#god i just love it and it never happens enough for me…. like i know it’s usually in an unhealthy relationship with spiderman sense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onsomenewsht · 2 days ago

Text

I've got peace and I've got love

About a surprise for your birthday even if you hate your birthday

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 for anyone who needs to feel celebrated

Birthdays are a complicated matter.

You don’t hate them, no one really does.

People should be loved loudly, their mere presence on Earth should be reason enough to celebrate them.

You care about your family and your friends, baking cakes and inflating balloons and dressing up for a themed party are not a problem - you’re the first one to arrive and the last to leave.

Celebrating your birthday though? Hell, no.

For most, it doesn’t make sense.

A day in a whole year when anyone is entitled to be under the biggest spotlight, getting gifts and all the wanted attention. Yet, you’d rather hide in the remotest corner of the planet than hear someone sing “happy birthday” to you.

Despite the insistence and the repeated attempts over the years, your mother has finally accepted that you don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Your best friend has accepted that you’ll avoid a surprise party like the plague. Everyone who knows you, knows it.

Alexia included.

At least she knows now, after last year.

The two of you got together just shy of three months before your birthday. Bless her good heart, she thought a surprise ambush might be appreciated.

She’s not going to make the same mistake twice in a row, but she wants to do something.

“You told me she hates birthdays”, Alba points out, a bit confused, sipping her coffee as if her sister isn’t in the middle of an inconclusive rant.

“She hates her own, not birthdays in general”

“I still think you should just buy her a nice present, wish her a happy birthday and move on like she asked you to do”

“It seems so, I don’t know, incomplete?”, the blonde tries to explain, “How do I make sure I show how much I appreciate her if I can’t celebrate her?”

“You better celebrate her every day, not just on the birthday–”

“I do it, idiot!”

Alexia is quick in her jab, but thankfully the younger girl is used to her attitude by now.

Cup saved from any spill, Alba barely has enough patience to give another, simple pearl of wisdom, “So do it like any other day, but, you know, on her birthday”

It’s good advice, even if she’d never admit it.

Alexia spends most of her day off plotting, her free time during the week before your birthday completely taken over by careful planning and prep.

You can tell immediately that something is off, but you let it slide because she’s cute when she’s on a mission, and you don’t really want to spoil her fun.

At the stroke of midnight, like a mischievous fairy godmother, your best friend calls you to sing a personalized rendition of “Die, Die My Darling” like every year since you’re sixteen and think you’re oh-so-funny.

Your mother sends a present from the entire family, along with a picture of a cake you’re not going to eat but you’re glad they’ll enjoy in your name. Alexia’s mother and sister send flowers, and you have to reassure your girlfriend that it’s a genuinely appreciated sentiment.

Said girlfriend kisses you for every year spent on this Earth and then moves on, as if nothing happened. As if nothing is going to happen.

It’s suspicious, really suspicious.

The day passes by without any major incident.

At work just a few colleagues know it’s your birthday, they politely hand you a card with bad jokes written all over it. You mindlessly send the same three reactions at every text message, nonetheless appreciating everyone who remembered and took the time to wish you a happy birthday. A kind waitress adds a slice of dessert as you pick up take-out at your favourite Mexican place, probably prompted by Alexia when she ordered over the phone and sent you to the restaurant.

Guard down, you open the door to your girlfriend’s apartment, still not connecting the dots.

Thank the goddesses and gods above for that nice waitress, because what you find inside is definitely a first and the food wouldn’t have survived the surprise if not for the well-secured package.

Soft music - that, to your shame, you only realise too late is your favorite record - resonates through the room, which is filled with dozens of floating balloons reaching the ceiling.

You take a few tentative steps inside, noticing pictures carefully tied to each string with numbers scribbled on the corners.

Snaps of the past year, memories so simple in their significance you sometimes fail to give a good measure of. Dinners out with friends, an unflattering portrait of an early morning during the summer, the first time holding your niece. You linger over a photo of you and Alexia talking on Mapi’s couch, neither of you looking at the camera, as it’s clear you had eyes only for each other.

“I’ve never seen this one”, you whisper, emotion thick in your voice.

Your girlfriend is leaning on the further wall of the entrance, a confident stance failing to hide a note of nervousness. The way her hands are buried in the pocket of old sweatpants and her eyes are studying every single macro-expression shifting on your face are a clear tell for you.

"Ingrid sent it to me some times ago”

“It’s beautiful”

“It is”, she agrees easily, still not daring to come closer.

Alexia’s gaze drops as soon as you notice there’s a handwritten message on the back of every photo, her cheeks flushing slightly.

You take the time to read each one attentively, smiling at her thoughtfulness and the care she put into all the moments chosen. People and occasions that hold meaning for you, no matter how big or small. You feel love in every single one.

“You put a lot of thought into this”

“I had to sacrifice a couple of good ones”, she mumbles, almost upset with herself.

The commitment to matching the number of pictures to your age it’s impressive, you have to admit.

A burst of laughter fills the entire apartment, Alexia finally meeting your gaze and taking in how moved you’re by her surprise.

The fear of overstepping had been like an annoying voice, whispering in her ear as she scribbled on the back of the photos or tried to wrap gifts without running out of patience or tape.

“Do you like it?”, her doubt creeping in her voice.

“I don’t hate it”, you joke, still eager to ease her worries, “No one has ever put this much thought or effort into– I don’t know, celebrating my birthday, I guess”

“You deserve to be celebrated”

You take the few steps to fill the gap between you two, food forgotten somewhere behind, and throw yourself into her already open arms.

“Thank you”

“I love you”

The kiss you share is a clear enough answer. Sometimes, it’s not even necessary to spell it out - action speaks louder than words, they say. She holds you for as long as you need, music still playing softly in the background.

“Is this a good moment to mention that you have to open as many presents as you have in years?”

“Alexia!”

#alexia putellas x reader #my wo(rd)so #alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso fanfics #woso community #for all the birthday girls who hate their birthday #i know its rushed and bad #its my own birthday present #writing more just because

363 notes · View notes

yarnabee · 1 day ago

Text

THE DOCTOR HEADCANNON — BEING HIS PLAYTHING.

harley sawyer ( the doctor ) x reader

tags/warnings: sfw (15+), light gore, torture/impact, power imbalance, degradation, abusive behaviour, posessive behaviour, kidnapping i suppose

sawyer is a HUGE jerk to everyone, including to his own little precious plaything, you. of course, such a cold, dense body made out of metal wouldn't make sense if it had a heart, wouldn't it?

besides.. your timid reactions to his sick, little experiments were what piqued his interest in the first place. what a lovely sight it is to see a flesh roaming around his prison like a helpess, pathetic rat who lost its way home. whether you writhe, yelp, whine, sob, or scream.. it's all melody to his ears.

he loves purposefully letting you escape from his lair, making you think that there's still hope to escape his hellish prison. just as you thought you were free of his grasp, he'll pin you, his beloved trophy, down—his mechanical figure hovering over you, eyes daunting as it pierces towards your cowardly ones, squeezing your neck tightly with his iron first, making sure that you knew there's no use fighting someone much stronger than you are. oh, how he loves watching the glint of hope fading from your pupils—dulling them with fear instead. he'd purposefully taunt you, mocking you with his laugh as it echoes through the hallways, "you really thought you could escape me, hmm? what an interesting thing you are, little rat."

oh, how he loves turning every single thing into a game that he knew you'd lose from the very beginning. it's amusing to see how you'd react time to time, whether you try to fight back or whimper out of fear, he feasts on it nonetheless. he'll purposefully make you play hide and seek with him, taunt you with his creaking footsteps, then having his way with you once he got his fingers wrapped tightly around you—dragging you into his lair once again as your fights and cries means nothing to him. "don't try to fight, little rat. i know you're at least smart enough to understand why."

don't get him wrong, though. just because he's able to leave cuts and bruises all over your delicate skin doesn't mean any of those filthy creatures roaming outside has the right to leave a scratch on you, not even a single one. oh, how sawyer wouldn't even think twice to rip appart the limbs off those past experiments who still roams in the area, who dares to touch you without any permission. you're his plaything, and only his. no one else.

the doctor wants you to DEPEND on him, just like how yarnaby depends on him and obeys him like a God. he wants your pathetic self to see him as YOUR lifeline, as he purposefully brings the necessities you need such as food and medicines, his mechanical joints placing them gently next to you without saying anything. afterall, he needs his little lab rat on good condition to play with, no?

at times where he's not running any 'experiments' and 'games' on you, he always kept you inside of his lab—no contact is allowed without his permission. he'd occassionally let yarnaby roam around and get used up to your presence, but he won't let you or it get too attached to each other.

he barely speaks to you, his answers are either mockery or straight degradation. you never really ask him anything about his motives too, he never liked it when you were curious. "say, little rat, i'd be amused if you hadn't learn what happens to curious little rats who gets too nosy."

a little fun fact; the doctor can easily destroy you if he wanted to. he always lets you know through his grips—how he's controlling it steadilly, letting you know that if he puts just the littlest more effort into squeezing you, you'd have your bones crushed within seconds—and he makes sure that you always remember that at all times.

"now, little rat, go on and amuse me. let's see what else i can get out off you."

#harley sawyer #harley sawyer x reader #poppy playtime x reader #the doctor #poppy playtime #dr sawyer #the doctor x reader #dr harley #ppt4 #poppy playtime chapter 4 #ppt chapter 4 #ppt 4 #sawyer #Spotify

244 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 2 days ago

Text

Stolen Kisses

Zayne x gn!Reader

Inspired by two gifs, right here and right here

I think Zayne kissing me like he's drowning and I'm his only source of air would change me. Make me worse. God I want it

Warnings: fluff, kissing, touch starved Zayne, light banter, light angst (if you squint?)

Word Count: 1,010

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Before you can lose your resolve, you grab Zayne by his collar and kiss him. It doesn't last long, but in the second or two that it does, you pour as much of your love for him into the kiss as you can.

You pull away quickly. Your anxieties have caught up to you. God, that was such a stupid move. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You cover your mouth and squeak out an apology, avoiding looking at his face, completely missing the awed, dazed expression he held. Maybe if you can get outside fast enough you can escape this moment. Maybe you'll both ignore each other for a few days and then text each other promising never to talk about it ever again. You turn to make your escape.

A hand on your shoulder stops you before you can, however, turning you back around to face him. Another hand uncovers your mouth, and his lips are on yours again.

Your back hits the door, your head quickly cushioned by his hand, the other holding desperately to your waist. His breaths fill your senses as they fan against your cheek from his nose, as though he's trying so hard not to need to pull away. There's a slight tremor to them, too. A shaky sigh of relief.

You hold the back of his neck, tangling your fingers into his short black hair. Grab onto his open collar, keeping him close, never wanting him to part.

It takes so long before the kiss begins to soften. His breaths shuddering with overwhelming emotion as he slows to give you chaste pecks. Every single time his mouth is on yours, your heart aches, tortured from all the times you imagined what kissing him would be like. And now you know. And now you don't want to ever forget.

His nose brushes alongside yours as he pulls away. Breaths mingling together. He lets go of your waist in favor of cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking just under your eyes. "Open your eyes," he whispers, almost pleadingly.

Your brow furrows in worry. "I'm scared."

"Why?"

"Because... I don't want this to be a dream. I'm scared I'll open my eyes, and you won't be here... and none of this will have happened."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. You can feel his eyes flickering over your face, studying you up close in a way you've longed to do with him. His hand shifts from your cheek. You immediately miss the cool touch, the softness of his palm, the precision of his fingers.

He pinches your earlobe. You wince, leaning toward it instinctively. He chuckles softly as he soothes it between his thumb and finger. "Are you still dreaming?" he asks.

Your heart seems to lodge itself in your throat as you slowly open your eyes. He's still there, so close. Hazel green eyes shine with delight behind his glasses.

