating piece of shit ex and telling him personal and private information he has no right to know anymore? Fuck him. 

“I’m not the one who cheated and the one who’s drunk right now,” you said in a low warning tone. “You want to call me a whore? Go ahead. I’m the biggest whore – I’m the biggest whore for someone that has treated me better in a handful of dates than you ever did in in years!” 

You saw yourself in the mirror and shook your head; you were worth more than this.

“Call me again, Riley, and I’ll file harassment charges. Leave me alone.” Then you hung up the phone and exhaled angrily. 

You heard a voice from one of the stalls behind you, “You go, girl!” then a hiccup and giggle, followed by them vomiting into the toilet. 

You shook your head and let out a chuckle as you leaned against the sink. “You good in there?” 

“Peachy!” she coughed and vomited again. 

“Just too many shots, am I right?” another voice came from the same area. You assumed it was the two girls who came in earlier.

You muttered to yourself. “Such a fuckin’ idiot…” You looked down and then pulled your phone back up and blocked the number he’d called from.

You then pulled your texting thread with your dad open and angrily typed:

‘You had no right to call him. Don’t ever do that again. I'll won't be coming home for the time being. Don't call or text. You crossed a line.’ Sent. Power off. 

Your heart was hammering, fists clenched, body buzzing with the fury of betrayal.

He called your ex.

After everything you had just expressed to him? After you’d finally gotten the nerve to cut that part of your life off? After you told your family when Riley tried to reach out to each other them when you came home— not to reach out?

You breathe through your nose. Try to slow it down.

'Focus.'

The flickering fluorescent light overhead snaps once, then settles into a dull, sputtering buzz. It makes the already-yellowed tiles feel sickly, like you're standing inside a mouth that's never quite closed. Your reflection is a stranger: cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glassy. You look like you just ran five miles and lost every fight along the way. This is not how you wanted to start out tonight.

You close your eyes. You listen.

Beyond the door, the bar hums with life—guitars twang, boots stomp, someone yells something too joyful for how you feel. The girl in the stall gags to vomit again. The faucet drips, steady and maddening, like a ticking clock on a bomb you can't defuse.

You exhale shakily. The air smells of industrial cleaner, barely masking layers of sweat, spilled beer, and old cigarette smoke. Your own perfume has faded, now just a ghost clinging to the collar of your denim jacket. You can still taste the whiskey shot you took before leaving to ease your nerves —bitter, unearned, curling at the back of your throat like regret.

‘Focus on what you can feel…’ you remember reading in some self-help magazine you read at the airport. 

The sink is cold beneath your hands. ‘There we go. Focus on that.’

You spread your fingers, flatten your palms. 

‘Breathe in again, slower this time…’

The tile wall beside you is rough when you lean against it, forehead resting on cool ceramic. 

You're sweating, and not just from the heat of the room. The anger—God, it’s thick in your blood, a hot, humming thing with nowhere to go.

But underneath it… you feel the ache. That gut-deep twist of being let down, again, by someone who should have been in your corner. Should have been in your corner all along. 

‘Focus on something positive...’  you quickly pivoted, needing to get away from the anger.

You picture Joel’s face. 

The way he looked at you when he helped you out of the truck earlier, warm and kind. 

‘Think about how he gently placed his hand on your back when you walked into the bar. The way he held your side – to make you feel safe.’ 

You thought of Tommy’s laugh echoing as you teased each other. 

‘You’re supposed to be out there with them, not unraveling in here.’

That was enough. The was the swift kick you needed.

You open your eyes and straighten up, whispering to yourself. “Let’s go have a good night.” 

You check your reflection. Still flushed, but steadier now. You take one last breath—long, deliberate. You tuck your phone into your purse like you’re sealing something away.

Then you push open the bathroom door, head high, and step back into the bar. 

The air out in the bar hits you like a wall—loud, warm, alive.

Music slides across the room in twangy waves, someone’s boot heel scrapes hard against the wooden floor, and laughter peals like wind chimes from the far end of the bar.

You come to the end of the hall and look out to find where you needed to go to regroup with Tommy and Joel.

You spot Joel near the bar, just where he said he’d be, leaning back against it, sipping on a pint of beer. He’s laughing at something Tommy just said, his head tipped back, that boyish grin lighting up his face in a way that makes your stomach twist—but for a good reason, this time.

When his eyes find you, you softly smile, but it wasn’t quick enough – he saw the shift.

He straightens up, shoulders tightening like he’s bracing for a storm. His grin softens into something smaller, more gentle. He sets the beer down on the bar and, without a word to Tommy, starts to walk toward you, weaving through the crowd like he doesn’t even see them.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, just for you. His eyes search your face, not in a prying way—but like he’s trying to read a weather report. “Everything alright?”

You nod. Too fast. 

He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t look away either. One hand comes up to rest lightly on your arm, thumb brushing over your jacket sleeve. That one little touch steadies you more than you want to admit.

“Bathroom alright?” he adds, a little dry, a little teasing. It’s an out. He’s offering it gently, like he’s done this before. 

You give him a small chuckle, trying to loosen up. “Yeah. Just needed to take a quick call.”

He nods like he believes you, but you can tell he doesn’t—not fully. He leans in, lowering his voice. “Come on, I got you somethin’ to eat…” then kissed your cheek softly and took your hand in his. 

You follow him back to the table, heart still tight—but lighter now. The weight’s still there, but you’re not carrying it alone.

After a couple of drinks and a burger that you couldn’t put down, the band kicked up again — something fast and familiar. Couples gathered on the dance floor, boots scuffing and skirts twirling. 

Joel leaned in as he sat beside you in the booth, his arm behind you as the two of you watched the stage from as you sat and ate — his mouth near your ear softly asks.

“You ready to dance, darlin’?”

You giggled, nerves now buzzing from the alcohol and entertainment, but nodded. “Show me your moves, cowboy.”

He grinned and slid out from the booth before he took your hand, confidently leading you into the fray. 

The band transitioned into a new song, a line dance. You followed his lead, learning the steps quickly before giggling and joining in with the group as they danced to 'Boot Scoot Boogie'.

After another upbeat tune played, but this time he took your hand and pulled you into him.

One hand on your waist, the other strong and sure in yours, guiding you across the floor in smooth, spinning steps that made you laugh and cling to him harder every time he twirled you around.

You felt alive with him. Fuck, was this what you were missing out on -for all those years? 

He dipped you once — just enough to make you squeal — and when he brought you back up, your faces were so close your noses touched. Your breath caught, and you giggled.

“How’d you learn to dance like this?” You murmured, breathless.

He smirked. “My dad dances with my mom every night in the kitchen. Picked up a few moves.”

You chuckled and brought your hand up to his cheek as the two of you danced, and your eyes went softer. “That’s really sweet.” You lightly stroked his cheek as he held you close and swayed with you. “Your dad seems like a sweet guy – no wonder you’re the way you are. He raised a good man.” you said warmly.

It warmed his heart to hear your high praise - for thinking he was a good man. That’s all he wanted to be: a good, loyal, loving man. 

He hummed, then leaned in and kissed your lips softly once, just long enough to make you melt further into each other.

He pulled back slowly, nudging your nose gently. “Tell you what, we’ll do the same.” He rubbed small circles into your waist as he held you. 

Your smile widened. “Dance every night in the kitchen together?” 

He lightly chuckled, it vibrating the space between you both. “We can do it whenever, but every night sounds good to me…” 

You had no words so you just nodded then leaned back in and captured his lips, kissing him slowly but deeply as the two of you continued to sway to the music as it began to slow down. 

—

After a few slow dances the music sped up again and the two of you danced through two more songs, sweat starting to bead at your temples, your heart pounding not just from the movement but from the way he kept looking at you — like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Eventually, the two of you made your way back toward the bar for drinks. Joel leaned over to order while you stood just behind him, catching your breath and sipping on some water.

That’s when it happened.

A man — older, already red in the face from one too many beers — walked past, slowed, and then, without warning, reached out and slapped your ass. Hard.

“Damn, girl,” he slurred, grin wide and gross. “Bet you ride better than a buckin’ bronco.”

You flinched, body going rigid, heart slamming into your throat. For a second, you couldn’t even move. Just froze — shocked, humiliated.

But Joel moved fast.

Before the man could take another step, Joel spun around and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him back so hard his beer sloshed onto the floor.

“Touch her again,” Joel said, low and lethal, “and you’ll be drinkin’ through a straw for the rest of your goddamn life.”

The guy laughed — nervous, trying to play it off — but Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen his grip. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark and cold. Tommy appeared beside them in a heartbeat, calm but firm, stepping in to separate them just enough.

The man backed off quickly, muttering something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd, clearly more bark than bite.

Joel turned to you immediately, his hand soft now, cupping your cheek, eyes searching yours. “You okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just… surprised, sorry.” You quickly tried to calm yourself.

“Hey, no apologies. You didn’t deserve that.” His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “No one touches you like that. Not while I’m around.”

Your heart cracked open a little more in that moment — not because he defended you, but because of the way he did it. Without ego. Without anger aimed at you. Just clear, focused protection. Like your safety was the only thing that mattered.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, slow and grounding.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, voice low.

You paused… then shook your head. “No. I want to dance some more...”

Joel blinked — surprised — then grinned.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he tucked your hair back gently. 

You smiled, slipping your hand into his. “Good. You better keep up.”

And when you both stepped back onto the dance floor, his arm wrapped tighter around your waist — not to claim you… but to let the whole damn room know:

You were his.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

After a few more dances, Tommy came onto the dance floor and convinced you both to join him at the pool table for a game.

Once you got there, you both realized he was trying to rob some poor college kids who had too much ego, a little too much to drink, and made the mistake of challenging him. 

You stood in front of Joel with a cue in hand, smiling as you watched Tommy line up the first shot. You leaned against him and nodded at the table, “How good is Tommy?” 

He leaned his chin against your shoulder and put his hand on your waist. "It depends how drunk he is…” he joked. 

You chuckled and watched Tommy hit two solid colored balls into the pockets, then attempt to hit another in, but failed. 

He didn’t care; he had this in the bag with or without you and Joel.

He looked over and grinned at the group of kids, “You’re up…” 

One of the three stepped up and attempted to get one of the striped balls into a pocket. It became apparent he had no idea what he was doing as he knocked the ball against the wall and into one of your balls, making your next shot easy. 

Tommy nudged you with his elbow and smiled, “You’re up, sweet thing.” 

You stepped forward and looked at all your options. Did you want to take the easy play or make it more of a challenge? You walked around the table and leaned forward, calculating the angle of a possible play. 

As you leaned forward, your cleavage became quite visible, and all three college boys grinned and knocked elbows with each other as they gawked. 

Joel stiffened up and clenched the cue in his hand, softly clearing his throat towards them.

Was he becoming jealous, territorial, possessive, protective? Either way, when you saw it from the corner of your eye, you decided to have a little fun – tease him a little. 

You lined up your cue and tossed your hair to one side before your eyes trailed up to the group of boys. They all turned red and nervously swallowed. You winked before you pulled your cue back and then quickly forward, knocking a ball into a pocket, not breaking eye contact. 

You stood straight and then looked at Tommy and Joel, “I get another turn, right?” You acted like you didn’t know how to play or what you were doing. 

Joel saw the glint in your eye, the mischievous grin you were trying to hide. He bit his lip and nodded as Tommy chuckled and answered, not picking up on what you were laying down. 

“Yeah, you get another chance, sweetheart.” Tommy nodded toward the table.  

He leaned back and said lowly to Joel, “Beginner's luck if I’ve ever seen it…” 

Joel smirked as he watched you, softly humming in agreement. 

You nodded and rounded the table to make your next play. 

The part of the table the college boys were standing by was between a wall; it was a tight squeeze to get by. 

You smiled innocently as you approached them, “Excuse me fellas…” then you squeezed past them, sliding your ass against their crotches. 

Joel looked down and shook his head, grinning at your antics. 

All he could think about was how he would make you pay for that later in his truck. 

How sweet you’d taste on his tongue, how beautiful you’d look in his lap. 

You bent over in front of the boys, your already short dress, riding up a little more with how you angled yourself. “Sorry ‘bout the tight squeeze, I’ll make this quick…” You said purposely, breathlessly. 

You lined up your cue and pulled it back and forward quickly, knocking two more balls into two different pockets. 

“Holy shit…” Tommy muttered under his breath. 

The other group didn’t even register your play as they all three were drooling at your ass.

You stayed where you were, and your eyes trailed up to Tommy and Joel, “Shoot, does that mean I have to go again?” 

Tommy grinned and raised his eyebrows, “God damn, you sure you’ve never played before darlin’?” 

You straightened up and crossed your heart with your finger, “I swear! I must be lucky or somethin’…” you shrugged. 

Tommy chuckled and nodded, “You play ‘til you miss a pocket…” he clicked his tongue, “Keep playin’ like that though... win us some cash.” He smirked at the boys. 

You leaned back to aim and decided it was someone else's turn. With that, you missed the pocket and returned to stand in front of Joel.

His hand immediately wrapped firmly around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest before he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You keep teasin’ me like that, darlin’, and I’m gonna have to show you what happens to naughty girls.”

His voice is rough, low enough that only you can hear it, like gravel and heat all wrapped in honey. His fingers flex against your hip like he’s already thinking about how to follow through.

You feel the flush crawl up your neck, and you don’t dare turn to look at him—you know what you’ll find in his eyes, which will only lead you to prematurely want to leave.

Tommy stood a few feet from you, watching one of the other kids line up, completely oblivious. The other two college kids are still too stunned to notice.

Joel’s hand doesn’t move, just rests there, possessive and warm.

“Thought you were bein’ real cute out there,” he murmurs, dragging the words out like he wants them to linger. “Makin’ eyes at those boys, shakin’ that little dress in front of ‘em. Thinkin’ I wouldn’t notice.”

You bite your lip and try to play coy, "I don't know what you mean..."

He chuckles, deep in his chest—a sound that feels like it coils right through you.

“Oh, I think you do. And when I get you in that truck tonight…?” He exhales a quiet, dangerous laugh. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t played so damn innocent.”

Your breath catches, and you immediately feel yourself becoming aroused between your legs.

And then—just like nothing happened—he pulls back a little, gives your waist a reassuring squeeze, before he moves out from behind you as his turn is up.

But the look in his eyes when he glances back at you before taking his shot?

That says everything.

He ends up knocking the last two balls into the separate pockets before finishing the game by knocking the 8 ball into a pocket. 

Tommy pumped his fist and cheered, “Boo-yah baby!” 

Joel chuckled at his brother's excitement, but then, when he found you, your eyes drinking him in, the look of lust in your eyes, his gaze darkened. 

He set the cue onto the pool table before striding over and telling Tommy that the two of you were leaving, before he came over and grabbed your hand. The two of you eagerly weave your way out of the bar.

On the way back to the truck, the walk is quiet, just the two of you walking to the back of the parking lot where he’d parked. 

Joel's hand hovers at your back but never lands. You want him to do something—say something—but he stays maddeningly calm, jaw tight, like he’s holding something in. Something that’s just for later.

He opens the passenger door for you like a gentleman. The second it clicks shut behind you, you feel the air shift.

You barely get your seatbelt pulled over your chest before his hand slides behind your neck and pulls you in, your hand letting the strap go as his mouth crashes onto yours—hot, demanding, hungry. There's no hesitation now. None.

"You think I didn’t notice what you were doin’ in there?” he growls between kisses. “Bendin’ over in that tiny little dress… throwin’ winks at boys who couldn’t even look you in the eye…”

You whimper softly against his mouth, breath catching as his other hand slides up your thigh, slow and rough. The console digs into your side, but you don’t care. All you feel is him—everywhere, all at once.

"You’ve got no idea what you just earned yourself, querida."

He pulls you over the console like it’s nothing. 

The moment you’re in his lap, he leans you back against the steering wheel, the horn blaring briefly before he growls and shifts you to straddle him properly. The whole truck rocks under the movement.

You rock your hips instinctively, and his groan vibrates against your mouth.

Your hands tangle in his shirt, dragging him closer as his lips trail down your throat, teeth grazing your skin.

“You made a show of yourself,” he growls into your neck. “You think I’m just gonna let that slide?”

“No,” you whisper.

His hand slides up your thigh—under your dress now, finding the edge of your panties and tugging them down so roughly and fast it makes your breath catch.

He grins when he sees how soaked they are. “Damn, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, helpless, blushing, seeing how soaked they were. 

He bit his lip and hang them around his clutch before cupping your cheek and leaning back in to kiss your lips. 

You both pause and hover over each others lips when there’s a knock on the fogged window followed by the familiar, annoying, taunting voice of no one other than Will fucking Montgomery.

“Knock knock!” he chuckled. “Como dices: Public indecency?” he said mockingly.

no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12 @axshadows @mystickittytaco @yxtkiwiyxt @alltheirdamn @punkshort @stylesispunk @iheartoldermem @mermaidgirl30 @mountainsandmayhem @sp00kymulderr @brittmb115 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927 @spacelatinos4life @pedge-page @pedropascalfab @readingiskeepingmegoing @sincerelywithheartt @youusunshineyoutemptress @lilasskicker-23 @melsuns00hine @wencontre @pedrofan @suzysface @orcasoul @misstokyo7love @bitchyfestnight @galotti7 @locaparapedrito @harrysrosetatto @bluenightmarepost @mukeovernetflix @pascal-mynightlyobsession @maryfanson @pasc4lfuzz

[ltadoriyuujl]

your orbit is the best place to be

☆ earth is large and space is infinite and yet you still can never be more than 2 degrees of separation from the boy made of stars that has held your heart in his hands forever.

☆ bakugou katsuki x reader, 7.2k words

☆ no cw, bkg gets jealous, mineta is there as the worlds sleaziest plot device

☆ a/n: wow my first official tumblr fic! a million thank yous to all the oomfs that kept me motivated enough to finish this. @teddybeartoji @ms0milk <3 you guys

“Man, it's been ages since we've been to a station. I don't know about you guys, but I'm so ready to get off the ship.”

“Tell me about it. I'm honestly starting to go a little crazy in here.”

“I'm definitely excited. A buddy of mine told me the, ahem, ‘working girls’ of Iltari-7 can suck the silver off a new cybernetic.”

“Fucking hell, Denki, what kind of degenerates do you hang out with and why are they giving you hooker recommendations?”

Boisterous laughter bounced off the chrome walls of the lounge as your face screwed up in disgust. Most of the crew of the Aldera were scattered around the room, reclining and relaxing in various positions. Kirishima Eijirou, first mate, copilot, and the one who had spoken first, was seated on a stool by the small bar, his muscular back resting against the table so he could face the room. Sero Hanta, the ship's mechanic and gunnery chief, sat cross-legged on the floor, the parts of some new passion project littered around him. And Kaminari Denki, one of the best software engineers this side of the galaxy and the current source of your ire, was sprawled on the old couch positioned directly across from your own chair. 

“C'mon, cut me some slack, Doc. A guy can't get lonely?” Denki’s grin was large and unabashed, even as he tried to feign hurt. The corners of your own mouth started to quirk up. 

“You say that like the rest of us are imaginary or something. I'm touched that you value our friendship so deeply, Denki,” you replied, your tone dry despite the amusement on your face. 

“Love you too, but friendship doesn't get me-”

“And that is my cue to leave.” You swung your legs down from their perch on the center table, a second round of laughter ringing out as you stood. “I'm going to talk to our esteemed captain, see if I can negotiate an extra day in port.” 

Kirishima snorted as you passed him on your way to the door. “Good luck. Cap says 3 days, so really we're looking at 2 and a half. But hey, if anyone could get him to budge it's you, Doc.”

Solidly ignoring the implications of that statement, you pulled open the lounge door, stepped out into the hallway, and slid the door home again with extreme prejudice. The howls of your crewmates were audible from behind the thick steel as your legs began to carry you towards the bridge.

Bakugou Katsuki, captain of the Aldera, was something of an enigma to the larger spacefaring community. Only a handful of people even knew his full name, half of them being the ship's crew and the other half either on Earth or scattered through the far reaches of space. To most, he was the fearsome Dynamight, scourge of the endless night, the man who haunted the nightmares of hardened Federation admirals. The reward for his head was large enough to buy a small moon. He wasn't just a space pirate, he was the space pirate.

He also set the ship's day/night simulation settings to the Tokyo timezone so he could get 8 hours of sleep no matter where he was in the galaxy. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, and his only vice was the adrenaline of a fire fight. You'd been there when his arms were almost blown off, and kept him alive long enough to get them replaced by top of the line implants with veins that carried lighter fluid instead of blood. He'd knocked out one of your front teeth when you were 6 and he was 7, and there was a very faint scar on his left shoulder because you bit him immediately after. When he'd shown up to your dorm in the middle of the night, freshly defected with nothing to his name but a stolen ship and a handful of flight school buddies and asked you to come with him to the stars, you'd been gone before your RA was even awake enough to investigate the racket.

