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leonenjoyer69 · 2 days ago

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New oc dropped: Mr. Lovell Roser, Medicinal Necrobotanist!

A quick summary!!! (His full character sheet and successful experiment will be under the cut :3)

New OC dropped, a Lodger this time!! This is my new guy Lovell Roser, a Medicinal Necrobotanist at the Society :33 his work consists of: general herbal healing of wounds and sickness, treatment of infection or bodily rot, and the slowing/reversal of death by integrating plants into a dying or passed life form!! Basically, he wants to make flower-zombies. Most of his experiments result in creatures suffering from a rabid state, but he mayyyy have succeeded on bringing one man back..

Otherwise!! He's a very paranoid, partially apathetic dude. Most of his empathy is saved for his plants and the people he likes, but he can still usually throw on a friendly or caring act. Sometimes however, he does tend to go more blank, quiet, and oddly jumpy. He doesn't tend to let himself express any negative emotions like anger, always trying to keep an upper hand on his weaknesses unless something reallyyyy gets to him.

So!! To express his emotions, he relies on flower language and gifting flowers and bouquets, feeling that they speak more words than he ever could. So, he's gifting flowers constantly, for good and bad. Otherwise, he's generally enjoyable-- or at least tolerable-- to be around. He also does journaling for a bunch of different things, mainly on plants and his fears.

I think at the Exhibition he'd show more of his healing stuff, kinda just... Skirting the whole "resuscitation via plants" thing under the rug for a bit. To be honest, he doesn't even really like the other lodgers knowing he experiments with that stuff, but most of them are at least surprisingly supportive. High society, however? Definitely not supportive. Anyways, yea, he'd show his little salves and powders and tinctures, also showing the stuff to fight infection and rot, probably explaining how wow!!! These everyday flowers and herbs have so many benefits!!!

And then yea, full character sheet and his "son" Proteus (made by @sunset-sunbun ) under the cut!!!

Name: Mr Lovell Leocadius Roser

Age:28

Pronouns: he/him

Science: Roser studies something he calls "Medicinal Necrobotany", which consists of; general Herbal healing of wounds and sickness, treatment of infection or bodily rot, and the slowing/reversal of death via integrating plants into a dying or passed life form. To the general public, his work only seems to consist of healing salves and powders and tinctures, which he's commonly visited for. However, his work certainly goes much deeper than that. He aims to bring back life, much like Frankenstein, but with the use of flora, seeing if once someone becomes one with nature, they can also be brought back with it. Most of his experimenting is on deceased animals, trying to intricately fuse roots and nerves and make the flora a part of the body, which brings it the energy to come back. Any "successes" so far have ended in an almost rabid, zombie-like state, leading to him having to constrain or put down the creature. However, he has experimented on a few human bodies, and one *may* be successful..

Personality: a paranoid, plant loving dude. Definitely has empathy issues towards people, unless he's closer to them. Most of his empathy is for his plants (and ofc the people he likes). He usually seems somewhat cheerful, fine to talk amongst people and feign empathy with people he's less close to, but sometimes he seems more blank and jumpy. It's usually best to just leave him be when he's like that, unless you're closer to him. Otherwise, he tries not to outwardly express many of his negative emotions, always trying to keep an upper hand on his weaknesses, so he never really shows his anger or annoyance unless something has *really* gotten to him. Somehow, this doesn't stop him from still being an asshole. (Some of the lodgers have also probably seen him cry at least once though, a damning combination of paranoia and sleepless nights tend to set him on edge and one good spook can have him tearing up.)

When he has trouble articulating his feelings, he tends to fall back on flower and bouquet meanings, since he feels they mean much more than words. He also uses this as an outlet for his negative emotions, gifting flowers that have negative symbolism. So, all in all, he's gifting people flowers *all the time*, whether for good or bad. He also has a fear of spirits, specifically malicious ones, so he tends to keep protective plants on him at all times (lavender, ferns, sage, and his 4-leaf clover necktie pin), and when experimenting he's insistent on having his full body covered.

All in all, he's *generally* enjoyable to be around, or at least tolerable, usually more of a listener unless a topic of plants or medicine crops up, then he tends to ramble. Most of his free time is spent tending to his plants, experimenting, wandering the society, or journaling. The journaling ranges from plant and flower information and meanings (which he has logged extensively), slave, medicine and tonic "recipes", experimental logs, paranoid ramblings, and suspicions/gossip on people.

Backstory: As a kid, he lived more in the country, somewhat separated from society. This lead to his initial interest and curiosity in plants, as he spent most of his time outside among nature. His father was a kindly working man, though a bit emotionally distant, and his mother was sickly and snappy, leading Roser to prefer being out of the house. He started reading books of crazy scientists and monsters, which began to cause paranoia, though his curiosity tended to override his fears.