"There you are." He smiles at the heat he feels in your cheeks as he holds your face again. It's incredible to him how at ease he feels like this; your kiss, the catalyst to it all.

You experimentally play with the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes flutter briefly, a quiet gasp choked in his throat. It's as if your touch is the first he's felt in a millennium. Warm and gentle. It's dizzying, knowing you have this effect on him. With your hand on his collar, you brush your knuckles against his throat. You feel his Adam's apple bob against them.

You nudge your nose against his. "Can I kiss you again?"

With half-lidded eyes, he nods slightly, granting you permission. You tilt your chin up, kissing him in a slow, ghosting touch of lips. Your eyes linger open a crack just to see his expression. The way his eyes close, savoring anything you deign to give him.

He pulls away, letting go of you to pull off his glasses and set them carelessly in the key-bowl beside the door, before diving back in. His kiss is more insistent, more intent on tasting and indulging in you. He takes his time in the same breath that he seeks for more.

His tongue brushes curiously along your lip. You make such a sweet sound as you open your mouth to him, welcome him in. He licks into you with a groan, pressing you further against the door with his body right up to yours. Even still, he's not seeking for anything more than your kiss. He does not reach for your clothes, or slot his hips right up against yours. He just wants this - wants to kiss you for hours, to relieve himself of so many years pining after you and being too respectful not to do anything about it.

You sigh his name and you swear he whimpers at the sound of it like that, so breathy and wanton. It takes so much of his resolve to be able to draw away again, before he fully loses control. Before he gets so lost in you that his Evol starts acting up. Even still, when he pulls away, he stays close, forehead pressed to yours as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

His eyes flutter open at last. He looks at you with so much warmth, so much love. His lips curl into a soft smile, and he leans up to press a kiss to your forehead. "Sit with me a while longer," he whispers against your skin. You nod. Of course. You'd be hard pressed to leave now, when he's finally in your arms in ways you'd only dreamt of.

He steps away slowly, hands slipping from your face and the back of your head, to take hold of your own hands and lead you from the door.

The night carries on outside his house. Cars drive in the city lights, stars blink down from above. The world spins on, as two new lovers speak in hushed whispers about the wonderful start of their relationship between stolen kisses.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

162 notes · View notes

mommyslittlebird · 3 days ago

Text

Pendulum

Wanda x Reader, WandaNat x Reader

After a session with Wanda the prior evening, you wake up alone in your bed and find you’re a bit more reliant on her than you’d like to be.

CW: Sub drop, (kinda) panic attack, mood swings, guilt, Mommy Kink, mentions of spanking, established WandaNat (no cheating), pills (Tylenol and Xanax), Wanda generally being a protective and worried mama

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I may know hardly anything about dom drop, but I’m ✨well versed✨ in sub drop. I honestly think this one is adorable and I hope you all enjoy.

A/N: I wasn’t doing this consciously, but reading this back I realize I kinda did a reverse YAIL, so, if you haven’t already, go check out that series by @wandasaura

You woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air before your head even left the pillow. It was hard to find anything to ground you in your dark bedroom, but with the help of your stuffed bear, Francis, and some breathing exercises you’d been working on in therapy, you were able to calm down at least enough to breathe. Still, you found yourself dizzy, nauseous, in pain, and, perhaps most excruciatingly, alone.

Wanda. Where was Wanda? Where was your mommy? You needed mommy.

“Mommy?” You cried quietly into the empty room. But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. She was at home, tucked peacefully into bed with Natasha, her wife. And you were here, in your cold, empty apartment, all alone.

You turned to look at the clock on your bedside table. 1:30 am. It was far too late to call her. She had to get up for work in a couple hours. You had to get up for class in a couple hours.

But god, you needed her. You needed just to hear her voice. Everything felt so empty without her here. Your brain felt like it was underwater. You couldn’t think. It felt like your mind was strapped to a pendulum, swinging back and forth between extremes. It’s like half of your mind was begging for Wanda while the other half scolded you for your over-reliance. You wanted her, but you didn’t want to want her. It was hyper-dependence clashing with hyper-independence in an internal battle that left you dazed and confused.

Just call her, you thought. She told you to call her if this ever happened.

You’d been her submissive for months, and, though you’d never actually experienced sub drop with her, the two of you had discussed it extensively. “You can call me at any time,” she’d said. “Even if it's been days. I’m here for you in any way you need me.”

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, pulling up her contact and hovering over the call button. But before you could press it, the pendulum swung back. You hurled the phone into your beanbag on the other side of the room.

What are you thinking? You can’t call her. She’s not your fucking girlfriend. You’re so reliant on her and she doesn’t even care about you. Leave her alone. This is your mess. Handle it.

You sighed, dragging your aching body off of your mattress. Everything hurt. The wounds she’d so loving inflicted the night before ached even more than they had when they were fresh. You wanted, needed, to feel her soft hands massaging soothing balm into your skin like they had only hours prior. But no.

Wanda. Wasn’t. Here.

It was just you and you alone. You needed to take care of this. You needed to pull yourself together and handle this on your own. You felt like you might be sick. The swinging of this pendulum was nauseating. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, pulling two Tylenol and a Xanax from the medicine cabinet. You sat on the toilet, tucking your head between your knees.

You didn’t understand what was happening. Or rather, you didn’t understand why it was happening. Wanda had done everything perfectly, just like she always did. She’d insisted you stay with her until you were out of subspace and your mind was clear again. She’d given you all the cuddles and love and reassurance you could possibly want. She’d even rubbed that soothing lotion on your sore ass despite the fit you’d pitched about it. This shouldn’t be happening. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. You were the problem.

You moved from the bathroom to your living room, pacing anxious circles until you worried the neighbors would complain. Then you decided on a walk.

A little walk to clear your head. That should help. No need to bother Wanda. You could take care of this by yourself.

—————

A little over two blocks proved you could not, in fact, take care of this by yourself. You found yourself collapsed on a bench outside your favorite coffee shop, her contact pulled up on your phone, sobbing as your thumb hovered over the call button.

You clicked it, anxiously awaiting an answer through the dial tone. Every second without an answer was a battle not to hit the red button, and smash your phone on the ground so you wouldn’t be tempted to try this again.

“Hello?” You heard, not Wanda, but Natasha’s sleep addled voice.

You silently cursed, debating hanging up the phone and forgetting the whole endeavor. You had very limited experience in dealing with Natasha. Where Wanda was warm and inviting, Natasha was cold and intimidating. Wanda had told you once that Natasha had a soft spot for you, but you remained unconvinced any of Natasha’s spots were “soft”.

Wanda had explained to you that Natasha’s had submissives of her own, but she tended to prefer brats, submissives who needed a harsher hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” Wanda had explained, “she’s just not used to sweet little girls like you.”

Still, the woman terrified you. And she definitely was NOT the one you wanted to be speaking to right now. But you took a deep breath, and answered her. “H-hello, Miss Natasha. C-can I speak to Wanda?” You stammered. You couldn’t keep the tears and desperation out of your voice when you added a “…please.”

“Y-yeah, sure honey. Just a second let me get her up,” she responded tiredly.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Natasha rousing a peaceful Wanda from her sleep just because you couldn’t get yourself together. But all such thoughts faded when you heard her voice through the phone. “Angel? Is that you? Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“Mommy…” you said tearfully. “I’m okay. I promise I’m okay, I just… I don’t know what’s happening. I mean I’m dropping, I know, but… I don’t know. I just needed so badly to hear you and talk to you. I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m so sorry. I know you said….” You were rambling breathlessly, but Wanda soon cut you off.

“Breathe for me, little love,” she instructed softly. “Three deep breaths. In and out. Can you do that for me, angel?”

You nodded despite knowing she couldn’t see you over the phone. You took three audible breaths, calming yourself down.

“Good girl,” she praised. “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I… I… Sub drop, I think,” you explained. “But like, really bad.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “I’m so sorry, my little love. Can you explain to me what you're feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need company?”

“I just… I don’t know why this is happening to me,” you cried. “Everything hurts so bad. My head feels like it’s spinning. And… And my body is so sore. It’s never happened like this with you before. You did everything so perfectly. I just don’t understand why I’m being like this.”

“Sub drop can happen no matter what, honey. And I’m so sorry it’s happening to you, sweetheart. Do you need to come back over?” She asked.

You pondered her question, the pendulum inside of you swinging violently. You felt like you were being torn in half between admitting you needed her help, and feeling defeated and weak that you couldn’t handle it on your own. But eventually you remembered it didn’t really matter. You made your choice when you took the Xanax. You weren’t going anywhere now. “I-I took some medicine. I can’t drive. I’m sorry,” you admitted.

“What medicine?” She asked, panicked. “Did you take too much? Are you okay?”

“It was just a Xanax. Just one. Just like I take for school sometimes,” you reassured.

You heard her breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I panicked. You know I just worry sometimes. I tell you what, Nat and I are going to get you an Uber, and then you can spend the rest of the night here, okay?”

“Wanda, you don’t have to-“ You didn’t use her real name very often given the exclusively sexual nature of your relationship, but you needed her to know she wasn’t responsible for being your dominant right now. She was Wanda, and you were you: two grown adults. She didn’t have any obligation to take care of you right now, in the middle of the night on a Wednesday.

“But I want to, darling,” she interrupted. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, but I’m not at the house right now.”

You heard her breath catch. “Where are you, honey? You promise me you’re safe?”

“I-I’m just at the coffee shop,” you explained. “I wanted to take a walk, b-but I didn’t make it very far.”

Wanda sighed. She’d have to have a little talk with you about walking all by yourself in the middle of the night. But not right now. Right now she just needed you in her arms as quickly as she could have you. “Alright, love. You’ve got a car on its way. Just stay on the phone with me until it gets there, okay?”

“O-okay.”

—————

The car was there within five minutes of Wanda’s order. Most of that time was just filled with tears and mumbled apologies on your end, and reassurance and encouragement on hers.

She waited anxiously by the front door for you to arrive, peeking out of the blinds with every set of headlights that passed by. She clutched her robe tight against her chest. If you were there, you would’ve teased her about her anxious habit. You always said she was “practically clutching her pearls.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, she was standing in the front door frame before you could even get out of the car.

“Mommy!” You ran up to her, nearly tripping on the front porch steps on your way in. You were even more hysterical now that you were seeing her in person. Something about the sight of her made you fall apart. You felt safe now. You were going to fall, and she was going to catch you, and everything was going to be okay.

“Careful, love,” she chided, taking you into her arms. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m gonna take care of you and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It sounded more like she was reassuring herself than anything, but her words still washed over you like a wave of relief. “I missed you, mommy.”

“I know you did, angel,” she said, kissing you on the temple. “Mommy missed you, too.”

She wrapped her arms just under your ass, still sore and super sensitive from your activities earlier that night. She picked you up, wrapping your legs around your waist. You squeaked in a mixture of surprise and pain.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re sore. I’ll be gentle,” she cooed. “Let’s get you to bed. Tasha will be waiting for us.”

You just cried, burying your face into Wanda’s neck as she carried you up the stairs. You couldn’t talk anymore. You were so completely exhausted, mentally and physically. But it was okay. You had your mommy and everything was going to be okay. The bedroom door was already open, and, as Wanda had expected, Natasha was sat up against the headboard.

“Is that a little angel I see there?” You heard Natasha ask. Wanda sat you on her lap at the end of the bed, bending down to take off your shoes.

You peaked your eyes out from Wanda’s neck before perching your chin on her shoulder. “Hi Miss Natasha,” you sniffled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s alright, little angel,” she assured, sliding closer to you and Wanda on the bed. She looked so much kinder than usual, soft sleepy eyes smiling at you through your tears. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded, still teary eyed and snotty on Wanda’s lap while she unlaced your shoes.