Lost in recollection, you almost ran face-first into the bridge door, catching yourself just in time to avoid being laid out by an inanimate object. Katsuki's first order of business as an outlaw was calling in a couple favors from some below-board mechanics and getting the whole ship remade into the specimen it was today. The Aldera, formerly the S.S. Yuuei, was refitted with brand new guns, shields, and stealth tech. Your captain also had the onboard AI stripped to barely more than glorified autopilot and, despite Denki's grumbles about the boredom of his post, the decision wasn't without merit. It disabled the Federation failsafe of remotely hijacking a vessel through its operating system, but while it was no doubt a great safety measure that had allowed you all to evade capture more times than you could count, even 5 years on the run wasn't enough to erase a lifetime of being used to automatic comforts and there was surely more security footage of you smacking into doors than you'd like. 

You're forced to squint as you step into the navigation room, the sunny “high noon” lighting at stark odds with the inky blackness outside the plexiglass window that dominated the room. Katsuki's form was visible in the captain's chair, right where you suspected he'd be. Vermillion eyes darted to yours as you moved to stand next to him, and with a small huff he dismissed the holopad he was reading and turned his full attention to you. 

“Doc.” Your title rolled off his tongue and fell at your feet, almost slimy with sarcasm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello to you too, Captain. I'm great, thanks for asking. I love that our first conversation of the day is starting off on such a good note.” Your tone was sickening in its faux sweetness, and the snort you received in return made you roll your eyes good-naturedly. 

“We've known each other way too long to bother with idiotic small talk.”

“Yeah, but you should be nice to the person who keeps you and your crew in fighting shape.”

“That person is me, and I've told you how I feel about your wellness tips.”

You flipped him off, though the grin on your face matched his. Talking with him was always easy.

“Seriously though, did you need something?” Katsuki asked, his hands flitting over the ship's console as he minutely adjusted the course. “We should be docking within the next 4 hours.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgement, your gaze turning to the multitude of stars twinkling outside. “I told the guys I was going to ask you about getting another day in port, but really I just needed to get out of the conversation. Denki was starting to talk about station whores and that is not a topic I have the energy for right now.” 

Katsuki made a disgusted noise. “If that dumbass catches anything I'm venting him out of the airlock.”

“It honestly might be the best course of action. You abducted me before we got to the ‘alien STI’ section of the curriculum.” You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from doubling over in laughter as he groaned. The glare he fixed you with was venomous, but it'd been a long time since his irritation could get under your skin.

“If I recall correctly, and I'm pretty fucking sure I do, you basically tripped over yourself to come with me. You had a bag packed and everything!” 

“It was my overnight bag. Who knew midnight hookups and spontaneously going off-world required such similar supplies?”

A shadow passed over Katsuki's face, his features clouded by an expression that you almost recognized, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He huffed and started to fidget with the controls again, obviously trying to occupy his hands. 

“Whatever, you were still embarrassingly eager. All ‘Oh ‘Suki, I'd follow you anywhere’.” The pitch of his voice rose mockingly and you gasped in indignation. If he wanted to go low, you'd take it to hell.

Bracing one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the armrest, you leaned as far into his space as you were able without falling into his lap. Katsuki fixed you with a hard stare but, bullheaded man that he was, refused to give any ground. Your faces were inches apart, and you could hear him dragging in each breath with purpose, desperate not to let his pulse quicken in your presence.

“Since your memory is apparently so good, Captain,” your voice was low, bordering on sultry, “remind me, which one of us begged? What was it you said… ‘I don't want to do any of this without you?’ At 3 in the morning no less. If we're going to talk about eagerness and desperation, let's start there.”

Your faces were still close, closer than they really had any right to be. Red began to color Katsuki's ears and cheeks, but his mouth was set in a grim, determined line. You two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, unstoppable force and immovable object. Finally, your captain scowled and turned his head away from you, breaking the deadlock. You bit back a whoop of joy at your victory in whatever odd dominance play you two had been engaged in, settling instead for a satisfied smirk as you straightened up again.

“Doesn’t matter who said what anyway,” he muttered under his breath, and you could almost see the wounded animal that was his pride settling hard in his chest. “We’re both here, aren’t we? Five years and you haven’t jumped ship yet.”

Your expression softened, and you reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You’re never, ever getting rid of me, I can promise you that. We’re stuck with each other, ‘Suki.” You felt the tension leak out of his frame and something like longing mixed with affection and took root in your lungs. For all the ways he was different, more grown-up and mature, he was also still the boy that drew his own star maps, the one that sat with you on the roof of his house and taught you how to recognize each constellation until you could point them out blindfolded.

His eyes were on you again and you withdrew your hand, suddenly conscious of the change in atmosphere. Clearing your throat, you took an awkward step back and turned halfway towards the door in an attempt to escape before you said anything you'd regret. “I'm going to double-check the supplies in medical. Make sure my shopping list is complete and all that. I’ll, uh, catch you later, Captain.” Your retreat was hasty, despite your best efforts at keeping calm, and you only allowed yourself to breathe once the cockpit door was shut behind you.

~

“Ah, good old station air!”

The Aldera was nestled comfortably into a dock in the Iltari-7 ship port, a small swarm of mechanics already seeing to any necessary repairs. You'd all wasted no time disembarking and Denki looked about ready to kiss the dubiously clean ground.

“You know, it's weird how every single port manages to smell like the same combination of recycled oxygen, burnt fuel, and piss,” you remarked, stretching your arms languidly above your head. “It’s almost comforting at this point.” The men around you let out various noises of agreement before delving into a conversation about whether or not the smell was natural or purposely manufactured. 

You tuned them out, your eyes glued instead to the distant form of your captain barking instructions at some poor dock aide. You couldn't quite make out the words but you’d be willing to bet it was something about making sure there wasn't a paint chip out of place when he got back. He was clad in his favorite faded leather vest (originally from his days in the Federation Academy, it was now so covered with studs and patches it was barely recognizable as Federation property) and a fitted black shirt and pants combo that showed off his figure in a way that was deeply detrimental to your sanity.

Eventually he finished scaring the piss out of the innocent and stomped over to where your merry band was waiting. He reached into the satchel resting on his hip and dug out 4 cards. 

“The keys to our hotel rooms,” he said as he shared them out. “You lose it, I’ll kick your ass and take the money to replace it out of your next paycheck.” 

Kirishima whistled as he turned the small piece of plastic in his hands. “Damn boss, what kind of place did you find that still uses physical keys?” 

“The kind of place that doesn’t ask about shit like existing criminal records.” You glanced down at your own key card before slipping into the small satchel you kept hidden under your coat. The mild inconvenience of having to worry about a physical object was a small price to pay for peace of mind, especially considering how during a pit stop last year you’d all woken up in the middle of the night to Federation officers in the lobby of the inn you were staying at. Personally, you weren’t eager to experience another mad dash to the hanger in nothing but your nightdress.

Katsuki rolled his neck, a series of pops sounding out as he did. “Alright, housekeeping. We’re here for 72 hours, no more than that. I don’t give a shit what you do with that time as long as you don’t get sick and don’t get arrested. If I call you to check in and you don’t pick up, I’ll hunt you down and you won’t like what happens when I find you. Any questions? No? Great, scatter.”

Sero and Kaminari didn’t need to be told twice, the two of them practically bolting down the street. Kirishima gave an exaggerated salute before heading off as well. You were just about to start making your way to the nearest depot when a large, familiar hand enveloped your elbow. You looked back and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at your captain. “Not you, Doc. You’re coming with me.” You scoffed and tugged your arm out of his grip. 

“I have actual plans, you know. Since when do you have business where my presence is necessary?” The look on his face did little to inspire any measure of confidence in you.

“Word on the net says the guy who's offering to fence our haul has delusions of chivalry, or some shit like that. Apparently he doesn't scam chicks, so if you're at the meeting with me we might actually get a better deal.”

You blinked once, twice, brain desperately trying to interpret the words that had come out of his mouth in a way that didn't make you want to beat him over the head. “You want me,” you began, the words rolling slowly out of your mouth, “to be your date…to a haul negotiation.” 

“Date is a strong word.” The blonde man didn't look nearly bashful or penitent enough for the request he was making, and you felt a muscle twitch in your jaw. “You'd just be there to help smooth things out.”

“Ah, so you want me to be eye candy. That's such an improvement.”

“I'll buy everything on your shopping list.”

“My shopping list is full of medical supplies. For the ship. That we all fucking use.”

“That new headset you've been itching for, then. With the fancy AI and diagnostic capabilities.”

“The one you said was unreasonably expensive?” 

“I won't even bitch about it.”

You crossed your arms and looked away from him, a scowl painted on your features. On one hand, the request was demeaning and just subtly misogynistic enough to really get under your skin. On the other hand, more money was always a good thing, and you were honestly a little curious to meet a man with such an interesting set of principles.

Plus, you really wanted that headset.

“You also owe me a favor that I can cash in at any time.” You fixed Katsuki with your best “dead serious” glare. He threw his hands up in surrender, but his grin could only be described as shit-eating.

“You drive a hard bargain, but we have a deal. Now come on, let’s see how fast we can get this over with.”

~

Whatever you'd expected the mysterious fence to look like, it wasn't anywhere near the reality. The man on the other side of the counter was short, so short he needed a step stool to make eye contact with you. The rest of him looked honestly pretty human, no extra limbs, digits, or facial features. The most bizarre thing about his appearance was the texture of his hair (or whatever it was that was on his head), which resembled large squishy purple balls.

“Well, well, look who it is!” His voice echoed through the space, briefly covering the noises of the small gadgets and trinkets littered around the “pawn shop”. “Dynamight, can I just say what an honor it is to have you in my establishment? I mean, you're something of a legend to us guys on the, ahem, other side of the law.” 

Katsuki grunted in response, his nose twitching like he was trying his damndest not to wrinkle it in distaste. The other man either didn't notice or didn't care, his attention switching immediately to you. 

“And what fine company you've brought as well!” He was still addressing “Dynamight”, but his smile was directed entirely at you. “It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I'm Mineta, the owner of this here establishment and a professional…well I like to refer to myself as a ‘procurement specialist’ in polite company.”

“You hear that, ‘Suki? We're polite company.” You couldn't keep the smirk out of your voice as you responded. “Is ‘smuggler’ too dirty a word for you, Mineta?”

To his credit, the small salesman didn't rise to your barb, his customer service smile still fixed to his face. “Well no, but it doesn't exactly look great on a business card, does it?” 

You chuckled airily. “Fair enough.”

Your captain, apparently fed up with the back and forth banter, leaned on the countertop with an unimpressed expression. “Are you two going to yap all day or can we talk business?” The words seemed to snap Mineta out of his casual demeanor and into work mode, and he zeroed back in on the outlaw before him. 

“Of course, of course.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a holopad, setting it between all 3 of you. The shopkeep pressed some buttons and a number was projected into the air. “20,000 credits” read the hologram, for sure not an amount to scoff at, but one look in Katsuki's direction showed he was less than enthused. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” The blonde's voice wasn't quite a snarl, but definitely close. “I sent you a scanned content list and you decided 20k was a decent number for a haul that good?” 

Mineta frowned, but his tone was still calm as he replied. “Well, this is a negotiation. If you think I'm lowballing, you're welcome to put out an offer.”

“50.” Your eyes almost bulged out of your head at the number he spat out. The cargo was valuable for sure, but not 50 thousand fucking credits worth, and Katsuki of all people should know that. Then, his eyes met yours, and your role in this particular dance finally clicked into place in your mind. 

You pressed against the counter, arms folded over your ribcage to subtly push your chest up. You gave the blonde your best chastising look and pout combo, setting the stage for your performance. “‘Suki, come on. Aren't you being a little unreasonable?” You paused to shoot Mineta a warm smile. “Ignore him, he's woken up on the wrong side of the bed every day for 5 years.”

Mineta's expression instantly brightened, and you didn't miss the way his eyes darted to your tits and lingered there. Hook, line, and sinker. “I understand,” he began, slightly lifting his heels off the stepstool to lean closer to you. It took all your composure and professionalism not to move away. “It's a grueling line of work you two are in. That said, you seem to bear it with nothing short of the utmost beauty and grace, miss.” Someone was laying it on thick. You forced yourself to giggle and hoped it came out halfway believable. 

Katsuki grimaced at the exchange and moved closer to you, but you paid him no mind. Your eyes were fixed on the prize, now. “How about we try again, hm? I do think 50 is a bit much, so maybe we can try 40?” In truth, you didn't believe the items you brought to the table were worth a dime more than 25k, but if batting your eyelashes and playing ditzy lined your pockets with a little something extra then you were going to milk this, goddammit. 

Mineta still looked unsure, but was obviously more receptive to the high offer than before. “Well, considering it comes with the Dynamight name attached to it, I suppose it is worth a little more, yes. I'd have no trouble reselling…can we compromise at 35?” A good number. A great number, in fact, but you wanted to see how far you could push. 

“37, final offer. We worked awfully hard to keep this raid quiet, you know. The feds don't even know about it, which means they won't be on lookout for the stuff. Don't you think we deserve a little extra for making your job easier?” You kept your tone light and playful, going so far as to reach out and run your index finger under Mineta's chin, tilting his head up slightly to meet your gaze. A full body shudder passed through the man, and again you suppressed the desire to recoil.

“I think,” the salesman's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I think that's fair.” You retracted your finger as Mineta began to fiddle with the holopad again, the 20 swiftly replaced with a 37. 

You beamed as you retreated from the counter, allowing Katsuki to occupy your spot and handle the specifics of closing out the deal. The smile on your face was the peak of self-satisfaction, and it only grew when you heard the telltale chime of a money transfer. As you made your way out of the shop, you sent a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god was responsible for handing out perfect racks. You also shot a small kudos to the patron saint of sleazy idiots, for good measure. 

As soon as you were both definitely out of hearing range you whirled on Katsuki in delight, but your expression faltered when you caught sight of the storm brewing in his features. He looked irritated, on the edge of downright pissed off, and it effectively dampened your own mood. Tugging on his arm, you steered him into a nearby alleyway in an effort to avoid prying eyes and ears.

“What's up with you?” you asked once you were sure there'd be no unwelcome intrusions to the conversation. “I thought the deal went great.”

He scowled and crossed his arms as he leaned against the rough synthetic brick of the alleway. His face was casted down, very pointedly not looking at you. “‘m not pissed off about the deal,” he mumbled, and your confusion only grew.

“Then why are you pissed off?”

Your captain scoffed. “Maybe because that bastard looked like he wanted to fucking eat you,” he ground out through gritted teeth. 

For the second time today, you contemplated strangling him. You raised a hand and pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to gather your patience. “I thought the whole point was that my job was to be arm décor. Was the end goal not to get him to think with his dick and not his head? I mean, you brought me as a sex object and now you're mad that the guy wanted to have sex with me!”

“I know what the fucking objective was, I just-” His mouth snapped shut, but the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw told you everything you needed to know. He looked the same as he did earlier when you mentioned your past hookups, the same as he always did when he caught you in the hallways of wherever the crew was crashing at, waving goodbye to whoever had warmed your bed the night before. Same dark eyes, same twisted up mouth, same neck twitch. You'd assumed before that he was just being protective, but the truth was glaring in your face brighter than any neon sign.

Bakugou Katsuki was jealous and you were pissed the hell off.

“How long?” you demanded. His expression morphed from petulant to confused as he looked at you. 

“What?”

“How long have you had feelings for me?” You willed your voice not to crack, though the equal parts anger and yearning that bubbled to the front of the emotional storm brewing in your chest made it a herculean task. This wasn't fair. He didn't get to do this to you, not 5 years in, not when you'd finally made your peace and were on your way to killing the pesky adoration you'd spent far too long grappling with.

“I- That's not what this is about-”

“Don't even try to pull that shit. This is my favor, I'm cashing it in right now. Tell me the truth, how long?”

You stared at him. He stared back. The alleyway was silent except for the low whirring of the machinery under Katsuki’s skin. The foot of distance between you felt impossibly charged and volatile, like one false move would trigger a city-leveling explosion. Just as your eyes started to burn from strain and the pressure of the tears behind your eyes, Katsuki ducked his head again, breaking the stalemate. Normally, winning two battles of will against him in the same day would inflate your ego to unmanageable heights, but the moment was too bittersweet to fully appreciate your victory.

“I don't know.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the truth.” Crimson eyes met yours, and the naked vulnerability in them almost took your breath away. “I don't remember how long I've wanted you. Feels like forever.”

Your knees felt weak and your mouth was dry and every night you spent staring at the cold chrome ceiling of your ship quarters with longing and want ripping through you came rushing back in cold clarity. The storm in your chest broke, and the roiling waves of emotion threatened to choke you. You needed air, and space, and maybe to slap him then kiss him stupid. 

“Right.” The word felt foreign, almost wrong, on your tongue. It wasn't what you wanted to say, but it was all your traitorous vocal cords would allow you. Katsuki's brow furrowed and his lips parted, and you were far too emotionally fragile to hear whatever he was about to say. 

Beating him to the punch, you blurted out, “I’ll see you back at the hotel,” before spinning on your heel and striding out of the alley as quickly as your legs would carry you. Half expecting him to follow you or call you back, you were filled with both relief and disappointment when he made no move to go after you. His gaze burned against the back of your skull until you disappeared around the nearest corner. 

~

It was well past sunset (or “whatever star this trash heap orbits”-set) when you finally made your way to the hotel. The building itself was nondescript, the paint on the outside was faded, and it was altogether generally unimpressive. Only the flickering sign that matched the stamp on your keycard signified it as the place you were looking for. At least the inside was free of any foul scents or mysterious stains, which automatically put it above at least half of your past accommodations. 

You trudged up the steps to the second floor and prayed on all that was kind and good that this place had hot running water. You'd calmed down significantly since you'd ditched your captain, but a hot shower would give you the chance to sort out the last stubborn remnants of your emotional turmoil. You turned the corner into your hallway and were wholly unsurprised to see the last person you wanted to acknowledge standing right next to your door.

Katsuki had dressed down since you'd last seen him. His worn leather vest and fitted shirt were gone, leaving him in only a white undershirt that was definitely a size too small. Desire flared in your gut, unwelcome, and you forced yourself to suppress a groan. Clearly he had no intentions of making the conversation you two needed to have easy for you.

His head snapped in your direction as you approached, and your heart clenched at the flash of uncertainty that ran across his face before he managed to school it back into careful neutrality. You stopped in front of your door, placing a hand on the handle as you turned to look at him.

“We should talk.” His voice was low, gentle, like he was scared you'd run again if he disturbed the air too much.

“Is that an order, Captain?” you asked in response, fluidly inserting your keycard into its slot until the light on the door turned green. Pushing it open, you looked back over your shoulder, one eyebrow arched. Katsuki’s jaw clenched as he visibly swallowed. 

“No. It's not an order.” You hummed and jerked your head towards the inside of the room, signaling for him to follow, before pushing the door open wider and stepping in.

Flicking on the light, you surveyed the space. It was decently furnished, with a large couch taking up the opposite wall and a loveseat slightly adjacent to it, a hard light projection of a coffee table the centerpiece of the room. There was a small but seemingly functional kitchenette off to the side, and a door set into the wall on your right that you assumed led to the bedroom. 

You moved towards the small table in the kitchen, shucking off your coat and draping it on the back of one of the two dining chairs present. Your satchel followed, tossed carelessly onto the table as you strode towards the couch. The color was likely a rich navy blue once, but time and wear had turned it much lighter in places. It was comfortable, at the very least, and you sprawled over it, head resting on one armrest while your legs were tossed over the other side.

The man you'd known almost all your life slumped into the loveseat, his arm inches from your head. You shifted to be able to see him properly. He was sweating bullets with the harsh blue glow of the coffee table illuminating half his face from below. One of his best looks, in your humble opinion. 

He inhaled, long and deep, before exhaling just as thoroughly. He opened his mouth, glanced at you, glanced away, and closed it again. It struck you that while you were aware of both his feelings and your own, you'd never actually expressed to him that you reciprocated his affection. Come to think of it, fleeing the second he confessed probably hadn't done his confidence any favors. You winced slightly as guilt squeezed your insides, and reached out to drop a (hopefully) comforting hand on his knee. His eyes snapped to the appendage, and his gaze crawled up your arm until he finally managed to settle on your face. You tried your best to project encouragement, and he drew in another deep breath. 

“10 years.” You blinked, your features suddenly clouded with confusion. 