He became fascinated with herbal healing, reading and learning of flora's many uses, and became specifically curious about bringing things back with nature when he first came across a deceased animal, partially reclaimed by nature. He noticed how the plants prospered around the decay, and began to off handedly wonder if that Bloom of life could bring someone back, like how Frankenstein made his creature, except without electricity. He eventually went to university for anatomy and surgery, but he eventually switched to botany and horticultural classes. He made herbal medicine as a sort of side job, mainly experimenting with things, and a few years after university he found the society.

Lodger relationships: he's closest with Tanis (despite his fear of spirits), Doddle, Flowers, Rachel, Bird, and Archer. He's quite neutral on most of the others, but he's a bit intimidated by Maijabi, Cantilupe, and Ito (despite occasionally supplying her with things.) The main exceptions to that neutrality lies in Helsby and Griffin, who have caught Roser in a prank one too many times (and disrespected his lovely plants.) Roser is usually regarded quite well, especially since he's the main person to go to for any medicinal or healing reasons when potions are either unnecessary or just distrusted. Additionally, he won't admit it, but Roser has occasionally used Griffin or Helsby as a sort of test subject for new concoctions. Additionally, he's very half and half on Jekyll, of course greatful for the home he's been able to make in the society, but not very close to the man. There's just something off about him, but Roser holds no ill intent towards him. Hyde, however? He quite dislikes. Hyde has bothered him and messed with him and disrespected his plants enough that Roser gets annoyed at the mere sight of him, surprisingly snappy towards the blond.

His "successful" experiment: he somewhat succeeded in bringing back one human body, old name unknown to him, but Roser's called him Proteus, after the Protea flower, which symbolizes transformation. He's very cautious with Proteus for a good while, but it eventually gets a bit better. Proteus can't talk, and he's partially held together with poppies and carnations, as well as a general mix of other flora and fungi. He's usually quite out of it, not always responding to sound stimuli, but he's also seemingly not aggressive or prone to lashing out. Proteus is Roser's pride and joy, and he makes sure to care for him the best he can, pushing aside any fears or paranoia. He treats Proteus like a son, in his own silly way, making sure he's fed and hydrated and not rotting, testing him to see how he responds to things and how well he can still function. (Proteus's character and design was also made by @sunset-sunbun so once again big thanks to Sunny for Roser's flower zombie son!!!!)

Extra stuff: he made the little strap that holds his lavender himself and put one on each waistcoat. Not only to protect him, but also to showcase to people that he's not the most trusting. He's also allergic to bees! So all of the pollinators in his room are mechanical ones (made by Flowers (or his boyfriendddd)). He has these frequent premonitions or gut feelings that something is going to go bad. If they're not strong enough, he tends to try and ignore them, chalking them up to mere paranoia, but if it's stronger he tends to give into it, warning those who will listen or who he feels is in danger. He's felt dreadfully drawn towards Jekyll for a while now, and despite feeling quite neutral about him, Lovell has been trying to slip him warnings and protections.

If you read all of that, tysm :33 proof again that I cannot leave my characters simple or partially developed, I go ALL the way

He also!!!! Has a boyfriendddd-- a fellow Lodger named Vasily (who's @arsieu s OC :D) I love them sm. Also art by Arsie ofc

#oc: Lovell Roser #tgs #the glass scientists #tgs lodgers #lodger oc #tgs oc #Mr Roser #i loveeee flowers sm #hes just a little unhinged <3

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earlgreylatte · 1 day ago

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The Not So Little Things

Hal Jordan: Despite his general disdain to authority, he gets off to being the one in control. Definitely has a daddy kink, and even if you refuse to call him that, he’ll just refer to himself as such when he’s slamming into you, cooing at you for being so good for him and to just let daddy do all the work. And while he likes brat taming, nothing makes his heart go as gooey when you look so happy to take what he gives you, looking up at him with adoring eyes that eventually tear up from the sheer overstimulation of him not relenting until you’re shaking and barely able to speak.

Barry Allen: Somehow so unaware that he has a monster dick, due to his own inexperience and not being a big fan of casual flings. But he’s a quick learner, observant of your reactions and always willing to try new things. Grows confident pretty quick after the first two times he has you dumb from his cock. Definitely gets into some mild temperature play, already running hot from his powers but he still likes to slightly raise his temperature when inside you. Also great at massages. While hesitant at first, the longer you’re together, the more willing he is to utilize his speed against you.

Booster Gold: Coming from the 25th century where genetic modification and designer babies are the norm, he’s so entranced by every mole, beauty mark, and stretch mark. They’re like nothing he’s ever seen before, there’s just something so entrancing about each line, that has him carefully tracing his finger against your skin before eventually enveloping it with his mouth, licking, sucking and kissing every inch of you, showering you with praise for being so beautiful and perfect. He loves how he can just touch the proof of the life you’ve lived thus far. Won’t stop starting at your face if you have beauty marks there and definitely looks up the meaning of each placement on the internet.