Natasha cupped your cheek, wiping away stray tears. “It must’ve been so scary to start dropping without your mommy there, huh?” Her touch was unexpectedly gentle, as were her words. Maybe Wanda was right, maybe she really did have a soft spot for you.

You nodded, trying to speak but only managing to whimper a “mhm.” You blushed a little with embarrassment. Wanda must’ve told her all about your situation. You wondered momentarily if she thought your behavior was overblown or ridiculous, but if she did, her gentle face showed no indication.

“But now you’ve got your mommy and everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

You nodded again. “I-I hope you don’t mind if I steal your wife for a little bit for-for some extra snuggles.”

“Not at all little angel.” Natasha smiled softly. She could see your anxious embarrassment, and decided, despite her inexperience with soft subs, she’d make an attempt to soothe you. She knew she wasn't expected to, but she found herself desperate to make you feel better, even if it was only a little bit. “Your mommy could hardly stop bragging about you tonight, you know?”

“Re-really?” You asked. Natasha could see the tiniest little twinkle in your teary eyes.

“Really,” she confirmed. “She told me she was so proud of her sweet girl for calling her, because that must’ve been so scary for her, to call in the middle of the night. She knows you don’t like to wake people up, and asking for help when you need it is so so hard. And I said ‘wow, it sounds like you have the bravest little angel in the whole world. I think she deserves some extra special snuggles from mommy tonight, for being so brave.’”

“Y-you really think so?” you asked bashfully, hiding back in Wanda’s neck.

“I really do,” she confirmed. “And you know your mommy keeps her phone on silent in the nighttime. But she cares about you so much she has a special setting so it rings just for you.”

You smiled. Your heart fluttered, not only at the idea Wanda had her phone on for you, but also at the thought that Natasha must’ve known it was you before she answered. “I-I thought you might be mad at me,” you confessed. “Cause you and-and mommy were probably all snuggled up in bed and I came in and messed it all up!”

Natasha stroked your cheek as she shook her head. “No angel. Never. You could never mess up one of our snuggles by asking to be a part of it. We’re both so proud of you, for calling and getting help.”

“P-promise?” You asked.

Natasha held out her pinky, which you wrapped with your own. “Promise.” She confirmed.

Wanda finally got your shoes off and placed them on the floor next to the bed. “Okay little love,” she announced, easing your pajama pants down around your knees. “I’m gonna get some of the nice lotion again, okay?” She’d already put a little on earlier, but she figured it would probably do quite a bit to soothe your current pains, both physically and emotionally.

You wrapped yourself around her, refusing to let her move. You didn’t need silly lotion, you needed her. You whined at the prospect of having to let go.

Natasha giggled and sat down next to Wanda. “Do you want me to do your lotion while you hang onto mommy?”

You nodded, sending her into the next room. Wanda kissed your temple. “I told you she likes you.”

“I’m so spoiled,” you mumbled blissfully into her neck.

“You deserve it, angel,” she said.

Natasha returned to the room with the bottle of lotion. She approached you and rubbed your back gently. “Alright little angel, is it okay if I touch your bottom, or do you want mommy to do that part?”

You pondered for a moment. On one hand, having Wanda do it would mean getting to lay over her lap again. But, you found yourself inexplicably excited by the thought of Natasha putting your lotion on. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could have the best of both worlds.

“You can do it, Miss Natasha,” you said while flipping yourself over to lay over Wanda’s lap.

“Oh,” Wanda squeaked in pleasant surprise. From this position she could’ve just as easily applied the lotion. She was pleased to know that you wanted Natasha to do it, though. She pulled up your shirt and rubbed your back.

“Okay, it’s gonna be a little cold,” Natasha advised, giggling a little bit when you jumped at the cool liquid anyway. Her hands were so gentle as she soothed your raw skin. You wondered if she was this gentle with her subs as well. “All done. Do you want a kiss?”

You nodded, feeling so completely at ease with the two women taking care of you. Natasha placed a gentle kiss to each of your red ass cheeks.

“Does Tasha’s kisses make it feel all better?” Wanda asked.

You nodded into Wanda’s thigh.

“I’m glad I could help,” Natasha giggled, placing the lotion on Wanda’s nightstand so it’d be ready for you again in the morning. She crawled back into bed, making herself comfortable on her side.

Wanda placed you face down on her own side of the bed, trying not to disturb you too much as she slid her legs out from under your body. She crawled over you, placing herself in the middle between you and Natasha, pulling you tight into her side.

You laid your head on her chest, catching a glimpse of Natasha’s pretty smile in the low lighting. She really didn’t look like she minded you being here at all. In fact, she looked happy.

In your fuzzy haze, you waved at her from across the bed.

Wanda and Natasha both giggled, hearts swelling at the innocence of the gesture. You just wanted Natasha to feel included, and what better way to acknowledge her presence than with a kind wave hello.

Natasha waved back. “Hi, little angel,” she said, reaching over Wanda to pinch your cheek.

You looked up at Wanda, your big eyes gently pleading. “Mommy, do you think I could sleep on your other side so I can be closer to Miss Natasha?”

Wanda smiled giddily. She never expected such a request from you, but she was more than happy to oblige. She was overjoyed to see your relationship with Natasha growing. “Of course, sweet girl,” she said, effortlessly flipping you over to her other side.

“You know, you don’t have to call her Miss Natasha,” Wanda said. You’d always called her that since you’d first met her without any prompting to do so. She certainly didn’t mind, but Wanda had always secretly hoped you’d get past the formality. There was nothing she wanted more than for her two favorite people to love each other as much as she loved them. “I bet she’d like it if you called her daddy. Only if you wanted to.”

You faced Natasha, who looked surprised at the proposal, but nodded.

“I thought only your subs were allowed to call you that?” You said, equally shocked by Wanda’s words.

“Hmm…” she pretended to ponder the question. “For my little angel I think I can make an exception.”

You smiled. “In that case,” you pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight daddy.” You turned back to Wanda, placing a kiss on her jaw as you snuggled back into her chest. “Goodnight mommy. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little angel,” Natasha said, wrapping herself up behind you.

“Get some rest, little love,” Wanda said, kissing your head.

And finally, the pendulum stopped swinging.

#wanda maximoff smut #mommy wanda #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda x y/n #wanda x natasha #wandanat x y/n #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #daddy natasha

144 notes · View notes

oldsoul007 · 2 days ago

Text

7 summers

joel miller x reader

summary: After seven years apart, you see Joel Miller again, and what once felt like a fleeting teenage fling comes rushing back, forcing you to confront the love you never truly let go.

a/n: suggestive scenes, kissing, angstyish, fluff

joel miller masterlist

The summer I was eighteen, I fell in love with Joel Miller.

Not that I ever admitted it—not to him, not to myself, and certainly not to Tommy. Joel was Tommy’s older brother, and Tommy was my best friend. He was the one person in my life who knew everything about me, who’d always been there when I needed him. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin that. So, when Joel and I started sneaking off together that summer, I convinced myself it was just a fling, a secret I could lock away and never think about again.

But it wasn’t.

That summer was everything. Stolen kisses by the lake, his rough hands trailing down my arms, the way his voice turned soft when he called me “darlin’.” He wasn’t just my first love; he was my whole world, even if I couldn’t say it out loud. I wanted to. God, I wanted to tell him. But every time I opened my mouth, the fear of what would happen—the fallout with Tommy—kept the words stuck in my throat.

By the end of the summer, I was gone. Off to work, off to whatever life waited for me outside of our small Texas town. I swore to myself I’d move on, forget him, and never let myself feel that way again.

But some loves don’t fade.

Seven summers later, I was doing just fine—at least, that’s what I told myself. Then I ran into Tommy at a bar. Same grin, same easy laugh. For a second, it felt like we were kids again, back when everything was simple.

“y/n l/n,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Where the hell have you been hiding?”

We talked for hours, catching up, reminiscing about all the trouble we used to get into. By the end of the night, he’d convinced me to come over for dinner. “It’s been too damn long,” he said. “You gotta come by. I’ll cook, just like old times.”

I didn’t think twice about it. I should have.

When I walked into Tommy’s house two nights later, I saw him. Joel.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a beer in his hand, looking exactly like I remembered—but somehow more. Broader, older, rougher around the edges in a way that made my stomach twist. The second he saw me, he froze, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Y/n,” he said, my name soft on his lips.

“Joel,” I whispered, my heart hammering in my chest.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, waltzed into the room and clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “You two know each other, right? Y/n used to hang out all the time when we were kids.”

Joel glanced at me, waiting, and I knew he was asking me to hold the line. To keep the secret we’d buried all those years ago. Somehow, I found my voice. “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “We’ve met.”

seven summers ago

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon streaming through the thin curtains. It painted faint shadows across the walls, moving slightly with the breeze that didn’t quite reach us. The night was warm and heavy, the air clinging to my skin, and the constant chirp of crickets outside filled the silence. I lay flat on my back, my head sinking into the flat pillow of the old, creaky bed in my family’s lakehouse.

Joel was beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His shoulder brushed against mine every time one of us moved, a gentle reminder of how little space there was between us. We hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy. Dense with the weight of things neither of us wanted to say.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at him. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, his jawline sharp and his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was trying to untangle some thought that wouldn’t let him go. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fidgeted with the frayed edge of the blanket resting around our waists, trying to quiet the thoughts spinning in my head.

“What do you think you’ll be doing in ten years?” I asked, my voice soft. It felt like the kind of question that belonged in a moment like this, one that could break the silence without shattering it.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, like I’d caught him off guard. He turned his head to look at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that small, shy smile he did so well. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and easy. “Probably still workin’ construction, maybe startin’ my own business if I’m lucky.”

I smiled at the thought of it—of Joel running his own business. It felt so… right. “You’d be good at that,” I said, meaning it. “You’re good with your hands.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head like he didn’t believe me, but his gaze lingered. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “What’s y/n gonna be doing in ten years?”

I bit my lip, my smile faltering as I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” I said after a pause. “Just something far away from here.”

I felt Joel shift beside me, his voice hesitant when he repeated my words. “Far away?”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. “I just… I’ve always felt like there’s something out there, you know? Something bigger. I don’t want to stay stuck in one place forever.”

There was a long pause, and I could feel his gaze on me even though I didn’t look at him. Then, slowly, I felt his hand brush against mine. My breath caught as his fingers tentatively laced with mine, his palm warm and a little rough.

“You won’t be stuck,” he said softly, his voice sure but carrying something else—something deeper.

I turned my head to look at him, our hands still tangled between us. “How do you know?” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

His eyes didn’t waver as they held mine, dark and steady. “’Cause you’re different, y/n. You’ve got somethin’—a spark or somethin’. You’re meant for more than this little town.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for, filling me with equal parts hope and fear. I wanted to believe him—to believe that I was different, that I was meant for something more. But the thought of leaving, of leaving him, made my chest ache.

“What if I don’t want to leave everything behind?” I asked, my voice so soft I wasn’t sure he’d hear it.

Joel’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “But don’t let anyone hold you back, either. Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

His words settled over me, heavy and full of meaning. He was giving me permission, I realized—not that I needed it, but it still felt like he was handing me something. Something I wasn’t sure I could take.

I turned my gaze back to the ceiling, my throat tight and my heart pounding. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to him, things I couldn’t untangle from the knot of feelings twisting inside me. I didn’t want to leave him. He was the one thing that made staying feel worth it.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead, I squeezed his hand, letting the silence take over again. It stretched between us, thick with everything we weren’t saying, everything we might never say.

Joel didn’t pull away, and neither did I. We just lay there, our hands still tangled together, the weight of the moment pressing down on us as the warm summer night carried on.

The smell of grilled steak and warm buttered rolls filled Tommy’s kitchen, a scent so familiar it made my chest ache. It was the kind of meal I’d had a hundred times at the Miller house, back when summer nights were spent on their back porch, laughing over cold beers and fireflies.