“What?”

Katsuki huffed like you were the one being difficult and adjusted his posture, leaning over the arm of his seat to be closer to you.

“You asked me how long I've had feelings for you, so I did some soul-searching or whatever the fuck and decided 10 years was the answer. Ever since you showed up to my house on my 16th birthday, clutching that crystal telescope lens that I'd been eyeing for ages. I asked you how the hell you afforded something like that, and you told me you'd saved 4 months’ worth of allowance plus walked every dog in the neighborhood 5 times over. You had this big goofy grin on your face like you hadn't dropped a crazy amount of money just so I could have a clearer view of the same star systems I'd already memorized.” He paused, working his jaw as he contemplated whether or not to continue. A squeeze from the hand on his knee seemed to thoroughly convince him. 

“I honestly almost told you to take it back, to return it and get your money back and use it on literally anything else. But you were just…you were so fucking happy about it, going on and on about how I'd finally be able to personally count Jupiter's moons or something like that. I didn't have it in me to reject it, I mean, it was literally the nicest thing anyone ever did for me up to that point. And when we finally got the chance to slip up to the roof and slot the new lens in…the sights were beautiful. Better than I'd imagined, better than the ads. Your shoulder jostled mine when you went in for a look and it was like I'd eaten a whole swarm of butterflies. It was the first time I'd ever felt like that around you, around anyone really. I guess that's when I knew.” 

10 years. You're not quite sure how you expected him to answer, but what you got was certainly more than you anticipated. Every interaction between the two of you in the last decade flitted through your mind, colored by this new information, and your chest tightened almost painfully. 

“Wow,” was all you managed to say when you finally opened your mouth. His whole body tensed, and you blurted out your next words before he could get too deep in his head. “Do you want to know when I came to terms with my feelings?”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes boring into you like twin suns. “Your feelings?” His voice was almost a whisper, and you offered him a gentle smile.

“What, you think you have a monopoly on pining?” He huffed out a laugh as you repositioned yourself, pushing upright and shifting until you were leaning over your own armrest, putting the two of you eye to eye. 

“When we were 17, and I was sitting with you in the nurse's office at school and watching you get your knuckles wrapped because Enzo-”

Katsuki's groan was loud, cutting you off mid-sentence. You snickered, amused that the mention of your first boyfriend was still enough to get him riled up.

“Can I continue, or do you still have curses to pile on him almost a decade later?”

“I definitely do, but you can keep going as long as you don't say that idiot's name.”

“Well, what do you want me to refer to him as?”

“Preferably ‘that worthless bastard’ but you can get creative with it if you want.” You rolled your eyes, but you were fighting a losing battle trying to keep a smile off your face. 

“Fine, whatever, moving on. You were getting your fists taken care of because you'd fucked them up in the process of beating my ex's face to a pulp.” Katsuki tsked in annoyance at your word choice but you forged on. “On account of him cheating on me with one of the student trainers.” 

“And I'd do it again too.” 

“Am I ever going to get to finish my story?”

“Sorry.” The man across from you at least had the good sense to look sheepish at your scolding tone. You shook your head in exaggerated exasperation.

“Like I was saying, you, me, school clinic, split knuckles. The nurse was ripping you a new one while she bandaged you up, and all I could do was sit there and replay the moment in my head. The way we ran into that prick at lunch and I immediately got choked up and hurt all over again. The expression on your face when you looked at me. Next thing I knew there were like 3 people pulling you off him, and he was a sort of groaning person-shaped heap.” Slowly, as if  handling something wild, you moved your hand to settle on top of his. Your thumb brushed gently over the long-healed skin and his breath hitched as a faint shiver ran through him. 

“Even when they threatened you with expulsion, you never looked regretful or remorseful. As far as you knew, the end of your space pilot dream was staring you in the face and you didn't so much as flinch. One look at me and you'd been ready to throw it all away. That's when my crush kicked into full gear, and saying it all out loud is making me feel kinda stupid for not realizing how you felt about me sooner.” 

You chuckled, but the sound turned into a soft gasp as Katsuki flipped his hand up to grip yours, the hold firm but not painful. Your eyes moved from where your palms were connected to his face, and the intensity you found there made your heart beat faster. 

“You wanna know when I knew I loved you?”

For a brief, beautiful moment, every mechanism in the universe ground to a screeching halt. The stars stopped burning, the planets stopped spinning, your breath caught in your throat and your heart paused mid-beat. His words rung in your ears like church bells, deafening in glorious cacophony. Even after the natural order resumed, you still felt nailed to your seat. You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice to be steady enough not to shatter the moment. 

“When I woke up,” he began, his grip on your hand tightening marginally, “in that shady implant center, brain fried from hours of pain and being in and out of consciousness. Everything hurt like hell, and my new arms felt heavy and weird. Then I turned my head to look at the ceiling, and there you were. Your eyebags had eyebags, your hair was a mess, and you had a nasty bruise peeking out from under your collar where a laser blast had hit the protective mesh in your coat. Despite all that, you were beaming like you'd won the lottery. Plus you were directly under one of those old-fashioned fluorescent bulbs and it was casting a flickering halo around your head. I swear I thought you were an angel. Sometimes I still do.”

You made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you blinked back the tears gathering at your waterline. Unthinking, you stood from your seat and moved to stand in front of Katsuki. Your hands were still intertwined and he used that connection to tug you forward, his other hand moving to settle on your back as you fell gently into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

“Never took you for a sap, ‘Suki.” Your unoccupied hand drifted to play with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck and you laughed softly at his exaggerated eye roll. You liked this version of him, the type that existed for your eyes only, bathed in artificial light yet deeply human.

“Yeah, whatever.” His hand on your back was big and warm, and you felt almost embarrassed by how much it affected you. The synthetic nerve endings in his arms were bad at detecting heat, a necessary failsafe to facilitate his explosions, but now all you could think about was if he could feel the warmth of you through your shirt.

“You know, it’s sorta funny.” Katsuki’s head tilted slightly, his eyes fixated on you. The center of his attention was both a wonderful and slightly terrifying place to be. “You liked me first but I loved you first.”

“That so?” he asked, a smirk curling his lips as the palm at your back slipped under your shirt to trace patterns over your spine. The feeling of his digits dancing over your bare skin almost robbed you of rational thought entirely, but you pushed through.

 “Call me cliché, but the night you showed up to my dorm and begged me to run away with you was so romantic from my point of view. It’s a miracle I didn’t swoon into your arms like one of those fainting damsels in a shitty romance novel.”

“There you go again, saying I begged. I asked politely.”

“Call it whatever you want, starboy, you were the one who made an objectively unnecessary detour while you were an active fugitive just to fulfill a promise you made when we were kids.” Your expression was as smug as humanly possible, but he seemed wholly unphased. You weren’t sure when in the course of the conversation his attitude had pivoted from nervous wreck to playboy.

“I promised we’d see the galaxy together, and we have. I’m a man of my word.” It was your turn to roll your eyes in an exaggerated arc, tugging lightly on his hair in reproach.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t clock you earlier. Denial is truly a hell of a drug. You want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Katsuki scoffed and pushed you even further into him, eliminating almost all space between your bodies. “Don’t throw stones from glass houses, Doc.” 

You huffed and pulled your hand away from his at last, both palms moving to cradle his face. His newly free hand immediately took up a position at your waist, mirroring its twin. “Say my name.”

The first syllable managed to slip past his lips before you crashed into him.

You poured almost half a lifetime of longing into the kiss, and your other half responded in kind. It was deep, desperate, and more than a little messy. His lips molded over yours like they belonged there, like the very notion of parting from you was absurd. Your fingers curled over his jaw and left small crescent indents on his cheeks as his tongue poked at the seam of your mouth, a request that was eagerly granted. His hands tightened on your sides and you were grateful for the sensation, for something to ground you as you dived into him over and over. 

When you finally parted, lungs strained and panting, you were sure there were stars in your eyes. He pressed his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you pull away too much, and you happily obliged him. The two of you spent a minute simply trading breaths, the world outside your intimate bubble entirely unimportant. You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek, chaste and almost shy. You could feel the muscles in his face moving as he smiled.

“...so about that headset-” He sealed his lips over yours again, and you’d never been happier to shut up in your life.

[iydiamartinx]

UNEXPECTED GUESTS IV

jason x reader, platonic!damian wayne, ft. batfam

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources word count: 2k synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls. a/n: Here it is! The final part! Hope Y'all enjoyed! Also I hope I got everyone who asked to be on the tag list, if I missed you I am so sorry!

Bruce lifted a brow at the sound of heavy footsteps and the sight of Jason sauntering into the manor kitchen, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he owned the place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pausing mid-bite, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Jason didn’t break stride. “Gee, thanks for the warm welcome,” he drawled, dropping the duffle beside a chair with a solid thud.

Bruce sighed, setting down his utensils. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just you have your own place.”

Jason shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe I just felt like spending some quality time with dear old Dad.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed, eyes flicking over him like a scanner calibrating for irregularities. Jason was calm. Casual. Civil. Voluntarily in the manor. Something was wrong.

Jason would rather set himself on fire than willingly spend an evening under Bruce’s roof. He was being too… not-Jason. Polite, even. Pleasant. 

Clone? Possibly. Cyborg? Wouldn’t be the first time. A mind-wiped doppelgänger sent to spy on the family?

Then it hit him.

He paused in growing horror…

Did he finally kill the Joker?

Was that why he was in a good mood?

Bruce stared at him. Jason just blinked back innocently, which only made it worse.

No, something was definitely wrong.

“He’s lying,” came a voice from the doorway, smooth and amused.

Dick entered, mug of tea in hand and an unbothered grin on his face. “It’s because everyone’s crashing at his place.”

Now that he mentioned it, the manor had been suspiciously quiet lately.

Bruce glanced between them. “Why?”

Jason froze, his posture stiffening like someone expecting a sniper shot. His eyes flicked to Dick, silently warning him to shut up.

Dick, of course, did not. If anything, his grin widened.

Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Why?” he repeated.

Jason shot Dick a glare, the kind that promised swift and bloody vengeance, but the little shit was immune. He grinned wider, practically radiating delight.

“Oh, because of his girlfriend,” Dick said, drawing out the word with far too much delight.

It had been unspoken—agreed upon, even—that whatever chaos was unfolding at Jason’s apartment stayed there. The last thing he needed was his personal life dragged into the manor spotlight and have Bruce interrogating his girlfriend. He was already hanging on to his sanity by the thinnest of threads.

But Dick had two fatal weaknesses: an insatiable love for family bonding… and a disturbing amount of joy in watching Jason suffer.

“You should see him at home,” Dick went on, far too pleased with himself. “Total domestic bliss. Folding laundry. Cooking dinner. It’s like watching a lion try to do ballet.”

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead,” Jason snapped, his voice a low snarl.

Bruce paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a Batarang.

Very slowly—deliberately—Bruce looked up. His eyes locked on Jason.

Jason had a what?

Before anyone could speak, Alfred appeared beside Dick with the poise of a man who had seen war, death, and teenage Bruce Wayne at his most dramatic—and had emerged utterly unshaken.

“Master Jason is bringing her for dinner, of course,” Alfred said, smooth as ever, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Master Jason is not!” Jason barked, visibly horrified.

Alfred raised a brow. 

Finding out you’d been invited to dinner at Wayne Manor wasn’t exactly a shock. If anything, you’d been expecting it. Most of the family already knew you—had dropped by Jason’s place uninvited enough times that introductions were inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Bruce caught wind of your existence too.

What surprised you more was how not nervous you felt.

Jason, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally preparing for battle.

As the iron gates of Wayne Manor creaked open, you watched him through the passenger-side mirror. Your six-foot-two, weapons-grade boyfriend was pacing beside the car like a man about to face execution. His hair was a mess—freshly wrecked from his own anxious hands—and while the tousled look worked unfairly well for him, it didn’t do much to hide the storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t let them suck you into anything,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the universe. “Don’t be too funny. Or too smart.”

You arched a brow. “So… you want me to be dislikable?”

“What? No! I mean—maybe? I don’t know!” he snapped, throwing his arms up. “If you are, maybe they’ll finally stop showing up at my place uninvited. But I don’t want them to hate you either.”

He paused, then groaned. “God. Don’t mention cinnamon rolls. Damian’s still holding a grudge because I ate the last batch.”

You laughed. “Of course he is.”

Jason stopped pacing only long enough to glare at the front door like it personally offended him. “Just… don’t be nervous. We’ll be in and out. Quick and painless.”

You blinked slowly. “Jason. I’m not nervous. You’re the one spiraling.”

By this point, you weren’t even sure he realized what he was saying anymore. He was just venting aloud—burning nervous energy like a fuse inching toward a powder keg.

With a soft breath of amusement, you stepped into his path, catching his hand in yours before he could wear a trench into the manor’s immaculate brickwork.

“Babe,” you said, gently squeezing his fingers. “I’m fine. I got this. You’re the only one falling apart here.”

So you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief—grounding—but it worked. His shoulders dropped an inch, the rigid line of his jaw easing ever so slightly.

When you pulled back, you were already smiling. You laced your fingers through his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready?” you asked.

Jason exhaled, long and slow, like he was about to walk into enemy territory. Which, for him, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“Fuck no.”

Alfred greeted you at the door with the warmth of a man welcoming a long-lost friend.

“Miss Y/N,” he said, voice smooth with genuine affection. “We’re delighted to have you.”

You barely had time to smile before Damian appeared—materialized really—at your side.

“You’re sitting next to me.”

You blinked. “Hello to you too,” you said dryly.

He didn’t acknowledge it. His attention was already on the dining table as he pulled out a chair for you with the gravity of someone bestowing a great honour.

 “What? No! That’s my girlfriend, demon spawn.” Jason snapped. 

Damian didn’t even flinch. He turned to Jason with a droll look, sharp and effortless. “And I pity her for that fact every day.”

You muffled a snort behind your hand and slid gracefully into the offered seat.

“Thank you, Damian,” you said, smoothing your napkin onto your lap with a smirk. Then, with mock innocence, you patted the open chair on your other side. “There’s still one free spot left.”

Jason moved toward it—clearly ready to reclaim his territory—only for Dick to slide in smoothly at the last second.

“Y/N!” Dick beamed, overly bright, already leaning his elbow on the back of your chair like he belonged there.

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Oh no you don’t, Dickhead.”

With all the grace of a man well-versed in brotherly warfare, he hauled Dick up by the collar and dragged him out of the seat with zero ceremony.

“Hey!” Dick protested, arms flailing like a cat being relocated. But Jason was already dropping into the seat beside you, triumphant.

Dick slunk across the table with a wounded pout, muttering something about uncalled-for violence.

You raised a brow at your boyfriend. “You know we practically live together. You see me every day.”

Jason scowled. “So do these assholes. They break into my apartment every day.”

Damian arched a brow from your other side, utterly unbothered. “Careful, Todd. Green isn’t your color.”

Dinner was… everything Jason feared.

Tim asked how you two met—twice—just to watch Jason twitch with increasing irritation.

Stephanie demanded relationship details with the energy of a late-night talk show host, bouncing in her seat as she eagerly listened to answer her questions.

Cass watched you in silence, head tilted with a quiet, steady kind of approval. She didn’t need words. She’d already decided she liked you.

And Dick?

Dick was the worst.

He had a seemingly endless supply of Jason’s most humiliating childhood stories, and he recited them with theatrical flair, smirking each time your laughter made Jason’s eye twitch.

Meanwhile, Bruce sat at the head of the table like a statue carved from shadow and marble. He didn’t speak much—hardly at all, in fact—he mostly just watched. His gaze never drifted far from you, sharp and evaluating, like he was measuring you against an invisible checklist. Determining whether you were worthy of his son.

Eventually, between the second course and murmured side conversations, Bruce set down his glass with a soft clink against the china.

“Y/N.”

Jason stiffened like someone had pulled a gun on him. You felt it in the sharp shift of his knee against yours beneath the table. Without looking, you placed a calming hand there.

Jason’s fork paused mid-air. “Bruce…”

You didn’t flinch. You turned to meet his gaze, calmly. “Yes?”

Bruce didn’t blink. “You’ve been with Jason for how long?”

“Almost a year,” you answered easily. “Give or take a few near-death experiences.”

Dick leaned back in his chair with a grin. “That’s basically a vow renewal in this family.”

Bruce continued, tone even. “And you know.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question. You nodded anyway. “Didn’t take long.”

“You stayed.”

“I did.”

Jason muttered, “Why does this feel like a background check with extra judgment?”

Bruce studied you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re aware of the risks.”

“I’ve had them explained,” you said dryly. “Repeatedly. With charts.”

Tim snorted into his drink. “Please tell me one of them was color-coded.”

“That was mine,” Damian muttered, arms crossed.

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Bruce’s mouth. It wasn’t often anyone got Damian’s seal of approval. 

Bruce went quiet for a moment, and the weight of his silence settled over the table. He studied you like a strategist surveying a battlefield.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Probably both. It’s part of the application process, right?”

Cass smiled behind her teacup. Steph stared at you with wide, glittering eyes and whispered to Jason, “Marry her.”

At that, something flickered in Bruce’s expression—approval, maybe. Something harder to name. Something deeper.

He nodded once, almost to himself. “You’ll be here for Sunday dinners moving forward.”

Jason nearly choked on his drink. “Are you serious?”

You ignored him, smiling sweetly. “Of course.”

“Babe!”

You patted his thigh. “Ignore him. We’ll be there.”

Dick leaned over, grinning at Jason’s dramatics. “Wow. He likes her more than he likes you.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Which, of course, meant: yes.

After dinner, Alfred insisted on tea.

Damian insisted on sitting next to you again—claimed it was “for tactical proximity,” though he was clearly just making sure no one else got the seat first.

Stephanie suggested you move into the manor under the guise of “Jason’s health,” citing stress levels and his lack of basic nutrition, and how beneficial it would be for the two of you two live here. Cass offered you her bedroom if the “shoebox you’re living in” ever became unbearable. Tim asked if you could cook, already planning meal rotations. And Dick—of course—invited you to game night next week with a wink and a warning: “Lose to Damian at your own risk.”

Jason looked like he was developing a migraine.

He sat beside you on the long couch in the grand living room, shoulders hunched like a man awaiting trial. Laughter echoed around the walls—walls he used to call cold and empty. 

Now they rang with bickering, teasing, warmth.

You nudged him gently with your elbow, barely hiding your smile. “Still want to fake my death and move to the Alps?”

Jason glanced at you.

Then at Damian, practically glued to your side like an emotionally constipated barnacle.

Then at Tim, who was deep in concentration trying to download your favorite show onto the Batcomputer, muttering about file formats and codec errors.

Then at Bruce—stoic, silent Bruce—watching his family with a small, unmistakable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jason sighed. A long, suffering sound, that was too dramatic to be sincere.

“…Yes.”

← Previous Chapter

Tag list: @stormz369, @gothamhappiness, @remmyswritings, @dominazina, @nicverse, @roastyyytoastyyy, @sunnyfield, @snowy-violets, @sh0jun, @chicarandom11, @oooof-ifellforyou, @esposadomd, @bmyva1entine, @salvatt1, @ghost-candyyy, @sofiafantasies, @leogf

[manicmanuscription]

By The Candlelight

Pairing(s): Azriel x Reader

Summary: When you and Azriel finally get a chance to sleep after traveling for so long he gets a glimpse of you through your shadow being reflected.

Word Count: 1041

Warnings: Mutual Pining, slight seduction, Azriel being a mess over reader. Forced proximity. Mostly written in Azriel's perspective.

Based on the request here. Thank you so much for your request enjoy!

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @cafekitsune

“Sorry.” Azriel had murmured as you finally, finally, reached the safe house. Although ‘house’ probably wasn’t the best term. It was more of a single room with walls. It could barely fit Azriel and his large frame but at least there was a small mattress and a sink so you weren’t complaining, happy to just finally be out of the cold and have the chance to rid your rain soaked leathers. “It’s usually just me staying here.” 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve stayed in worse.” You chirped, throwing your go-back on the mattress rifling through it as you looked for a change of clothes pulling out various daggers, healing potions and salves, and of course a few necessities for your hair.

“Sorry I was added to the mission so late. I don't mean to overstep or be a burden.” You mentioned a pang of guilt pulling on your heart. 

“You are not a burden.” Azriel said quickly from behind you. You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the determination in his words. 

A few moments of silence passed, the rain beating against the wooden walls, the very faint hum of magic as the few wards strained to keep this place concealed and warm.

Azriel shuffled closer so you were now standing shoulder to shoulder, his hand slightly brushing against yours and his breath hitched at the contact. He picked up your hairbrush and what looked like to be a bottle of face wash. “Really?” The Shadowsinger teased. “Rhys told us to pack light.” 