Ted Kord: Worship the insecurity out of him. There’s so much firm muscle beneath his plushness, he’s a former gymnast after all, and even in his retirement, he’s still so unbelievably attractive when he puts on his old suit even while complaining that it doesn’t fit well anymore. He has to be blind to how good his ass and thighs look in spandex. He’s crazy for even suggesting he needs to diet, he’s literally perfect. So kiss and play with every inch of him, before taking his length in your mouth. So attractive when he just relaxes against you, mouth slack open as he lets out the prettiest noises. Teddy, the man you are.

Bruce Wayne: Use him however you want. Give him nothing in return, and he’ll still stare at you with that gushy look in his eyes. He’s more than willing to spend the whole night, or morning if he’s returning from patrol, with his head between your legs, ignoring his obvious need. Leave him wanting until just a stroke and squeeze is all it takes to have his eyes rolling back as he comes with a low groan. If you let him, he’s more than willing to leave you bedridden for a day or two. The duality of men.

I feel like booster with how much I pine for Ted. Also!! My team red post isn’t searching up in the search bar, damn you Tumblr…

Masterlist

Edit: why is professor zoom so ugly when booster is like the pinnacle of meeting the beauty standard

#dc x reader #dc imagine #dc smut #green lantern x reader #hal jordan x reader #barry allen x reader #flash x reader #booster gold x reader #michael jon carter x reader #ted kord x reader #blue beetle x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader

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maroonpascal · 2 days ago

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Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re bored at home and you prepare a little surprise for your man

Warnings: 18+ smut, MDNI, age gap, no outbreak!au, soft!joel, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), swearing, spanking, coming untouched, cursing, use of pet names (my girl, babe, babygirl, angel, my love, good girl, princess), use of “slut” (just once)

The only one you’ve ever been with and then only one you would want to be with for the rest of your life; no one knows you as much as he does, your favourite clothes, favourite drink and favourite… positions.

You came home earlier that day, and after a shower you decided to put on the blue lingerie, Joel’s favourite. Because If he knows what your favourite things are, well you definitely know his. A glance at the mirror as you’re clipping the thighs to the blue laced garter belt, and everything looks in place, biting a bit your lip thinking of how that set is gonna be stripped off of you as soon as he will set foot inside the house; it’s not that cold, so you just grab one of his plaid shirts and wear it buttoning it up, leaving though the last buttons open, part of your chest visible with a shadow of the blue lace under. You try to do everything to keep yourself occupied, but having prepared that way for him already got yourself aroused at the thought of what is gonna happen when he’s gonna see you in that tempting set; and there it is, feeling becoming already wet, not daring to touch yourself but closing your legs as you’re on the couch, trying to read but everything you can see on the pages are the words that are gonna fall from Joel’s lips. You check your phone, shouldn’t be too long before he’s gonna be home but that wait is already driving you crazy, more than once having to stop your hand from going down.

You get a tingle when you hear the keys at the door, closing your eyes for a moment and breathing deeply, trying to look composed and not like you had just slipped your hand down your panties, the book ending on the floor.

You hear the water rushing in the kitchen, Joel washing his hands, and then the steps leading to the living room. And there he is, looking effortlessly beautiful in the light of the dying day, silver hair shining and his eyes catching you there on the couch.

“Hey, how’s ma’ girl?”, his deep voice reaches you, his look softening as he sees you in that shirt of his, kissing you already on your lips, beard tickling you. “Good, you see something familiar on me?” You already tease, and the fact that he has no idea of the set makes you even more aroused.

“I see it,” he beams, a hand touching the hem of the shirt, “Looks better on you than me.”, his fingers go up, lingering on the thigh, covered by the black thighs. He goes upper, gasping when he comes in contact with the surprise that you got him. His eyes goes down, rising upper the shirt and revealing the little blue stripes clipped to the thighs, “Oh what you got here, babe?”, he asks the rhetoric question, you smirking up at him, “Find it yourself, I think you’re gonna like it.”

He smiles, you laying back on the couch, letting him start opening the buttons of that shirt. He does it with an almost painful slowness, taking in every inch of your skin that he is letting uncover, starting from the top and a low moan leaves his lips at the sight of that blue lace bra, hugging your shapes perfectly; your heart races when you feel his hand landing on the centre of your chest, smoothing it then on both your breasts, his other hand working on the rest of the buttons. His hands leave your body for a moment when the buttons are all undone, that set shimmering under the orange light of the dying day, and you see that light that you know far too well in his eyes, that light he has when he’s thinking about all the things that he could do to you.

“Fuck, look at you, takin’ all my breath away.” He lets out, you smiling knowing the power that you have on him, that power to bring him to his damn knees whenever you want to, because there isn’t anything that he’s as happy to do in his life as pleasing you in all the ways he can.