I hadn’t expected to feel so at home here after all these years. But I also hadn’t expected Joel to be sitting across the table from me, looking at me like I was some kind of ghost from his past.

It had been seven summers since I last saw him—since I left. Seven years of growing up, of moving on, or at least trying to. But sitting here now, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“So,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair as he nursed a beer. “Y/n, what the hell have you been up to? Feels like forever since we’ve seen you.”

I smiled, shrugging slightly. “Oh, you know. Work, life. Moved around a little, but I’m back now.”

Joel, who had been quiet most of the night, finally spoke up. His voice was lower, rougher than I remembered, like time had left its mark on him. “Didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

His words weren’t harsh, but there was something underneath them—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Neither did I,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “Guess life doesn’t always go the way you think it will.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he cut into his steak. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Tommy grinned, oblivious to the tension thickening between us. “Well, now that you’re back, maybe we can finally convince you to stick around for good this time.”

I gave a small laugh, but before I could answer, Joel spoke again. “Surprised you ain’t married yet.”

I blinked, caught off guard. His tone wasn’t teasing—if anything, he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Tommy chimed in, smirking. “I figured some poor guy would’ve snatched you up by now.”

I rolled my eyes at Tommy’s comment, but it was Joel’s reaction I was focused on. His fork was still in his hand, his knuckles just a little too tight around it, his eyes steady on me like he was waiting for an answer.

“Guess I just haven’t found the right guy,” I said finally, keeping my voice light.

Joel’s jaw tightened slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just nodded, his gaze flickering away as he took a slow sip of his beer.

I felt my stomach twist. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask him, a hundred things I wanted to say, but none of them felt safe—not here, not with Tommy sitting between us, completely unaware of the unspoken history filling the room.

“So what about you?” I asked, tilting my head. “Married yet?”

Joel let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Nope”

I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

And just like that, the conversation moved on, Tommy rambling about something from work, and I forced myself to laugh along, to pretend like my heart wasn’t pounding, like Joel’s words—and the look in his eyes—hadn’t completely thrown me off balance.

But I could feel it.

That pull. That thing between us that had never really gone away.

And by the way Joel kept sneaking glances at me across the table, I knew he felt it too.

Dinner stretched on, filled with Tommy’s easy conversation and the occasional laugh, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on Joel—on the way he kept glancing at me, on the weight behind his words, on the tension that hummed between us like a live wire.

It felt like the past was pressing in on us, slipping through the cracks of time as if the last seven years had been nothing more than a breath between moments.

When the plates were cleared and Tommy started rambling about a game he wanted to watch, Joel stood, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He hesitated for a second, then looked over at me.

“Come out back with me?” His voice was casual, but his eyes told a different story.

I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve made an excuse, said my goodbyes, and walked out that door before I let myself slip any further into something I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But I nodded anyway.

I followed him through the screen door onto the back porch, the night air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and warm summer air. The old wooden planks creaked under our weight as we stepped out, the sound familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

Joel leaned against the railing, taking a slow sip of his beer as he looked out at the yard. I stood beside him, hands gripping the edge of the wood, waiting for him to speak.

After a long pause, he exhaled and said, “Didn’t think I’d ever see you sittin’ at our dinner table again.”

His voice was softer now, quieter—just for me.

I swallowed, staring down at my hands. “Didn’t think I would be, either.”

He was quiet again, then he asked, “Why’d you come back?”

I let out a slow breath, watching the way the fireflies blinked lazily across the yard. “Needed a reset,” I admitted. “Life didn’t exactly turn out how I thought it would.”

Joel hummed, like he understood that better than he wanted to admit. “You runnin’ from somethin’?”

I hesitated before answering, because maybe, deep down, I was. But not in the way he thought.

“Not running,” I said carefully. “Just… trying to figure things out.”

Joel nodded like he got it, his fingers tapping absently against the neck of his beer bottle. He looked over at me then, his eyes dark under the dim glow of the porch light. “Seven years, y/n. That’s a long fucking time.”

I met his gaze, my throat tightening. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It is.”

Another pause stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, Joel said, “I missed you.”

The words knocked the breath right out of me.

I turned to fully face him, my heart hammering in my chest. “Joel…”

He shook his head, setting his beer down on the railing before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You don’t gotta say anything. Just—” He exhaled sharply, like he was fighting some internal battle. “Hell… It’s just… weird, you know? Havin’ you here again.”

I nodded, because it was weird. It was terrifying. It was everything I hadn’t let myself feel in years rushing back all at once.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s eyes flickered with something—something deep and unreadable. His fingers curled around the railing, his knuckles flexing like he was holding something back.

I should’ve walked away then. I should’ve let the moment pass before it became something bigger, something neither of us could take back.

But I didn’t.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to.

And judging by the way Joel was looking at me, like he was seconds away from breaking, neither did he.

The night stretched thick between us, heavy with words we weren’t saying, with memories pressing in like ghosts we couldn’t shake. Joel was still gripping the railing, his fingers tightening and loosening like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” he finally murmured, eyes still locked on me. “You and me. Sneakin’ around, swearin’ we weren’t—” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “—feelin’ things we both knew damn well we were.”

His words hit deep, settling somewhere behind my ribs. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? We had never admitted what we were, never spoken those words out loud, and yet, we both had known.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We were just kids.”

Joel turned toward me then, slow and deliberate. “That what you tell yourself?”

I didn’t answer, because we both knew the truth. We hadn’t been just kids. Maybe we were young, maybe we didn’t know how to say it back then, but it had been real. As real as anything I’d ever felt.

Joel took a step closer, not enough to touch me, but enough that I could feel the warmth of him, could smell the mix of beer and cedarwood that clung to his skin.

“You happy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more careful.

The question caught me off guard, not because it was unexpected, but because I wasn’t sure how to answer it.

I looked up at him, at the way the years had settled into him—lines at the corners of his eyes, a little more weight in his stance, a quiet kind of tiredness in his gaze. But underneath it all, he was still Joel. Still the boy who once laid beside me on a summer night, our fingers laced together, talking about the future like it was something we had all the time in the world to figure out.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Are you?”

Joel exhaled, his jaw clenching just slightly before he shook his head. “No”

The word settled between us, bare and unguarded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the night filled the silence—distant laughter from inside, the low hum of crickets, the creak of the porch as Joel shifted closer.

Then, softly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask, he said, “You ever think about it?”

I knew exactly what he meant.

I wet my lips, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “Think about what?”

Joel’s gaze dipped down to my mouth for half a second before coming back up. His voice was lower now, rougher.

“Us.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Joel took another step, and this time, he was close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could see the way his breathing had slowed like he was holding something back.

“I think about it all the damn time,” he admitted. “What it would’ve been like if you stayed. If I—” He stopped himself, his hand flexing at his side before he finally met my gaze again. “If I hadn’t let you leave without sayin’ somethin’ real.”

I felt my breath hitch.

seven summers ago

The morning air was crisp for late August, the kind of cool that hinted at the coming fall. The sun hadn’t quite broken through the haze yet, and the lake behind Tommy’s house was still and gray, like it was holding its breath. My car was packed, the trunk stuffed to the brim with clothes, books, and the small reminders of home I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

Tommy leaned against the side of my car, his arms crossed and his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him look this serious. His dark hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it, and his shirt was wrinkled from where he’d probably pulled it off the floor.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and unusually hesitant.

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice wavered. “I think so.”

He shook his head, a small smile breaking through. “You’ve been talking about leaving since we were ten. If anyone’s ready, it’s you.”

I tried to smile back, but my chest ached too much to manage it. “Doesn’t make it any easier,” I admitted.

Tommy’s grin softened, and he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug that was tighter than I expected. He smelled like summer—grass, lake water, and a hint of the cheap cologne he always overused.

“Don’t forget about us little people when you’re out there changing the world, alright?” he said, his voice muffled against my hair.

I laughed, but it came out watery. “I could never forget you, Tommy. You wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn right,” he said, pulling back. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, but he blinked fast and didn’t let it show. “Call me, okay? I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. I wanna hear about everything—college parties, classes, annoying roommates, all of it.”

“Promise,” I said, my voice thick.

He stepped back, giving me a mock salute before wandering toward the house. And that’s when I saw Joel.

He was standing on the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams like he’d been there the whole time. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t moving, just watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. His dark eyes locked on mine, and for a second, it felt like the whole world had gone still.

I hesitated, my chest tightening as I took a shaky breath and forced myself to walk toward him. The porch creaked under my weight, and when I stopped in front of him, he straightened, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d come say goodbye,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, staring out at the lake like it held the answer to whatever he was struggling with. “’Course I’d come,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and rough. “Wouldn’t let you leave without it.”

I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for him. “I’ll miss you,” I said, the words barely above a whisper.

His gaze snapped back to mine, and for a second, I thought he might say something—something I’d been waiting to hear for what felt like forever. His mouth opened, but then he closed it, his shoulders stiffening as if he’d talked himself out of it.

“Don’t let anyone hold you back,” he said instead, his voice steady but distant. “Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. They were the same ones he’d said to me that night at the lake house, the same ones that had stayed with me long after the summer ended.

I wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to tell him that he wasn’t holding me back—he was the only thing making it hard to leave. But I couldn’t. The words stuck in my throat, too tangled up in everything I felt for him to come out right.

Instead, I nodded, blinking hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Take care of Tommy for me,” I said, my voice trembling.

Joel’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched so long it felt unbearable. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

For a moment, he didn’t move, and I thought he might pull away. But then his arms came around me, strong and steady, holding me tighter than I’d expected. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in—sawdust, sweat, and the faint trace of cologne he only wore when he had to.

I wanted to stay there forever, to let the rest of the world disappear, but I couldn’t. I pulled back, my hands lingering on his arms for just a moment before I let them fall to my sides.

“Goodbye, Joel,” I said, my voice barely steady.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded, his dark eyes heavy with something I couldn’t name.

I turned and walked to my car, my chest aching with every step. As I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Joel was still standing on the porch, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching me drive away.

I didn’t look back again. If I had, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.

“You think it would’ve changed anything?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s throat bobbed. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He ran a hand over his face, letting out a breath like he was fighting with himself. “But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

He lifted his hand, hesitant at first, then finally brushed his fingers along my arm, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver up my spine.

“I ain’t ever felt nothin’ like I felt with you,” he murmured. “Not before. Not after.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, my body swaying toward his before I could stop it.

“Joel…”

He shook his head, his hand trailing down my arm until his fingers barely skimmed mine. “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he said, voice rough and strained. “Tell me you don’t feel like we lost somethin’ we weren’t supposed to.”

I wanted to lie. Wanted to say that I had moved on, that whatever we had back then was just young and reckless, something that wasn't meant to last.

But I couldn't.

Because I did feel it.

I felt it in the way my chest ached just looking at him, in the way his touch still sent a shiver down my spine, in the way every moment we spent apart felt like time wasted.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling slightly under his. "I can't tell you that," | whispered.

Joel's breath caught, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around mine, like he was holding onto something he wasn't ready to let go of.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us was thick, humming with something too strong to ignore, too real to pretend wasn't there.

The air between Joel and I crackled with so much unspoken tension, it was almost unbearable. My heart pounded against my chest, every nerve alight with the pull between us, but neither of us moved. We were so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his hands lingering on my waist as if he were just waiting for me to make the next move. And I almost did.

But before I could, the sound of the screen door creaked behind us.

“Hey, you guys coming back in?” Tommy called out from the doorway, his voice loud and clueless as ever. “I got that game on, and I’m not drinking alone out here.”

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, and for a split second, it felt like the world had just stopped. Joel pulled back, almost imperceptibly, his hands still resting on my waist but no longer holding me so tightly. We both turned toward the door, where Tommy was standing with a grin, completely unaware of what had almost happened.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he took a half step back. “Yeah, we’ll be right in,” he called back to Tommy, his voice rough, like he was trying to hide the tension that had just exploded between us.