You flashed him a smile, snatching the items from his hands. “I may be a Spy, Azriel but I am still a female.” You said with a playful smile, simply brushing your wet hair over your shoulder. Your smile, the way you said his names- gods- it had his knees buckling slightly. 

You picked up your bundle of fresh clothes after stuffing everything else that wasn’t needed back in your bag and faced Azriel a few beats of silence passing, your face inches apart.  He was too focused by the faint blush on your cheeks to notice your timidness as you spoke shyly.

“I..need to change.” Your voice broke the moment of staring and Azriel cleared his throat. “Of course, my apologies.” He moved towards the door, a miracle it was still on its hinges, his hands brushing against the wooden knob when you spoke again. “You…don’t have to go outside, it's raining pretty bad.” 

Azriel froze momentarily. His heart was pounding in his ears, he was sure it roared louder than the clap of thunder that rolled across the mountain. Lightning was next, flashes of it echoing through small cracks in the walls.

“Alright.” Azriel finally spoke, his voice hoarse and he slid his hands in his pockets trying to hide the slight tremor that ran through them. He still faced the door but took a step back inside if only to appease you. 

He could hear your clothing being removed from behind him and a lump formed in his throat as lust and imagination clashed in his mind.

A few candles had automatically lit as the door opened when you two arrived and their light stayed a strong steady presence. He did his best to ignore your shadow perfectly casted on the wall, yet each movement you made had his eyes straying to the illusion there. The tiny space made your silhouette as accurate as possible and he did his best to breath through the desire that hit him like a brick. 

He needed you more than he needed anything or anyone in his life and right now you were playing a dangerous game, albeit unknowingly.

He couldn’t even feel the wetness that seeped into his leathers, no longer feeling the cold that had settled so firmly. His shadows dispersed even further away from him, settling underneath floorboards and cracks in the walls, their absence somehow making the candles brighter and his breath hitched as your shadow enhanced at the new light. He hissed under his breath and his shadows laughed at his dilemma.

A few more minutes of intense silence passed and he tried to focus on the rain, on the cracks in the floorboard, yet his eyes could not stop straying to your shadow, to your curves and elegant movement.

Azriel was sure his breathing had stopped and his mind had emptied of all other thought’s that weren’t about you. He was clenching his teeth so hard they might break. Shame and guilt tingled in his gut yet he could not look away.

Everything about you enchanted him and knowing that you were changing just a few paces behind him, knowing that you trusted him enough to do that? His cock struggled in the confine of his pants and his mind whirred at the possibilities. 

“Alright.” You spoke gently and he turned around slowly, drinking you in. You were wearing an old t-shirt that seemed just a little bit too big for you and some long sweatpants that hugged your thighs perfectly. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, staring at you with that intensity he always seemed to possess.

“Hope I didn’t take too long.” You whispered and he shook his head no, not trusting his voice. 

He was entranced with your movements as you set your bag on the floor, sliding underneath the covers of the mattress and moved over, very deliberately leaving a space for him there and his heart was going a million miles a minute, his breathing stopped as you started talking once again, it took him a minute to process your words as the sound of your voice hummed in his chest pleasantly, drowning everything else out. 

There was only you.

“Make sure to dry off before coming to bed.” 

He nodded, turning around and running his hands through his hair, trying to calm his heart and steady his breathing. Did you not see how you were affecting him?

How having you so close yet so far was physically painful. He ached for you and silently cursed Rhys for this mission. Azriel rolled his shoulders and reached for his own bag. His hearing hyper focused on the sound of your breathing, on every shift you made in the bed. 

Gods you were going to be the death of him. 

[deusfoundry]

if you keep it just yours (lads entertainment industry au)

mildly suggestive so id prefer if mdni pls thanks

idk just thinking about model!reader taking bodyguard!xavier to a photoshoot. and by this point, he's used to it. knows the ins and outs of such a high stress environment. knows that it's better for him to just slink away into a corner of the room with a bottle of water at the ready, waiting for your tired, pleading eyes to land on him, and he has try and stomp down on the butterflies in his stomach at the feeling of being needed. sought out by you.

because this is what his job calls for. to serve you. to eternally be at your beck and call. to throw his body between you and a bullet with no regards for his own safety.

except, he's not sure where exactly he stands on how he feels about you now as you step into set—a heart shaped bed in the middle of the room lined with white, silken sheets.

should he hate you? when you untangle the ribbon holding your robe together, letting the fabric slide down and pool around your feet to reveal the sheer babydoll dress that does nothing but tease the lace, corseted bodysuit you wear beneath—should he despise you? should he curse at the gods for the misery he feels in the form of his slacks tightening when you climb into bed and get into position—shifting around so that you're lying on your side, your bodyweight supported by your elbow digging into the mattress, legs angled in a way that causes the lace to ride up and show your panties and the flimsy string tied into a neat bow that holds it together.

or should he allow his feelings to run deeper? to take root and consume his very being when the photographer jokingly asks you to think of something—or someone, that gets you all hot and bothered so you sink further into character. and xavier watches, worried and with the slightest bit of jealousy, when your eyes flicker to life. first, with a spark of surprise as your face warms into the prettiest shade of pink. then, realization, your plump lips parting slightly.

and xavier would've missed it entirely had he not been tracking your every move this whole time—the way your eyes flit towards him, locking onto his own pools of ocean blue eyes. half a second, and it's gone, your eyes trained right back to the lens of the camera.

but half a second is all it takes for xavier's honor and dignity as a trained bodyguard—his resolve to wear thinner and thinner until it finally snaps at the same time as when you send a playful wink to the camera.

you've got him now. he's all yours—mind, body, and soul.

though in retrospect, you've had xavier since the moment you spilled a cup of scorching hot coffee on him on his first day.

a/n: my first xav fic we cheered!! im not sure if i wrote him in character so feedback is much appreciated thank u very much!

dividers by @cafekitsune

taglist (link on pinned): @ladyparamount @nezuswritingdesk @pixieskie @sahxrii @leighsartworks216 @bigclownshoes @solifloris @seris-the-amious @sorenflyinn

[gigabyte-flare]

The Ferocious Beast

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: After an intense night with your wolf Thiren partner, your unsuspecting daughter notices a peculiar mark on your skin. Lycaon wastes no time mischievously adding fuel to the fire.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: dubcon, unprotected p in v, pinning, biting, mating press, knotting, breeding kink, creampie, pregnancy mention

A/N: This came to be thanks to the horny thoughts of myself and @vampiricgf and my equally horny thoughts of Lycaon being a dad. I dedicate this to all my Lycaon besties in the little community we made on here! Line break divider by cafekitsune

You had no idea what had gotten into him. You had come home from work to find Lycaon making dinner, same as any other evening; your six year old daughter having come home a couple hours prior from school. She was sitting at the kitchen table drawing another picture of her Mommy and Daddy with her beloved crayons. Your heart warmed when you saw her tiny little ears flick forward at your arrival, wasting no time to jump up from her chair to give you a hug and welcome you home. Meanwhile, Lycaon simply looked over at you, a smirk crossing his lips before returning his attention to making dinner. He was strangely quiet for the rest of the evening until he put your daughter to bed.

You didn't even have time to react, immediately upon entering the bedroom, Lycaon had shut and locked the bedroom door and pinned you face first into your shared bed. Your pants were an absolute goner, having been torn off you and discarded before burying his face into your folds, inhaling your scent deeply.

"It took everything in me not ravish you as soon as you walked through the front door…" Lycaon had said with a breathy growl before gliding his tongue from your throbbing clit to your leaking hole.

Your body had shuddered, your fingers gripping into the sheets as your knees dug into the mattress, completely at Lycaon's mercy as he fucked you with this tongue. It wasn't until this very moment with your torso being pressed into the mattress by one of Lycaon's massive hands on your back as his cock rams into you that you realize that he is in his rut. His other hand gripping your hip like a vice, feeling his claws dig into your skin as you feel your cunt begin to stretch around his knot with each of his powerful thrusts.

Abruptly, he pulls out. You begin to whine in protest as drool spills from the corner of your mouth when he flips you over onto your back, his hands spreading your legs open to settle his hips against yours. His throbbing member has no trouble slipping back inside and he takes your legs and drapes them onto his shoulders, practically folding you in half as he resumes his grueling pace inside you. Grasping both your wrists, he pins your hands above your head as he lets out a guttural growl, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Let me give you my knot, my little dove…" he moans into you, his thrusts becoming slower but more powerful.

That nickname sends chills straight to your cunt, feeling your walls squeeze around his cock as his knot threatens to seal the two of you together.

A couple of tears involuntarily stream down the sides of your face as you nuzzle your face against his; finally, you give him a subtle nod before whispering, "go ahead, Lycaon…"

With a snap of his hips, you feel his knot pop inside you, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix with each thrust now. His instincts taking hold, his cock aggressively rabbits into you, his claws digging into your wrists as he practically fucks you into the mattress. He lets out another growl as his thrusts become more erratic until finally he pushes himself as deep inside you as he possibly can, his powerful jaw latching onto the crook of you neck as he comes. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come undone with him, moaning his name as your legs quiver on his shoulders as he pumps you full of his seed.

Once he comes down from his high, Lycaon's entire body weight collapses on top of you after moving your legs off his shoulders, feeling his tongue lap up where he had sunk his teeth into your neck as his arms wrap around your body. You drape your arms around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze as you kiss the side of his muzzle. Meanwhile your legs gently wrap around his waist, knowing full well his knot is going to keep the two of you sealed together for a majority of the night. It doesn't take long for exhaustion to consume you both and you drift into a dreamless sleep.

The smell of breakfast and coffee drags you from the realm of sleep, your eyes fluttering open only to wince at the sun pouring in from the windows, the gentle late summer breeze caressing your senses. You let out a loud yawn as you sit up in bed; Lycaon is unsurprisingly already up. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, your legs still a little wobbly from the previous night's escapade. Also unsurprisingly, you find Lycaon had already cleaned you up; how he didn't wake you is beyond you.

Putting on one of Lycaon's button up shirts and a pair of pajama shorts, you slowly make your way out into the kitchen, where you find your daughter and Lycaon already eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Upon seeing you come in, Lycaon immediately stands up.

"Good morning, my love," he says as he opens the oven, taking out a plate that he had been keeping warm for you, "I made you some pancakes with bacon. I do hope you enjoy them."

He sets the plate down just as you take a seat. You look up at him, smiling warmly at him as he walks back over to his seat to finish eating breakfast.

"Good morning, Mommy!" your daughter cheerfully greets you before biting a forkful of pancakes, a big smile spreading across her lips, "Daddy always makes the best pancakes!"

"He sure does, sweetie," you reply softly before taking a bite, closing your eyes to savor the flavor; fluffy and cooked just right.

"What's that on your neck?" your daughter suddenly asks.

Your eyes snap open, your right hand reaching over and feeling where Lycaon's teeth hand sunk into your neck the night before. You don't doubt that there's bruising, too.

Before you can even think of formulating some kind of response, Lycaon replies to your daughter's query as he takes a sip from his coffee mug, "your mother was attacked by a ferocious beast last night."

You look over at Lycaon just as he lowers his mug, the most devious smirk crossing his lips as he gives you a knowing look in his exposed eye. Your heart palpitating in your chest, you kick him under the table, which is immediately followed by a sharp pain going up your leg when your toes make contact with the metal of one of his prosthetic legs.

"Sh-- Ow!" you hiss silently as you reach down to massage your toes.

"What was that?!" your daughter once again asks.

"That would be the ferocious beast eating your mother's toes." Lycaon replies nonchalantly, that smirk still on his face as he closes his eye while taking another sip from his coffee.

"Oh no, not Mommy's toes!"

"Lycaon!" you say as you give him a playful shove to his shoulder.

You weren't sure if it was instinct or fate that a few weeks later, you decide to pick up a pregnancy test at the store after work. You can't say you were entirely surprised when the result came up positive.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Can you please write yandere headcanons for John wick x female reader? Thanks 🫶🫶

Sure! Here is what I could come up with. A cliche plot, but discussions with @johnwickb1tsch, and @treedaddypuff inspired this. I hope you like it.

Secret Garden

Category: Headcanons

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warning: Sexual themes, predator/prey coded, hints of cannibalism if you squint (not intended, only used as metaphor), NSFW, hints of power imbalance and the general yandere toxicity, the reader is a bit naive, allusions to violence and darker themes

Dividers by @cafekitsune

GIF belongs to the rightful owner, I am simply thankful to be able to use it.

Unedited. Pardon the errors.

In John’s eyes, you are a rabbit. Sniffing about with thumping feet and twitching ears. You are adorable in his eyes. But what do rabbits do when they sense a wolf nearby? Salivating, sharp-toothed creatures with eyes burning through your skin and peering into your very soul?

They run, of course. They run and hide away in their little burrows where no wolf can reach, even if it pleads that its intention was never to eat the rabbit.

In John’s eyes, you are a rabbit, and he knows that if you ever come to know of his true nature, you will run. And even thinking about that fills him with an odd cocktail of fury and arousal.

John knows that he is the worst of them all— the biggest, the baddest, with sharp claws and pointed teeth. If he were, literally, a wolf, he would practically drool at the very sight of you.

So he wraps himself up with a sheep’s skin. Drops his ears, curls his tail and lets his sharp eyes dilate into puppy-softness. He looks inviting, approachable, harmless and gentle. He bends to your level, wipes off the drool around his mouth, hides his tongue and teeth and waits. He waits and moves with an easy steadiness that wouldn’t startle you to alertness but will gently introduce him into your territory.

It does not come as terribly hard or boring, for the most part. John does not intend to sink his teeth into you; after all, he truly means no harm. He has to work on it, yes, but you are worth it; his love for you is worth it. 

To his relief, you do not sniff the danger that trails with his shadow, to his utter delight, you welcome him—not immediately, but you warm up to him eventually. The warmth seeps into his form. Maybe deep down, something in you knows that he means no harm?

You are a cautious person. Reserved in nature, the cautious trait has evolved within you with the life-lessons that came along the perks of being a wallflower. You observe, and try to learn. And over the years, you have learnt that precaution is always better than cure. Unless it’s love.

Love is supposed to be a free fall, surrender, and trust. But before that, you get to choose who you let in. That is where the role of caution begins and ends. Deciding whether someone is worth the free-fall after all.

If anything, John Wick has proven to be more than just worth it. He is everything and more. He is kind without noticing, his hands are calloused, but you feel the tenderness with which he holds you. A gentleman. That’s what John is. In more than a few ways.

He is gentle with the way he tries to read you and your perception, like he is admiring and trying to decipher you at the same time. You feel it in his gaze as it runs over your form with the perfect blend of heat and adoration. You feel it in the sincerity of his sweet brown orbs when they look into your eyes. 

He is considerate in the way he listens to you—even those drunken rambles—he leans in close and nods and smiles, laughs at your terrible jokes and scoffs when you laugh at yourself. He is considerate in the way he fixes your sink without you even having to say it, or even notice at times. He is considerate in the way he never forgets to restock your favourite seasonal fruits or snacks. He is considerate to keep track of your cycle even without you having to tell him.

John is considerate in many subtle and obvious ways, you often lose count of—because he brings consideration into mundane things, barely noticeable until you take a second look—you see ot then, and it warms your heart in dangerous ways. In ways you are afraid to imagine—like having a ring on your finger.

John is observant too. He notices the smallest of twitches, the slightest of falters and changes and he is grasping it like he has a special training on it or something. You admit that initially, it was unsettling, but you settled eventually. You are now used to him mentioning something you do not even remember telling him. It must have been one of the many unconscious or off-handed comments you make in passing. But nothing escapes John’s notice, you realise. Dog nose. He has a dog nose, but for information. 

John makes you feel heard, seen and appreciated. What more can you ask for? What more would you want? What more would anyone want?

John is more than what you could ask for. 

And yet, there is something deep inside your brain that holds back from that freefall, the complete surrender. You are in love with John, you do not doubt that because it seeps into your every thought, your every action. Every other thing reminds you of something related to him, or of him. It’s like every road leads you to him. And yet, something in you simply refuses to settle in and be at complete ease.

Not that you are not comfortable with him, he makes sure that you are. But you are a cautious creature by nature. Skittish even at times.

And you feel that tiny part of your brain throbbing, calling your attention when you realise that John listens deeply, for long, but prefers not to speak much. He works in the ‘crisis management’ department of an expansive and looming organisation. And there are various non-disclosure documents he has already signed, so digging for more information is futile. He follows the rules, you realise–with military precision and discipline. 

You feel that part of your brain flutter along with your stomach when his reflexes show. The glass of water about to fall and ruin your dress? His hands stop it faster than you can succumb to your fate. Sure, must be a stressful and demanding job, you surmise when he waves his hand and says ‘practice’ with a tone that feels deliberate in its casual approach.

You feel that part of your brain nudging at you when you trace his tattoos. The ink on his skin, mostly his back and the slump of his shoulders. You trace and map them with your fingers and feel the faintest of shivers passing through his body, and then the stiffness when you question. ‘Fortune favours the bold’, the Latin words translate. Something he learnt in his early years and decided to etch on his skin, he tells you. He has a reason and tale for every other tattoo of his– fascination, local band, his birthplace, his childhood. You believe every story behind each of the tattoos, you have no reason not to. 

And yet, that tiny, annoying part of your brain is persistent. It points out that his stories are either too vague or too specific. Short and flat. There is no fondness in his tone or eyes, not even close to the kind of tenderness and excitement they have when talking about you and your relationship— his thoughts, his experience involving you. No, these stories sound more or less like reports. That tiny part of your brain keeps telling you that he is holding back. 

But it is tiny, hence easier to ignore, especially when his hands are parting your thighs, especially when he looks at you with reverence. There is the kind of vulnerability in his soulful brown eyes that swats away all the wisps of doubts. 

And yet you cannot bring yourself to squash that part of your brain. Not when his eyes darken the way that makes him seem like something that sits on the top of the food chain and a part of you wants to run. But you tell yourself it is the light that falls that way, an illusion, a lie. 

The mindful part of your brain screams when you play chase with him. It is the loudest then. You feel his feet drumming against the floor, but barely hear him. You run as fast as you can—adrenaline pumping, heart thundering. You know that the fear is never real, just something primal. But it overtakes your senses as you push yourself to outrun him, not with any competitive intent, but with a deep-seated survival instinct that rings abruptly shrill and persistent, telling you to run and hide.

But John is fast, quick and silent on his feet. Quiet and precise to the point it feels dangerous. His grip is iron when he catches you, taking the impact on the ground if you both lose balance, or simply picking you up like he is picking his favourite fruit from the ground—easy, smooth and quick. You feel weightless and powerless at those moments, and that instinct in you screams, makes your legs fail, and your heart drop to your stomach. As if you are being hunted. 

But how can it be true? It is just John, smiling, laughing, breathing, mixing with yours when he slants  his lips on yours, swallowing every little sound you make. You are safe, you are safe, you are safe. You have to keep reminding yourself for a few moments before the bells stop ringing and the instinct and fear return to their burrows.

But that faint throb in your brain refuses to be silenced. It turns bolder when you look into his dark eyes, when he wrestles you under him. You may laugh playfully, but your stomach flutters with anticipation and a kind of thrill that one gets on dancing with danger. His eyes always appear darker after a chase, like you have struck the right spot and something in him is howling. He looks wild with his tresses over his face and his eyes peering through them—something close, barely hidden, but still out of your reach. 

That faint throb in your brain, however, is no match for the fire that ignites in your abdomen when his hands reach all the right places. Sliding between your legs, fingers in your mouth, or around your throat. Just caressing, never pressing, simply testing.

Everything is forgotten with the taste of milk and honey. You can barely remember your name with just his fingers against your walls, slow, deliberate and precise. Curving the right way, at the right place and you have the moon and stars floating before your eyes. You want to remember nothing, you remember nothing but John. Your John, who makes you feel craved and desired. Who is not shy of showing how hungry he is for you. All the time, every time.

Oh, how beautiful bliss is! The sense of surrender when his manhood slides beyond your throbbing, slick nether lips, fitting right in where it belongs. As if something had been taken away from you by the divine and then returned as a reward. As if your years without John had been your penance. You are his and he is yours. In this moment, you feel the ring wrapping around your finger. You feel you need no ring, you have him inside you, fusing into your soul, reaching and discovering the deepest parts of you in ways you could have never imagined before.

But every time you dare to and are compelled to open your droopy eyes, you see a crazed look— a storm being, a darkness that can swallow you whole, and you shiver. You shiver with something unknown. The tiny part of your brain never stopped throbbing, you realise. It is just easier to ignore when you are at the pinnacle of passion.