His hands smooth on your shoulders, under the shirt, making it fall so that now you have nothing but that set on you, oh and the set of thighs, which he unclips, hands grabbing your skin as he pushes them down.

You widen a bit your legs, while caressing yourself on your chest, and he takes off the jacket, remaining with another plaid shirt of his, before setting himself between your legs, the contrast between your bare skin and his clothes, jeans grinding on your delicate skin. You pull him in a kiss, hand going behind his head, getting lost in those curls, keeping him closer as he pushes his hips against you; you can feel his excitement, moving your hips back, creating a nice friction between you both. Joel leaves your lips, now going lower, hands cupping your breasts, and lips tracing them; he takes your left nipple visible under that lace between his fingertips, pinching it and you moan at that, the little pain already igniting all your senses. His kisses get lower, hands shaping your body, until he reaches the garter and pulls it down, now his look only on that lace that is barely covering you.

You see his expression changing though, and that is when you know that he’s noticed the visible wet stain on the tissue.

A hand goes directly cupping you there, your cunt twitching at that, “Touched yourself before I came home?” he starts, pushing the panties aside and looking at the tissue, and you don’t even have to answer, it is all there. You bite your bottom lip, and there isn’t even a reason to not look guilty, you wouldn’t even know how to not to, it is written all over your face, and your panties too.

“Babygirl couldn’t wait a little longer, already thinkin’ about the way I would have fucked you in this set?” His low deep voice reaches you, as you’re just able to swallow your saliva, in trepidation for what it is gonna entail. Well, you already know.

And you can't wait for that.

“Yes,” you challenge him, Joel not expecting you to answer, stopping his touching on you, you getting a little up on your elbows, “Couldn’t think about anything else, but you.” Your seductive voice feels like honey to him, but it’s not gonna sugarcoat what is gonna happen next.

“Ain’t you a little slut.” Words that are followed by a little but firm slap on your cunt, you moving your hips to that, desperate for that touch. You don’t even flinch, you just look like that’s what you really want.

“You know what to do know.” He instructs, and you twirl your hair still smiling, knowing that it is driving him crazy how you enjoy so much what is gonna happen next; you turn, elbows on the couch, knees well pointed on the couch, and ass up.

“Attagirl.” He satisfyingly says, you feeling the rough jeans on the back of your thighs, brushing on your skin. A hand goes up on your back, reaching the back of your neck, then going lower again, moulding that skin under his palm, you relaxing at that touch that you know so well, and knowing what is coming when the hand goes to cup your cheek, playing with it before a spank is delivered to it.

You whimper lightly at the sudden contact, and you would love to touch yourself to that, but you keep your hands where they are, learning the lesson (you know that you’re gonna break it other hundred times to end up in that position).

A second hit is delivered to the left cheek, the contact being followed by his calloused hands sprawling on your ass, massaging it and you feel his lips kissing each cheek, that tenderness such a contrast to the firmness he delivered those spanks with.

“Can my girl take a couple more?” you feel his voice on your skin, there on your hip, kisses all over your skin and you nod. He sees you nodding but he taps the hip with his finger anyway, “Need to hear it, babe.”

You take a big breath, “Yes, I can.” You say firmly, lips brushing more on your hips and then on your ass, “Good girl.”

The third one lands on your skin, firm as you like it, and as strong as his hand can deliver, a hand immediately massaging it. He likes doing that, but you know how much he’s always careful to not hurt you too much, always giving you breaks to prepare for the next one and you think that contrast in him is probably the thing that you love the most. You’re lost in these thoughts when the next one hit, you whimpering a little more just because of how your mind had wandered.

The familiar tender touch goes to mend the hit, soft as if that hand hadn't just spanked you.

He spreads a bit further your knees, and a hand goes again over the centre of your panties, that cold wetness sticking in the panties even more than before, now even more aroused after that spanking.

“Last one.” To which you respond with a loud yes, and where it gets delivered leaves you without breath.

His hand has landed right in the centre, on your cunt, the obscene sound of the wetness filling the room, pain igniting you even more. “Fuck.” You cry, legs almost shaking, his hand going to cup that centre, that wet tissue under his palm, and you almost squirm, trying to catch your breath.

The panties get pushed to one side, “Oh fuck me.” He exhales seeing how wet you are, dripping for him and him only.

“Like what you see?” You tease him once you got your breath back, and all you get in response is his finger going between your slick folds, dividing them, a knuckle pushing against that wetness.

Thumbs go spreading you even more open, the cold air hitting you, but it is soon replaced by his breathing, “So much, you can’t even imagine it.” He lets out before diving in you, lips kissing you there and you moan loudly, arching more your back and so you’re spreading even more your legs for him. He licks and kisses, then brushing his finger on you, touching you almost delicately until he reaches your clit, fingertip pressing there and circling it as he goes back to make love to you with his mouth, obscene kisses being left there. A high pitched scream leaves your lips when he presses his tongue into you, warm and wet, shutting your eyes at that pleasure. He twirls his tongue, as you push your hips even further, the stimulation already sending you over the edge; the shape of his nose brushes on you as he goes deeper, and it’s all so much, your heartbeat racing.