Tommy, oblivious to everything that had just passed between us, gave a lazy wave and turned back inside. “Don’t take too long, man! You know I need company for the game.”

I watched him disappear into the house, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud. A long, silent moment passed between Joel and me, and I could almost hear the words that neither of us was willing to say. But we both knew it—what had just happened. What had almost happened. It hung between us like a heavy fog, and yet, neither of us moved to bridge the gap.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and rough. “Guess that’s our cue.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to process everything. The heat between us hadn’t gone away, not even with Tommy’s interruption. If anything, it only made it stronger. But now, standing here with Joel so close, with everything hanging in the air, I wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“Yeah,” I managed to say, my voice shaky. “Guess it is.”

Joel let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture that always made him look like the same guy from years ago. He didn’t seem as certain as he had just moments before. There was hesitation now, uncertainty.

He gave a short nod, turning toward the door. “Come on. Let’s not keep Tommy waiting.”

I followed him back inside, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me. The door swung shut behind us, and we both slipped back into the routine of being around Tommy, pretending like nothing had changed.

But it had.

I could feel it in the way Joel’s eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, in the way my chest tightened every time he spoke, like I was trying to hold myself together while something deeper, something real, threatened to spill out.

I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle this. How we were supposed to go back to the way things were. But for now, we were both content to pretend. Pretend that everything was fine, that Tommy hadn’t just unknowingly interrupted something that could change everything.

I stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air brushing against my skin, but my body still felt warm from the tension that lingered between us. I hadn’t expected things to go the way they had tonight—especially not after so much time had passed. But there was no denying it. The pull I felt toward Joel had never truly gone away.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he stepped up beside me. His voice was low, a little gravelly, and there was something in his eyes—something that made my heart race.

I hesitated for a moment, looking back toward the door, knowing I should just leave and get some space to clear my head. But the desire to be close to him again, even just for a little longer, was stronger than any of the reasons I told myself I should go.

“Yeah,” I said, finally giving in, “okay.”

We walked to his truck, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between us. The night felt different now, charged with something neither of us wanted to acknowledge—at least, not yet. When we got to the truck, Joel opened the door for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I climbed in. The truck door shut with a soft thud, and I settled in, trying to steady my breathing.

The drive was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. But the air between us was thick with everything unsaid—the years apart, the memories we couldn’t forget.

When we finally pulled up to my place, I felt a lump form in my throat. I didn’t want to say goodbye—not yet, not like this. But what else was there to say?

Joel’s truck rumbled to a stop outside my house, but neither of us moved immediately. The air felt thicker now, heavier, charged with all the things we hadn’t said. My heart was racing in my chest, the silence between us louder than any words could’ve been.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said quietly, trying to force some kind of normalcy into the situation. But my voice trembled, betraying everything I was trying to hide.

Joel didn’t answer at first, just stared at me for a moment. His brow furrowed, his jaw tense, like he was struggling to keep control. Without another word, he climbed out of the truck and walked around to my side, his movements slow but purposeful.

I froze for a second, wondering what he was doing. But when he reached the passenger door, he opened it, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. “Let me walk you to your door,” he said softly, as though it was a question, though neither of us needed permission.

I nodded, my throat tight, and stepped out of the truck, trying to steady myself as I moved toward him. His presence was magnetic, pulling me in as we walked together, side by side, toward the porch.

The night was quiet around us, but everything felt loud—our footsteps echoing, the rush of my pulse in my ears, the space between us that felt far too small for both of us to be standing in. My mind raced, but my body seemed to know exactly what it wanted, gravitating toward him with every step.

When we reached the front door, Joel stopped, turning to face me. There was something in his eyes, something raw and desperate, like he couldn’t stand to let go of this moment. The weight of the unspoken hung between us, and for a split second, I almost thought he would say something, but he didn’t. He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine, a quiet, gentle touch that sent a shock through my body.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hand lifted to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he took another step closer. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked up at him, barely able to hold his gaze.

The moment felt too fragile, and I couldn’t make myself say anything else. Slowly, I turned toward the door, my hand reaching for the handle. “Goodnight, Joel,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t speak as I opened the door, stepping back just enough to let me through. I kept my gaze focused ahead, not trusting myself to look back at him, afraid of what I might see, afraid of what I might feel.

The door clicked shut behind me as I walked into my house, the weight of the night settling around me. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I'd told myself I wasn't going to give in, that I was going to walk away and let things be, but Joel's words, his touch, had made it impossible to ignore the truth l'd buried for so long.

I slipped out of my shoes and made my way into the living room, my heart still racing from everything that had happened. As I sank into the couch, the silence in the house felt suffocating. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Joel-his face, his hands on me, his kiss.

I was trying to talk myself down, to convince myself that I could move on. That I should. But just as I was about to stand, I heard a knock on the door.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

I walked slowly to the door, trying to calm the rush of emotions flooding my chest. When I opened it, there he was— Joel. Standing in the dark, his posture tense, but his eyes searching mine like he had to say something, like he couldn't leave without it.

“I can’t walk away from you again,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Before I could even respond, his hand reached out to gently tug me closer, and his lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was fierce, urgent, as if he was trying to make up for the years apart, as if he couldn't stand the space between us anymore. I gasped, my hands coming up to clutch at his shirt as I kissed him back, my body pressed against his, needing him as much as he needed me.

He pulled me fully into the doorway, his hands moving to my waist, guiding me backward into the house. The door closed behind us with a soft thud, but neither of us paid attention to it.

All that mattered was the way his lips moved against mine, the way his touch made me feel like I was finally coming home.

Joel's kiss deepened, his hands sliding up my back to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer until there wasn't an inch of space between us.

I felt the heat of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he held me, the way his breath caught when I tugged him.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. His forehead rested against mine, both of us struggling to catch our breath, to make sense of what had just happened.

My fingers curling into his shirt as I pulled him back to me, not wanting to let go, not wanting to fight this anymore. Neither of us was ready to say goodbye—not yet, not when the night was still young and the truth was finally out in the open.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only us in this moment, the only sound the rush of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts in sync.

He pulled away briefly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath shaky.

"I can't pretend anymore," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never stopped wanting you, y/n. Not for a second."

My heart twisted in my chest, and I didn't care anymore about what we had to lose. "Neither did I," I whispered, before closing the space between us again, kissing him with everything I had left to give.

This time, there was no holding back. We were finally done running from the truth.

102 notes · View notes

meowerswowzers97 · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! Could I request a Daryl x Female Reader set in Season 2. Where the reader is Ricks younger sister (she's like two - three years younger than him) and gets confronted by a jealous Shane after seeing how worried she got over Daryl being injured and shot. Like Shane's had feelings for the Reader for years but she has just never felt the same way towards him. And seeing her be friendly to Daryl since he first arrived at the Atlanta Camp and watching the chemistry between them grow overtime has got his blood boiling.

Maybe Daryl over hears the conversation and steps in when Shane roughly grabs reader and causes a fight to where Rick has to step in and break it up. And some fluff between Reader at Daryl afterwards.

Jealousy

Summary- Shane likes the reader, but sees that she’s way too friendly to Daryl. When Shane does something, Daryl steps in.

Warnings- kissing?? Other than that none really.

Theme- fluff

You were Ricks Younger sister, after finding out he got shot, you were pretty depressed. You couldn’t lose your brother. You were with Lori, Carl, and Shane at the Atlanta camp. You met someone apart of the group.

Daryl.

You grew close to Daryl a bit after you guys were in the forest together, you brung up how your brother, Rick, got shot and is probably dead. Daryl wasn’t a huge talker about his past, but he trusted you enough too talk about some stuff, he brung up his mothers death, and he didn’t say much after that. It was understandable, you didn’t bring up Rick that much to anyone. But since you had a major crush on Daryl, yeah, you told him. You guys suddenly grew closer, building a bond. You guys always sat next together durning dinner, always went on runs, and always told jokes to each other.

After you reunited with Rick, Daryl was pretty pissed at you. Thinking you used Rick as a lie to get to know his past.

“ya just lied to me about yer brother!”

“Daryl I thought he was dead!”

“Idiot. God I wish I never met ya”

You haven’t talked since then since the incident. You tried to talk but it was always a grunt in return.

After the cdc, Sophia ran away and went missing, then Carl got shot. The group was making plans about looking for Sophia. Daryl offered to go.

Later you were currently talking to Maggie

Maggie: “so, do you like anybody??” Maggie said with a smile

You barley knew Maggie, but you trusted her

Y/n: “yk, kinda-“

You then heard a gunshot go off, and the word “No!” Being yelled.

“Was Rick injured? Did he get shot again?” And many other thoughts when through your mind.

You ran outside to see what was going on.

Your heart skipped a beat, you sat there, wanting to let out a cry and start sobbing.

Daryl, carried by Rick and Shane. Injured and bloody.

You quickly ran over to them.

Y/n: “is he okay?! Is he dead?! Please tell me he’s alive! What happened?!”

Shane tried to interrupt

Shane: “y/n-“

Y/n: “WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?!”

After finding out he was okay, you let out a sigh of relief. Even if Daryl hated you, you loved him as much as Rick. You couldn’t lose Daryl.

Hershel came out to say that Daryl was okay, as you quickly ran it, Shane gave you a confused look.

Y/n: “Daryl!”

Daryl: “I’m fine woman, just leave me alone.”

You were pretty stunned, but you slowly nodded and walked out.

You sat on the steps of Hershel’s house. Thinking about Daryl.

Shane took a seat next to you.

Ever since Rick became friends when Shane, Shane’s always said he’s liked you, and has flirted with you many times. You always told him you weren’t interested, but he never tried stopping.

Shane: “you okay”

Y/n: “just thinking”

Shane: “about what”

Y/n: “nothing”

A quick moment of silence passed.

Shane: “what’s going one between you and Daryl?”

You almost blushed, but you gave him a confused look. Why would he care?

Y/n: “wdym?”

Shane: “y/n out of every guy you’ve met the most I’ve seen you care about is Daryl, now what’s going on between you guys?”

Y/n: “Shane why does it matter?”

Shane: “y/n just answer me”

Y/n: “no, Shane, why are you so concerned?”

Shane: “because you know y/n I think you like him”

Y/n: “oh so what this is about me liking him? I can like anyone I want Shane, I already told ya I’m not interested in you”

You started to get up to go inside, wanting to speak to Daryl.

Suddenly, Shane grabbed you and pinned you againt a wall.

Y/n: “Shan-“

Shane: “shut up”

Y/n: “shane get off me”

You were suddenly slapped. You held your cheek about to burst into tears

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Shane was thrown to the floor, someone was straddling him.

Daryl.

Y/n: “Daryl-“

Suddenly a fight between the two happened. Punches were thrown, kicks, Shane had a bloody face and Daryl had a bloody nose. Daryl was trying to get injured all over again.

You then saw your brother, Rick, grab the two and yelled at them

Rick: “Break it up!”

Daryl: “tell him to get his hands off my girl!”

Y/n: “wait what-“

Shane tried to protest but was stopped by a look from Rick. He then shut up and walked away. Rick then followed him. You heard Rick in the other room yell at him

Y/n: “Daryl-“

Daryl: “your sleepien in my tent tonight”

Y/n: “but-“

Daryl: “end of discussion”

Later after having food, you didn’t talk to Shane once.

When it was time to go to bed, Daryl gestured for you come with him into the tent. You followed.

It felt awkward being in the same tent with your crush, even though he literally hates you.

You both slept to where you weren’t facing each other, back facing back, you rolled over to look at him, you can tell he wasn’t asleep.

Y/n: “Daryl” you said softly

Daryl: “what”

Y/n: “what did you mean by ‘my girl’ earlier?”

A moment of silence passed.

Daryl: “I…”

Y/n: “you like me don’t you?”