You often gasp when he dips down at the curve of your neck and his teeth graze against your pumping vein. Your mind is a battlefield there— the urge to surrender and embrace whatever agony he feels to be capable of rewarding you with, fights against that deep-rooted survival instinct that makes you squirm and try to move. It ends with your leg thrown over his shoulder and body bent to an angle that has your vision darkening with each thrust. The most delicious, intense torment, hell and heaven merging, and you tip-toe between salvation and damnation. 

Instincts, doubts, caution, everything is overshadowed by his name. John, John, John. It leaves your lips like prayers, but it is you who feels worshipped. A part of your soul feels infected with him, and you will gladly take it. You will take his energy, his deeds, his past, his present, every part of him. 

You bloom, only for him, to your fullest, to your widest, to your happiest.

Like the fragrance of a delicate dawn-bloom on the damp soil, he lingers in you long after he has pulled out. He lingers in you in the form of the essence that dribbles down your thighs, he lingers in the form of the musk that surrounds you. He lingers in the form of the comforting numbness that comes when he caresses you like you can break with one wrong press. His lips kiss over every mark, every place you have felt his hold tightening. He lingers with you, holding you, and that is when that tiny, annoying and persistent part of your brain goes completely silent.

You have never felt any safer, no pair of arms has managed to bring you the comfort and elation like John’s do. So you close your eyes and sit with him in the bathtub, imagining that the world is empty and it is just two of you as he tends to you like he is tending to a garden— precise, careful, loving and attentive. 

Instincts are always powerful. John has learnt that a long time ago. But for you, he can manage it. As long as he has to wait. At least until he has his ring binding you to him forever. He has donned the sheep skin for so long, it now feels like a second skin. Maybe it has even grown into him— but for you. Only you.

His teeth still glint and his claws remain sharp. But he is patient and loving. He does not give in to his instinct of devouring you whole, even if something in him keeps screaming and demanding to do so. No, he does not want to frighten his little rabbit. 

John loves you with every atom of his being, but he cannot deny what that surprised and fearful flash in your sweet eyes does to him. It makes his teeth itch and his claws sharpen.

The chase only makes it worse. When he catches you, his manhood throbs, demanding a reward. You, lying under him has the most primal gears of his brain turning. 

John’s instincts demand that he sinks his teeth into you and tear and twist you until he has your soul and devour it. Have the taste of the light he is so undeserving of yet so tempted by.

He has been trained to hunt, and watching at your endearing efforts to outrun him make his limbs move even before he realises it.

But John is not a monster. Not to you, at least. He loves you. So he satisfies himself with only grazing your delicious skin with his teeth, plunging his length as deep as he can into you, hoping to touch every part of you until he has you tained by him and shielded from the world. 

John’s instincts demand that he claims you– body, mind, heart and soul. Yes, your soul is what he covets the most. And he knows he is closer when your eyes flutter cloe in momentary surrender.

You fall apart so beautifully for him. Eyes wide with desire with wild mewls and screams. The wolf in him is temporarily sated, to see you so plaint under him, so welcoming, so receptive, so responsive. 

He takes pride at the traces of your nails behind his back, your nails, your fingers bruising his biceps and your teeth marking his shoulders.

You do not even bite down, just hold, ground yourself and he lets you. But a part of him wants you to bite down, to scratch harder until he bleeds, dig your nails over those cursed inks and overpower his past deeds with you light, with your love. He wil have something permanent of you on him, something permanent he actually wants. 

But alas! You don’t. You hold back, just like the way you hold back from complete surrender that he wants, needs. He cannot have your soul if you do not let yourself go and embrace the free fall. He will catch you, he always will. But his little rabbit is cautious by nature.

He feels it when he looks at you from between your legs. He sees it in your eyes when you sink on your knees for him. He feels it in the tremble of your lips, the movement of your head with his hand siting your hair while your mouth devotes itself to him, taking him deep and good. But it can never match his devotion, not until you surrender to this love like he has. 

You hold back, not wanting to hurt him, and it makes John chuckle. Sweet thing, as if you can ever hurt him. 

But he is close, he knows he is. He can almost taste it on his tongue, like he tastes you.

Like morning dew on flower petals, your arousal sticks on your nether lips, served for him to lick clean. He can settle for devouring this for now.

You squirm as if you have any chance to run. Escape? From him? It makes him want to throw his head back and laugh, but it so makes something boil in him. So he holds you tighter. If you you can never silence that caution in your brain, he will. He will bend you to silence it, tear it out of you and fill that part of your brain with his name. 

That faint throb never goes away. It may be silenced for a while, but it comes back every time. Slow and steady, it climbs to the surface of your brain, the closest it has ever been, when you return to your shared home from work hours earlier one day.

It rings a bell. Faint, when you catch John’s cologne lingering in the air as soon as you unlock the door. But slightly louder when you see the basement door, that is always locked, unlocked for the first time since you moved in with him. 

The cautious, alert part of your brain turns bolder and bolder with a strange flutter in your stomach when you descend down the stairs.

The bells ring louder when you see a perfectly clean and secure basement when he has told you that it has some faulty walls and doorways so he had to shut it down permanently.

The bells, though begin to ring shrilly when you find two briefcases laying on the floor and a work table with a vintage phone sitting on it .

When you click open the briefcases, your ears are ringing. The faint voice of caution in your head now screams for you to flee as you look at the various knives, guns and syringes in one briefcase and lines of gold coins on the other.

You move on pure instinct then, following  the voice, glad that it never gave up on you, relieved and horrified that it proved to be right. As you climb the stairs, your hands are sweaty, stomach is in knots and your heart paces erratically, as if you have run miles.

But your heart skips a beat and the bells turn into drums that beat at your survival instinct when you see John casually leaning against the kitchen island, on your way. Right on your path, blocking it.

He looks the same but feels foreign. Eyes once so kind are now dark and stormy. You know that you are looking into the eyes of something that is ready to pounce, something that is at the top of the food chain and it knows that.

His eyes move between the basement door wide open and you before his lips curve into something unfamiliar and cruel, like the glint in his eyes.

“Run” John whispers gleefully.

And you do, despite knowing the outcome already, you give into your instinct, just like he does. Finally.

****

[skyguytoast]

Between the Sheets & Lies - Dilf!Anakin x you

SYNOPSIS: Dilf!Anakin Dilf!Anakin finally meets you for the first time without screens separating.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k 

WARNINGS: +18, infidelity, cheating, age gap (Anakin is in his 40s and the reader is of legal age), daddy kink, spanking, unprotected sex, kinda dirty talk

A/N: Hello everyone, I really appreciate the comments and reblogs! 💖 Seriously, you guys make me the happiest girl in the world! ✨ Sorry for the delay in bringing the second part, I swear I didn't want to keep you waiting, but college is tough and the internships are taking up more energy than I would like. 😵‍💫Anyway, thank you once again! I hope you enjoy reading! 🥰 As always, comments, likes and reblogs mean everything to me and motivate me to keep improving! 💖Kisses and good reading! Dividers by @cafekitsune

There was no turning back.

Anakin had already fallen down the rabbit hole, and he had no desire to crawl his way back out. After that passionate video call—the one that left him breathless, aching, wanting—you consumed him. He had thought that giving in, indulging in those late-night whispers and teasing glances, might quench the fire burning between you.

But it hadn’t.

It was like striking a match and dropping it into a bucket of gunpowder. The explosion of heat had swallowed him whole, curling around his body, leaving him restless, burning for more.

The logical part of his mind knew this was wrong. Cheating, no matter how he justified it, was still cheating. Padmé didn’t deserve this. But damn, resisting you has become impossible. Your easy laughter, your light teasing, the way your body seemed designed to drive him insane—you had stolen his heart before he even realized it was missing. You lived in his head now, imprinted on his thoughts, and he craved you in a way that scared him.

But it was too late for guilt.

Anakin exhaled sharply, shaking off the whirlwind of conflicted emotions. There was no room for second thoughts anymore. He opened the car door and stepped out, handing the key to the valet before walking into the luxurious hotel. He had chosen one on the other side of the city—somewhere far from prying eyes, away from familiar faces.

At the bar, he ordered a whiskey on the rocks, the cool glass grounding him as he folded his arms on the counter, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. The anticipation coiled tight in his stomach, equal parts excitement and anxiety. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking slow sips, but it did little to steady him.

Because soon, you would walk through those doors. And for the first time, there would be no screen between you. No teasing messages. No blurry video calls.

Just you. In front of him. Skin against skin.

And Anakin had never wanted anything more.

"Hello, stranger."

Your voice cut through Anakin’s thoughts, snapping him back to the present. That same playful greeting—the one from your very first message—sent a rush of heat straight to his chest. Gosh. He hadn’t known back then just how much you would unravel him, how deeply you’d sink into his bones.

He practically knocked over his chair in his haste to stand, his movements far less composed than he would have liked. You smiled, amused by his clumsiness. It was ironic—Anakin Skywalker, a retired general, a man who had once commanded legions with unwavering precision, now reduced to a nervous wreck. You made him feel like a foolish, lovesick boy, all fluttering stomach and sweaty palms. The blush creeping up his neck only added to the ridiculousness of it all.

And yet, he didn’t care.

"Bunny." His voice was warm, filled with something dangerously close to adoration. A slow, devastating smile spread across his handsome face, the slight creases at the corners of his eyes only making him more irresistible. Age had been kind to him—too kind, really. Like a fine wine, he had only grown more confident, more devastatingly attractive.

His gaze raked over you, drinking in every inch. "Maybe by the end of tonight, I’ll finally learn your real name?" His voice was smooth, teasing, but his eyes told a different story—dark, wanting, hungry.

And you had given him plenty to admire.

The pink ribbon tying your hair back cascaded like silk down your bare back, the color so soft against your skin it almost looked sinful. Pink was your color—there was no denying that. His eyes trailed lower, taking in the way your delicate sleeveless crop top clung to you just right, accentuating the graceful curves of your body. The fabric hugged your chest, your cleavage framed in a way that was both teasing and effortlessly elegant.

But what really did him in was the skirt.

Short. Ruffled. Hugging your hips like it had been made just for you. Every slight movement sent it fluttering, barely covering what it was meant to hide. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his gaze dropped further. The white stockings that hugged your legs made his pulse spike, the dainty pink bows at the tops pushing him dangerously close to losing his composure.

Anakin exhaled sharply, tilting his head as he let his eyes drag back up to yours.

"You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?"

And damn, you might just succeed.

A mischievous smile curled at the corner of your lips, your eyes glinting with playful challenge. "I imagine you’d like it—my hands around your neck," you teased, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed his face. The way his jaw tensed, the subtle flare of his nostrils—it only fueled your shameless flirting.

Without breaking eye contact, you took the glass of whiskey from his hand, lifting it to your lips. The amber liquid burned smoothly down your throat, leaving a tantalizing sheen on your mouth as you set the glass back down with a soft clink.

Anakin exhaled sharply, his voice dropping into something low and ragged. "Don’t tease me, little girl."

That warning—deep, husky, thick with barely contained restraint—sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You knew exactly what you were doing. And so did he.

Your smile widened, sweet and coy, a perfect contrast to the fire simmering between you. "The conversation is great," you mused, trailing a delicate finger along his forearm, "but maybe you’d like to show me the room you booked?" A pause. A tilt of your head. "I heard it has a hot tub."

Anakin smirked, slow and wolfish, his gaze raking over you like he was already envisioning you in far less than what you were wearing. "Oh, darling," he murmured, his hand sliding possessively against the small of your back, the heat of his palm searing through the fabric. "It’s presumptuous of you to think I’m going to let you out of bed."

His grip tightened slightly as he guided you toward the elevator. And as the doors slid shut behind you, sealing you both inside, your pulse quickened with the undeniable truth—you didn’t want to escape anyway.

As soon as the elevator doors began to close, the last remnants of restraint shattered. Every ounce of decency Anakin had been clinging to dissolved into nothingness. There was no time to think, no moment to question what you were doing—only the raw, undeniable pull between you. It was as if your bodies had been waiting for this, for the inevitable collision that neither of you could resist. Despite this being your first time meeting face to face, you moved together with an intoxicating, almost fated synchronicity.

Then his mouth was on yours—hot, demanding, desperate. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, only the flaming hunger that had been building between you for far too long. His lips pressed firmly against yours, claiming, consuming, devouring. The kiss was a storm, wild and uncontrollable, his breath mingling with yours as he pulled you closer, impossibly close. His hands, large and heated, gripped your waist possessively, as if afraid you’d slip away, as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, swallowed by his kiss, and it only seemed to ignite him further. His fingers dug into your hips as your own hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the soft, sandy strands, eliciting a deep, needy groan from him. His body pressed against yours, pinning you against the cool metal of the elevator wall, the contrast of heat and cold making you shiver.

Time ceased to exist. There was only the dizzying sensation of his lips slanting over yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting, exploring, owning. Every movement, every touch sent sparks dancing beneath your skin, pooling heat low in your stomach.

By the time you both pulled back—just enough to gasp for air—his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged, his eyes dark with want. "Fuck," he murmured, his voice rough, his thumb tracing your swollen bottom lip. "I’ve wanted to do that since the moment you said hello."

And by the way your body melted against his, by the way your fingers still trembled in his hair, he knew you had wanted it just as much.

Anakin's heart pounded in his chest as he held you against him, his breathing ragged and uneven. The taste of you was still on his tongue, the sweetness of your lips seared into his mind. He couldn't believe this was happening, that he finally had you in his arms, your body pressed flush against his own. It felt like a dream, a fantasy come to life, but the way you trembled and clung to him was undeniably real.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmured, his voice a low, heated rasp against your skin. "To have you here, to touch you, to taste you..."

His hands slid down from your hips, gripping your ass possessively, squeezing the firm globes as he pulled your hips snugly against his own, his large hand almost slipping under your tiny pink ruffled skirt. You could feel his erection, hard and insistent, pressing against your stomach through the fabric of his pants. The evidence of his desire was impossible to hide, throbbing and aching for you, for the feel of your bare skin against his own.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. His fingers slipping beneath the hem of your top to caress the smooth, warm skin of your back. "I want to map out every curve and hollow until I know your body as well as I know my own."

Anakin's hands practically closed on your waist, feeling the heat of your deliciously hot and sinful body. "Tell me what you want, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Tell daddy what you need."

You whimpered, a mix of desire and excitement embracing your body like a second skin, the older man's words only stirring the fire that was blooming inside you. "I, I want to go to a room, daddy, I need you so fucking much."

Anakin felt an animalistic thrill surge through him at your breathless plea, your needy little whimper sending all his blood rushing south to his aching cock. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted you in this moment, never craved the feeling of being buried inside a tight, wet cunt more than he did now.

"Daddy's gonna make your wish come true, baby," Anakin murmured seductively, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head, the affectionate gesture not being enough to disguise the sexual desire that was building inside him.

He grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers with his own, and quickly led you out of the elevator and down the hallway. He could hear the distant sound of drinks being served and cocktails being prepared at the bar, but it faded into the background, unimportant and insignificant compared to the pounding of his own heart and the catch of his breath in his throat.

"Daddy's going to take such good care of you, sweetheart," he promised darkly, opening the door to his room and pulling you inside. "Gonna make you feel so fucking good."

The hotel room was nothing short of extravagant—spacious and bathed in warm, ambient lighting. A massive bed dominated the center of the room, its silky sheets practically begging to be rumpled. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the starry sky, the long, heavy curtains drawn open as if inviting the universe to witness what was about to unfold. A sleek coffee table sat in front of a chic white sofa, a bucket of ice cradling a bottle of champagne, waiting to be uncorked.

Anakin’s large hand rested against the small of your back, his touch firm yet possessive as he guided you inside. You hesitated for a moment, taking in the opulence around you. This wasn’t just a luxury suite—it was a penthouse. The sheer indulgence of it sent a thrill through you. You knew he was rich—after all, men didn’t sign up for sites like the one where you met unless they had more money than they knew what to do with—but this? This was something else entirely.

Still, the thought barely had time to linger. Because Anakin was right there—his body heat enveloping you, his scent intoxicating, his presence so overwhelming it made your head spin. Every nerve in your body buzzed with awareness, your pulse quickening as his fingertips ghosted along your spine. The wealth, the luxury, the sheer extravagance of it all faded into the background.

All that mattered now was him.

Anakin couldn't keep his hands off you as he led you into the lavish suite, his large palm resting possessively against the small of your back. He could feel the warmth of your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes, the way your body yielded to his touch, molding against his own. It set his blood on fire, the simple act of having you close, of finally touching you after weeks of aching with want.

"Do you like it, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble as he watched you take in the opulent surroundings. "I wanted everything to be perfect for you. For your first time with daddy."

He led you further into the room, his fingers trailing down to the curve of your ass, squeezing the firm globe possessively. He could feel the way it fit in his hand, the way your body was made to be touched, to be claimed by him. He spun you around to face him, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

"You're the only thing that matters to me right now," he said softly, his blue eyes blazing into yours. "The only thing I want to focus on, the only thing I want to devour."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a burning kiss, one that stole your breath and set your world ablaze. His tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours, exploring every inch of the sweet cave. He tasted you deeply, thoroughly, as if he wanted to memorize the flavor of you.

"Strip for me," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Slowly. I want to watch you, baby. Want to see every inch of skin as it's revealed to me."

His gaze was intent, hungry, as he took a step back to watch you, his eyes roaming over your curves, waiting for the show he had demanded. His cock was already straining against the confines of his pants, thick and hard and aching for your touch. But he wanted to savor this moment, wanted to watch you bare yourself to him, piece by tantalizing piece.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, a mix of nervous anticipation and electric excitement coursing through your veins. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was real, it felt overwhelming—devastatingly intense, yet utterly intoxicating.

Your gaze flickered to the champagne, the golden liquid shimmering under the soft glow of the room’s lighting. "Can you pour me a drink first?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question carried a teasing edge, but the way your teeth sank into your lower lip betrayed your need for just a little more courage.

The thought of putting on a show for him—just for him—made your pulse race. And fuck, you wanted to savor every second of it.

Anakin's lips curved into a wicked smirk at your request, his eyes glinting with shadowed temptation. He could see the anticipation sparkling in your eyes, the nervous excitement that made your cheeks flush a pretty pink. It thrilled him, the way you were eager to please him, to play along with his games.

"Of course, sweetheart," he purred, his voice a low, indulgent rumble. "Daddy will get you anything you want."

He crossed over to the sleek coffee table, popping the cork on the champagne bottle with a satisfying pop. The golden liquid fizzed and bubbled as he poured it into a flute, the bubbles dancing and swirling, just like the thoughts racing through his mind.

"Here you go, baby," he said, holding the glass out to you. "A little liquid courage, just for you."

His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the champagne, the brief contact sending a jolt of electricity shooting up your arm. He watched as you brought the glass to your lips, watched the way your throat worked as you swallowed, the way your breasts rose and fell with each breath.

"Now, why don't you put that down and start dancing for me?" he coaxed, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

"As you wish," you purred, flashing him a confident smile as you handed him the half-empty champagne glass. With a slow, deliberate motion, you reached for your phone, fingers gliding over the screen until you found the perfect song—I Like You Best by Ella Red. The sultry, hypnotic melody was exactly what you needed.

As the first notes filled the air, you stepped onto the coffee table, your high heels clicking softly against the glass surface. The added height sent a thrill through you, an unspoken declaration that you were in control. You tossed your head back, letting your hair cascade in waves, swaying to the rhythm, your body moving with effortless, sensual grace.

Anakin turned on the couch, eyes dark and locked onto you, utterly captivated. His fingers curled around the champagne flute, forgotten in his grasp, as his gaze followed every slow roll of your hips, every teasing shift of your body. There was something heady about the way he watched you—like a starving man savoring his first meal in ages.

A smirk played on your lips as you let your hands skim down your sides, fingertips trailing over your thighs before slowly dragging back up. You arched your back slightly, accentuating every movement, making sure he felt the way you commanded the space between you.

"Enjoying the view?" you teased, voice dripping with mischief as you met his gaze through heavy lashes.

Anakin exhaled sharply, jaw tight, his grip flexing around the glass. "You have no idea."

You bit your lip, loving the way his voice had dropped, husky and thick with desire. Emboldened, you turned, swaying your hips as you moved to the beat, your hands sliding up your body before tossing your hair over one shoulder.

And when you finally met his eyes again, the fire burning in them told you everything you needed to know—

He was already undone.

Anakin gripped the champagne flute tighter, the delicate crystal creaking under his restrictive hold. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming faster as he watched you dance, watched you move with a sensual grace that stole the very breath from his lungs. The way you arched your back, the teasing slide of your hands over your curves, it was enough to drive a man to madness.