Fingers trace from your clit to your soft plush, his lips leaving you as he takes back his breath, letting his fingers moving over you, but still not inside you. And you want that, you want it so much and so desperately, that you don’t even realise you just said it out loud.

“What’s that my princess need?” He lavishly asks, his voice so much deeper, his other hand brushing on your back; “Repeat it, babe.” He insists, seeing how you’re just muffling those words against a pillow of the couch.

“Want your… your fingers.” You whimper, trying to keep up your knees, even though they’re so close to give up, too much pleasure that you could just collapse on the cushions below.

“Be more specific.” He repeats, a light spank on your left cheek, you hissing at that and your body responding by getting even more wet, if possible.

“I want your fingers inside me.” You then cry, hands grabbing that damn pillow for dear life, and you can feel Joel smirking on your back, before leaving a kiss on the small of your back.

That is how he’s slowly pushing a fingertip inside of you, stretching you and slicking in so perfectly that it lets out a moan out of him, pushing until his knuckle and then almost getting it all out before pushing all back in again. A slow but deep pace is built, a second finger getting pushed in, your folds welcoming it so well; that is when your knees start to tremble though and so, lost in the whole pleasure, mind fogged by it, you search for the words to tell him that you want to lay down. Nothing is gonna happen if you did it without asking, but you just want to make him aware of that.

“Joel, I- I need to-”

You don’t even get to finish your phrase that he’s gently holding your hips and guiding them down, then brushing the back of his hands on the back of your legs; you breathe deeply, letting your body relax, before you can see him kneeling next to your face, kissing your forehead carefully, brushing your hair back, “Thank you.” You breathe, him nodding, his features bathed in that sunlight.

Your hand reaches his beard, him kissing your palm and holding it in his, brushing his thumb over it; your hand is so small compared to his, beard tickling your palm, making you smile.

The way he looks at you, the full adoration in his eyes that makes your heart flutter and your cunt twitching as you have been postponing your orgasm.

“I still want to come for you.” You utter, killing the distance between your lips, kissing him, and biting lightly his bottom lip, your taste still there, trapped on his lips and on that silverish beard.

“Turn around for me then, angel.” And you do as asked, laying with your back against the couch, your back thanking you, and you already widen your legs for him again; panties get pushed down and end up on the floor, Joel taking in the sight of those folds slicked and your cunt getting swollen, waiting to be touched and kissed again, only to finally rose.

“Alright, so where were we?” He jokingly asks, making you giggle, as he’s getting settled between your legs, laying too on the couch.

“I think that you were eating me out so good that you brought me to my knees.” And Joel loves how you got your breath back, he loves how you respond to him, how you hold your own and challenge him.

“ ’m gonna start again from that, then.” He devilishly smiles as you see his head disappearing down there, letting out a moan when you feel again that tongue on you, now caressing directly your clit, arms going under your thighs and then anchoring his hands over them, guiding them open as much as he likes to.

You thank him mentally for that, because your first impulse was to close your legs, shying away from that touch, almost denying yourself of that pleasure that is gonna make you explode real soon. Your hand reaches his, him responding by intertwining his fingers to yours, that touch being as intimate as his tongue pushing once again inside you, letting out of you a high pitched cry.

You can’t help but let the other hand reach his dust silvered hair, letting it get lost in it, soft under your fingers and when you look down it is quite a view, seeing him there between your legs; that is when he rises up a bit his head, still working on you with his tongue, and locks his gaze with yours, you melting under that look, seeing his nose with a stain shining on it, just like his moustache looks shinier with your pleasure on it. It’s outrageous and beautiful at the same time, his tongue not giving signs of leaving your clit until you’re gonna cum over it, sounds filling the room, the light outside leaving the place for the incoming darkness.

You shiver at the way the beard brushes on the inside of your thighs, knowing that they’re gonna need some soothing cream after all of this, but it’s all worth it.

Pleasure is building more and more inside of you, still trying to postpone your orgasm, never wanting all of that to ever end. You would want him eating you out for even the whole night, knowing that Joel would give it all to you, no questions asked.

He’s breathing you all in, in fact, enjoying all of that and brushing his hips against the couch, the desperate need for some contact to ease his aching length, to give himself that release that he has been postponing, just like you’re doing with yours, because actually at the moment only your pleasure exists and he can endure that, this is all about you.

Juices have wetted his beard and all his chin, him swallowing everything that you can give to him, and he gets pleasure from that.

It’s when he’s sucking on your clit, almost ravenous, that your body can’t take it anymore and you know that you can’t hold it no more.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you repeat his name like a mantra, like it is all that you know, the only word that your mouth can pronounce, all your vocabulary having been reduced to just one name.