He didn’t say anything else, which meant he had to mean yes.

Y/n: “look at me”

He rolled over and looked at you. You cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss. His eyes widened, but he eventually started kissing back.

Y/n: “I like you too idiot” you said against his lips.

Daryl made a guilty face

Y/n: “what’s with the face?”

Daryl: “I’m sorry about earlier, I know you’ve known Shane for awhile, I didn’t mean to ruin your guys relationship”

Y/n: “Daryl Dixon if it weren’t for you who knows what would’ve happened, I’m so grateful that you were there, I don’t ever want you to regret about what happened earlier”

Daryl smiled, then it turned into a smirk.

Y/n: “what’s with the smirk?”

Daryl: “I’ve been ignoring ya because I like ya, I just didn’t wanna talk to ya”

You pushed his chest playfully and started laughing.

Y/n: “Daryl”

Daryl: “Ye”

Y/n: “are we dating”

Daryl: “want too?”

Y/n: “please”

Daryl: “okay well im tired”

Y/n: “can we cuddle”

Daryl: “no”

A minute later, he cuddled you in your sleep.

You smilied, thankful to be in his arms.

(This is my first imagine! Sorry it’s so bad! When I start to write more I think I’ll get better at writing!! I’m sorry!!)

#daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd daryl dixon #the walking dead #shane walsh #twd #rick grimes #fluff

69 notes · View notes

felassan · 2 days ago

Text

Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 6. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Two, Post Three, Post Four, Post Five]

User: "after [Emmrich and Rook's] argument they don’t really bring it up again, is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" // Sylvia Feketekuty: ""is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" I think either one is valid. There's some time skips, so I figured if you imagined your Rook and Emmrich talking about the argument, it could've happened while, say, they're traveling to the Necropolis. Flow-wise it seemed best to rely on that passage of time to smooth that part over, and get to the point where we enter the talk by the coffin. Or perhaps they're so in-sync that, like you said, Rook and Emmrich feel they can just move on. (If you bring Emmrich to Isle of the Gods he's apologetic there, and Rook picks up on it, so maybe that was enough short as it was.) (To my mind it's not a huge thing to declare one way or another, but I'd prefer this one to be player's choice)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "had a question about emmrich's last name. i know there is a banter with harding that confirms it is a commoner name, but i was interested in what his surname breaks down into meaning? I assumed volk=folk perhaps, but is there any other meaning/significance? thank you!" // Sylvia: "You pretty much have it right with "volk" = people. I liked the idea that Volkarin would sound fancy to someone speaking English (well Harding's not speaking English per se, but you know), but have its roots in something that plain. So yeah basically I got a kick out of the thought that in Nevarra, Emmrich's last name is the equivalent of Smith, or Jones, or Wilson. (The "arin" part is just because I thought together it paired well with "volk")" [source, two]

User: "With Hezenkoss, as a romanced rook, it feels like she's a bit jealous and was stuck in a one sided crush with her "friend" Was this intended? Or was she just competitive and annoyed at his popularity with everyone?" // Sylvia: "I always pictured Hezenkoss as annoyed that as they grew up, Emmrich become popular and effortlessly well-liked, while she, with her sheer brilliance, was clearly resented by jealous fools. Fools!!! (I pictured Johanna needling Emmrich over his romance mostly her going 'now there's some nice sore-spots I can press' because she has correctly anticipated his insecurities.) "become popular" Arg I meant to write BECAME. Cripes." [source, two, three] // Sylvia: "TBC I also don't want to invalidate any head-canons! My general rule is that if it's not stated outright in game, it's up for interpretation, regardless of my thoughts. La mort de l'auteur, etc." [source]

User: "I recently made an appreciation post on reddit how relatable he is for me and how it helped me with my anxiety. There were also other users agreeing and sharing their love for the character." // Sylvia: "I read your post and the others, and I'm glad meeting Emmrich touched people like that. His story was a team effort, and everyone making him knew we needed to hit this theme right. (His actor Nick Boraine deserves especial praise for nailing those lines.) I have indeed experienced what Emmrich does, and from the thread and other fan interactions, it's not an uncommon thing. If I can offer something I read a long time ago: you have the right to think about death without being in a state of absolute fear. I don't know why, but that thought helped me focus when things were rough. Maybe because it was correct: we DO have that right. Even if life and our own psyches conspire against us, it's ours." [source, two, three] // User: "I felt seen in a way I never have when Emmrich said he is terrified of dying. I've had panic attacks about it since I was old enough to understand what death is. Thank you for making so many feel seen and helping people realize its not just *them.*" // Sylvia: "I'm really glad it helped, because the conclusion I've come to is this is more common than we think, it's just not something people talk about." [source]

Sylvia: "(Full credit to the great feedback I got from the other writers and editors early on [re: Emmrich], he wouldn't be as good without them.)" [source] // Sylvia: "All credit to the team, especially the writers and editors who gave feedback that made him so much better during those early days and beyond." [source]

Sylvia: ""who came up with Davrin's "hand-to-bone combat" line?? 🤣" Haha that was Davrin's writer, John Dombrow! I'll let him know you (and other people) got a chuckle out of it!" [source]

User, on Manfred: ""I'm so curious -what about the almonds caught his fancy, and why so many?" Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" // Sylvia: "Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" [source]

User: "When Rook romances Emmrich, through banter we can see that Emmrich is surprised that the other companions know about the relationship, and also h says to Johanna that it's a private matter. Is it because he wants to keep things private only, is it because he is worried that Rook may not be the one true love, or is he worried about the age gap, or all these reasons and/or others?" // Sylvia: "In this particular case, I think Emmrich just wanted to be discrete because he didn't want to assume it was a serious thing, and for people to think HE thought it was serious. (Though his line to Hezenkoss is snappish specifically because he knows she's needling him, haha.)" [source]

Sylvia: Down Among the Dead Men and Luck in the Gardens "mean a lot to me, being my first published stories in a book.)" [source]

User: "Are there any other areas of Thedas that you think young Altus mages would tour? Poor Dorian looked like a fish out of water in Ferelden." // Sylvia: "Completely talking off the cuff here, but Orlais and Antiva, certainly, and some of the "better" Free Marcher states seem like good candidates. (Poor Ferelden! Always forgotten by the north.)" [source]

User: "I know you said previously that emmrich doesn't really vibe with cats or dogs But like if rook already has a dog or something (that someone is like pet sitting for them while they're kicked out of their faction and traveling with varric) would that be a deal breaker" // Sylvia: "Nah that'd be fine, they're not his favorites but he'll put up with them for Rook." [source]

Sylvia: "I have indeed seen Cushing's version of Hound of the Baskervilles, for some reason that part where he whirls around and throws the knife is embedded into my brain. What a great Holmes he made." [source]

User: "1. Where did Emmrich live in Nevarar when he was a child? 2. When do you think his birthday is? 👀 3. How did Johanna know him?" // Sylvia: "1. He lived inside the bounds of Nevarra City itself. He's always been a city boy. 2. For some reason, he feels like a January/February birthday to me. 3. They met as young students in the Mourn Watch." [source]

User: "if Emmrich didn't think it was serious when he'd always wanted one true love -apparently-, why did he embark on this relationship, especially with so much passion?" // Sylvia: "I think he thought it wouldn't be so serious at first, but then things progressed. And people want conflicting things, sometimes." [source]

User: "I really love Strife being a love interest for Emmrich! What lead to him as the choice if he isn't romanced?" // Sylvia: "The writing team discussed who felt right, and I liked that Strife was from one of the factions because it gives the feeling of your followers interacting with the wider world. And I felt Strife would provide a nice contrast with the romance with Rook. Unlike them, he's more established in his place in the world, like Emmrich is. Just felt like a different dynamic." [source, two] // User: "Strife balances Emmrich well since they are both interested in study but have gone about it differently." // Sylvia: "Agreed! (I wish I had thought to put it like that.)" [source]

User: "how are pets and animals honoured in the Necropolis and by the Mourn Watchers? The same as any other being?" // Sylvia: "Beloved animals are absolutely permitted to be buried with families. Mild Necropolis exploration spoiler: inside the passage you unlock after finding all the wisps in the belfry area, there's actually some caskets for faithful hounds interred in the crypt." [source]

User: "My question is do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" // Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "how long has Manfred been under Emmrich's care?" // Sylvia: "That's a good question, yet another thing I left a little vague in case I needed to define it concretely in the future. And since I've left, the answer is very much in my head only. But I feel it's likely to have at least been a decade. (Hezenkoss acts like she knows about Manfred, I figure she could've met him during an earlier clash. But I don't think Manfred was around when she and Emmrich were young students.)" [source, two]

User: "if Emmrich had tattoos, on what theme would they be?" // Sylvia: "Something anatomical/surgical, patterned on the MW's mystic theories of the body and death, feels appropriate to me." [source]

Sylvia: "BioWare put out an infographic about choices a few weeks ago, and "lich" was winning out. 1) When Emmrich says how he feels will change did he just mean his senses or is it on an emotional level?" He's definitely talking about his senses in that scene. On an emotional level: unknown. (I imagine it WOULD change someone because it's such a big shift, but exactly what does it do, mystically, if anything, is something I'd like to leave alone since I didn't really cover that in the game, and it feels like it'd been bigger consideration if that makes sense.) I kind of want how the lich-romance proceeds to live in players' imaginations, purely so people can tailor it to their own story. I'm afraid any writer-declaration would narrow the possibilities instead of expanding them, if that makes sense." [source, two, three, four]

Sylvia: ""I've been waiting for Nevarra for years and it was everything i could have dreamed of and MORE!" I'm very glad to hear it. The rest of the Necropolis team and I were very excited to finally get to portray even a small portion of the ancient and hallowed graves of Nevarra." [source]

User: "If I remember correctly, we only really see Emmrich use necromantic magic in-game. Are there other types of magic (elemental, healing/spirit, etc) that you think he would gravitate toward?" // Sylvia: "Hrm. He does have a bit of healing magic, mechanically in combat. It coudl work, but somehow I don't think Emmrich would ever be a high-level healer. He could maybe get the basics but it's not his great gift. Something about the gravic magic of the force mage specialty feels appropriate though." [source]

Sylvia: "I'm so glad you liked meeting and getting to know our necromancer. (Huge props to our cinematic and audio team on that garden scene, it was incredible seeing it come in finished for the first time.)" [source]

Allegra Clark: "I just wanted to say that I miss you so much and I’m so excited for whatever comes next in your career. Josephine means so much to me and I’ve fallen utterly in love with Emmrich (how dare you, he’s perfect). Thank you for trusting me with your child over a decade ago ❤️" [source] // Sylvia: "Allegra! Thank you so much! I'm so excited you've been digging our gentleman necromancer. I hope you've been seeing people ping me about their love of Josephine. I heard someone very good did her voice.. Thank YOU for embodying her so quickly and completely!" [source, two]

User: "how was Emmrich doing when Rook was trapped in the Fade?" // Sylvia: "Probably very poorly! Poor man would've been incredibly anxious and working all hours towards a solution." [source]

User: "So i asked you before what music emmrich does like but um is there any music he hates I feel like he'd die if someone took him to a death metal concert XD" // Sylvia: "I think that's a good one to pick, lol. "It's all just noise!"" [source]

User: "Did Emmrich teach (or at least attempt to teach) Manfred how to read?" // Sylvia: "I think that was beyond his skillset, beforehand; Manfred could be taught to recognize objects, but the abstraction of reading was one step too much at that point." [source]

User: "Do Mourn Watchers undergo a Harrowing?" // Sylvia: "They do! You may've missed it but there's a MWer in the Necropolis who mentions MW Harrowings if you go by them. (The MW has had to suspend theirs because chaos in the Fade.) But that's a temporary suspension, probably resolved by the time the credits roll. In general: I figure that if you're a mage who underwent a harrowing in some other circle, that stands, but that the MW would also perform harrowings for students they took in early. Also: not a silly question! It doesn't really come up with the MW except that one ambient line, and it's very easy to miss." [source, two, three]