"Fuck, baby, you're even more gorgeous than I imagined," he groaned, his voice a low, awe-struck rumble. "Watching you dance like that, teasing me with this sexy body... It's enough to make a man lose his mind."

He took a long swig of the champagne, the golden liquid burning a trail down his throat. But it was nothing compared to the fire scorching through his veins, the inferno of lust and desire burning hot and wild in his gut. He set the glass down on the table with a sharp clink, his full attention focused solely on you.

"Come here, sweetheart," he commanded, his finger beckoning you closer. "Let me touch you. Need to feel every inch of your skin against mine."

He rose from the couch, his tall frame unfolding with predatory grace. His eyes never left yours as he stalked towards you, his gaze intense and hungry, full of sinful devotion. When he reached you, he didn't hesitate, his large hands coming up to grip your hips, pulling your body flush against his own.

"Ani-" Your voice was cut off by a gasp as his lips claimed your own in a blazing kiss, his tongue delving deep, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. His hands roamed your curves greedily, squeezing and kneading, mapping out every dip and swell, committing the feel of you to memory.

"I need you naked," he breathed against your mouth. "Need to see all of you. Want to touch and taste every inch of this perfect body."

“and you will, love, you just need patience” You teased him, the sensual flirtation rolling off your tongue, as you pushed him back, Anakin slumped down on the couch. “No one ever told you that the best things take time…” you added, tracing his jaw with your finger.

Humming a playful tune, you turned and bent at the waist, displaying the curve of your ass as you slipped the other sock off your foot. You swung your leg up, placing your heel on Anakin's muscular thigh, the spiked stiletto digging in slightly as you traced your toes up his thigh.

Slowly, teasingly, you rolled the sock down your other leg, letting out a soft giggle as you tossed it playfully at Anakin's chest. It landed on his shoulder as you straightened up, one hand trailing down your outer thigh while the other reached for the zipper of your skirt.

You faced Anakin, one hand playing with the zipper tab while the other trailed up your stomach, fingering the hem of your skirt. Licking your full lips, you rolled your hips slowly, teasingly, the skirt riding up to reveal a glimpse of creamy skin and pink lace as you swayed to the sultry melody.

“the cat got your tongue, daddy?” you teased him mischievously, with a hint of fun.

A lustful chuckle rumbled from Anakin's chest at your playful taunt. His hand slid up your other calf, squeezing the soft skin as he tugged you closer, encouraging you to wrap your leg fully around his thigh. He could feel the heat of your skin through the thin lace of your panties, could feel the way your muscles flexed as you shifted your stance.

"No, baby. It's just that I'm too busy admiring the view to say much," he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative growl. "This sexy little tease you're giving me... I could watch you strip for hours."

He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He started at your knee, trailing his lips slowly upward, his breath hot and heavy against your thigh. He could smell the sweet scent of your arousal, could feel the anticipation building as he approached the lace barrier of your panties.

"You taste deliciously," he groaned against his skin, nuzzling into the sensitive flesh just above where he wanted to be most. "Sweet and soft and fucking perfect."

He nipped lightly at the lace, his teeth grazing the damp fabric, before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hands slid up to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, grinding your core against the thick ridge of his cock. He was hard as steel, straining against his pants, the heat of him scorching you even through the layers of clothing separating you.

"Keep going, sweetheart," he urged, his fingers kneading into the globes of your ass. "Don't stop teasing me now. Daddy wants to see everything his little bunny is capable of"

You smirked deviously as you reached for the hem of your top, your fingertips teasing along the fabric before slowly peeling it upwards. Anakin's eyes darkened with lust as more and more of your taut stomach was revealed, the soft skin smooth and unblemished. His hands slid around to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes as he pulled you harder against him, grinding his clothed erection against your core.

Humming with delight, you continued your slow striptease, your top swelling higher and higher until it was just below your breasts. Anakin's breath caught in his throat as he caught a tantalizing glimpse of the lacy edge of your bra, his fingers flexing against your skin. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, the raw, primal desire emanating from his every pore.

Reaching back, you unclasped your bra with a deft flick of your wrist, letting it fall away to reveal the perfect globes of your breasts. They were even more paradisiacal than Anakin had imagined, the rosy peaks of your nipples already pebbled with neediness. He felt his mouth go dry at the sight, his cock throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his pants.

"Don't stop now, baby," he growled, his voice rough with want. "Let me see all of you. I want to worship every inch of this pretty body."

With a wicked grin, you shimmied out of your top, letting it pool on the floor beside you. You draped your arms over his shoulders, linking your fingers behind his neck as you pressed your naked tits against his chest. The feeling of your bare skin against his own was electric, sending sparks of pleasure zinging through his body.

You could feel the blistering heat of Anakin's gauze as it raked over your newly exposed breasts, his blue eyes clouded with hunger and desire. His hands immediately came up to cup the soft mounds, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he squeezed and kneaded. He dipped his head down to capture a rosy peak in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before suckling greedily.

"Ani!" Your gasp of pleasure dissolved into a moan as he lavished attention on your breasts, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to drive you wild with lust. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your body with a fervor that set your nerves alight.

"You have such perfect tits, baby," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with lust. "Can't get enough of them. Could spend hours just playing with these sexy little nipples."

To his emphasize point, he rolled the stiff peaks between his fingers, pinching and tugging lightly, sending jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core. His other hand slid down to palm your ass, squeezing the rounded globe possessively as he pulled your hips flush against his own.

"Fuck, I want to bend you over my knee and spank this sweet little ass until it's red and aching," he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Want to see my handprints all over this perfect body."

The image of him disciplining you, dominating you, feels a fresh gush of moisture to your core. You could feel your panties growing damp, your cunt clenching around nothing, wanting to be filled.

"Then maybe I should take this off too," you purred teasingly, reaching back to play with the bow at the waistband of your skirt. "Daddy wants to see all of me?"

Anakin's eyes flashed with a wicked gleam at your breathless words, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, the skirt stays on for now, sweetheart. But these pretty little panties..."

His large hands slid around to grip the waistband of your underwear, thumbs hooking into the delicate lace. With a swift tug, he yanked them down your legs, letting them drop to your ankles before you stepped out of them, now clad in nothing but the tiny, frilly skirt.

"Mmm, much better," he purred, drinking in the sight of you, his gaze burning a path down your curves. "You look good enough to eat, baby."

He settled you back onto his lap, your bare ass nestled against his muscular thigh. His hand came down to squeeze the soft globe, kneading the supple flesh, feeling it give way beneath his palm.

"But this naughty little butt needs some attention too," he growled, punctuating his words with a sharp smack to your rear. "Making daddy wait so long, teasing me with this sexy body... It earned you a punishment."

He continued to spank your ass, alternating cheeks, building a rhythm. The sting of each slap sent jolts of pleasure shooting through you, your nerves sparking with electricity. You could feel yourself growing wetter with each smack, your cunt clenching and fluttering around nothing.

"You like that, baby?" he murmured, his voice a dark, approving rumble. "Like feeling daddy's hand on this sweet little ass? I think you do. I think my naughty girl is getting off on being spanked."

He punctuated his words with another sharp smack, his fingers digging into the reddening flesh of your ass. His cock throbbed against your thigh, rock hard and straining against his pants, aching to plunge into your dripping heat. But he held back, determined to take his time with you, to make you beg for it.

Anakin continued his relentless assault on your ass, his large hand coming down again and again in a tempting rhythm. Each sharp smack sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through you, your skin starting to flush a deep, rosy pink. He could feel the heat building in his flesh, could see the way it was turning a pretty shade of red under his ministrations.

“Fuck, you have the most perfect butt,” baby, he groaned, squeezing the reddened globe roughly. "Love seeing it pink and tender like this, marked by my hand."

His fingers dug into your soft skin, kneading and kneading, as he continued to rain down smacks to your rear. Your breathing grew heavier, your chest heaving with each sharp sting, your nipples pebbled and aching. The pleasure was like a gift from heaven, the anticipation building to a fever pitch inside you.

"Please, Anakin," you whimpered, grinding your hips subtly against his thigh. "Please, I need... I need more."

"What do you need, sweetheart?" he purred, his hand pausing its brutal assault. "Tell daddy what you need."

"I... I need your cock," you breathed out, unable to hold back any longer. "Please, I'm so empty. I need you inside me, filling me up. I want to feel you throbbing deep in my pussy."

"That's my good girl," he praised, his thumb coming down to rub over your swollen, aching clit.

Anakin's eyes darkened with lust as he watched his ass turn a deep, pretty shade of red from his relentless spanking. He could see the need and desperation building in your eyes, hear it in your breathy pleas. His cock throbbed almost painfully, straining against his pants, the tip already leaking with desire.

"Such a good girl, begging so sweetly for daddy's cock," he praised, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Can't deny you any longer, baby."

He fumbled with his belt, undoing it with clumsy, eager fingers before pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang up, long, hard, and ready. Your eyes widened at the sight, your tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips.

He gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into your reddened flesh as he dragged the broad head of his cock through your dripping folds. Anakin groaned as he felt your slick, swollen folds parting for the broad head of his cock. The heat radiating from your cunt was incredible, your arousal coating his sensitive flesh. He couldn't hold back any longer, the need to be buried inside you overwhelming.

"Fuck, baby, you're so fucking wet," he growled, his voice strained with desire. "So ready for daddy's cock."

Slowly, torturously, he dragged the swollen head of his erection along your slit, coating himself in your slick essence. His fingers dug into the smooth flesh of your ass as he lined himself up with your entrance, the flared tip nudging insistently against your opening.

"Beg for it, sweetheart," he commanded, his breath hot against your ear. "Beg daddy to fuck this pretty little pussy. Let me hear how badly you need it."

''Oh god, yes!" you gasped, your hips rocking instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction. "Please daddy, please fuck me. I need your cock inside me so badly."

"That's it, baby," he purred, his voice sultry and approving. "Keep begging, let me hear those sweet little moans."

And with that, he emerged forward, the head of his cock spearing into your molten heat. He had to grit his teeth against the wonderful sensation, your silken walls gripping him as if they depended on it to live.

"The feeling of you wrapped around my cock, fuck, it's unbelievable," he groaned, hilting himself inside you with a sharp thrust of his hips. He paused for a moment, savoring the way your fluttering sheath pulsed around him, the way your body adjusted to the sudden intrusion.

Anakin began to move, his hips rolling in a fiery rhythm as he started to fuck into you. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body, the thick length of his cock dragging along your sensitive walls. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he took you, each drive of his hips punching the breath from your lungs.

"Fuck, your pretty pussy feels incredible," he groaned, his voice a dark, lustful rumble. "So fucking tight and wet and perfect. Made to take my cock."

"Yes, oh fuck yes!" you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him. "Harder, daddy!"

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he purred, his hips snapping forward with increasing force. "Can't get enough of daddy's cock. Want it deeper, baby? Want me to fill this hungry cunt to the brim?"

"Yes, yes, please!" you sobbed, your head thrown back, your tits bouncing with each powerful thrust. "Ruin me with your cock. Claim me, make me yours!"

"Mine," he snart, his lips latching onto the side of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. "This sweet little pussy belongs to me. No one else will ever make you feel this good."

His hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, rough circles. The added stimulation sent you hurtling towards the edge, your walls starting to flutter and clench around him.

"I'm... I'm going to...!" Your cries of ecstasy filled the room as your orgasm crashed over you, your cunt clamping down on his cock, the pleasure sensation drowning you like a wave.

Anakin groaned, burying himself deep as he followed you over the edge, his hot seed spurting deep inside you, painting your insides with his release. "Fuck yes, take every last drop like a good girl," Anakin commanded, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out the waves of his intense climax. His fingers dug into the plush flesh of your ass, kneading and squeezing as he ground his pelvis against yours, making sure he was as deep inside you as physically possible.

"It's so much... I can feel it so deep!" you cried out, your inner muscles rippling and clenching around his throbbing shaft, greedily milking him for all he was worth. The sensation of his hot, thick seed flooding your core sent you spiraling into a second intense orgasm, your vision whiting out from the sheer force of it.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, I love watching you come undone on my cock," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. He captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, his tongue delving deep, swallowing your whimpers and whines of pleasure. He devoured you, consumed you, until you were boneless and sated in his arms.

Panting harshly, he finally pulled back, taking a moment to admire the way your chest heaved, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. The pink frilly skirt was bunched up around your waist, your legs splayed wide around his hips, his softening cock still nestled snugly inside your tender, well-fucked pussy.

"You're perfect, baby," he murmured, fingers tracing the curve of your cheek almost reverently. "My perfect little girl. I think I'm going to keep you, sweetheart. I'm going to keep you with me, darling,"

You smiled lazily, a soft, blissful expression settling over your features as the overwhelming sensations Anakin had drawn from your body left you exhausted and utterly satisfied. Your limbs felt heavy, your skin still tingling where his hands had explored. "I'd like that… I want to be your little girl," you mumbled sleepily, your voice barely above a whisper before sleep began to claim you.

Anakin watched you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. A small smile tugged at his lips as he traced a gentle path down the curve of your spine, his fingers lingering over your soft, heated skin. He knew it was wrong—knew that tonight had shattered the last fragile remains of his marriage—but regret never came. How could it, when holding you felt so damn right?

Of course, he understood that Padmé didn’t deserve this. But then again, neither did he deserve the hollow, loveless existence he had been clinging to. What he did deserve—what he needed—was you.

With that certainty settling deep in his chest, Anakin wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close, his body molding perfectly against yours. His lips brushed your shoulder in a lingering kiss before he shut his eyes, blocking out the rest of the world.

He didn’t even flinch when his phone buzzed from across the room, messages from his wife lighting up the screen—because for the first time in a long time, he was where his heart (and body) wanted to be.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

previous |

Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre @leggtostandon @sarahhxx03

@zliteraturehoe @msmorningstaarr @gossipgirl-03 @vabeachazn @joeldjarin

@sofiparallel

[greenandsorrow]

the price for misbehaving (ii)

post rut Alastor x gn!reader

WARNINGS; the aftermath of a very horny fic, mentions of deer mating season, friends to lovers, deer/doe!demon!reader, reader with self worth doubts, a sprinkle of angst, curly-haired!Alastor, undertones of Alastor being a momma's boy, mentions of his past, making out, fluff (literally), there's plot

Dividers by; @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

Please do not repost or directly copy my work and don't use it on AI platforms either ❤️

From a smutty oneshot to a multi chap fic. Nothing can compare to the chunkiness of the 1st chapter, but I'm satisfied with this one as well. Enjoy you lovely beings and thanks for being patient with me!!! The art above is by @kalico-of-doom.

~masterpost~

The only time Alastor isn't smiling is when he's sleeping, you have come to realize. You can't help but notice how tired he looks as you lay motionless beside him. You start petting his ears and he groans softly, nuzzling deeper into your touch without even bothering to open his eyes. A small smile forms on his mouth, a real one. Is this really the same man that has been fucking you until your legs stop working?

In the morning you wake up in his bed, a daily occurrence at this point. However, you weren't expecting him to be staring deeply into your contemned soul.

"A- Al?"

Your voice is hoarse from sleep. You scratch your deer ears, flop on your back and stretch. Alastor keeps staring, studying you and every micro expression you make.

You can feel fear creeping into your gut. Is this the end? Is the rutting season gone? Does he want to kill you and eat you now? Will he kick you out? One thing is certain.

He doesn't need you anymore.

After all, you were just a friend helping him go through a difficult time. Nothing more. Still, you would be lying to yourself if you said that you haven't caught any feelings. From his forceful claiming -that hid a great deal of desperation- to his tender love making last night, Alastor has left more than just his mark on you. One could say that he owns you in the most primal and raw of ways, but if he chooses to deny that... -that's all it takes really- then you were nothing but a fucktoy.

"Um... I- I'm gonna take a shower"

Is that you doing the walk of shame? Alastor is a gentleman, why isn't he saying anything?! Not a single thing that could make you feel less terrible about the whole situation!

Now that his hormones have died down and you are far from aroused as well, getting out of bed and standing completely naked in front of him... It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, small and inferior...

This new emotion, the deep embarrassment that has your face feeling hot and your stomach churning with anxiety makes you dress up and leave "your friend's" room in the speed of light.

You lock yourself in your much smaller room, preparing a bubble bath for your spent and tired body. You smile to yourself a little, remembering how Charlie had made sure you'd have your own bathtub so that you can read your books while soaking in the warm water.

Sinking in the now filled tub, having the water envelope your frame, cleanse your energy and take his scent off of you feels nice. You let your eyes droop until they close lazily, you allow your shoulders to relax, your jaw to unclench.

A long and audible sigh.

Your hands around your frame.

You start crying.

If another deer demon resided in the hotel, he might as well had spent his breeding season with them. You weren't special. The mere thought of such a thing is killing you. You were just another victim of the radio demon's manipulation.

Still, it's your fault as well. For believing this was more than what it appeared to be? Maybe. You are getting more and more confused by the minute.

But oh... the way he had been repeating your name like a prayer... It must mean something to him -you being there for him. You didn't even judge the way he had spilled tears of sexual frustration when handjobs weren't enough to relieve the ache in his loins.

Who else has seen Alastor Hartfelt of Pride under this light? No one. You are the only exception. He wouldn't have allowed you to get so close to him if he didn't trust you... Right?

As your thoughts keep overlapping and fighting with each other and you continue to cry softly, you peak up the all too familiar sound of static.

Another unfair thing! He can melt into shadow and go anywhere he pleases... The sound intensifies as he approaches... you? Is he really thinking of invading your space like that? You can't even cry and be miserable in peace! Not like you're in Hell.

"Bonjou! Konmen s'apé kouri? Huh?"

Not only are you not in the mood to ask him to translate what he just said, but Alastor literally spawned in your bathroom and he's now acting like this is an okay thing to do. The way he's readjusting his lapels and smiling smugly like he wasn't a grunting mess last night infuriates you even further.

"Can you please get the fuck out of here?"

"Mh?" he just stands there in his usual apathy. He's even holding his cane.

"Can you at least stop smiling for a second?"

"Oh ho! I'm afraid I can't do that my deer!"

"But you can definitely get your ass out of my room! I-"

The sound of your voice carries to your ears like a whining child. There's a lump in your throat that you're beginning to fear you won't be able to keep down for much longer. If your face and hair weren't already wet from the bath, then it would be crystal clear that you were weeping like an idiot before he saw himself in.

Alastor is quick to gauge your body language. You're hugging your knees -shielding your naked body from him. Sometimes you swear he can tell your emotional state by sniffing the air around you. It's like your scent is enough for him to piece together the puzzle that you are.

The radio demon scranches his nose.

"What's there to be so sad over y/n? Today is a beautiful day!"

Is he playing stupid?! Because if he's doing this on purpose... Well, there's not much you can do now that he doesn't need you anymore.

Your lower lip trembles at this terrible thought and the lump in your throat escapes your notice, resulting in a broken and weak sob to come out of you.

Tilting his head to the side way more than necessary and squinting his eyes, Alastor asks "Are you pregnant?"

You freeze and widen your eyes. "I- Is that even... even fuckin' possible in the afterlife?"

The fucker chuckles!

"Oh, I don't think so, at least not for lowly demons such as yourself!" The worst part is that he wasn't trying to insult you by saying that, but rather calm you down.

"Go to Hell."

"Ironic."

You can't help it now. You break down in tears. Your chest feels tight as the sobs ripple through your body and make your frame retreat to itself. In addition to your general misery, the water has gone cold, causing you to shiver.

The overlord places his cane against the tiles of the bathroom wall and crouches down so he is level with you. He won't let it show just yet, but Alastor is very worried. There's guilt eating him from the inside.

While he was in musth, in breeding mode -or in whatever you wanna call it-, he wasn't fully aware of his actions. Alastor's mind was blurred from the desire to mate and basically reproduce. Now that he's back to his senses, he has come to the unpleasant realisation that he might have caused you harm in the process of letting out his passion.

And this simply won't do! This deer demon has done cruel and vile things he doesn't even feel particularly bad about... but hurting you... He would never be able to forgive himself.

You were there for him and showed him a great deal of love and understanding.

So, that's the reason you left so hurriedly from his quarters... He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. HE DID THIS TO YOU.

Alastor's permanent grin fades just slightly. It is replaced by concern, evident in the way he looks at your trembling body in the water. He reaches out to gently touch your skin, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort. Your friend's voice softens, it's now filled with genuine worry and regret.

"I'm so sorry darling... I didn't know I caused you... pain."

It's true that you have many bruises and hickeys decorating various places on your body, but that's not the reason behind your breakdown.