“Give it all to me, baby.” He encourages you, his voice so fucking deep that you start orgasming already that, keeping it going once he places his lips over your clit again, kissing it messily, tongue making you an even worse mess. Your moans are loud, riding that pleasure, your body igniting like it’s being shocked, shaking under that touch and all your pleasure filling his mouth, those damn lips making you scream, arching your back and seeing fucking stars behind your shut eyelids.

A series of bad words leave your lips, biting your own hand and your legs shaking uncontrollably, chest going up and down so fast, heart in your neck, your ears, pulsing everywhere.

And Joel lets his head collapse on your hip, thrusting once again against the couch and finally releasing, coming untouched and with all his clothes on, such is your power on him.

You feel light pecks all over your hips, leaving wet traces, then on your tummy and upper on your chest, finally reaching then your lips and you kiss him with so much passion, both your hands cupping his face, melting in that kiss and in that tenderness that he’s giving you.

He leaves your lips to leave a kiss on the tip of your nose, making you smile softly, his adoring eyes taking in your relaxed face and reddened cheeks.

“I love you so much.” He lets out, brushing your hair behind your ear, and your heart explode even more than before, always getting the same feeling when he pronounces those words.

“I love you too.” You exhale and you let him place his head on your chest, him laying his weight on you, brushing a hand in his hair.

“God, your heartbeat, is that all for me?” He says, brushing his hand on your left part of the chest, still that bra on you.

“Yes, all for you my love.” Words fall from your lips like the most expensive velvet and you adore how he takes in every single detail of you.

“Uhm, Joel… did you come or should I do something…” you leave the words hanging , having embraced him in a hug, breaking those moments of silence that had followed your orgasm.

You see him rising himself on his arms.

“Babygirl, you got your ol’ man coming in his clothes.”

And you try so hard to not laugh, but you inevitably burst out laughing anyway, laugh reverberating the living room, him chuckling too and soon you’re both laughin, high in that post orgasm haze, seeing him duck his head; Joel goes to hide his face on the crook of your neck, still laughing and you couldn’t be more in love with him, with this man whose laugh is the most beautiful sound in the whole world, this man that if he could would give the whole world to you.

#joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #mine

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melosliving · 2 days ago

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aaron pierre & kelvin harrison jr x actress!reader

"I know I’m not seeing your bare feet, girl. the interview is about to start ! What are you still doing in slippers ?" still sitting on your high chair you look up a bit, pausing the movements of your makeup brush only to meet Kelvin’s brown eyes in the mirror in front of you.

You quickly turned in your chair, placing one of your hands on his mouth to shut him up. Indeed, today was the first day of the long press tour for the new lion king movie (you played sarabi) and you were already over it. The whole studio was drowned in commotion, people running from a side to the another one to try to keep everything in order. Now, you were absolutely delighted and grateful about being part of the cast of this big movie, with incredible people, but the part where you had to look incredible all the time was probably the worst part for you. "Shush ! Caroline wants me to wear heels, you know how I feel about heels, kel."

a muffled "and ?" was heard as he tried to talk under your hand. You definitely wished to describe yourself as a high maintenance girly, but you couldn’t help but wanting to put it all to the side and be the low maintenance girl you truly were. Sometimes it was just too much. Just like right now : as much as your black fitted blazer looked tea on you, you couldn’t bring yourself to wear the heels Caroline, your stylist, wanted you to wear.

before you could even think of an answer to Kelvin’s question, what seemed to be aaron appeared in the mirror, looking at you two weird. "You’re not ready yet, lovie ? Where are your shoes ?" he asked, coming closer. "This lady right here doesn’t want to wear her heels. Can you believe this girl wants to do the interview barefooted ?" Kelvin answered before you could. You sigh. "Boo boo, you’re scared of hurting your little feet, my love ?" He teased.

You couldn’t help but look at him like he was crazy, but smiling still. Even if both of them acted like your big brothers, kelvin had always been the most teasing of the two, always trying to bicker with you on and off set. "You try walking in louboutin, in full fucking glam on a Thursday morning." You retorted, pointing towards the pretty pair of heels waiting for you under your chair. "I ain’t no Zendaya, so excuse me but these, are complete hell." Aaron looked at you with soft eyes, trying not to laugh at your antics. Each time you wouldn’t be happy with something, whether it be your outfit, the way you said a certain line, your makeup, you would pout. And here you were, starting to pout, like the childish person you were.

"C’mon, we’ll help you walk to the chair. It’s okay." The light skin man said, reaching for your heels and crouching down to put it on your pretty feet. That melted your heart, making you smile a bit. "I always knew mufasa was a better brother than taka." You said, clearly being petty. looking at Kelvin’s face, both aaron and you laughed at him. Then, with the help of Aaron’s hand you rose up to your feet, reaching out for Kelvin’s hand too and walked to the assigned chairs for the three of you.