User: "Doing a 3rd MW playthrough after not playing one for a couple of months feels like coming home again" // Sylvia: "That's some commitment to the dead! The Mourn Watch approve." [source]

User: "if two mourn watchers were to share a piece of grave dowry between them, that's grounds for a serious relationship?" // Sylvia: "You mean like each one having the half of a necklace, or having the same bit of gold made into matching rings? Or swapping jewelry? Either way, what a nice idea. It could be!" [source]

Sylvia: "Emmrichwas very much the work of the team, including some very good feedback early on from the other writers and editors." [source]

Sylvia: "The team and I were also super excited to get to explore the Necropolis. It was an honour to open up the tombs to everyone." [source]

User: "Emmerich's particular respect for trans characters was extremely enticing to me." // Sylvia: "Thanks, I'm glad he resonated. (Some trans colleagues kindly spent the time to give me some feedback on the wording of the lines, which I think made them way better.)" [source]

User: "Emmrich is so amazing" // Sylvia: "Thank you again, that is incredible to hear. (And I want to mention, only possible with the team; they helped improve the story every step.)" [source]

Sylvia: Tevinter Nights "was a fun collection to work on" [source]

User: "Does lich Emmrich feel anything when Rook kisses him or touches him?" // Sylvia: "yeah, I don't think he's "numb" so to speak, he can sense a touch (with his new powers from beyond the graaaaaave 🪦💀🌹)" [source]

User: "about Emmrich so i know he's into flowers and botany but is he into plant meanings and symbolism" // Sylvia: "I think he is - Emmrich mentions some flowers that are "famed in verse and song", I think he'd enjoy reading up on the cultural importance and symbolism layered on to them." [source]

User: "Obv the game mechanics require Rook to make the choice but would a romanced Emmrich choose to become a Lich if the choice was in his hands? Would he abandon his dream for love?" // Sylvia: "I must refuse to answer on the grounds that it's too melancholy to contemplate. ;_;" [source]

User: "On the dinner date in the Necropolis I loved how Emmrich felt philosophical, it was so relatable, especially when he talked about the connection to something finer than we are. It was magical!" // Sylvia: "I'm really pleased that last part of the dinner date, resonated with you, I was trying really hard to get a certain feeling across." [source]

User: "What month do you think Emmrich was born in? I really wanna know what my guy's zodiac sign is" // Sylvia: "I don't know anything about zodiac stuff but weirdly, I do have a range, for some reason I always thought it'd be January or February." [source]

User: "1. How does Emmrich feel about children, both in general and possibly having them? 2. Would Emmrich be into gift-giving?" // Sylvia: "1. In general, he likes kids okay, and tries to be kind, but his students are mostly older so he doesn't really chat with many. Regarding having them, if circumstances aligned so that was the case, I think he'd be excited if maybe a little overwhelmed by the thought. 2. I think so! Not overbearing about it, but he would like to show some tokens of affection at appropriate times. (There's no way he's not delighted to get gifts.)" [source, two]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #dragon age: tevinter nights #strife #lgbtq #“Please archive away” :D

81 notes · View notes

hyuniemyunie · 20 hours ago

Text

Jason todd x gn reader˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

doing his makeup!<3

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): hes sooooo wifey i love him sm

THIS IS FOR EVERYNYAN. MEN WITH MAKEUP. WOMEN WITH MAKEUP. NONBINARY PPL WITH MAKEUP.

men who do makeup..r..like. so hot. sorry..not sorry..

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Jason Todd was many things—an ex-Robin, a vigilante, a walking, talking trauma case—but a guy who let someone put makeup on him? That was where he drew the line.

At least, he had drawn the line. But you had this look in your eyes, that mischievous little sparkle that made it real hard to say no.

“Come on,” you pleaded, holding up a fluffy makeup brush like it was a weapon of mass persuasion. “Just let me do a little bit.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not gonna look like a clown, am I?”

you gasped, placing a hand over your heart in fake offense. “How dare you. I would never make you look bad.”

He squinted at you. “Uh-huh.”

You scooted closer, eyes shining. “Please?”

Jason sighed, already feeling himself caving. “Fine. But if I look ridiculous, I’m making you watch all my shitty old Westerns shows with me.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

And that was how Jason Todd, Gotham’s brooding menace, ended up sitting on the edge of the bed while you happily went to work on his face.

At first, he felt stupid. you started with some primer and foundation, muttering about “undertones” and “coverage” while he sat there like an idiot. Then came the contouring—something about sharpening his cheekbones, which he thought was unnecessary because his cheekbones were already sharp enough to cut glass.

Then you moved to his eyes.

“This is where the magic happens,” you declared, pulling out an eyeshadow palette.

Jason groaned. “I swear to God, if you give me rainbow clown eyes—”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, dusting warm brown and reddish shades onto his lids.

Jason stayed quiet after that, mostly because the feeling of the brush against his skin was oddly relaxing. You blended, added a bit of shimmer at the inner corners, then pulled out the eyeliner.

“Keep still,” you warned.

Jason tried to keep still, but the moment you got close to his eye with that little black pen, his survival instincts kicked in.

You huffed. “You stare down thugs with guns on a nightly basis, but this is where you flinch?”

“It’s a reflex,” Jason grumbled.

you rolled your eyes and cupped his jaw, gently tilting his face. “Look up.”

He did. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the way you were touching him, all soft and careful like he was something delicate.

Once you finished the eyeliner, you moved to mascara. Jason blinked too hard the first time, getting some on his eyelid. You scolded him, wiped it off, and tried again.

Then came the final touch—the lips.

Jason narrowed his eyes as you picked up a tube of lipstick. “No bright red,” he warned.

You rolled your eyes. “I know. Trust me.”

You picked a deep, natural shade and carefully applied it, your thumb tilting his chin to keep him still. When you pulled back, you studied him, eyes wide with satisfaction.

“…Holy shit,” you muttered.

Jason frowned. “What?”

“You look really good.”

Jason snorted. “You’re supposed to say that. You did the makeup.”

“No, but like—really good.” You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera so he could see.

Jason expected to look ridiculous.

Instead…

Oh.

The guy in the reflection wasn’t some overgrown crime alley stray. His skin looked flawless, his cheekbones more defined, his blue eyes sharp. The eyeliner made them pop, the mascara darkened his lashes just enough, and the lip color—damn.

He turned his head slightly, raising a brow. He looked—

“…I look hot,” Jason muttered, genuinely surprised.

You burst out laughing. “I told you!”

Jason kept staring at himself, tilting his head like he was studying a piece of art. “…I look like I could scam rich men out of their fortunes.”

You snorted. “You totally could.”

Jason leaned closer to the mirror. “This is bullshit. Why does this work?”

You smirked, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Because, babe, I’m the one who did it.”

Jason gave you a sideways glance. “…So you’re saying if I let you do this every time, I could be the prettiest crime-fighting menace in Gotham?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Jason hummed. “Huh.”

He turned back to the mirror, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“…So how do I take selfies?”

Jason stared at his reflection, turning his face slightly to the side, then back. His sharp jawline looked even sharper under the contour, the dark eyeliner made his blue eyes pop like something out of a painting, and the lip color—deep, natural, and just glossy enough—gave him a dangerous kind of charm.

You watched him with barely contained laughter, chin resting on his shoulder. Oh, he was eating this up.

“So,” you drawled, watching his expression shift between admiration and disbelief. “What do you think?”

Jason exhaled through his nose, tilting his head again like he was analyzing a priceless artifact.

“…I look like I scam rich men for a living,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And you’d be good at it.”

Jason let out a soft, amused scoff, still not looking away from the mirror. You could see the way his brain was working—turning over the fact that he, Jason Todd, could be pretty in a way he hadn’t really considered before.

His fingers brushed over his jaw. “This is bullshit.”

You snorted. “What’s bullshit? That I made you look hot?”

“That it works,” he grumbled, squinting at himself like the makeup had personally betrayed him. “I mean, I expected to look like some try-hard clown, not—” He gestured vaguely at his face. “—whatever this is.”

“A masterpiece?” you supplied helpfully.

Jason shot you a look, but there was no real bite to it. He was too busy admiring his reflection.

You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera, holding it up. “Wanna take some selfies?”

Jason hesitated. His instinct was probably to say no, but you could see the little flicker of consideration in his eyes.

“…If you send them to Dick, I’ll throw your phone off a building.”

“Duh,” you said, like that should’ve been obvious. “These are for us. For documentation. For history. For—”

Jason rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“…Fine.”

You gasped dramatically. “Did the Jason Todd just agree to take selfies?”

“Shut up and take the damn picture.”

You beamed and held the phone up, making sure the lighting was just right before snapping a couple of shots. Jason barely even tried to pose, but he didn’t need to—his natural sharpness, the way he glanced sideways at the camera with that slight, lazy smirk, made him look effortlessly cool.

After a few shots, you checked the photos, grinning. “Okay, but you actually look so good.”

Jason leaned over, eyes scanning the images. His expression softened for just a second before he covered it up with faux nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just saying that ‘cause you did the makeup.”

“No,” you said seriously, nudging his arm. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous, Jay.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. He cleared his throat, looking away like you hadn’t just turned him into putty with one sentence. “…You’re so full of shit.”

You just grinned.

“Alright,” Jason sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “Time to wash this off before I start getting ideas.”

You gasped. “What kind of ideas?”

Jason smirked, standing up and flexing dramatically. “I dunno. Maybe I should start conning rich old ladies.”

“Oh my god.”

“I could be Gotham’s prettiest crime lord. Make Bruce’s life a living hell.”

You laughed, standing up with him. “I knew this would go to your head.”

Jason slung an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your fault, babe.”

And yeah—maybe it was your fault. But looking at Jason now, with his newfound appreciation for just how good he could look, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Jason wasn’t one to fuss over things like makeup. Sure, it had turned out better than expected—hell, he’d even admit (to you, and only you) that he looked good—but after a few selfies and some teasing, he was ready to wash it off and go back to his usual, rugged, Gotham-worn self.

At least, that was the plan.

You, however, had different ideas.

Jason stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rolling up his sleeves as he turned the sink on. His reflection stared back at him—still sharp-jawed, still intense-eyed, but softened just a bit by the expertly blended makeup you’d applied. He reached for a towel when, suddenly—

SMOOCH.

A pair of lips landed on his cheek, warm and deliberate.

Jason froze. “What are you—”

SMOOCH. Another one, this time dangerously close to his jaw.

“Babe—”

SMOOCH. SMOOCH. SMOOCH.

He turned just in time for you to attack with another kiss, smacking your lips dramatically against his face. Jason stumbled back against the sink, hands bracing himself as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to keep him in place.

“Alright, alright!” he laughed, hands coming up to ward you off. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

You grinned up at him, smug as hell. “Just appreciating my work before it all goes to waste.”

Jason gave you a suspicious look, but when he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand—his eyes widened.

A bright red lipstick stain smeared across his knuckles.

He turned back to the mirror.

Oh, shit.

There were marks everywhere. Little red imprints covered his cheeks, his jawline, his nose, and—he rubbed his lips together, realizing you’d definitely gotten him there too. His mouth was slightly smudged, like he’d either been thoroughly kissed or had just finished robbing a bank with Harley Quinn.

Jason looked back at you, you looked way too pleased with yourself.

“Are you serious?” Jason groaned, rubbing at his face. The lipstick refused to budge.

“Very.” You crossed your arms, proud of your masterpiece. “I think it suits you.”

Jason ran a hand down his face. “I look like I got mauled by a very aggressive valentine.”

“You look loved,” you corrected sweetly, batting your lashes.