"I- It's not th-" you just look down. You can't even explain yourself.

The radio demon's worry only deepens after your vague response and he quickly takes action to be by your side, pulling you out of the bathtub and into a tight hug. Alastor whispers reassurances in your ear, his voice filled with remorse.

"I'm so sorry... We should have stopped when it got too much."

No one has heard Alastor apologize before -not even God, for all that's worth.

His expression softens even further as he sees your tears that just keep coming. He carefully brushes them away, worry etched into every line of his handsome face.

"I didn't mean to make you cry. You must know that."

"I'm not in pain... Just sad."

You do look rather devastated.

Alastor is almost frozen in place from all the guilt since he can now see the bruises forming on your skin. The water camouflaged them, but now they are exposed for him to observe and take in.

He swallows hard, his voice shaking with emotion like never before. "Y/n... I didn't mean to do that. I didn't. None of it."

"None of it?"

Your voice is muffled due to how you have hid your face in his chest. At least he's warm.

"My intention wasn't to cause you injury or physical pain."

You look up at him, finally making eye contact. He's looking at you as well, eyes shining with regret, guilt and what appears to be shame.

What really surprises you, though, is the pleading tone of his voice. It's one thing to be vulnerable because he's hungry for sexual contact and another because he genuinely cares for you.

"Can you ever forgive me for this? I promise, it was never my true intention. I just... I got carried away. And now... It's not an excuse..."

"You really meant none of it to happen between us?"

"Now, now, little deer! Someone's getting ahead of themselves! That's not what I implied at all."

You sigh and settle in his lap.

"Oh mon cher, did you really think I regret our... stimulating times?"

Alastor's long arms press you against him, his clothes absorbing the water on your still bare skin. He then picks you up bridal style and carries you to your bed. It's not king sized like his, but he doesn't seem to care for such details right now.

"Now... Let me see you."

"I said I'm fine!"

"The artist will be the evaluator of his work."

"No Al! Artists get critics to evaluate their work."

"Hmmm, did you say something, dear? Cause I didn't hear you!"

It's a common tactic of his to hide his real feelings by being chatty and pleasant. You of course know that, but in your current state, it's very validating to have him take care of you.

So he did care. And he still does after having stopped necessarily needing you.

Alastor isn't joking around. He's searching your body, subconsciously writing down every scratch, every bruise and hickey, every bite mark.

Ears alert on top of his head, eyes wide open. He can even make out the shape of his fingertips on your hips... He turns you on your stomach only to discover his whole palms are imprinted on your buttocks. Meanwhile, you just allow him to inspect your body for as long as he wishes. All the crying has left you drained but also tranquil and calm.

"I'm fine Al. Really."

"Shhh, I'm not done evaluating the damage."

"It's just a bite or two."

"I drew so much blood..."

"Yes and?"

He just keeps observing, keeps rolling you this way and that. The scratches and the bruises are the most triggering to him. They remind Alastor of unhappy memories -back when he still hadn't taken good care of his father.

As long as he hasn't permanently marked you, it should be fine.

"I'll ask Niffty for some ice."

"N- no... Can we just... sit here? Like... cuddle?"

"You were my solace."

"What-"

He gently presses a finger on your lips to shush you.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to say that. It's not like I helped you with a flat tire or something."

"I don't do cuddling."

"Nor touching for that matter. But... It's not that bad, huh? Just let me put something on first."

You stand up and go to your closet to pick something to put on. Your hair is still wet and your legs still feel sore from your intense moments -but it was a big relief to know he still wants you in his life now the rut has ended.

Alastor's behaviour makes you wonder. He's contradictory. From fucking your throat in his radio station, to bending you over various objects in the hotel, taking you in missionary, against walls, windows and doors, he still seems pretty reluctant to give himself to intimacy. Unlike those times, his mind is now clear -no overwhelming heat involved. Intimacy equals vulnerability ...and to him vulnerability equals pain. The inevitable way in which things had worked out in his life.

"But we did sleep together until yesterday."

The radio demon cannot deny you. He's already sat at the edge of your bed, taking off his coat, shoes and anything else that could make the experience any less enjoyable.

"I wish I could say you'll take this to your grave."

You grin brightly and chuckle at his silly, little remark. Your confidence has been restored -to an extent- after he made it clear that he does concern himself with your wellbeing.

"But why don't you like being touched? Physical contact is a form of affection."

"Or a form of punishment, of intimidation, domination and... many other vile things, my dear deer..." His voice is too low for your liking as he says that.

You don't know what burdens Alastor's shoulders, but it can't be good -and I'm not even referring to his own cruelty and the pain he has inflicted on others. Maybe his opinion on physical contact is connected to the endless scars on his body.

"Oh well whatevs Al. I just want my cuddles."

The way his ears are pulled back and he looks at you almost like he's a shy and innocent boy makes your heart bit faster. At least there's no velvet rubbing off his antlers this time.

Alastor is extremely gentle and cautious in the way he handles you this time. He lays down on his back and you use his chest as a pillow.

It's a cozy place.

His chest. He has some fluff there, just like Angel, but unlike the former, he hides it under layers of clothing and keeps it unstyled. Still, it's undoubtedly soft and fuzzy and you like to sink your hand in it or swirl the soft fur around your fingertips. The radio demon isn't complaining -as one would expect. It's soothing to have someone touch his body in a non-hostile manner. It's refreshing to have someone appreciate his body as it is.

Would you also appreciate it if you saw him as he once was?

His father hadn't. He could handle the child of a mixed marriage, but Alastor wasn't just mixed, but also looked the part -and according to the racist beliefs of his father in the 1900's, that was a bad thing.

As you're happily nuzzled against his long and elegant neck, your friend's mind wanders. You lived during the 90's. What would it have been like if he had also lived during that period? Everything would have been different. The town he grew up in, his relationship with his parents, his career as a radio host -and a serial killer.

"Did you know that my hair is naturally curly?"

Your ears perk up at that and Alastor gently takes hold of them and pulls at them from the root, just slightly.

"That feels nice..."

"Oh I know."

"What were you saying?"

"Oh yes, my hair's curly! Since I was nothing but a tiny, adorable, baby boy! ...my mother... she..."

His hand lets go of your ears and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long sigh.

There's a melancholy about him now and you feel the need to comfort him. He's opening up to you by being genuine and vulnerable. Alastor is sharing a part of who he used to be and the least you can do is listen. You resume your activities on his fluff, almost massaging the area. He seems to like it, for a moment closing his eyes and letting a sound like purring.

"Can you keep this up?"

"Sure Al."

"Merci. What was I saying...? Oh yes, of course... Mama and my curly mop."

The radio effect of his voice and his arms around you make you feel like you're a kid being told a bedtime story.

It's a good thing the other residents have gotten used to you and Alastor disappearing together for long periods of time. His soft chest fluff under the pads of your fingers only intensifies the feeling of being told a story while tucked in bed, warm and safe from the outside world.

"It's truly amazing how much power is given to hair in certain cultures. In my culture, dear y/n, hair texture served as an indicator of social status. My family -a wedding between a white man and a creole woman of colour... Oh ho dear! It was something else back then...-

As a kid, I was always the one teased for having “weird hair”, as if it didn’t match my other facial features. When school began, my sweet mama, she... she would put my hair in locs to protect the curls. Apparently, they didn't like that at school! So my father... he -radio static intensifies- he made my mother shave it. He claimed that if my mother and I wore our hair differently, then no one would take us seriously."

You take a moment to digest this new piece information. It's true that locs enclose the natural hair and help it stay intact. It's also true that Alastor grew up in a time when it was very difficult to be of a cultural background which was different to the majority's. You choose to not comment on anything -that's not your job.

You swirl some more of his fluff around your fingertips before moving your hand to his hair.

"Well, it's not curly in the afterlife."

You feel the vibration of his chuckle through your check that's resting on his chest.

"But it is!"

Alastor lets out a satisfied sound as he presses you even tighter against him and begins rumbling about his hair care routine. He uses anti frizz oils, heat protection oils and then blow dries it. Truth is, that's just the steps you managed to actually register in your brain, because a sleepiness started overtaking you as you stayed laying in his embrace.

You're now fading between consciousness and unconsciousness. It almost feels like you're floating. Is this what Heaven is like?

Maybe it is. Maybe it is not. But you did manage to find your little oasis in Hell. And so did he.

Alastor looks down at your much smaller frame curled up against him. Your breath has slowed down and your eyes are closing. Why does it feel so warm and soft to have you close to him like this? He knows he shouldn't be letting his guard down, but he can't help it when it comes to you.

The radio demon is enamoured with you.

Wanting to make the experience even cozier and dreamier for his favourite sinner, Alastor starts singing quietly. His sense of rhythm is immaculate and his jazzy tunes make you fall sound asleep in no time whatsoever.

When you wake up an hour or so later, he still hasn't moved, but he acknowledges that you're awake with a small hum.

"Oh wakey wakey my darling y/n!" had been his usual response to you waking up while he was in the rut. However, right now he appears to be much more unguarded and raw than his usual persona -no need to put up a show. You haven't even woken up properly and you're already wondering about this new side of him.

"Al? Is everything okay?"

"Oh why, yes it is, but there's this thought occupying my brilliant mind..."

"Care to share it with my not so brilliant one?"

You expected him to laugh or even chuckle, but Alastor goes straight to the point.

"All this... making love and we still haven't kissed. Not really."

Kissing him would mean you actually view him romantically and whatever "friends with benefits" situation you have going on will be destroyed. That's not a bad thing though. Despite your initial fears of your fellow deer demon being too emotionally unavailable and only needing you to calm down the torment of his lust, a kiss wouldn't hurt. Kisses are good.

"We can change that y'know."

You make the first step by leaning towards him, basically giving him the green light that you're consenting to this. Alastor notices it and wastes no time, pressing his lips against yours while wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close into another embrace. He smiles widely as you kiss, his head tilting slightly as he runs his fingers through your hair. After a few seconds pass, he pulls his head back, slowly breaking the kiss as he looks into your eyes with a broad smile -that reaches his eyes.

"Aren't you delightful?!" and he dives back in.

Alastor's second kiss with you is firm and passionate -but not overly aggressive. His lips are warm and he seems to enjoy the intimacy of it -taking his time to explore your mouth. As the kiss progresses, he gradually increases the pressure of his lips on yours. His arms wrap around your waist and his tongue slowly wanders further into the welcoming heat of your mouth.

Once again -just like when it came to sex-, you have come to the conclusion that Alastor isn't that experienced, but some raw power -an instinct if you will- provides him with the ability to do all the right moves at the right time.

And then, you just break character. You burst into laughter. His large and pointed ears twitch at that change of pace.

"When I thought I was doing a good job~"

"Oh no, that's not it at all. I'm just happy." You're giddy and so is he.

Maybe not needing you but actually wanting you isn't the worst case scenario.

To be continued.

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[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya x f!reader. reader is wearing a bathing suit. established relationship, very suggestive, mentions of marriage. | divider thanks to cafekitsune like always, wc 1k even.

The haze of summer has settled thickly over all of Makochi, the air almost heavy enough to wrap around you and wear it. A subtle sheen of humidity settles over your shoulders and face; cicadas sing their song in the distance and wind chimes tinkle when a breeze mercifully blows by to cool your heated skin. The heat can’t prevent you from being outside, though. You lie on your belly beneath the blazing sun in your stringiest bikini, legs stretched out behind you while Hajime cares for his personal garden - the one meant just for the two of you - atop his apartment building. He hums a little tune, occasionally throwing in a whistle for good measure to make you giggle at him while your cheek rests against your folded arms, watching his every move.

It didn’t feel so hot about fifteen minutes ago but now that you’re watching sweat dampen the back of his white t-shirt and cling to his body, you sigh dramatically and he’s at your side in an instant, ever in tune with whatever you need.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance up at him and smile, unfolding your arms and stretching them above your head, flipping from your belly onto your back to give him a view of the front of you, gentle grooves in your skin when you shift from how tightly your bathing suit is secured around you. He doesn’t hide his ogling, raking steel blue eyes from your throat to your belly button and to your thighs, wiping his hairline with his forearm.

“Wanna use those broad shoulders to block the sun for me for a few minutes?”

Hajime smiles and nods wordlessly at your request, taking a few big steps to the left to block the sun from getting in your eyes, casting a tall and cool shadow over your upper body. He wipes his hands together to free them of any dirt or grime from the plants, twisting his body to point them in the opposite direction of where you lie across a large old sheet, your sandals pinning down opposite corners to keep the breeze from blowing it up. Removing one of his gloves, he pops it in his pocket and reaches down to press his palm against your skin, hissing through his teeth.

“Hot even for you.” He raises a brow, wrapping up his perpetual fussing over you in humor to prevent you from insisting that he does too much. “You really do need shade, huh? Poor thing.”

“My hero.” You nod, putting a smile on his face. 

Umemiya sinks down, kneeling beside you and changing his shadow so that it covers even more of you, your thighs now cooled by the shade provided by his size. He drags his palm from your waist upward toward the triangles of your top, slipping a finger beneath the tiny string stretched across your sternum.

“Do you want to go inside?”

Glancing up at him, you bite back a smile and shake your head, his finger still gently toying with your top. You reach out to toy with him now, gently tugging at the damp collar of his shirt, dragging your palm down his chest.

“No, I wanna be out here with you. You’re hot too, we can suffer together.”

Neither of you are suffering very badly if the way each of you is glancing at the other is any indication of what's really happening here, eyes half lidded, fingers itching to explore sweat slicked skin. Hajime wants to spring into action and plan a way to grow an entire canopy over the roof to ensure you are never uncomfortable but he’s a little distracted at the moment, your hand sliding further down his torso and beneath the hemline of his shirt to rest against his warm skin and hardened muscle.

“What are you up to?” He asks with a smile. He drops from his squat position to sitting next to you, legs spread while he leans down to kiss your lips gently, as sweet as the breeze that ruffles the ends of his hair. “Besides making sure I get nothing done today.”

Giggling, you kiss him back. One set of fingers thread through his hair, brushing it back from his face in the style he prefers and the other drags down his torso toward the waistband of his shorts, playfully tickling him along the way.

“You just make the best umbrella.” You crane your neck to kiss him again, hand settling around the back of his neck to keep him close to you. “Maybe that should be your new name, Hajime Umbrella.” He chuckles and moves closer to you, lowering himself until his arms cage either side of you, his body twisted to hover slightly above yours.

“Then you’d just be Mrs. Umbrella someday but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You wiggle beneath him at the insinuation that you’ll be carrying his last name, something even warmer than today’s temperature pooling beneath your skin. Umemiya laughs and leans in to kiss you again, foregoing any sense of decorum to slowly slide his body over the top of yours. His thighs join his arms in caging you in, pinned to the sheet beneath your back, the sound of distant wind chimes carrying across the cloudless sky to mingle with your giggles.

“Come on Mrs. Umbrella,” he jokes again, sliding his hand up your side. “Let’s work out here a little longer and then we can go inside, alright?”

Your back arches in response to his touch. He takes advantage of the position, reaching into the small space between your back and the sheet to untie your top. He doesn’t immediately move it to expose you, allowing you to make that decision for yourself. 

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

You grin up at him until he envelops you in a sultry kiss, one that truly matches this summer heat, helping him remove his sweaty shirt an arm at a time and tossing it aside. 

[daisynik7]

I know I loved you from the start

“Tell me.”

You cross your arms over your chest in defiance. “No way.” 

Nanami smirks at you, forearms resting on the table. “Pretty please?” 

He’s asking you when you first knew you liked him, a question you’re embarrassed to admit the answer to. And it’s not fair when he looks at you like this. The twitch of mirth on his lips, the soft gaze in his eyes, his fingers inching towards yours, yearning to be closer, longing for a touch. He’s making it very difficult to resist. 

Still, he underestimates your stubbornness. He’s not going to get it out of you that easily. Adamant, you shake your head, pressing your lips together tightly, not giving in. 

Laughing, he finally relents, relaxing in his seat, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’ll let it go.” 

The two of you are in the break room, finished with lunch, neither of you eager to return to your separate cubicles. It’s just you and him, though there’s still that risk of any one of your colleagues walking in on something they shouldn’t see. A longing glance, a tender touch, a chaste kiss. Your current romance is a secret to the office, and it shall remain that way for the time-being. Involving others makes it complicated, and one of the things you enjoy most about being with Nanami is how easy it is. 

The reason you’re reluctant to answer his question is because from the beginning, you liked him. Smitten is the better word for it. He was the new hire that nearly everyone fawned over the minute he set foot through the door, and you were no exception to his quiet charm. His obvious physical attraction and even more evident kindness made people gravitate towards him. But it was something else that caught your attention on his first day of work: a box of warm croissants from your favorite bakery that he carried with him to share. You marveled at the wonderful goodies with a bright smile on your face, rambling on and on to him. How the owner of that bakery studied patisserie in the heart of France before moving to Japan. Why the pastry is so delicate, due to the number of laminations. The butter they use being imported from Europe and how it really makes a difference. Nanami listened to every word of it intently, nodding along with a polite smile on his face. 

It's so silly, so insignificant, so trivial, it’s not even worth mentioning. And so you don’t. 

You’ve exhausted as much of your break time as possible, finally ready to return to work after you clean up. You’re at the sink, rinsing both yours and his container under the faucet. He stands behind you, waiting. Watching.

The sudden slide of his hands on your hips startles you, but you don’t look back. Instead, you hold your breath in anticipation, shuddering slightly as he gently presses his chest to your back, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “For the record, I knew from the very start,” he whispers, breath warm and ticklish on your skin. 

Before you can turn around to face him, Nanami’s already walking away, leaving you alone with wet hands and a racing heart.

Author's Note: Part of the past lives vignettes series! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Title inspired by the song "From the Start" by Laufey. Thank you for reading!

[starryal1na]

—❀ ‧₊˚. 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅

genre: fluff, sfw

word count: 850

characters: aventurine, boothill, sunday, dr ratio

notes: this is just soft random thoughts i have about them and needed to write down, no theme in particular, dr ratio wearing glasses does things to me (*≧ω≦*), special thank to my irl friend charlotte (<3) for proofreading this ! divider credit to @/cafekitsune ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Aventurine ⊰ ⊹ ─

Owning himself plenty of jewelry, such as rings or expensive watches, it makes sense that Aventurine would want to gift his lover all kind of sumptuous pieces. Over the years, he has had you displayed with pearly necklaces, the shiniest earrings and even rings with precious gemstones. Undoubtedly you loved every single one of them. Each gift Aventurine has given you were meaningful to you, as a symbol of his deep affection for you. However, you must admit you have a favorite one. A gift from one of your anniversary that you adore more than anything. It might be the most classic piece of jewelry you own in term of appearance, but it holds a special place in your heart.

The gift is a bracelet, a thin gold chain gold with a small aventurine stone at its center. Beyond the fact that it is his stone, what's making this gift even more significant is that Aventurine has one as well. While you wear yours on your left, he wears his on his right wrist below his watch. He intented for the two of you to share matching bracelets you could wear daily and that was subtle enough only the two of you could really notice it through your other extravagant jewels. Since then, one glance at the aventurine bracelet on your wrist and your heart skips a beat ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Boothill ⊰ ⊹ ─

Every other day, Boothill finds himself mesmerized by the way you take care of your hair. Whether you brush it, braid it, decore it with accessories, he watches from afar with the softest glare. The one reserved for you, and you only.

Today is one of those where you've decided to use the cute ribbons you have recently purchased. Sitting confortably in front of your mirror, you feel Boothill's eyes on you as you display the cute accessories on the floor. "Which color do you think I should wear today ?" "Don't know, sugar. They'd all look fudgin' nice in your pretty hair" "That's very helpful thank you, baby". Boothill snickers, his attention splits between his gun he's been checking for a few mintues, and watch you clip a white and pink ribbon to the side of your head, securing a little braid. Fork, she looks so cute like this, he thinks to himself. Oblivious to your overheating cyborg boyfriend next to you, you finish your hairstyle and spin around with a "tadaaa !" only to find him dumbfounded and an adorable flush spreading on his cheeks. "Forkin' hell ! Got myself the prettiest gurl ain't I ?" Naturally, it ended with you pampering his face with kisses and he even lets you tie ribbons in his hair as well ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Sunday ⊰ ⊹ ─

Dearest Sunday was always a bit of a control freak, until he met you. Well he still is one but ever since you've become a couple, his controlling demeanour has somewhat softened. Your presence clearly helped him feel loved and needed, satisfying the yearn to be someone's special one. In the intimacy of your relationship, he has grown more laid-back, to the point of allowing you to touch his precious wings.