"I know you did not say that though, you don’t mean that. Don’t let his pretty light skin face fool you." said kelvin, looking at aaron and you.

"Ay, you know better !" said aaron.

"you’re lucky you look incredibly beautiful, ❁. And you smell expensive. Damn, what’s your perfu…"

@ melosliving 2025

#aaron pierre x black reader #kelvin harrison jr.#kelvin harrison jr x reader #actor!reader #mufasa : the lion king #aaron pierre fluff #kelvin harrison jr fluff #aaron pierre

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kookinglikeachef · 3 days ago

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ATEEZ AS FRAT GUYS

Ot8 x F. Reader Content warning: Sexual language

kookinglikeachef: Was originally writing this for “The Sex Lives of College Guys” ff but I don’t think I’ll be doing it anymore because of internal doubts🥲

Hongjoong:

Obviously the fraternity president

He runs shit in and out of the frat house

Takes gender and theory studies courses

And bagged a lot of partnerships with local businesses for fundraising

He had to convince the dean many times not to expel certain members

*Cough* SanGi *cough*

He can be a bit of a snob and a little uptight

Sets strict drinking limits and instruct that the house is intact the next morning

20 minutes in and he’s convincing everyone to climb the chimney

Can usually handle his alcohol but when he gets piss drunk

He’s Debby Ryan-ing at every girl that talks to him

Seonghwa:

Alpha nerd

He only cares about his LEGOs and turning his assignments in on time

Locks himself in his room when there’s a party

Because he just got his new Star Wars set

Eventually joins halfway through

Only to judge everyones never have I ever scandals

But they won’t ever get one out of him

“Never have I ever been to a sex party”

Please he HOSTED and ORGANIZED

Laughing in his head cause not a single soul will ever know about it

Not even his members

And if you’re wondering how no one will find out?!

Well he’s got a fallback plan that proves he was at his fraternity in his room

During said day and said times

BUILDING HIS DAMN LEGOS

He’s also the one that take care of his brothers after a huge party

Probably the only reason the entire house hasn’t gone to shit tbh

Yunho:

The one with the girlfriend

They’ve been together since the second year of high school

And got into the same college

Still going four years strong

He’s majoring in computer engineering

So his servers are not the only thing that can sustain a long uptime *wink, wink*

His hobbies are taking photos of his girlfriend

Or trying any and every kink in the book with her

MULTIPLE PREGNANCY SCARES

Beer pong king

If anyone tries to hit on him he will not let them finish a sentence without making it clear he’s taken

Doesn’t mean that he dislikes getting attention from people that aren’t his girlfriend, though

Sometimes he’d flirt back

Says it’s not cheating if nothing physical happens

Definitely disregards his girlfriend’s feelings about it

He can be a jerk sometimes

Yeosang:

1stly

He don’t wanna be here

He don’t even know how he got into a frat in the first place

Yet he unexpectedly fit in well

Truthfully, he’s the one that’s attracting all the ladies to the frat house

Like roaches

The sorority girls LOVE him

And I mean they want him so bad

As a sister AND to get eaten out by him

Even though he only ever hooked up with one girl

She spread the news like jelly on bread and he’s suddenly that Pod the Rod type (game of thrones lmao)

Pretends to not understand why girls are in love with him

When his members ask him about it,

“I don’t know her” he’ll shrug

It’s always the quiet ones

San:

He’s definitely a legacy

Comes from generations of mischief

I solemnly swear that he’s up to no good

Also comes from money but doesn’t like to brag about it

He’s getting a Bachelor of Arts degree

And is a strip poker enthusiast

Never has a shirt on

He fucks every other week but not-so-secretly just wants to fuck his best friend

Bro bonding time is his favorite time

He loves to talk feelings and makes sure his members are okay

And actually enjoys the charity events

Even volunteers as the mascot

And daydreams about what it would be like to fuck his best friend in it

He and Wooyoung are infamous for their coma-inducing

“Frat punch”

The recipe is only known to them

But anyone who attends their parties are deeply warned about it

He forces people to listen to his drunk rants about how much he’s in love with his best friend of 12 years

Then blacks out under the table hugging a bottle with her picture taped to it

It’s not creepy

He’s just down bad

Still shows up early to morning lectures in blacked out sunglasses

And gets scolded by his best friend

Then he remembers when he told someone that he’s in love with his best friend

Thinks it may have been her

Mingi:

Mingki is the shy one

Or at least that’s what he wants people to believe

No guy on campus likes bringing their girl around him because

HE. WILL. TAKE. THEIR. BITCH.

And he doesn’t even mean to

But he’s ultimately sweet and will never turn down sex

He sleeps around a lot as well as sleeping through classes

Missed and failed his exams

So his grades aren’t as hot as him

Gets told a lot that if he really applied himself

He’d be a great business major

But he doesn’t really gaf

Everyone thinks he’s failing

But he passes with flying colors

Did I mention that he fucked the dean’s wife because she promised to convince her husband not to expel him?