Jason exhaled through his nose, staring at you like he was this close to enacting revenge. Then, with zero warning, he grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up onto the bathroom counter.

“Jay—”

You barely had time to react before he pressed his face all over yours—cheeks, nose, forehead, even down to your neck—rubbing against you like a damn cat.

You squealed, trying to push him off. “Jason, no—!”

“What?” he murmured, voice smug and low against your ear. “You don’t wanna match?”

You huffed, knowing damn well he was transferring all those lipstick marks onto your face. When he finally pulled back, he took a second to admire his work.

You glared at him. “You’re an ass.”

Jason smirked, running his thumb over your now-stained cheek. “You love me.”

You tried to look annoyed, but the way he was looking at you—smug, sure, but with that soft glint in his blue eyes—made it impossible to stay mad.

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jason chuckled, leaning down to press a much gentler, slower kiss to your lips. This time, neither of you cared about the mess.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #dc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader

136 notes · View notes

hamiltonfc · 2 days ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆⭒˚｡⋆ MOTH TO A FLAME; JUDE BELLINGHAM (Chapter One)

➤ Summary: Kaia tells Jude about her new beau, throwing yet another spanner in the works of their already complicated relationship.

➤ Pairing: Jude Bellingham x F!OC

➤ Warnings: Swearing, Food mention.

➤ Discussion tag: #my works: moth to a flame (if you ever have any questions about the story, release schedule, etc. my inbox is always open.)

➤ Word Count: 2,254

TAGLIST | SERIES PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Kaia’s POV

The dial tone wasn’t unfamiliar when it came to my relationship with Jude. Over the past few years, phone calls between us have been the main way of communicating with my best friend. With him away in either Germany or Spain, or with myself at my home in Surrey, or away on a film set somewhere, phone calls or long text threads were the best I could get.

But this call was different. Jude was finally back home in England. Not for long, just for a week or so during the winter break in the Spanish season. It just so happened that I had made the journey up from Surrey to be home with my family for Christmas, so it was only a matter of time before I picked up my phone, ready to call him.

“Hello?” I heard at the other end of the line when Jude picked up. “Who’s this? The number kinda looked like this girl who last spoke to me about three weeks ago, but, you know, I could be mistaken.”

“Jude,” I say, deadpan. “I swear to God, the day you answer a phone call in a somewhat normal way, that’s when I’ll know the aliens have invaded.”

“I find offence in the fact that’s not the first time you’ve referred to aliens when talking about me,” his smirk was obvious through the way he spoke, it’s not like I’d never heard him speak that way before. “Anyway, stranger, what’s up? Miss my pretty face?”

“Always. But no, I need you to come over,” I stand up from where I was lying on my bed and walk over to my desk, taking a seat on the chair in front of it.

“You need me to, huh? You should’ve said, Baby, I’d have been over already.”

“Jesus,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, slumping further back into the chair in feigned annoyance.

“My name’s Jude, actually, but close enough.”

“Please, Jude. I need to tell you something,” I twist my body, swinging the desk chair side to side a little, nerves creeping up to my heart, which is pounding in my chest.

“God, I love it when you beg,” Jude whispers, voice a little more serious than it had been before. “Sorry, uhm, I’ll be over in ten. See you soon, Darling.”

****

*knock knock knock*

“FBI, open up!” Jude yells, in the worst American accent I might’ve ever heard (and I’ve been an actor my whole life so I’ve heard some terrible ones), from the other side of my door. He swings the door open, and his beaming face is the first thing I see when he’s revealed.

I furrow my brows, staring at him with a disappointed look on my face for a few seconds. “Remind me, Jude, why the fuck are we friends?”

Jude places his hand against his chest, mouth open in fake, way too dramatic, offence. “Because we love each other, duh? Did you like it, though? It’s like that show you like, Criminal Brains or whatever it’s called.” He throws himself onto the bed beside me, landing on his stomach, before pushing up onto his forearms, leaning in towards me with only one thing on his mind.

“No,” I whisper, my hand gently placed on his collarbone as I push him back. “I need to talk to you first.”

“Oh,” Jude says with a nod. He grabs one of the many pillows on my bed and tucks it under his head, getting into a more comfortable position so he can look at me properly. Before Jude speaks, I see a look pass across his face, one that I can read instantly. “It’s serious enough that you don’t want to kiss me? Okay,” he drags out the vowels, chocolate brown eyes landing on mine, and at that moment I can do nothing but stare into them.

My eyes flutter away from his, too scared to look at him during what I’m about to tell him, the weight of his gaze upon me enough to knock my mind off balance.

“We can’t do this anymore,” I say softly, lips barely moving, but they fall loud and clear upon Jude’s ears.

“We can’t do what anymore?” He knows. I knew he’d know what I would tell him when I refused to kiss him. But that’s what Jude is like, he is always going to give me space to tell him in my own time. He knows that’s how I want this to go.

“Whatever we’ve been doing for the past however many years,” it’s then when I look at him, the image of his face etched into my brain of what I imagined he looked like in the moment, and I wasn’t wrong.

Jude shakes his head, breaking eye contact, his jaw tight, before looking right back at me. “Why?”

“I have a boyfriend.” Silence washes over the room. Only sounds of our breathing can be heard and the ruffling of the bedding when I shift my body towards Jude. “We, uhm, we met on set a few months back and we hit it off, so… yeah. We’re now together.”

I give Jude a tight-lipped smile. He nods slowly in response, eyes wandering around my room. “I’m happy for you.” There it is. Four simple words, but they’re exactly what I expected him to say. He is so predictable.

“So,” Jude slaps his thighs as he moves to sit up, almost falling backwards due to the lack of support from the mattress underneath him, but his strong core just about manages to complete the manoeuvre. “What’s your mom cooking?”

“A roast, but ab-”

“A roast? Oh, get in, I fucking love your mom’s roasts. Don’t tell my mom but, if I’m being completely honest, I prefer your mom’s Yorkshire puddings,” he smiles, but I can tell in the way he’s moving, his body language, the way his eyes can’t hold contact with mine for longer than three seconds, that he’s trying to distract himself from everything that’s going through his mind. “Mine does do better roast potatoes, though. They’re crispier.”

“Jude,” I say sharply, placing a hand on his thigh in an attempt to bring him back to reality a little, as I stare at his heaving chest. “Slow the fuck down, yeah?” My stare is wide and long as my hand moves up and down his thigh, the only thing separating our skin are his grey sweatpants. “Take a breath, next time.”

He nods, his hand instinctually moving to grasp mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go, knowing that if he held on any longer he wouldn’t want to let go at all. “Quick question,” his eyes meet mine. “Why are we having a roast when you’re coming round mine for Christmas dinner in three days?”

I shrug. “Think of it as a pre-roast. You know how my mum gets when she’s not hosting, she can’t sit still to save her life, the roast dinner is just a product of that.”

“Cool,” Jude nods. “Two roast dinners in a week is a lot better than all the nutritional shit I have to eat throughout the season, anyway.”

I let out a quiet laugh, pulling my hand out from underneath his. “Anyway,” I take a deep breath. “As I was trying to say, about the dinner, Noah, my boyfriend, is coming over to eat with us.”

“Okay,” Jude’s voice fades out as he says, a confused look on his face.

“I mean,” I tell him. “It’s up to you, you can stay and meet him if you want, I don’t mind. Like I understand if you don’t want to, but, like I said, it’s completely up to you.”

Jude scoffs. “And like I said, I want that roast dinner. Of course, I’m staying.”

“Right then, I get up from my bed, stretching and letting out a yawn, catching Jude looking at the sliver of my belly that appears when I raise my hands over my head. “We best get downstairs and set the table, because we both know that sister of mine won’t have done it.”

****

“You do know you have legs, right?” I say to my fifteen-year-old sister, Olivia, as soon as I enter the dining room only to find that the table hadn’t already been set like I had previously hoped.

My sister only lets out a grunt and shrugs at my words.

“You alright, Liv?” Jude grabs the coasters, placing one in front of each chair, making sure to count one extra than usual for Noah.

Olivia gives Jude the same grunt as the one that she gave me.

“Remember when we were like that?” I nudge Jude with my elbow, setting up everyone’s cutlery.

“What, when we hated everyone and everything that wasn’t on our phones? Yeah, that was rough,” a reminiscent look passes across Jude’s face before I slap him in the tummy with the placemats.

“Come on, slacker, you going to put them down before I whack you round the head with them, or what?” I giggle, making my way into the kitchen to see if my mum needs any help.

I see Jude smile at me over my shoulder as he watches me walk away. “You alright, Mum? Need help with anything?”

“No, I’m alright, thanks, Love. You go and sit down, I’ll bring the food through in a bit,” she flashes a smile at me before opening the oven up, and checking on the beef and potatoes.

I turn on my heel, walking back into the dining room when my little brother appears at the doorway. “Judey!” he yells as soon as he spots my best friend.

My youngest sibling, Leo, runs at Jude, causing him to stop everything he’s doing before he leans down to pick up the little boy.

“Hello, little man, how are you doing?” Jude squeezes him as tight as he can. In the time that Jude and Leo had known each other, which was the entirety of Leo’s seven years on the planet, they had built up an amazing relationship. Leo considered Jude to be one of his best friends and even went as far as saying that Jude loved him more than me. If he only knew.

“I’m not too good,” I watch as Leo pouts up at Jude after he’s placed him back on the ground.

“Why not, Kid?” Jude’s brows furrow, continuing his work setting the table while also giving the small boy as much attention as he can.

“I’ve been doing my homework all day because Mummy said I had to and if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to play Roblox later.”

“Well, we can’t be having that, can we?” Jude smiles when Leo shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh. “So, did you get it all done?”

“I did,” Leo nods, a proud smile on his face.

“Good kid,” Jude ruffles his hair before he spots me, leaning against the doorframe, watching their interaction.

“Go and take a seat, Leo,” soft thuds against the floor can be heard as he runs to his chair next to his older sister. “Mum says dinner will be ready soon.”

I sit down in my usual spot, with Jude going to take the seat right next to me before changing his mind and walking around the table to sit in the seat directly across from me instead.

Jude and I engage in barely thirty seconds of conversation before it’s broken up by the sound of the doorbell ringing. I feel my expression change immediately, to one full of nerves. Jude notices that immediately, watching me in anticipation as I get up from my seat.

“That’ll be him,” I say, leaving no room for Jude to reply because I’m out of the room in seconds, making my way towards the door.

“Hey, Babe,” Noah says in his thick American accent as soon as I open the door.

I move to the side, signalling for him to come in. “Hi,” I say, my words a lot more muted than the bubbly voice that he’s used to.

Noah shrugs his coat off as he steps inside and I grab it from him, turning to hang it on one of the hooks beside the door. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss on my lips. “You okay?” His brows furrow together as he analyses my face.

“Yeah,” I nod, smiling up at him. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet,” I tell him, leading him into the dining room after about a minute of being gone.

As soon as Noah and I enter the room, I notice Jude look Noah up and down the moment his eyes land on him. He takes in his outfit, his tanned skin and his blonde hair. I can practically see the moment where he acknowledges that he’s not my type, no that that matters, he doesn’t know my type to be anything other than himself.

“Noah,” I turn to him, a slight smile on my face. “You’ve already met my brother and sister,” I can feel Jude watching me as I point at the kids beside him. I can also see his face change slightly, most likely to show his disdain at the fact that I let Noah into my house before ever telling him about our relationship. “And this,” My gaze falls upon Jude, prompting Noah to look at him for the first time this evening. “Is Jude. My best friend.”

Taglist: @eunoiasgoal @4evermyownmuse

If you would like to support my work make sure to like and reblog this post, and if you're able, consider buying me a pastry! (I also take writing commissions if anyone would like one).

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fanfic #jb5 #jude bellingham x oc #jude victor william bellingham #hamiltonfc.writes #my works: moth to a flame

64 notes · View notes