This has become one of your favorite ways to demonstrate your love, carefully and tenderly caressing his feathers. They're so delicate you often worry you'll hurt him, but it actually helps Sunday relax. "Do not worry, my angel. Think of it as a hug. It is warm and very comforting for me" he once reassured you. Afterwards, it became a routine for the two of you. Sunday coming home from an exhausting day, you helping him rest by gently stroking his pretty wings. You even make sure to rub the base, where the tiniest feathers are, and the contented sighs he releases reassure you that you’re doing a really good job ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Dr Ratio ⊰ ⊹ ─

Usually, when you look at Veritas, the words circulating in your mind are often along the lines of handsome, gorgeous, sexy, serious..... angry. However in the evening, it's different. Sitting in his favorite comfy chair, he pulls you onto his his lap and puts on his glasses to read. You're aware you should focus on your own book but those glasses perched on top of his nose are seriously distracting you. This time, your mind fills with nothing but cute cute cute cute cuuuute. Obviously, he feels your stare on him –of course he does– it's not like you're being subtle anyway. Still, he pretends to act oblivious until you're the one bringing it up.

As he turns a page of his book, you shift on his lap. "Come on. Say it." His tone is serious, yet playful. "You... Cute." You blurt out, immediatly covering your face to cover the prominent blush on your face. "Darling, have you lost your ability to form full sentences ?" His cocky smirk making your blush worsen, nuzzling your head on his neck to hide it. Smiling down at your pouting and flushed face, he returns his attention back to his book. Although you go back to reading as well, he knows you’re sneaking glances at him every so often ♡

/!\ don't steal, translate or repost this and claim it as you own /!\

[tetzoro]

HAPPY FRIDAY — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : the office is slow today and your beloved coworker turned boyfriend has a great idea on how to pass time.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, fingering, oral (f!receiving), semi-public (in your office), kuroo being a little shit — WC : 1.2k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : this is all @oooohno’s fault <33 thank you for the brainrot lovely teehee this is barely edited so enjoy ! dividers by @/cafekitsune

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“cmon sweetheart, there’s barely anyone here today.” kuroo purrs in your ear, slowly lowering to the floor so he could crawl under your desk. you shut your legs together, squeezing them tightly as his palms run down your thighs, fingers brushing along the hem of your skirt. “you’ve been doing so well lately, let me show you how proud i am.”

“tetsu-“ you hiss down at him. it was almost comical seeing this tall man squished under your desk, but the implications of it all made your face heat up. “what if someone walks in?”

“like who?” his hands keep running along your legs in a soothing motion, slowly but surely slipping more and more under your skirt, thumbing at the lace that covers your cunt. “just relax.”

the eager look in his eyes has you acting against your better judgement, sighing in defeat as you save the excel document you were working on.

your back fully sinks into the chair as kuroo yanks your hips further along the seat so he’s in a prime position to wrap his sinful lips around your clit.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he pulls the lace to the side and slips a finger in, looking up at you intently with cat like eyes, sporting a lazy grin that has you wanting to harshly tug on his unruly hair. but he renders you defenseless as he agonizingly pumps his slender finger in and out of your already dripping cunt, letting it get thoroughly coated with your slick before slipping in another.

you choke back a whimper, trying to remain unphased as he tries his best to unravel you. but he had a gift, always managing to stimulate the deepest parts of you.

“comfortable?” you teeth gritted out of spite, trying not to fully give in.

“very.” he drawls the word out, pressing a featherly kiss just above your clit. your hips betray you as they buck up, chasing the fleeting warmth of his lips. kuroo lets out a chuckle and your resolve grows thin.

“you’re such a little —“ your sentence was cut off with a whine, kuroo’s tongue pressed against your clit before sucking on it, stealing the words right out of your mouth.

the low rumble he gives out as he laughs sends a vibration through your core and your traitorous fingers weave through his hair, pulling him closer.

his fingers slip out as his salacious tongue takes its place, shoving the warm muscle as deeply as it can go as his hands tightly grip your thighs.

how could you focus on work when there was a man starved between your legs? kuroo must���ve forgotten where he was as he got lost in you, groaning softly into your cunt as his tongue becomes drenched in your essence.

“tets-“ you gasp softly, pulling on his hair with all your might, trying to keep your moans at bay. “you gotta slow down, baby—“

there was a muffled ‘no’ as he didn’t even bother lifting his head. his vindictive eyes flit up to you, the usual gooey amber color was eclipsed with darkness, a lust that overtook his soul and wouldn’t be quenched until he had his fill.

all you could do was surrender under his ministrations, letting his tongue expertly spell out all your worries along your clit before kissing them away.

the more he continued, the more the burdens on your shoulders slipped away — pleasure carrying you far, far away from your workplace and into the heavens that is kuroo tetsuro’s touch.

“‘m gonna,” you whimper before reality crashes down upon you with an invasive knock on your office door. you all but jolt out of your skin. quickly, you yank kuroo off of where he was latched to you in an attempt to collect yourself. after giving him a warning glare, you straighten yourself up. “come in.”

kuroo tried not to snicker, watching from below as you scoot your chair in so your bare cunt wasn’t exposed and notably drenched in his saliva. his cock throbbed at his subtle claim.

“good evening, i have those reports for you.” your assistant cheerfully says as he walks in. you offer a weak smile before your gaze goes back down to kuroo, one hand still tangled in his hair to keep him from doing what you know he wants to do. “you feeling alright?”

“i’m,” you clear your throat as your voice wobbled. “i’m fine.”

“great, well that’s all from me today.” he smiles, putting the file on your desk. kuroo’s skin crawls as your attention wasn’t on him anymore, stuck on your overbearing assistant who was always chasing you like shadow.

even though kuroo boasts on how he isn’t a jealous man, he knows deep down that may not be true. especially as his fingers trail back to you, pawing for the lustful gaze you were giving him only moments ago — before you were rudely interrupted.

“thank you — aah!” you squeak out as kuroo slides two fingers back into you. your assistant looks at you in alarm.

“are you sure you’re okay?” the concern in his voice only pisses kuroo off and spurs him on to add another finger, blatantly ignoring the warning tugs you were giving him.

“mhm.” you breathe out. “just a really, really annoying migraine. i’ll be fine. you should get home and have a good — aah ! — good weekend.”

kuroo was deliberate with his strokes, making sure not to go too quickly so your assistant could hear anything but agonizingly slow enough that had you seconds away from riding his hand — assistant be damned.

“thank you, you too.” he nods, turning around and exiting the room. thankfully, he closed the door behind him.

“kuroo.” you snap down at him. he winces and offers an apologetic grin, increasing the speed at which he’s pumping his fingers at.

“don’t call me that.” he pouts, pressing kisses along your inner thigh, nipping at the skin slightly. “c’mon, i just want you to cum for me.”

“you’re so annoying.” you slouch back in your chair, letting him have more access to where you were dripping for him. he easily catches your clit in his mouth, swirling around the bud as his fingers don’t stop. “but fuck, it feels so good.”

kuroo hums against you which only pushes you closer to the edge, your hips chasing his fingers in an attempt to match his pace — all but humping his face.

with a moan muffled by your bitten lips, you feel your body lock up in its spot, thighs trembling in kuroos hold as you reach your high. stars erupt behind your eyes as you squeeze them shut but a warning pinch on your thigh has them sliding back open — only to be met with kuroo’s smug gaze.

slowly, he retreats his fingers, making a show of cleaning them off with his tongue. your lace underwear was slid back into place, quickly getting soaked from all the excitement.

“happy friday.” kuroo smirked, palms sliding up your body to give your clothed breasts a cheeky squeeze before standing up. you’re pretty sure this man will be the death of you one day.

quickly, you grab a hold of his tie and yank him back down to your level where you were still seated. the sudden movement had his eyes widening, smirk wiped clean off his face. good.

you pull him in for a kiss, enjoying the soft moans he lets slip as your tongue trails along his bottom lip. just as it was getting to the good part, you pull back with a smirk of your own, thoroughly enjoying the slightly dazed look in his eyes.

“happy friday, tetsu.”

[chilschuck]

Chilchuck is canonically very warm and perfect cuddle size! Izutsumi uses him as a cuddle buddy/sleep partner for this (he got annoyed and tried to send her to someone else, but after trying all the other members and Laios petting her, Chilchuck had her come back and accepted his life as a cat bed. he is a Dad through and through.)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ EVERY TIME I THINK ABOUT HOW CANONICALLY CUDDLY HE IS I MELT. WAHHHH ANON i think about this so much. also him accepting his life as a cat bed and just being so Dad about it makes me insane. like i said earlier this man is detrimental to my health. speaking of this!!! here’s some thoughts hehe

— CHILCHUCK: cuddle hcs.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none! sfw fluff + gn!reader.

✦ If you’re a cold-natured person, Chilchuck is a blessing to have. You already knew he was apparently very warm due to how much Izutsumi enjoys seeking him out, so you let your thoughts wonder. The first time you asked to share his bedroll with him, you couldn’t help but be amused at his reaction. (To say you caught him off-guard was an understatement.)

✦ After he recovered from his coughing spell at your request, he flustered. Great, so now he’s becoming the party’s new teddy bear? No thanks. But then you made that expression that always made him weak in the knees and chest and gods. He bites his tongue, letting out a defeated sigh. Maybe just this once. You did tend to get cold a lot…

✦ If you’re a tall-man, (or just have a height advantage over him, lol) you wonder what it would be like to hold him similar to how Izutsumi does. Sleeping with him so closely means odds are one of you is going to end up pulling the other in. Being the taller one, you find yourself curling up with him nuzzled into your chest. I can imagine he’s reluctant at first, but when he finally lets himself relax, he melts.

✦ If you’re a half-foot like he is, or without that height advantage, he’s the big spoon. Either that, or you end up burying yourself into his neck to steal his warmth. I can imagine Chilchuck likes to feel like a protector when it comes to you, as he’s used to having people’s lives on his shoulders. But one night, make him be the little spoon, telling him you just want to hold him for once. (Watch the high curve of his ears turn pink, lol.)

✦ Chilchuck comes to expect you cuddling with him every night. It comes time for the party to retire and he’s already subconsciously lifting his blanket for you to join him. Point it out one day and he’s sputtering out excuses with rosy cheeks. Gods, don’t think so hard about it. You’re cold, aren’t you? You’ll probably hear him grumble a good bit.

✦ He’s very mindful you’re there with him. Last thing he wants is to be a lackluster cuddle partner. And to accidentally make you stop coming to his bedroll.

✦ Probably the deepest sleep he’s gotten in a while. You just make him feel so relaxed, and the physical touch and affection is something he’s been craving for so long. Don’t expect him to admit that to you, though.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[babbymochiiii]

🔞 Discord: PARK JISUNG

SYNOPSIS: you and jisung have discord date night, where things take a turn.

WARNINGS: established relationship idol! jisung x afab reader, pleasuring yourself while on a discord call with jisung, jisung being a dom bc yes, jisung commanding you on how to pleasure yourself, fingering, handjob, slight cum play? Idk if it would be call that but it’s something like that, squirting?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: divider credit @cafekitsune 🧡 I’m so down bad for Jisung that is fucking shows and I’m not complaining—! Also, a big thank you to my babes @rockstarhaechan for encouraging this fic 😖💜 bc it would've been sitting in the back of my head for the longest.

“He’s camping! He’s camping!” You heard your boyfriend yell down his mic as you both were in the middle of a fight in the video game you were both playing.

“HE GOT ME!? HELLO?” You yelled down your mic this time as you stared at your monitor in disbelief seeing your characters death screen.

“This is bs.” You mumbled as you leaned back against your chair as you waited for Jisung to finish out the battle.

After the game was over, you and Jisung sat in the lobby of the game, talking softly amongst yourselves.

“How did you die?” Jisung snickered as he looked at his Discord monitor and watched you roll your eyes with a smile at his question.

“Babe, literally was going where you told me, and the motherfucker came out of nowhere like—“

To be fair, Jisung has been pent up with a lot, and I mean a lot, of sexual energy that he couldn’t even help himself but zone out to what you were saying and watch the way you animatedly recounted what happened to you in the game.

He looked at the way your lips formed their syllables. He thought about how they could be wrapped around his cock in this very second. Thought about the time you cock warmed him while he was playing a few rounds of games on his pc. Remembering the way you failed to stay still as he tried to concentrate on the intense game in front of him. All it took was one small whimper to fall out of your lips for him to fully lose focus on the game, and shifting it towards you.

"Ji please fuck me."

You said it with the most saddest pout and puppy eyes, how could he not give what you wanted.

Without realizing, Jisung started to stroke himself through his shorts, causing a shuddered breath to leave his lips and land straight into your ears causing you to stop talking and look towards your monitor.

You watched the way Jisung's face flushed it's pretty pink, along with the tips of his ears. You kept your eyes trained on his chest, seeing how it rapidly rises and falls down, as if he ran a marathon.

As if...

"Ji, what are you doing?" You asked suspiciously, even though you had a feeling you knew what your beloved boyfriend is doing right now.

He ignored you. Jisung's eyes were close at this point, completely lost in the ecstasy his touch is bringing him through his shorts.

You bit your lips as you watched Jisung become completely loss in his own pleasure. You couldn't help but join him, because the sight of your boyfriend pleasuring himself turns you on completely.

You propped your feet up on your chair, and moved your flimsy shorts along with your underwear to the side. You greedily sought out your swollen clit, and the moment you placed your fingers on it, a moan slips past your lips.

This causes Jisung to flutter his eyelids open. The man looks towards his second monitor on his desk and sees the display you have for him on your camera.

“Fuck.” Jisung mumbled out as he saw the way you played with your clit. His hungry gaze follows the way your greedy fingers slide down your slicked folds. The action causes the two of you to moan out loud seeing the way the camera captures it.

"What are you doing princess?" Jisung asked sweetly, but still holding that bedroom undertone. "Couldn't help yourself could you?" He muses as he leans forward in his chair.

A whimper leaves your throat as you look towards Jisung's camera. "I couldn't...you were touching yourself and you looked so good " You said softly with a pout, into your headset mic as you leaned your head back in your chair.

A hum of acknowledgement made it's way out of Jisung's throat as a smile that held all sorts of promises. "Princess?" He calls out to you, all too softly.

The tone of his voice causes chills to run down your spine, as you knew that tone very well. Jisung uses that tone on you when he is about to command you to do something.

"Yes?" You spoke timidly.

"Stop what you're doing." Jisung commanded with the same soft smile and tone with you.

You slowly removed yours hands from your heated core, and awaited for what Jisung will say next.

"Such a good girl." Jisung cooed to you.

You felt your heart pick up an even faster speed than it was before, and you were honestly scared at how turned on you are over what you and Jisung are doing, considering you have never done this before.

“Ji, please—“

“Shh, baby take it easy, yeah?” Jisung said as he gave you a smile as he got up from his seat.

What came in view was the raging hard on in his shorts. Instantly the sight of the tent made your mouth water as you knew he was going to bring his pants down. I mean he has to right? In order to—

All thought process stopped the moment Jisung hooked this thumbs into his waist band and pulled down his shorts and underwear in one go.

A whimper leaves your throat at the sight of his hard length hanging in the air, pre cum glistening off of his pretty pink head. You bit your lip, trying to hold back another moan from slipping your lips.

“Enjoying the view?” Jisung teased as he settled back into his chair.

You slowly nodded your head before adding; “very much.”

Another hum of acknowledgment left his throat as he assessed you through the screen.

“Strip.”

There was your command. Quickly, you gently got up from your seat and discarded the clothes you were wearing. Once fully naked, you sat back onto your chair and awaited for what Jisung wanted you to do next.

"You're so beautiful princess." Jisung praised as he licked his lips at the sight of your naked form.

A shiver runs down your spine at his praise and the way he looks at you. "Prop your legs as you had them before." Jisung said as he leaned himself back on his chair, and spread his legs open. Creating a better view for you.

Doing as told, you managed to have your legs hanging off of your chair’s arm rest, displaying your sopping wet folds.

Jisung raised an amused eyebrow at the sight before him. “Are you that turned on right now?” He teased. He couldn’t help but tease, it just made the whole situation that much hotter.

“Ji…” your whimpered as you clenched your hands on top of your chest.

“Use your big girl words.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m that turned on right now.” You said as you felt your face heat up.

“Good.” Jisung said with a smirk. “Touch yourself for me.”

Without a second thought, your hand went down and immediately made contact with your swollen clit. You started to leave harsh and fast circles. Whimpering moans leave your throat at the delicious stimulation.

“Slow down princess. There’s no need to rush.” Jisung said as he started to slowly tug at his hot length.

You whimpered in protest, but still did what he asked as you knew it would benefit you in the end. You looked intently at Jisung’s screen and watched at how he slowly pumped himself into his fist. Wanting to be good for him, you matched up with his pace.

Whimpered and throaty moans leave both your mouths as you both continued with the slow pace that Jisung made.

You were close to wanting to just disobey what Jisung ordered. You wanted more stimulation for yourself and for Jisung, but you knew the consequences he would put out for you if you did do such a thing.

“Princess?” Jisung calls out, his voice groveled due to the pleasure.

“Y-yes?” You stuttered out.

“Why don’t you add a finger, hm?”

As if the gods themselves spoke, you let out a moan at his words and you slowly inserted a finger inside of your awaiting entrance. As you went past your first knuckle, a sigh of content is heard from you. You pushed the rest of your finger inside of you, and moaned at the feeling of at least having something inside of you.

Jisung swears he has hearts for eyes at this point. He always loved seeing you so submissive and obedient for him, but this. This takes the cake for him. Subconsciously, Jisung tightened his grip slightly and started to pump at a much faster rate than he was before. “Fuck, babe—“ he moans out as he bits his lips trying to hold in the moans that want to leave his mouth, “—you look so pretty like that.” Jisung groaned out.

A pretty moan left your lips at his words and the way he started to pump himself at such a fast pace. You started to follow his lead, pumping and rubbing your clit at a fast pace as him, creating such a delicious feeling.

“Ji…feels so— mmgh, so good.” You moaned out as you felt your eyes close in pleasure.

“Princess, shit— add another finger for me.” Jisung said as he twisted his fist around his head causing him to buck his hips up.

Adding another finger into your sopping hole made your toes curl and eyes roll to the back of your head.

The two of you continue pleasuring yourselves I. Front of each of your cameras. Moans and whimpers leaving your mouths as you continue to chase your highs.

Squelching sounds are heard through your mic, that goes straight to Jisung’s cock causing him to want to loose his control completely. “Princess you sound so wet.” He groans as he continues to pump himself.

“S-so wet for you Sungie.” You moaned as you removed your fingers from inside of you and played with your entrance, causing string of wetness to connect between your fingers and sopping entrance.

Jisung bit the inside of his cheeks at the provocative sight displayed on his screen. “You’re such a mess baby.” Jisung said in awe as he saw how much slick was covering your entire pussy and inner thighs.

You inserted your fingers inside again and started to finger fuck yourself in a fast pace. “J-Ji…please—“ a moan cuts you off at the intense sensation starting to build up in your lower belly.

“It’s okay baby. Cum. I need you to come with me. I’m so close princess.” Jisung groans at the end as bucks his hips forward, fucking into his hand at how close he’s at right now.

As the intense feeling in your lower stomach started to build up, you started to chant Jisung’s name like the mantra that he is. “I’m so close…so mmgh! Ahh— so close—“ you couldn’t even form your sentence as you felt like exploding.

“Me too baby…me too.” Jisung moaned as he felt his thighs spasm and his balls slightly tighten up, getting ready to release their load.

“Ji, I’m—“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence before a loud moan breaks through. You felt your back arch off of your seat as you clenched around your fingers. Slick squirted out of you as you continued to finger fuck yourself through your high.

“Princess, mmgh.” Jisung said with one last groan as he bucked his hips up into his tight fist one last time before shots of hot cum started to shoot out. His stomach clenched as he started to release the last of his load onto his hand, and stomach. Gently pumping himself to go through his post organism high.

The two of you sat panting on your chairs. Eyes barely open as you assess the others state.

A smile adorn’s Jisung’s face as he looks at you. This causes you to giggle as you knew what he was thinking of.

“That was hot.” You both said causing the other to laugh.

“Well, at least I know we’re both into this, so we can do it while I’m on tour and away from you.” Jisung said as he gave you a fucked out smile.

This causes you to send him a smile his way. “Oh we’re for sure doing this again.”

“Count on it princess.” Jisung said with a smirk.

From then on, the two of you would do these little discord or FaceTime calls to get off together when none of y’all had the time to see one another.

a/n: this has been sitting on my mind for a whileeeee and I finally have it written down and out for y’all!!! Hopefully y’all enjoyed it!!

Much love and kisses 🥰