Wooyoung:

Everyone on campus knows about this mother fucker right here

Friends with literally everybody

He majors in history

And is THE life of the party

If he’s not there it’ll be lame af

Good thing he never misses one, though

And still manages to keep up clean grades

He gets invited to other fraternity parties

Thinks he’s going to die at every party

Genuinely believes that the hash slinging slasher is out to get him

That’s just a result of the “Frat Punch”

He does not do relationships

Only has friends with benefits and brags about his favorite ones

Texts “hey big head” whenever he’s horny

And would tag them in fwb memes

He’ll still invite them to hangout with his members

Even after being balls deep in them like five minutes ago

Jongho:

Will deny being in a frat unless you show up outside his door to prove it

Only joined because he heard the rooms are bigger

He does EVERYTHING

From theater to sports to board games with elderly residents

So you know he’s pulling the theater kids and athletes and a classmates auntie

He majors in one of two subjects

Computer Science or Architecture

You see what he does to those apples and watermelons?!

Those hands are God-given

Ask the swim team

At parties, he’s in charge of the playlists

And he sneaks some Wicked in there when everyone’s too drunk to notice

He’s banned from ordering kegs because he kept ordering wine instead

Beats everyone’s ass at pool

Wooyoung likes to hustle people into placing bets on him but he’d just give the money to any charity the sorority might have

#ateez #ateez ot8 #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez fanfic #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #kookinglikeachef

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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Aww yay!! I'm so happy to hear that. 🥹💗

so far what I love the most about this series-verse is how, authentic and genuine dean and mila’s relationship is <3 I think maybe I mentioned it when reviewing THC but truly their love feels so sincere 🤍🤍

Omg thank you!! What an amazing compliment, and now I'm blushing. 🥰🥰 With everything these two went through in THC, I wanted their connection to feel real and natural now as they continue learning each other.

I feel like in today’s day & age relationships can be so complicated because there are too many trivial outside factors, but for them in this universe, it’s really just as simple as two people who care a lot for each other making it work. and i absolutely love that 😭💗

Oh God yes, totally agree. 🙃 And there are complications around Mila and Dean, but when it's just the two of them, Dean gets her to remember that them choosing to be together can be as simple or complicated as they allow it to be. It's a choice, day by day, working together. 💕💕

they’re so sweet to each other :’)🫶🏽 even when he puts his foot in his mouth; as soon as he made that comment when learning about the chief I shook my head lol, oh dean 😂

Ahaha he's trying his best. Oh Dean. 😝

But he's so damn charming and adorable, she can't help but let him back into her good graces.

mystery dude better back up!🤺 I do not trust that man at all so far, he gave me such a bad vibe :/ for his sake he better not try anything because not only will dean protect his wife, mila is clearly not to be messed with 🤣 which brings me back to how much I admire her strength! I love that she will speak up for what matters.

He's being sneaky about it, isn't he? 😒 But YES, if Mila doesn't mess him up first, Dean definitely will. 💞 Mila's not one to take things sitting down either.

the thought of dean getting picked on makes me so sad because it’s like, classic bullying :((( I wanna hug him so bad. especially since it’s already been so hard leaving everything and everyone he had behind — the weight of hazing & hard judgement on top of adjusting to everything new must be draining :( honestly I admire his strength too i’m glad she’s providing him with the support he deserves 🫶🏽 because yeah even though he can handle it, he shouldn’t have to ✋🏽😔

Ikr? 😭😭 Dean doesn't deserve this at all, considering how hard he's working to be respectful to their customs, but it's kind of par for the course (he's honestly lucky they let him live). It will get better for him (eventually), but you're right, it is draining for him, even if he doesn't want to admit it to Mila. She's doing her best to be his support system. 💞

also, I did not expect baby x mato but you know what, i’m here for it 😭🙂‍↕️

omgg I was hoping someone would like that part. 😂😂 I honestly didn't plan it when I was writing THC, but it came out when I started developing Outlander. I thought it was a cute lil' tidbit, and it's actually going to play more into the plot later. 😉💗

I'm so excited for you guys to see what's coming for this little series!!

Outlander - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi.

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile.

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes.

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman.

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject.

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila’s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more.

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse.

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.”

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.”

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence.

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence.

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening.

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment.

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.

“You okay?” he asks.

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm.

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart.

“You will never be alone,” she promises.

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight.

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him.

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him.

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms.

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him.

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt.

“I choose him over you,” she says.

Then, she slips back inside.

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds.

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now.

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.”

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones.

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.”

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say.

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though.

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once.

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks.

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother.

“I will think on it,” he says.

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life.

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut.

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers.

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring.

However, she pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name.

She gasps and whips around. He is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip.

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